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megamindsecretlair · 2 months ago

Text

Make Me Weak, Part 2

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Hair pulling, PIV, condom use. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: You followed Dr. Richmond’s instructions to the best of your ability. You spent so much time in your mind that willingly descending into your body was an experience that opened your eyes to how much you had neglected. Your second session forces you to confront more truths than what you were ready for.

Terry reaches some conclusions of his own as he tries to shake whatever is ailing him by disappearing between Tasia’s thighs. Yet his mind is on you, on your thoughts and words. During the second session, he can’t help but push you beyond your limit.

Word Count: 5,018k

Part 1 | Part 3 | AO3 Link

A/N: I'n back babbyyyy. I got so inspired reading so many lovely fics. Plus the encouraging asks really helped. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

Hot steam rolled out from the shower as you set it to your desired temperature. You faced yourself in the mirror, thinking over Dr. Richmond’s words. You supposed that there was some truth to what he had told you.

Most people did start by exploring their own bodies first. It must be so easy for guys. Close the door, grab some lotion, and rub one out. Girls on the other hand…your life was constantly spent in a state of panic.

Panic that anything on your person would make your mother snap. Harsh criticisms hidden behind “just talkin’ shit” that Black people liked to hide behind. You were too sensitive to jokey-joke with when you weren’t able to reciprocate. It’s not like you could talk about your mom. It’s not like you could throw insults back in her face and tell her to take it in stride.

Panic that you could be caught or exposed at any point. You were a grown woman, yes. You were also taught to believe that you needed to act as if someone was watching. You believed there was some kind of life after all this and so wouldn’t it stand to reason that someone or something would be looking at you? Or worse, someone would come flying through your door because your family lacked boundaries?

Panic that you didn’t know what lay on the other side of an orgasm. How would you feel? How would you look? Surely something like that changed a person. Feeling that rush of relief for the first time had to be special. Had to be amazing. Otherwise, why would anyone ever be obsessed with sex?

Panic that you’d never reach that peak and fall over. Never feel that rush of euphoria that everyone talked about. Porn, books, friend groups. You always felt left out and you didn’t want to anymore, dammit.

You watched yourself in the mirror as steam overtook it, inch by inch. Until you were only staring at your eyes and the disbelief written all over your face. Would this even work? Were you wasting your time?

“I need total, focused commitment from you.”

Dr. Richmond’s sultry voice skittered along your naked skin. Goosebumps raised on your flesh from the cold air moving through the house. You would be focused. You would be committed. This was something you wanted so badly, you were fucking desperate.

So you took deep, measured breaths using the Box method a previous therapist told you about. You inhaled for a count of four, held for four, exhaled for a count of four, and then held it for four. You repeated the process, doing a full body scan.

You focused on your head, starting with your scalp. You focused on your forehead, feeling the tension melt away and your eyebrows start to relax. You hadn’t even realized that you had it scrunched.

You brought your attention to your eyes, unfocusing them, and allowed them to close. You repeated the process, breathing the entire time, settling down into your body when your mind wanted so badly to escape. To flee. To leave the Horrors.

When you felt your mind drift, you didn’t chastise yourself. You continued to breathe, focusing on your breaths until you continued with your scan. Your body relaxed fraction by fraction. Your shoulders lowered from up around your neck. Aches and pains became more prominent.

Your belly expanded and you sighed. You hadn’t even noticed how often you clenched your stomach, never allowing yourself a full breath. You always had to be on edge. Never knew where the next danger was coming from. What new fresh hell you would encounter just around the corner.

By the time you reached your feet, you felt more relaxed than you had in a long time. Your body prickled with your newfound awareness. Steam caressed your bareskin and you quickly hopped in the shower, letting the warm water cascade across your body.

The water felt different on your body. Each droplet may as well have been a tiny earthquake, popping all over your skin and making you tingle. This…wasn’t too bad.

You lathered up your facial scrub and gently moisturized your face, soothing the stiff areas. Your jaw popped as it loosened and you moaned from the relief.

How long? How long have you spent outside of your body? A stranger to it? A foreigner to this vessel you carried around? Had you truly loved your body when you were so alien to it? Or had you just learned to layer on the armor and pretend?

God, you felt like crying. With one session, Dr. Richmond already had you re-thinking your entire life. Like the answer was there in your face the entire time and you just needed him to shine a light on it.

You rinsed your face while you grabbed a washcloth and lathered up with your favorite soap. You added body wash and then took your time trailing the washcloth around your body. Starting with your neck, you worked your way down to your chest.

You took your time feeling the rough cloth against your smooth, watery skin. You rounded the washcloth across your nipples and they beaded under the slow torture. Oh, this was new. This was very nice.

You were focused, letting the water act as a sound machine, lulling you into a further relaxed state. You followed the washcloth with your hand, moving over and under your areolas and nipples. You pinched your nipples and gave it a tug. You gasped from the responding tug in your pussy.

You moved on, remembering Dr. Richmond’s words about not making it sexual. But fuck, how could you not?

Heat flushed beneath your skin that had nothing to do with the hot water on your body. You washed your back and then moved lower, skirting your throbbing pussy and washed your legs and dug the cloth between your toes.

On the way up, your fingers glided around your mound, your hips pushing forward. Your breathing turned rapid, feeling yourself getting more and more excited. Your brain turned to mush, retreating from your actions. Like it wanted to picture something else. You shook your head, and started up with your Box breathing again.

You stopped mid-shower to reorient yourself and get yourself back into that zone of ultimate calm. If Dr. Richmond were there…

You focused on what he might say. There was no rush. There was no rulebook for this sort of thing. There was no reason to chastise yourself. There was no test to pass or box you had to check in order to achieve an orgasm. You just needed to relax, dammit.

Slowly, achingly slow, you went back to that calm. You continued lathering up your body and then rinsed the soap off. You repeated the process, adding more soap to thoroughly wash your body. To enjoy the feel of the cloth and water and soap on your skin. On your body.

“This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body.”

This was the only body you would ever have. It was time you stopped treating it like the enemy.

You turned off the water and then got out. The chill air hit the water on your back and you shrieked and shivered, quickly drying off. You went through your nightly routine, taking care of your teeth, face, and deodorant. You sat down on a decorated stool in your bathroom to apply your lotion.

As instructed, you looked at your body. Every mole, every scar, every bump, and every wayward hair. Being in your body was weird to say the least. You had to disassociate to survive your childhood and you never learned to drop those defenses. Your body never realized that it wasn't at war anymore. Or perhaps it was and this was battle fatigue. You were so damn tired.

You massaged the lotion into your skin and then slipped in your panties. You pulled on an ankle bracelet you got while visiting New York once and it made you feel extra pretty, so why not. You turned on your bedside light and pulled out a notebook.

You started a new entry and wrote about the sensations and revelations you experienced. Some of it you would discuss with Dr. Richmond and some of it was never leaving your grave. It felt good to get it all out, uninterrupted.

Sometimes, venting to someone else just gave them room to talk over you. To steer the direction back to them. Brooklyn was like that. In an effort to relate, she ended up taking over the convo and made it about her situation. Then you ended up comforting her about her issue and never feeling truly heard about yours.

In a journal however, you pretended that you were just relaying it to a friend. The type of friend who allowed you to speak. To get your jumbled thoughts out without getting mad or trying overshadow you.

Done, you collapsed against your bed as if every ounce of strength left your body. You breathed through it, allowed your body to rest for a moment. The hell kind of voo-doo shit did your therapist put you through?

Immediately, warning bells went off in your mind. Surely, you would be whisked away to some super important task around the house. Surely, your phone would ring with some awful accident you had to attend to. Surely…nothing. You were drained. You had nothing.

You had just enough energy to put the journal up, turn off the light, and drift off to the deepest sleep of your life.

Terry

Tasia bounced like a porn star on Terry’s dick and it wasn’t doing a damn thing for him. He felt himself getting soft the more Tasia shuddered with her pleasure. At least one of them was having fun.

Maybe he rushed this. Too intent on getting you out of his mind that he hopped immediately into Tasia’s warm heat and didn’t consider that there was no substitution. He knew it was irrational to be drawn to you so fast. After only one session. He was conflicted on that front, but it went beyond just looks.

Your case, your assessments, your willingness to try, and your obvious smarts was a cocktail shooting through his veins and turning his body liquid. The perfect sub was dropped into his lap and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

And as a man used to getting his way in the bedroom, it stuck in his craw that he couldn’t have you. That it wasn’t your pussy that his dick disappeared inside of. Would you moan loudly? Were you shy in the bedroom? Were you enthusiastic?

What would your mouth look like taking the full length of him? How far down could you suck him? Did that same determination translate to the bedroom?

Tasia grunted beneath him as his dick rose back to life, thoughts of you turning him harder than a brick. He could build a house with how hard he was at the moment, picturing the curves on your body. The natural handles in your waist for his big hands to wrap around. To hold.

He moaned, picturing it all so clearly. His thumbs would dig into your back. The sounds you would make. His hips jerked just thinking of pounding into you. No mercy. You weren’t some fragile flower. Your insightful thoughts were like a mirror to his own. He wanted to explore with you. And the fact that he couldn’t had him pulling Tasia’s hair back.

“Call me Dr. Richmond,” he commanded.

“Yes, D-Dr. Richmond,” Tasia moaned. It was starting to piss him off.

“Softer,” he said.

“Yes, Dr. Richmond,” she said, bringing her voice lower, softer. It was nowhere near your voice, but it’d do for the fantasy he concocted in his head. He didn’t have time for any extra tricks tonight. He just needed to get to the other side of his nut.

He closed his eyes and thought about your case. He wondered if you were doing as you were told. He wondered how well you would take commands in the bedroom. If he even had to give commands at all. If you’d instinctively know what he needed when he needed it. Tasia used to know that. Tasia used to have him out of breath.

Now…she was a beautiful girl with deep mocha skin, a cute face, and wide expressive eyes. She was like a little doe in a meadow somewhere. He was attracted to the overall softness of her and of her body. The natural way she seemed to know what he needed.

Perhaps it was him that had changed. His tastes. He was no longer interested in a casual sub-relationship. Perhaps he wanted a more permanent sub. One he could explore every single nasty fantasy with and never get bored. He was getting older, getting into his early-thirties without a significant partner.

And that was what he wanted. A partner. An equal. Someone he raced home to see or spent his days thinking about how he would break her and put her back together like a puzzle box.

Terry groaned and came into the condom, gripping Tasia’s asscheeks for dear life. It was one of the hardest climaxes he ever experienced. His release triggered hers, causing her to fall forward as her pussy gripped his dick.

He pulled out and immediately disposed of the condom, coming back to help clean up Tasia.

“That was…different,” she said, using the word in place of something else. He didn’t want his reputation to slacken in that regard, but hell, this whole thing had been a mistake. He still made sure she came twice before he did, but he usually put more oomph into his sexual exploits.

He usually had Tasia popping her pussy on his face, or contorting her like a pretzel. Now…he was just over it. Over trying to impress someone that wasn’t permanent in his life. That he couldn’t play with whenever he wanted. He was no longer excited at the prospect of making many women cum. He just wanted to make one cum over and over again. He wanted to collect each one like trophies.

Terry grabbed Tasia’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Forgive me. Tonight should’ve probably been a gym night,” he said. He smiled for good measure, but it was a close-lipped smile.

“Oh, I’m not complaining. That dick still know how to rock my world,” she said. She stood up, pulling on her sweats and sweatshirt, and slipping on her sneakers. He sat down on the bed and watched her, not feeling an ounce of desire.

She leaned over and grabbed his chin, making him look up at her. “You take care of yourself and whatever or whoever got you in this funk. And if you need more relief, you know my number,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with another close-lipped smile. Tasia had been one of his longest play partners, he’d be sorry to see her go. She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, showing herself out.

Terry sat in his fancy bedroom in his fancy house, staring at the empty archway Tasia disappeared through. His mind and body told him that he was ready for something more. Something tangible. Something he could hold and never let go. He only hoped he found it soon.

You

You clutched your journal to your chest as you sat in Dr. Richmond’s office. Nothing about it had changed except the man himself. He chose to wear a cream colored outfit. A soft, oatmeal colored sweater and khaki pants with white sneakers. His gold rimmed glasses flashed every so often from the light overhead and you couldn’t help catching every single thing about him. If only to distract you from your racing thoughts.

It was one thing to live in your body when you were in the comfort of your own bathroom. Your mind escaped once more, retreated to the safest place you knew. Your knee bounced with nervousness.

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. This is a safe space. It’s your space. You get to decide what we do here,” he said.

You closed your eyes to the sound of his voice. If he wasn’t so damn helpful, you’d ask for someone else. Literally, anyone else. But he was the first therapist to give you a glimpse of the other side. You wanted that more than you were embarrassed.

“No, I want to share. I need to share,” you said. You licked your lips and then cracked open your journal. You skimmed over things you didn’t want to reveal just yet. Too embarrassing for a second meeting, of course.

“I think…I think my mind is safer. I am constantly on alert that I’m “doing the right thing”, as opposed to what actually makes me happy,” you said.

When you didn’t say anything, Terry leaned back in his seat. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing the golden brown of his forearms. Your mind emptied of any other thought until he cleared his throat. “Can you expand on that?”

You looked up into his eyes before heat rushed to your ears. You looked back at your journal, focusing on that rather than his lush, pink lips.

You told him more about how you reached this conclusion. That there was a standard for being Black that you never quite achieved. That at any moment, multiple mobs of people were coming for your Black card. Or, you were constantly trying to over-achieve at school. You had to work twice as hard, had to be the smartest in the class, because if you came home with a B, your mom went on a long rant about being stupid and never achieving anything real in life. Or how everyone praised you at work for going above and beyond and then got mad when you couldn’t sustain it. You were constantly on the lookout for someone else’s standard.

“I have so many fucking voices in my ear, telling me to do this or do that. And I fucking hate it. Which is wild considering that that’s what I seek in a sexual partner,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled and nodded. “Your mind is trying to re-contextualize your upbringing. Being submissive is actually about putting yourself in the position of power. A dom is only as good as how well he treats his sub. It’s about the ultimate act of trust on the submissive’s part,” he explained.

“Yes! And how can I trust that someone isn’t going to…take what I say or want and abuse that or make fun of me for it?” You asked. You played with the corner of your journal, not willing to look at Dr. Richmond. You didn’t need to see the pathetic pity in his steel blue eyes.

“You have to stand resolute in what you want. You have to recognize that pleasure and sex is about give and take. Trust and acceptance. The right partner isn’t going to make fun of you, abuse you, or rush you,” he said.

You sighed and leaned back on the brown sofa. You felt like you were chasing a unicorn. What kind of guy was willing to be dominant and care about your needs? Reassure you when you needed and took control when your body sent massive panicked waves at him? Took care of the trust you were placing in him to help you relax and cum? While also being physically attractive to you and have you be attracted to him; not a chubby chaser, not a creep, and not an abuser?

It was impossible. Hopeless.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me more about what you found,” he said.

You took your mind off of your dream mystery man. When the fuck was it going to be your turn?

You scanned your journal once more, noting the sensations about actually living inside your body. “I think when I feel an orgasm approaching, I get scared. And that could be part of why I’m blocking it, but even when I’m alone, I don’t know what it feels like. Or…”

“Or…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

You grimaced. Fuck, this was so hard to put into words. Too hard to expose yourself like this. But did you want to reach your sixties, seventies, never having a true orgasm? Never finding your way to actual release?

“Or, there’s no way to control the orgasm,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “The goal isn’t to control it, you know,” he said.

“I know!” You groaned and stood up. You thought better on your feet. Or maybe when you had something to do, you were better able to regulate the jumble of emotions inside of you. No wonder your emotions were all over the place. You spent too long disassociating, too long in your mind and not enough in your body.

“What benefit do you get from being in control all the time?” The scratch of his pen on the notebook drew your attention to him. To his pretty face, dark eyelashes, and push lips. You watched as he wrote in his notebook. Watched the lines and planes of his gorgeous face. His short curled afro.

“If I’m in control, if I never look weak or stupid or incompetent, then I win. I win at life. And all my bullies, from school to home are all wrong. There’s nothing wrong with me because I know what to do. I know what to say. I’m not an alien,” you said, taking a deep breath at the revelation.

Whatever your insurance company was paying him, they needed to double it. You admitted things you never had in the past. Your previous therapists attacked your problem sex first, focusing on different methods you could try. Some wanted you to describe, in detail, whatever you did to get yourself off. Safe to say they weren’t practicing ever again.

“Do you believe there’s something wrong with you?” He asked. He leaned back in his seat, giving you an unflinching stare. His face gave away nothing, revealed nothing, as you thought through his question.

“All the fucking time. Why else do friends keep leaving me? Or guys don’t want me? Or my mom is…my mom,” you said.

“Have you considered that you aren’t the problem?” He asked.

“How could I not be? I’m the only common denominator,” you said. You flopped back onto the couch but it wasn’t that soft. It thudded under your weight and you took a deep breath. Fuck, you wanted to cry. Tears pricked your eyes, turning them hot and itchy. You refused to cry in front of this man.

This strange, quiet man who seemed to read you like one of the many books on his bookshelf. No wonder he had so many degrees. He could drag a full confession from a mute.

“That may be true. But, bear with me, consider that you aren’t the problem. If you take yourself out of the equation, what are you left with?” He asked. He leaned forward on his desk and the sudden intensity of the question made your mind blank.

You had…nothing. No explanation, no back up. You were used to making yourself the problem. The issue had to be you. If it wasn’t you…

You shrugged your shoulders and looked away from him. The silence stretched on, so quiet you could hear the quiet tick of the clock on the wall.

“Don’t shy away now, dig into it. If it’s not you, then…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

The question only seemed to make you clamp up. Your tongue swelled. Your throat constricted. If it wasn’t you, then what? Everyone was incapable of giving you what you wanted? Everyone just had an agenda against you? Please, that was narcissistic as hell.

Dr. Richmond stood up from his desk and took off his glasses. He pulled out a drawer and retrieved a glass cleaner cloth. He cleaned his glasses and walked around the front of his desk.

“Consider, for a moment, that other people have deficiencies as well. That people congregate in groups because biologically, it’s safer. We seek groups to be in and when we can’t find one, we tend to think that we’re the problem. That we are outcasts, getting left out to defend ourselves. But all that means is that we haven’t found our group yet. You’re trying to fit a round peg into a square hole. You don’t belong with the squares, so no, you won’t fit in with them.

“The same goes for sex. Everybody has their preferences. People have their kinks, their needs. When those needs aren’t meant, society teaches us to look at our own deficiencies rather than someone else’s. Perhaps the man you need sexually is far different from the men you take to bed,” he said. He waved around his glasses as he spoke, drawing attention to his massive hands.

Seriously, they were huge. Like two lion paws that could strike down someone with one hit. He held his glasses by the frame, waving it around delicately as he spoke. You were still paying attention to his words, but fuck…he was unreal.

“But how do I find the man that I need sexually?” You asked.

Terry

Terry inwardly groaned as you asked him that. Plenty of suggestions came to mind, each too crass to suggest. How could he tell you to go into another man’s arms? How could he send you to another man to unleash that hidden hellcat within you and he wouldn’t get to experience it?

He needed to end this. End this before it even began. He placed his glasses back on his face and crossed a line that he never thought he would. “I think we have more work to do to adjust the way you think about sex before we get into how you attract what you’re seeking. In fact, I’d suggest you abstain from sex until we get deeper into this,” he said.

“Abstain?” You snorted and he fought a smile. Your face showed absolute disgust, like the mere thought was abhorrent.

“Abstain. From what you’ve told me and what’s in your file, you jumped from overcoming your initial thoughts and reluctance about sex right to jumping into bed. Without really, truly exploring yourself first. Kids explore their bodies all the time right? They grow conscious of themselves and start thinking about hey, my equipment is different from someone else’s equipment,” he said.

You couldn’t help but giggle and it caused him to smirk in return. Yes, it was silly. Talking about sex was silly. But it was true. “And as you start to notice people that you’re attracted to, you start to grow conscious of hormones in your system. Brain chemistry. All the fun stuff that goes into attraction. You start to touch yourself more, explore your preferences through porn or books or experimentation.”

You cringed when he brought up experimentation. He tilted his head. “Did you go through an experimentation phase?” He asked.

You closed your eyes and sighed as if it were the last question you wanted to answer. You completely fascinated him. He had no idea what would come out of your mouth next. How you would respond to certain questions or ideas.

He snuck a glance at the clock, he was nearing the end of the session. He flexed his jaw. This was so damn irritating. By the time you were willing to open up, it was time to end it. He wished he could carve out a month of sessions to get you to lower your defenses and let him inside.

“No? I grew up in the wrong generation. All everyone thought about was sex and while I did too, no one was checking for the fat Black nerds unless it was a prank. And I saw everything as a prank. I was always getting pointed at, made fun of, stared at. Jesus, being exposed fucking sucks! So, no, I didn’t experiment. There was no one to fucking experiment with.

“And it wasn’t like I could go ten feet from my mom without her up my ass about where I was going. Claiming she just didn’t want me to get snatched when all she really wanted was just to control me. To not let me end up like her. Young and pregnant,” you practically yelled, spewing way more vitriol than he expected.

He figured it was a sore spot for you by the way you grimaced, but he hadn’t been expecting…that. Again, he balled his fists thinking of every person that ever let you down. Every person that was supposed to uplift you, guide you, help you, all dropped the ball in teaching you about self love.

Every experience every kid was supposed to have was denied to you. Instead of being asked out with interest, with sincerity, boys treated it like a prank. He was wild in his youth, he wasn’t always nice to people, or he went through life like a little gremlin. But he liked to think he mellowed somewhat in high school. Treating everyone with respect. From the nerds to the jocks. He didn’t know what not trusting people’s words felt like. Like everything that someone said came laced with poisoned barbs ready to sting.

“This is so fucking stupid,” you whispered. Your lip trembled but no tears fell down your face.

Fuck, even now you were trying to hold everything in. Control a natural response to something painful. “When was the last time you cried?” Terry asked.

You stood up and snatched your purse and journal from the couch. “Session’s up, right?” You asked. You avoided looking at him as you rushed to the exit. The faux glass door clanged against the wall as you threw open the door and left, steps echoing on the linoleum flooring.

He stared at the door as it lazily swung back and he wondered. And he pondered.

Wheww, need more? The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

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it-was-summer · 23 days ago

Text

... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can.

A/N: This fic genuinely had me tearing up as I wrote it. Therefore, it shall hold a sweet place in my heart. As a kid, I used to say, "If something makes you feel, then it is good." I still believe that today. If it makes you happy, sad, flustered, ANYTHING! To feel something while reading is such a beautiful reaction to media. I often cry at movies, I cry when I read romance novels, I cry when I read poetry, and I laugh when I do, too. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope you feel something, Em <3 (I also apologize for vanishing; I got sick, and it made me feel brain fog)

Link to the Ao3: ... And Fall In Love Whenever You Can Link to the: Yee olde masterlist Tags: Grief support group, mention of death(s), loss of romantic partners, struggling with mental health, tears, the rise and fall that is nonlinear healing, fear of forgetting a loved one, falling in love after tragedy, Spencer sounds like he had therapy, Maeve mentioned, guns mentioned, she/her pronouns for reader used at like one point, Reader's POV for the most part, Reader is in extreme denial and feels guilty, a secret other thing??, lightly proofread tehe!

Genre: Light Angst, Some? Hurt/Comfort, Fluff! Pairing: Season10! Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Plot: Meeting Spencer at a grief support meeting might be the best and the worst thing to ever happen to you- but it's all relative in the eyes of love.

Word Count: 9,791

You were pacing a dimly lit parking lot outside of the funeral home. It had been eleven months, two weeks, and three days since Alexander’s death. The grief meetings occurred every third Wednesday, and everyone was lovely enough. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to go inside this particular Wednesday. Because it was on this date, two years ago, Alexander had gotten on one knee at the aquarium and asked you to marry him. It was two years ago that you had said yes, not knowing that a little over a year from then, he’d be dead.

Your feet kept making strides to the double door entryway, only to slow to a stop when your hands reached the door’s push handle. Then, you’d shake your head and turn around to circle the parking lot once more. With your luck, the meeting would be over before you even got the courage to go inside.

A groan escapes your throat as you firmly put your hands on your hips, tilting your head to the Summer sky. “I’m sorry,” Your voice is raw, barely a whisper as you struggle to keep yourself from crying. You knew everyone said not to keep it in, to express your grief freely. It minimized stress. At least, that’s what the grief counselors say.

The worst part was no longer knowing who you were apologizing to— yourself or Alexander.

You were walking around one of the parking lot’s street lamps when you saw someone standing at the doors, frozen in place. It was like watching a mirror of yourself—rigid shoulders, twitching hands, shaking head.

You approach the man slowly, your image warped in the reflection of the glass doors. He turns to face you before you can speak, and he looks like you did eleven months ago. His eyes have dark circles around them, tinted with a red water-line and dull cheeks. That doesn’t stop you from gracing him with a gentle smile, “Are you going inside?”

His eyes meet yours for a second, looking away to glance back at the doors. “I’m not sure.” His voice is quiet, scared. He sounds like he is still on the fence. You nod, drawing your lips into a tiny line as you drop your hands to your sides. “Are you?” He asks, stepping out of the way for you.

You feel your mouth open to say you are going inside, but the words never come. Instead, you shake your head side-to-side timidly. “I’m not sure either,” You laugh out feebly. He nods, a dull smile gracing his delicate features for a millisecond before looking off with a forlorn expression.

“I was thinking about walking around the parking lot again… to try to gain the confidence to go inside. You’re,” you pause, wondering if it's a good idea to offer the man an invitation, “You’re welcome to join me if you’d like.”

The man looks at you again, his eyes widening for a second. You’re sure he’s about to decline, return to his car, and drive away, but he nods. You feel yourself smiling. It’s a little subdued, but it’s real. You mouth a silent ‘okay’ as you move your hands to your pant pockets, stepping away from the doors with this mourning stranger. You figured you didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to, so everything was quiet as the two of you slowly walked around the large parking lot.

Eventually, your quiet stranger speaks, “Thank you,”

You shrug a little, sniffling, “It’s daunting, especially the first meeting.”

He frowns a little, watching your eyes flit over to him and then back to the night sky. “That obvious?”

“Only a little, but that’s not a bad thing.” Your voice is gentle as your feet slow to a stop, a light smile appearing on your face as you stare into the night. Spencer tilts his head to look at the stars, silently hoping that what makes you smile will make him smile, too. “Do you see her yet?” You ask, voice like honey.

He feels like crying as he says, “No,” He doesn’t even know who you’re looking at.

Your right hand is coming out of your coat pocket as you point to Cassiopeia slowly, tracing the stars with your index finger. “Cassiopeia, she’s a little low right now, but in a few months, she’ll get higher. You see her?”

And Spencer does. He feels his body relax, just for a moment. “I do.” He feels himself smiling a little at the sky, and the feeling feels almost foreign. His gaze falls back to you as you stuff your right-hand pack into your pocket, “I’m– I didn’t introduce myself earlier. I’m Spencer.”

“That’s alright; I didn’t introduce myself either,” you sigh before you tell him your name. He nods at your response and follows you once your feet start moving again.

“Have you—” He motions to the funeral home in the distance, “ever been inside?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m a funeral home grief support group regular.” You joke lightly, though the soft chuckle you let out sounds like a sad one.

He nods, nervously adjusting the beige cardigan on his chest. “Is everyone—I mean—” He draws his lips closed as he tries to gather his thoughts. “Do you like it?”

Your feet slow for a second as you think about it. Sure, everyone was friendly, and the support was more helpful than harmful. But did you like it? You give him a little nod when you answer, “Yeah, it’s been nice. Less,” You tilt your head slowly like you’re choosing your words carefully. “Less Lonely.”

Spencer lets out a relieved-sounding sigh as he mutters a gentle “Right.”

“I just,” You swallow carefully, “I’m having a hard time going in today. My fiancé proposed two years ago today. I just— I mean everyone inside knows, I just,” You trail off for a second, sniffling lightly as a cool breeze brushes against your watering eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer didn’t know what to say to that. With Maeve, he had barely met her in person before she was murdered in front of him— the future pulled out from under him. Nowadays, he spends his time rereading books, remembering conversations on the phone, and mourning her silently in his apartment. Sometimes, he didn’t know which would be worse: losing her when he did or ten years down the line. Nonetheless, there is no Maeve to help him answer that question.

He struggles to find the words for a second before he nods, slow and unsure of himself, “It matters.”

You grin at how scared he sounds, the sound of a man holding on to the memory of a face that keeps fading away in his mind. “I know,” you can feel the ghost of the engagement ring on your left hand, a ring that now lies in a coffin.

As the two of you get close to the building once more, you ask, “Are you going to go in?”

Spencer swallows hard, the knot in his throat making it difficult for him to breathe. “Maybe next meeting,”

You nod, “Me too.” You stare at your car in the distance before you feel yourself standing in the parking lot with Spencer— unmoving. “I know it’s not a lot, and I know that I can’t help that much, but,” You pull your phone out of your pocket, opening the keypad cautiously before holding it out to him. “If you ever want to talk about it, or anything really, I’d be happy to talk with you.”

Normally, Spencer would decline such a kind gesture. He would thank you, drive home, and find solace in something familiar. His fingers twitch lightly as he reaches out for your phone, staring down at the keypad for a second before he puts in his number. He doesn’t know why he wants to talk with you. He thinks it’s because talking with a stranger about Maeve seemed less daunting than talking about it with his coworkers— his friends. You barely know him, and that makes your offer seem safe. No preconceived notions, pity, or gentle promises of being there for him, just a stranger talking to another stranger.

Two weeks go by like usual— no text from your stranger named Spencer, coffee for one at the café that was Alexander’s favorite, taking his mom to dinner on Thursdays, and so on. Sometimes, the days blur into a muddled painting filled with muted tones, and you try your hardest to remember when everything had a vibrant hue.

Most days are easy, easier than most, at least. It’s not that you forget about him. You remember him when you see a couple holding hands or golden retrievers going for walks, you think about him with everything you see, and it feels good to remember him. You’re happy to have known him so well, loved him so deeply. But all the love inside you has nowhere to go, so you go to his grave on Saturdays, hoping you can pour all the love in your heart onto a tombstone with his name on it. It never works, of course, but it helps.

You're running late this particular Saturday morning. You have two coffees in hand—one of which always goes untouched—and you’re stuck on the metro. That’s when you see him again, your stranger sitting in the fluorescents of the railcar.

Pushing through a small crowd, you approach him, slowly taking the empty seat next to him. Spencer doesn’t look up at first, his eyes glued to the book in his hands. That is until you’re leaning over to him to say a small “Hello,”

He jumps at the sound, head snapping to look at you with wide eyes. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised you remember him, but he is. “Hello,”

Your eyes meet his, “Do you remember me? I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have invaded–”

“No! I mean, yes, I remember you. You’re not invading my space. You’re fine.”

You let out a relieved sigh, looking away from him for a second to look down at the cups in your hands. His eyes follow your gaze, and he offers you a shy smile, “Are you meeting someone?” Small talk was never his strong suit.

You look at him, eyes lingering on his polite smile. “Oh,” you laugh like it's funny. “No, it's just me.” Spencer gives you a confused look, and you quickly answer his silent question. “I visit Alex’s grave. He loved black coffee. It was the most unsettling thing about him.”

Spencer doesn’t know how you’re smiling so wide as you say it. How could you talk about someone you lost and smile so wide talking about them? Would he smile like that one day? Would he even have things to smile about, or would what-ifs haunt him until the day he dies?

You find that you hate the silence that follows, the lack of sound creeping over your skin, making you itch to say something more. “I’ve always liked cemeteries too, so bonus, I guess.”

That gets you a sharp laugh, “You’ve always liked cemeteries?” Spencer’s eyes seem slightly brighter now, less red than two weeks ago, and they’re laser-focused on you.

You happily nod, “Always thought they were beautiful. It’s a creation of love, a way for your love for someone to live on.”

“Not sure everyone thinks about them that way,”

“Well, I guess they wouldn’t, and that’s alright with me.” You hum softly as the intercom announces in a static-filled voice that the railcar will be moving soon. “It’s quieter that way.”

Spencer glances towards the intercom for a second before turning back to you, “I suppose you’re right— about the quiet thing, not sure I agree with always liking them.” And he’s smiling at you, a real smile.

You feel yourself smiling back, wide as ever, “What’s your opinion on cemeteries then?”

“I’d like to say I don’t have an opinion on them, but if I had to form one, I would say they’re…” He trails off for a second, thinking about it more now. He laughs for a second, “Well, I suppose I find them rather serene.”

Your eyebrows raise for a second as you study him. How he seems to be relaxing in the conversation, and you can’t help but consider extending him an invitation to your weekly visit with Alexander. The longer you stare at him, the more you think the worst he can say is no, so you ask. “Would you like to join me?”

Spencer reels back slightly at the invitation; it feels intimate, yet he doesn’t want to say no. He wants to see what you see, to understand your mind, “I–” He looks away for a second, staring at the still-opened book in his lap. “If you’ll have me.”

Once you are on the street, you hum lightly while walking beside him. Spencer doesn’t seem to mind very much, his fingers fiddling with the edges of his book that now resides closed in his hand at his side. He’s nervous for some reason. He doesn’t understand why you invited him, nor why he said yes. He thinks maybe he should announce that he has other plans, turn on his heel, and book it in the other direction.

But when the two of you tread closer to the cemetery gates, you start talking again. “I hope you don’t find it strange that I invited you. It’s been a little under a year– well, a year next week– and I know it might seem weird, but I’d like to think he’s happy about me having a new friend.”

He knows it is a coping mechanism, and he knows Alexander cannot feel anything anymore. Spencer’s a man of science, but hearing you say that makes him feel at ease. His shoulders unwind slowly, “He sounded like a nice person,”

You let out a playful hum, “Sometimes. If he didn’t like you, he made it pretty obvious.” You pause for a second, glancing over at Spencer. “He was tall, kind of like you, and nerdy. But he was so funny; no one knew how funny he could be. They never listened hard enough, you know? I hated that people would talk over him in a crowd. To me, he was the only person worth listening to.”

Spencer finds him smiling at that, following you as you take a left. He sees that you're smiling, too, and when the two of you get to his grave, you’re still smiling. You let out a happy sigh as you talk, introducing Spencer as “Your new friend.”

For a while, you tell him stories—memories from when Alexander was still alive—and he finds he doesn’t mind listening to them. He sees them as a great distraction from his lack of happy stories with Maeve. You’re laughing a little as you tell him of the time that Alexander’s mother wouldn’t stop sending him a massive, bulk-sized trail mix every time she sent him a care package in college. He had so many bags that they lived under his bed for the better part of four years.

“Did he even like trail mix?”

“Honestly? Yes, but he only liked the chocolate and peanuts. It would just be massive bags with an abundance of raisins inside.” You shake your head a little as you stand next to Spencer.

Spencer lets out a slightly amused hum. His mind keeps going over how good you are with everything. You talk about Alexander openly. You don’t hold your feelings back. You smile so wide, even when you look at his headstone. He wants to know your secret— some secret to grief that he has yet to uncover.

His mouth opens briefly, closing quickly as he shifts his weight awkwardly beside you. He sucks in a nervous breath as he tries to muster up the courage to speak. “How do–” He sighs heavily, “I mean, I’m sure you struggle–” He licks his lips nervously, your eyes meeting his slowly. “When does it stop hurting?”

You’re silent for a second, your soft smile fading as you stare at him. He’s scared that maybe that’s the wrong question to ask as he watches you turn your head to look down at Alexander’s grave. He is about to apologize when you whisper, “It feels different now.”

Spencer’s mouth snaps shut as he waits for more, his eyes scanning your side profile slowly for some sort of sign that you’re uncomfortable. “Last year, it just felt like–” A pause, your free hand rising to your chest slowly. “It felt like someone had plunged a dull knife into my chest and left me for dead.”

Spencer’s chest tightened for a second, his own heart feeling painfully dull as he listened to you.

“But, I’m not the one who died. Alex did. I was so angry— disappointed that he had the nerve to leave me when we were about to start the next chapter of our lives together. I had–have– all this love inside my heart for him, and he’s gone. It took me a long time to understand that, to be okay with it.”

Your words catch in your throat, and you clear your throat quickly. The familiar burn of tears threatens to build in your eyes as you force yourself to look at Alexander’s grave. “He was so kind, and once I got past that feeling,” your voice sounded thick. “Life kept going, and so did I. He wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living my life. When you love someone, you only want them to be happy– with or without you.”

You sniffle lightly, relaxing your shoulders slightly, “It never stops hurting, I guess, but days get better. I’m happy that I got to be a part of his life. I find some comfort in that. Somewhere, in the story of him, I’m there.” Eventually, you find the courage to look over at Spencer. When your eyes meet his, you find that he’s staring at you with a compassionate expression. You can see the understanding in his eyes. You swallow hard, pushing the emotional lump down your throat.

“It does get better.” You whisper, your voice warm.

Spencer nods quickly, mouthing a little ‘I know’ before his eyes trail away from you for a second. A cool breeze passes between the two of you when he says, “Just needed the reminder,”

The next time you see him, it’s the third Wednesday of the month, and he sits right next to you. You find yourself smiling a little when he does, nudging his shoulder playfully as more people fill the space. He scoffs playfully, the silent gesture letting you know he’s happy you’re here.

The meeting passes like usual: New members share their stories, grief counselors hand out business cards with their phone numbers, recurring members offer kind sentiments, and then, just near the end, your seat partner stands up.

Your eyes widen for a second as you watch Spencer stand, his eyes laser-focused ahead as people turn to look at him. You watch how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. A shaky breath leaves him as he tries his hardest to start talking. His hands flex for a second, pressing against his pants to wipe off what you can only assume is sweat.

He stutters for a second, his confidence creeping away from him. You’re surprised when he turns his head to look at you. His breathing steadies as he watches you. “I’ve been having difficulties sleeping again. After,” His hands move a little as he speaks, his eyes periodically looking towards the rest of the group before trailing back over to you, “I just– I used to have a hard time sleeping, and lately, it’s been happening again. Every time I sleep, I see her, and I feel so–” He used to dream of her after her death, dreamt of touching her, but these were different. Dreams that constantly left him waking up feeling devastatingly alone.

He shakes his head a little, “It’s been seven months, and I keep dreaming of everything that could have been.”

The confession is met with comfortable silence and sympathetic looks, but not from you. You’re nodding, an encouraging smile spreading across your face. For some reason, he likes that better. “I don’t like leaving her when I wake up.” The admission feels like a weight lifting off his chest when he says it.

There’s a pause of silence before he sits down, unsure of what else to say besides his admission. As one of the counselors begins to talk to Spencer, he finds himself listening intensely. Seven months, and he’s finally willing to take some much-needed advice.

After that month’s meeting, Spencer has back-to-back cases. He’s keen on keeping in contact with you, which you’ve said he doesn’t have to do if he doesn’t want to, but he insists. He likes having someone to update, a friend waiting to see him when he’s free.

The next time he’s free, it’s a rare Saturday. He’s been awake since five and can’t seem to go back to sleep. He does keep dreaming of Maeve, but they’re a little different now. This time, he was in a cemetery with you. It was freezing, the kind of cold where you could see your breath, and you were laughing about something when the two of you bumped into her. Maeve’s not angry. She just laughs and glances at Spencer before hugging you. You hug her right back and say something– and that’s when he wakes up.

Spencer doesn’t like the feelings that stir inside him with that dream: confusion, curiosity, sadness, something else. The feeling is warm, tinged with an overcoat of sorrow, and he finds himself needing a good distraction.

However, reading isn’t helping, nor is the crossword. So eventually, he finds himself getting ready to go out for the day in the search of a good distraction that will get his mind off his dream.

He doesn’t know why he thinks about the cemetery where Alex’s grave is on his way to get coffee that day, but he does. A part of him feels that a nice walk will do him good, so, coffee in hand, he finds himself walking… then taking the subway… then ending up in front of Alex’s grave… alone.

Spencer’s lips slightly pout when he sees no coffee cup on the headstone. He knows that you have yet to visit your late fiancé today. He doesn’t exactly know why he’s visiting your late fiancé today; without you, it feels… strange.

The longer Spencer stares at the letters etched in stone, the more he feels a realization dawn on him. He feels guilty… guilty for dreaming of you, guilty for craving your warmth right now, and guilty for a million different little reasons.

Spencer feels his lips part for a second, a sigh escaping his lungs, before he whispers, “I’m a mess. " He knows he’s talking to thin air, but he feels lighter, admitting it to himself.

“I don’t know what I’m feeling. All I know is that I shouldn’t be, and it won’t do anyone any good, and secretly I think–” He sucks in a cold breath of air, “Secretly, I think I don’t deserve it.” The grave is silent, of course, but Spencer smiles anyway.

For a while, he thought his future had passed him by. A brief image graced his vision before leaving him blind. He can see now. He sees that he still has things to do, goals to accomplish, people to meet. Then he’s walking away.

Two meetings and four coffee ‘dates’ later, you’re rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet as you watch Spencer laugh over something with one of the grief counselors. It’s a strange feeling to see him laugh so openly. It's heartwarming if you’re being honest. It’s hard to explain it, and the feeling is too intense– too raw. It’s a feeling you dimly remember, and suddenly, you’re nauseous.

You have a crush, which is incredibly laughable because you’re an adult. The last time you had a crush on someone was three years ago, Alexander. This almost feels cruel. The longer you stare at him, the more real it becomes.

Spencer catches your eye for a second and excuses himself from the conversation in his polite Spencer way. When he reaches you, he smiles warmly: “Somebody’s all smiles.” You hum with a playful roll of your eyes.

Spencer pouts for a second, good-natured and playful, as he mutters a little, “When did smiling become a crime?”

“It isn’t. I’m just being observant, and you have a nice smile.” You try to keep your voice calm and level, but he seems to catch on anyway. Spencer’s eyes seem laser-focused on you, studying you carefully. Internally, you’re beginning to pray that his profiling skills fail to notice the classic signs: your sweaty palms, wandering gaze, and too-tense shoulders.

And if he does notice… you hope he doesn’t say anything. That’s not Spencer’s way, and you know it. “Everything okay?”

You nod quickly, “I’m good, sorry, I was just thinking about… bills.” You know he catches the lie the second you say it; you can see it in his amused smile.

“Bills?”

“Bills.”

“I’m not sure I like this story you’re going with, but if you’re sticking to it, I won’t pry.”

You nod, letting your shoulders relax as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Thank you,”

“I was thinking,” Spencer starts as he grabs his messenger bag, following you out. “We could get dinner together Friday night.”

“Why?” Your tone is a little flatter than you’d like it to be as Spencer walks you to your car. You'll admit the idea of being alone with him is nice, but the admission feels strange— still too raw, surreal.

“Because…” He trails off slowly, hoping to find a better reason than it being because he wants to have dinner with you, but the longer he sits with the ideas, the more he feels like you’ll turn down his idea. He feels self-preservation take over, and for the first time (and what he hopes is the only time), he lies to you. “My teammates are having a get-together.”

“Oh!” You say as the two of you reach your car. “And you want me to meet them or?” The idea seems less daunting. Yes, Spencer and you had been to get coffee together, but that was just coffee. Dinner seemed too intimate, but dinner with friends? Now, that was less scary.

“Yeah! Yes, I think it’d be nice!’ Spencer’s voice cracks slightly before nervously clearing his throat in a weak attempt to control the anxiety that creeps into his tone. “Would you… like to meet them?”

You’re leaning against your car door, and the air smells sharp with the promise of snow, and Spencer’s sure you’ll decline. You grin, nodding slightly, “Sure, I mean, it’s just dinner with friends. What time Friday?” Your arms fold over your chest, pulling your coat closer to your body.

“Six.” He doesn’t know how his fake dinner has a time, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to come up with one. “Nothing fancy. I’ll, um, text you the address.”

You watch him for a second, trying to read him the way he reads you. His voice seems higher in pitch, and his eyes keep glancing at yours. You chalk it up to him being nervous. The combination of two groups already frying his nerves before it even happens. “Can’t wait. See you Friday.”

Spencer stuffs his freezing hands in his pockets as he watches you enter your car and drive off. Then, the panic sets in.

He’s tailing Derek desperately, “Listen, I know it’s rushed, but–”

“I don’t see why you can’t just text her the address and ask her out. Straightforward.” Derek says as he takes the left towards Penelope’s office. “Or you could say we canceled and make it just the two of you.”

“Considering I already lied to her once, I’d rather not lie twice. And–” He fumbles with his words for a short second. “It’s not a date. I just thought she thought it was one, and I panicked.”

“What’s wrong with it being a date?” Derek asks, knocking on the door gently before entering Penelope’s office.

“Date?” Penelope echoes back as she turns in her chair.

Spencer holds out a hand defensively, “It wouldn’t— it’s complicated! Please say yes. You’re the first person I’ve asked.”

“Asked what? Am I going to be asked?” Penelope chirps as Derek hands her a coffee.

“Pretty boy here,” Derek motioned to Spencer with a light wave, “Lied to one of his ladies. Invited her to a team dinner that doesn’t exist.”

“A team dinner would be fun! With a new addition, too!” Penelope said with a sip of her coffee. “When?”

“Friday,” Spencer mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

“Friday, as in, tomorrow Friday?” She sucks in a breath of air, “Spencer…”

He frowns and mouths a little, ‘I know’. He looks at them, pleading, “Please, even if it’s just the two of you…” He trails off slowly, watching Penelope and Derek share a look.

“I’ll text the rest of the group.”

“Not the whole story,” Spencer adds as Penelope pulls out her phone. “Please.”

“I’m already doing you one favor, boy genius.”

Spencer is surprised at how many of his team members agree to dinner. JJ, Penelope, and Derek all promise to bring their respective partners. Rossi and Hotch politely decline, but given his sudden plans, he doesn’t blame them.

However, by the time five-thirty rolls around, he can see that he’s been played. The first text comes from JJ, claiming that Henry is sick and that she can’t make it. Derek follows, saying that he accidentally double-booked and cannot cancel his reservation with Savannah. He can feel himself sending a silent prayer to Penelope before she, too, is texting him to cancel.

So now, he stands outside the restaurant in a long brown trench coat and purple scarf tied tight around his neck. When you arrive, adorned with a cream sweater and rosy cheeks, you ask him the inevitable: “Where’s the team?”

Spencer's throat tightens as he answers, “They’ve canceled, so it’ll be just us if that’s alright with you?”

He can see your smile falter momentarily before you nod, “That’s fine, another time.” You shiver a little, glancing towards the restaurant. “Should we…?” Spencer, silently elated that you aren’t leaving, nods and hurriedly rushes over to open the door for you.

Once seated, you are greeted by a slightly uncomfortable awkward silence. You’re sure that it will soon resolve itself, but Spencer seems too lost in his thoughts, and it becomes clear that if you want this long silence to end, you’ll have to speak first.

“I’m sorry every–”

“Do you–”

The two of you stare at each other briefly before laughing softly. Spencer’s eyes crinkle a little when he’s laughing, a feature you seem to be adoring silently before he says, “I’m sorry that everyone canceled.”

You push out a little breath, your gaze falling to the menu on the table. “That’s okay, I’m sure everyone has busy lives.” You shrug a bit before glancing up at him, “I do have a question for you, though,” You watch as Spencer’s back straightens, and he gives you a small smile as the ‘go ahead.’

You flatten out the front of your sweater nervously, “Do you think it’s weird that I was supposed to meet your friends— the team?”

Spencer gives you a slightly confused look before you quickly add, “I don’t think it is, but I was talking to my coworker about tonight, and she said it seemed like an excuse for a date. Then I explained it, and she called it weird, and I don’t know—Do you think it’s weird?”

Spencer can feel his cheeks heating up against his will, and his head shakes from side to side, “No! No, it’s not weird.” he pauses, thinking about it for a second. “Well, maybe a little. But not for you, for me. You’ve never expressed an intense interest in meeting them, but they mentioned bringing someone, and I thought—” He motions to you with a shaky hand, “Thought you’d be a good person to bring to dinner. You’re lovely, and my friend, and I—” he feels the rest of his words die in his throat. He wants to tell you that he wants the team to meet you. He wants everyone to see how wonderful and kind you are.

He feels his mouth dry, realizing he wants you to meet the team now. He wants a third party to witness your calming effect on him, and, most importantly, he wants them to like you because he likes you.

A slow ringing grows in his ears at the full realization of his feelings for you. Your smile, usually calming, has his heart leaping in his chest. He finds himself leaning closer when you say, “I didn’t think it was weird either,”

Spencer lets out a little huff of relief, “Good, that’s good.” His heart was beating fast in his chest. He knew he had feelings for you but was unaware of how deep they ran.

“Though I will say, it is strange that they all canceled.”

He feels awful lying to you. He can count two lies now and doesn’t want to tell a third. “Yeah, I can’t explain that one. They all did it at the last minute. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind, though I was scared this was all a set-up for a date.” You laugh as if it’s the silliest idea you’ve heard.

Spencer can feel his heart in his throat, his breathing quickening slightly. “Would it be bad if it was?” he can’t stop the words from spilling out, his eyes widening at his sentence.

Your surprised face stares back at his, breathless as you look at him. You’re about to say something when the waitress comes by to take your order. You manage a slight, polite smile as you order before you’re staring off at Spencer. His nervous eyes flicker between the waitress and you as he orders quickly.

When she’s gone, you stare at each other with bated breath. You draw in a slow, calming breath when you say, “I don’t know,”

“You don’t… know?”

“I just, I haven’t thought about—” You pause, knowing it’s a lie. “I have—” You correct gently before you let out a frustrated sigh. “I thought we were friends.” Your voice cracks slightly.

Spencer draws his head back at that, “We are friends. We are. I didn't know if you ever thought about—” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. What is he aiming for here?

“Anyone dating you would be lucky, Spencer.” You say, sweet and gentle. You don’t know how to save this situation. Your love for Alexander will always be in your heart, strong and genuine, but… looking at the man across from you.

You watch his fingers nervously trace patterns on the glass of water in front of him, how he’s looking at you with such a sweet expression. You just didn’t think this would happen to you. You were sure that Alex was it. He was all you would ever know— you had resigned yourself to it.

Would you be a bad person if you fell in love again? After everything, it feels… selfish, dirty, wrong, terrifying. “I’m not sure I’m your best option.” Is what you settle on.

Your heart silently breaks as you watch Spencer’s face fall. His nervous fingers slow their movements until he whispers a sad, “Right.” There’s a pause, like he’s deciding what to do next. He then nods, like he’s coming to terms with something.

“Right, I’m not saying I’m looking–” His brown eyes scan your face, “I’m not even sure I want something like that. I don’t know why it sounded like I was. I just want you to know that I—” He swallows thickly, “I like being your friend.”

“Me too! I like being your friend, too.”

“Good!”

“Great!”

His smile doesn’t reach his eyes, “So we’re on the same page?”

“Same chapter and everything.”

Spencer lets out a huff of a laugh at that, nodding slowly.

The rest of the dinner seems normal; the interaction from earlier seems to be brushed under the rug, and you’re grateful it is. However, the topic kept worming its way into your train of thought. The nagging thought of ‘What if…’.

It's not a terribly horrible idea to date Spencer. If you were honest with yourself, you had thought about it before—not obsessively, just in passing. A little whisper of an idea, lovely and new. It was nice to fantasize about love, but it was just a fantasy. You had a great love, and you were grateful.

Wanting more than that was greedy.

After dinner, Spencer insisted on walking you home. He wouldn’t listen to a single one of your protests and simply convinced you with a firm, “I’ve seen what happens to people when they go off alone late at night,”

The reminder made you readily accept his company on the cold December night. Walking by his side, watching how your feet started to sync in step, your mind began to wander. What did a date even feel like? It had been so long since you’ve had a date… you weren’t even sure you would know if you were on one unless it was explicitly said.

The thought makes you chuckle, earning the interest of one Doctor Spencer Reid. “What’s on your giggling mind?”

“Nothing,” You sigh, glancing over at him. “I was just thinking about how long it's been since I’ve been on a date. I don’t even think I would know if I was on a date if I was on one. Someone would have to sit me down and explain it to me,”

Spencer’s lips quirk upwards at the idea, listening to you. The sweet look he’s giving you is not lost on you as you continue to ramble, “I mean, I’m not even sure I remember the last time I tried to look for a date.”

“Care to take a guess?”

“Uhm,” You draw out the sound as you think, your tongue wetting your lips. “Six months ago, maybe, kind of, sort of?”

Spencer’s clever mind quickly realizes that this failed dating experience happened a month before he met you, and then he notes that it also happened ten months after Alexander’s death. “And.. What do you mean by that? How does someone, kind of, sort of, maybe look for a date?”

You roll your eyes, “It wasn’t really my idea. My friends convinced me to go on some dating apps, and I tried!” You laugh lightly, “Well. I pretended to try. I just didn’t like it. It wasn’t what I expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

Your feet falter momentarily before finding their pace next to Spencer again, “Something from a Nora Ephron movie, maybe? Something like You’ve got Mail.” As you say it, you see the strange look on Spencer’s face, and it makes you grin. “It’s a romantic comedy.”

He mouths a soft ‘oh’ and feels awkward because he still doesn’t know what you mean. You’re quick to explain, “It just means I had high expectations. Alexander and I were friends for a while before we,” You trail off before you wave the sentence off with your hand. “I just didn’t like it. Felt too forced.”

Spencer understands that part, slowly taking a left with you. “Haven’t tried that yet.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it.”

He grins and nods, “What do you recommend?” His curious mind was getting the better of him. His left hand slipped out of his coat as he waited for your answer, his knuckles dangerously close to yours.

“In a world seemingly becoming increasingly dependent on technology for everything? I’d recommend shooting your shot with every pretty stranger you see.” It's a joke, but the idea of Spencer asking for the numbers of every pretty person in DC made your chest feel strangely tight— a light reminder that your crush was still going strong. And you’ve already turned him down.

“I’m not sure you’ve been paying close attention to me these past four months,” He jokes lightly.

“Oh, trust me, I have been.” The words tumble out before you can stop yourself, and you can feel your cheeks growing impossibly hot.

Spencer’s quick to tease, “You have been?”

You nod, trying to act like it's nothing but friendly, but your nervous breathing might give you away. You take a steady breath, happy to think that if he sees red on your cheeks, you can blame it on the cold weather.

Instead, he slows to a stop just steps away from your apartment complex. You stop, turning to look at him, and when you see him, all composure leaves you with one little glance. Spencer’s ears are red, his hazel eyes glued to yours, and his hands nervously fidget with his long purple scarf.

He draws in his lower lip nervously, his brow furrowing in the way that lets you know he’s meditating on something in that beautiful brain of his. His hands move as he begins to talk, “I have been too,”

With that, you feel all the air knocked out of you, and your trembling fingers hide in your pockets. You’re not sure what he wants you to say or do. It feels like a confession, making your heart pound in your chest. His sweet eyes study you, “I’m not sure what I—” He steps closer.

“Not sure what I want. All I know is that I feel something—” He makes a weird motion with his hands like he’s trying to shape his feelings with his hands. “Hopeful? I don’t know! I just,”

“I know.” You rasp out, nodding quickly. “I know.” You repeat it because you do know. You know what he’s feeling, that dangerous feeling of tentative hope, the sense that something is beginning again. The world shifting into focus and becoming colorful again.

Spencer’s gaze softens as that, and then the two of you just stare at each other for a moment. Guilt seemed to creep into your chest, invading your heart the longer you stared into those pleading brown eyes. Some part of you wanted to give it a shot, take him in your arms, and just let go. The stubborn part of you couldn’t let go of what you once knew.

What would you say to your friends— or worse, Alexander’s family? Thinking about being happy with someone else again felt like a betrayal.

Spencer could see the shift in your demeanor, the way your eyes glossed over with emotion, your back rigid, and he knew you weren’t ready. The feelings you were feeling were ones he wrestled with weeks ago after visiting Alexander’s grave. “I visited his grave without you a few times.”

Your brows knit together at that, stuttering gently as you manage a soft “Why?”

“I felt guilty about how I feel about you. I thought visiting his grave would make me back down, but it didn’t. I visited Maeve’s grave and thought about my feelings there too. She would have liked you.”

“Spencer, don’t–”

“You told me once that he would’ve wanted you to be happy with or without him. Why can’t you let yourself be happy? I know it’s uncharted territory; it is for me, too, and he knows you don’t love him any less–”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Spencer's lips draw into a tight line at that. You can’t stop yourself before saying, “You don’t understand the love I had for him. It was different from how you felt about Maeve. It was special.”

Your breathing is heavy, and you're trying to stop yourself from crying. The second you say it, you regret it. Your rigid posture slacks, and you step towards him quickly, but he steps back once you get closer.

“You don’t get to say that,” his voice is colder, his eyes cast down to his hands. Then he takes a sharp breath and looks up at you; his warm hazel gaze turns cold. “My love for her was just as special as yours was for Alexander. I can see that, even if you can’t. But at least I can see when something exceptional is right in front of me. Unlike you, I didn’t want it to slip through my fingers again.”

Your mouth feels dry as you try to respond, anger and guilt fighting an internal war inside you before Spencer turns on his heel and says, “Goodnight,”

The snow starts again as you watch him walk away, blinking flakes out of your lashes, cheeks red from the tears falling as you watch him disappear around the corner.

The conversation is still fresh in your mind at dinner with Alexander’s mom Tuesday night. She lives just outside the city in Maryland, so whenever she made her way into the city, you made it a point to meet up.

She watches the way you’re staring at your sandwich. The intense look you’re giving the meal almost makes her laugh. “Don’t be upset with the club. We can always get you another sandwich, dear.”

You raise your head slightly at that and let out a nervous laugh, “No, the sandwich is fine. I’m just thinking. I’m sorry, Shannon.”

Shannon lets out an understanding hum, waving you off with a simple flick of her wrist as you apologize. “Is it work?”

You give her an easy smile, “Ah, no. It’s… confusing and probably boring; don’t worry about it.” She gives you a little look that says, ‘Come on, really?’ and it makes your smile widen.

“When you retire, everything is confusing and boring, so lay it on me.”

“Shannon, please, I promise you don—”

“I will make you pay for this meal; do not force my hand.”

“I am paying?”

“Exactly. Now tell me what’s on your mind.”

You slump in your seat and nod in defeat. “Alright, well,” you wet your lips nervously, trying to figure out the best way to tell her. “You remember last time I mentioned that I had that friend from the group? The genius—Spencer.”

Shannon nods, motioning for you to keep going slowly, “Well, lately, he and I have become aware of some feelings for each other, and I–” You can feel your legs trembling, “He just doesn’t get it. I can’t do that to Alex or you. He just doesn’t understand—”

“Sweetheart, slow down.” She held up a hand, an amused look on her face as you rambled at the speed of light. “Start over.”

You let out a little huff, trying to calm your growing nerves. You roll your shoulders back, gaining some composure, “I have feelings for him, and I thought it was just a passing crush, but now it’s getting so messy. And he told me that he has feelings for me too, but I told him off, and we haven’t talked in four days– which would be fine if we didn’t fight, but we did— and I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“He’s really sweet and great, but I just… I keep thinking about my love for Alex and don’t want to let go of him.” Your voice gets quiet with the admission. “I’m happy loving just him, only him.” Your voice shakes lightly, forcing your gaze down, your eyes filling with tears.

You hated telling her this— hated telling her that your stupid heart found itself attached to someone other than her son. You mentally prepare yourself for something, anything, yet you still cringe when you feel her hand rest on yours.

“He’s dead–”

“I know–”

“No, listen,” Shannon says sternly, watching as you lift your gaze to meet hers. “He’s dead. Every day, I have to remind myself he’s dead. I know you do, too.” She frowns for a second before she gives you a weak smile. “But, you? You’re alive. You’ve experienced a loss no one should have to experience at your age, and yet here you are. Would he be ecstatic over you falling in love with someone else? Not quite, but I know my son. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Or worse, unhappy.”

You blink away tears, your bottom lip trembling, “I don’t want to forget him,”

“Who said you’re going to?” Shannon jokes lightly, giving your hand a light squeeze. After a moment, she whispers, “Knowing Alex, he probably sent Spencer your way.”

You laugh at the idea, but the sound dissolves into a little sob, “He would.”

Shannon brightens momentarily, “He was always jealous of how good you were at trivia night. Maybe he wanted someone to beat you for once?”

“Spencer can!” You laugh harder than you should, but you can’t help it. You picture Alex’s face, joking about how you have too much useless knowledge in your brain.

As your laughter dies away, a wave of anxiety rolls over you. “I was awful to him last Friday.”

“Then make it up to him,”

After much deliberation, you knew you would, or at least, you would die trying. The next meeting was in two weeks, which seemed too far out. After three texts, two calls, and one voicemail, you decided to go to him.

You had been to Spencer’s apartment once before and were sure it was on this block… maybe. It was early Saturday morning, and you could only hope he would look out his window and see you pacing the sidewalk.

But an hour passed, and the cold wind forced you into a coffee shop down the block. Shivering as you waited for your coffee, you glanced at the unread texts you sent him one last time before stuffing your phone back into your pocket.

Clearly, he didn’t want to see you, much less talk to you. You chewed on your bottom lip, lost in thought until you resolved that seeing him at the next meeting would have to do if he didn’t text you back before then.

And so, two weeks and no texts back later, you sat in your usual foldable seat and waited. But he never showed. Your eyes watched the doors patiently, and you counted every last participant, thinking that the next one had to be Spencer.

But they weren’t. He was nowhere to be found. You had sat on your feelings for him for weeks, sat on with nasty comments and behavior for two weeks, and found yourself still waiting. He didn’t have to attend every meeting, but you felt even more desperate than before. Hating the feeling, you left halfway through.

It wasn’t like you could force him to talk to or forgive you. But it hurt knowing just how much you had hurt him. Were you being selfish for wanting a chance to confess to him again? Was it selfish how you looked for him in every crowd?

The unfortunate reality of your pain was that you were so scared of falling in love again that you pushed love away before it could even touch you. You found yourself driving to Alex’s grave that night. It was out of your way, but you didn’t want to go home just to wait by the phone again.

After parking in a nearby parking lot, you found yourself standing in the middle of a very dark, isolated cemetery. If Spencer were here, he would say how dangerous this was, maybe even throw in a statistic just to solidify his point.

You smile, eyes adjusting in the moonlight as you look down at your dead lover’s grave. You crouch, touching a bouquet of almost-dead flowers at the foot of his grave. “Was I bad at this with you, too?” Your fingers trace the brittle petals of a dying rose.

You can hear the crunching of gravel and slush approaching you, and a part of you freezes. As the sound gets closer, you can hear panting, your head turning cautiously to look for your rapidly approaching company.

When you see the silhouette of a man not too far down the trail, you tense. How stupid were you to be in a secluded area in the middle of the night? You curse under your breath and stay crouched, hoping it’s just a late-night jogger passing through and that he won’t see you if you stay low.

Your eyes stay on the figure, and you mentally go over possible escape plans when you see it— a messenger bag. What kind of serial killer or jogger wears a messenger bag? Your tense shoulders briefly relax for a second at the thought.

Then, a hint of moonlight illuminates your huffing stranger— messy brown hair and a crooked tie. You stand, “Spencer?” You say his name when he approaches you, the moonlight letting you get a glimpse of his soft eyes for a moment. “What are you… How’d you know I’d be here? What are you doing here?”

“You weren’t at the meeting,” He huffs, leaning over to rest his palms on his knees.

“I–” You scoff, slightly amused. “I left early. Did you show up?”

“No,” he admits, his tone becoming sharper as he catches his breath. “No, I–” he hesitates for a moment, “I saw your car on my way home, and I got worried, and I–” He roughly drags a hand through his curls, “You shouldn’t be in isolated places like this late at night.”

Your shocked expression melts, and your lips quirk into a slight smile. Spencer sees this and responds sharply, “I’m being serious!”

You hold up both hands, “I know, I—” You sigh, a slight chuckle following the sound before you say, “I knew you were going to say that. I could hear your voice when I parked across the street.”

“Maybe you should listen to it sometime,”

You nod, and then a moment of cold silence follows. The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you feel your lips moving against your will, “You never called,”

Spencer can feel his heartbeat quicken, “Wasn’t aware I had to.”

“You didn’t have to. I just would have–” You cut yourself off, nervously licking your lips. “I wanted you to.”

Spencer stays quiet before he replies with a soft “I’m sorry,”

You find your smile returning as you shake your head, “That’s my line,”

He lets a little chuckle at that, ready to tell you it’s okay, when you quickly add, “I’m sorry for how I acted three weeks ago. I shouldn’t have been so cruel or close-minded, and I should have been honest with you about my feelings. I’m sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry for implying your love for Maeve wasn’t special. Oh, Spencer,” You let out a heartbroken sigh, “I feel terrible. I was such a bad friend, and these past few weeks, all I’ve wanted to do is make it up to you.”

You can feel the tears threatening to fill your vision, your cheeks burning in the cold as you let out a meek, “Tell me there’s something I can do to make it up to you,”

Spencer can see your pleading eyes in the moonlight, and his chest tightens at the sight. Ignoring your calls and texts wasn’t easy, but he was convinced that it was the right thing to do. You weren’t ready to move on, and neither was he— not completely, but he didn’t want to try with anyone else. He only wanted to try with you.

He swallows thickly when he says a sweet “You’ve already done it,” Then you’re beaming at him, and he’s right back where he was three weeks ago. As you dry your misting eyes, he softly confesses, “I watched You’ve Got Mail.” He pauses, smiling lightly when you give him a surprised look through your tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so I–” He nervously moved his hands as he talked, “I watched any Romcom that I could get my hands on because I—”

You smile as he trails off, his hands twisting together in that nervous way that tells you he’s scared to say the rest of his sentence— he’s too afraid to say he missed you. “Me too,” You confess, “I missed you, too.”

He nods, a grin on his face as he looks at you. He can feel his confession rising in his throat, his lips moving awkwardly as he tries to gain the confidence to confess to you again.

But, before he can say anything, you’re speaking, “I don’t know if you still feel the same as you did three weeks ago, but I–” You swallow hard, clearing your throat softly. Your hands move with you as you speak, the cold making them feel slightly stiff. “For the longest time, I couldn’t imagine myself happy with anyone other than Alex.” You blow out a sigh, glancing back at his tombstone. “I thought one great love was enough— I only deserved one. I was happy with that, and I felt lucky for it.”

You can feel yourself trembling, and you don’t know if it’s the cold or your nerves getting the better of you; nonetheless, you keep going, “But lately, I’ve been thinking— hoping really— that you’re the expectation.” You squeeze your eyes tight at that last bit, trying to calm your breathing as you wait for his response.

“If anyone deserves more than one great love, it’s you.” Spencer’s voice sounds closer, soft.

When you open your eyes, you realize he is closer, inches from you. You gaze up at him, giving him a light smile when he whispers, “We can take it slower,”

“I like slower.”

He laughs and nods, “Me too,” he holds out a cold hand for you to take, “Let me walk you to your car?”

You stare at his palm, watching your cold fingers intertwine with his. The sensation makes the tips of your fingers buzz with anticipation. You feel his hand gives yours a slight squeeze before guiding you to the parking lot across the street.

It’s not the last time you walk side-by-side, holding hands in the middle of the cold East Coast winter, and he’s determined to make sure it’s not your last.

And whenever anyone asks how the two of you met, Spencer lets you tell the story, his hand slipping into yours as you say, “Well, it’s a bit of a long story.”

#fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #spencer x you #spencer reid fanfiction #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid criminal minds #dr reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid hurt/comfort #...and fall in love whenever you can #it-was-summer

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formula-ghost · 1 month ago

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Read Your Diary (FC43 x fem!reader)

Chapter 3: Gossip

CHAPTER SUMMARY: You’ve always felt like you belonged right at Franco’s side, but as he begins to grow in popularity, you begin to wonder if his world has any place for you.

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Hurt/comfort. Use of YN, mentions of anxiety disorders/therapy, reader has major self esteem issues and panic attacks. Appearance of Christian Horner (that man needs his own CW). There is a “manager” character that is not a reference to any of Franco’s IRL managers!

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @xivilivix

A/N: I can’t thank you all enough for all the love you’ve shown on this fic 💙 It’s been incredible. I do want to sincerely apologize for leaving you with all this cliffhanger before I have to take a small hiatus with the holidays haha. I played around a bit with perspective in this chapter, so I hope it still reads clearly! Also, if you want to be added to the tag list, make sure your blog isn’t set to hidden and that you allow tags or else I’ll be unable to do that on my end. As always I hope you enjoy it :)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Sip the gossip, drink ‘til you choke

Sip the gossip, burn down your throat

You’re not iconic, you are just like them all

Don’t act like you don’t know

Austin had been beautiful, and you had written down every word you could describing it. Mexico, however, was a race you wouldn’t exactly want to document.

It started out okay. Franco’s Forbes cover shoot was released, and, as predicted, it blew up the internet. Of course, you were happy for him. But to see the entire world want him almost as much as you wanted him was…disheartening.

For a long time, it had just been you and Franco. He had clawed his way up and earned everything he had achieved through hard work and unmatchable determination. You were his biggest fan and supporter. And it was just you and him against the odds.

You had been so happy for him to make it to F1 after all he’d worked for. And to see the world embrace him so wholeheartedly was beautiful. But you were scared, deep down, that you’d lose him in the glitz and glamor of pilot stardom.

His place at Williams was only temporary, of course, but you knew that when he did eventually get a secure seat, your friendship would have to change. After all, you couldn’t fly around the world with him forever. But you figured you’d adapt, like you always did. It would all be okay in the end. Franco never gave you any reason to believe that you’d get left behind.

That is, until Mexico.

You barely saw him at the beginning of the week, with him being so busy filming for brand sponsorships. Come the weekend, a phone call from home had soured his mood. You let it be, knowing that now was the time to just support him in any way you could, even if that was just giving him space.

But on Saturday he had woken up feeling better, and you were happy, thinking that he’d turn this weekend around for the better. Mexico was full of Argentine fans, and again, you were both ecstatic for him and feeling a bit left behind. You weren’t from Argentina. You didn’t really speak Spanish. These random fans had that connection with him that you’d never have.

You pushed it down—for now. You’d write about it later.

But now you were on your way to Williams hospitality to meet Franco. He was beaming when you’d seen him at breakfast that morning. Some big Argentine musicians were coming to the paddock.

You would have been happier for him if he had introduced you to them. But now you sat in hospitality with Franco and the group, and they all completely ignored you. Franco hadn’t even introduced you.

Yes, you were naturally on the quieter side. Yes, you didn’t speak Spanish, which they now all excitedly talked in, laughing about something you’d never know. But did that really mean that you deserved to sit there, awkwardly glancing at your phone as your best friend ignored you?

And all the while, he was glancing over to the female singer sat opposite him. God, she was beautiful. And from Franco’s tone, you could tell he thought so too. He was flirting with her right in front of you.

Yes, you were just friends. But you had slept in his bed with him curled up into your side. He had celebrated every win with you since you were teenagers. But right now, you were nothing.

You just kind of stared off into the distance until you saw a familiar face. Lily to the rescue! She came over and waved to Franco and the group, who stopped their conversation for a brief second to wave back.

“Hey YN, wanna come help us film a video?” she asked. Clearly this was just an out to help you escape the torture of being ignored.

“Sure,” you agreed. When you got up to leave, Franco didn’t even acknowledge you.

You and Lily walked into the garage. “Thank you for helping me out there.”

“Yeah, you looked like you were going through it. Were they that bad?”

“Well, I don’t know. Franco never even introduced me and I don’t speak Spanish.”

“So he just ignored you? That’s so rude,” he said, her face grimacing, “I’m sorry.”

You just shrugged and offered her a weak smile. There was that unspoken recognition from both of you; Franco had ignored you to flirt with the singer. She was everything you weren’t: beautiful, popular, confident.

“Well, come hang with me and Alex. I’ll teach you how to make a tiktok,” she said.

You were surprised that her excuse hadn’t been an excuse at all—she actually wanted your company, unlike someone else.

You went out to the pit lane to meet Alex. Fans were cheering from the sidelines. They were all screaming for Alex, of course, but a few yelled for Lily too. And one yelled for you.

“YN! YN!” the girl yelled, Argentine flag in her grasp. Your head turned. “YN! Can I get a picture with you?” she asked.

You paused. “You want a picture with me?”

She smiled. “Yes, if that’s okay.” You laughed, not mocking her, but just unsure to do with the absurdity of it all.

“Of course,” you said, smiling for the camera. “I wasn’t trying to be rude,” you explained, “I’m just surprised you knew me.”

“Oh, we all know you. Everyone’s seen the videos of you and Franco. You all are so cute!” You knew what she meant—your friendship with him was endearing, you had to admit. But the reminder of him felt like a sharp dagger to the heart. Lily called you over, so you bid goodbye to the fan, an odd feeling settling in your chest. That could be unpacked later.

But later was sooner than you anticipated. You had a great time making videos with Lily and Alex, but they had gone to get lunch before qualifying, and you couldn’t find Franco anywhere. So you went to his driver’s room, and finding that even empty, you just gave up and stayed there. He had told you that his room was fair game to hide in if you ever felt overwhelmed, and you definitely did. Now that you were alone, all the emotions were rushing to the surface.

So you opened your notebook to write.

I can’t believe Franco didn’t even introduce me to anyone this morning. I get it, I’m not like them. I’m not talented or famous or as beautiful as that girl is. God, she’s perfect. She’s everything a man could want. Why would Franco ever want someone like me? I’m just an anxious, dependent mess. I don’t blame him for flirting with her. I just wish he wouldn’t do it in front of me.

You were spiraling, and soon enough tears came to your eyes. You tried to blink them away but it was futile. You felt like you were losing your best friend.

But, speak of the devil, he was at the door.

“Oh, YN, I was looking for you,” he said absentmindedly as he walked in the room and fiddled with his helmet. “You left your phone in the garage, Lily has it.”

“Oh, shit,” you muttered. It seemed like you were developing a habit of losing things. You got up to meet Lily in the garage, making a mental note to stop at the bathroom to take a breather. You prayed that Franco wouldn't look at you, but today was your unlucky day, it seemed. As you walked out, he looked up and his eyes met yours, and you saw the concern dawn in his eyes. He moved to say something, but you just quickened your pace, and ignored him when you did hear him call after you.

You found the nearest bathroom and broke down, allowing yourself to just cry it out for a few minutes. Your thoughts kept spiraling. You were ridiculous, you thought, breaking down over something so small. You were pathetic. No wonder he didn’t want you. Why would anyone?

After a few minutes, you took a few deep breaths and steadied yourself and tried to make it look as if you hadn’t been crying. Qualifying would be starting soon. You quickly grabbed your phone from Lily, who thankfully didn’t say anything about your clearly post-sobbing session face, and you found a comfortable spot in the back of the garage to watch qualifying.

He qualified 15th. Not great. Nothing to elicit a celebratory hug, though, God, you needed one right now.

You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and sleep away the weariness. So that’s what you did, skillfully avoiding Franco’s eye scanning the paddock for you.

When you got back to the hotel, you could barely change into your pajamas and get in the bed. You felt heavy like a block of lead. You checked your phone before bed, seeing that Franco had taken a photo with the musicians and posted it to Instagram.

It was taken after you left, of course. As if you were never there at all.

The sight brought another wave of tears. You sighed in frustration and cried until the weight of it all lulled you to sleep.

The next morning, you didn’t even want to go to the grand prix. As you got up and tidied where you had gotten back and just thrown things around last night, you contemplated what to do.

On one hand, you wanted to support Franco even if you were upset. On the other hand, you thought you might burst into tears if you saw him again.

You just needed to write it out, and then you’d be able to face him. You grabbed your bag and fished around for your journal.

It was gone.

Shit.

Then you remembered, you had left it in his driver’s room yesterday. You groaned.

You checked your phone, intending to text him about it, only to find that he had already texted you last night while you were asleep. Just a simple, You okay? but you hadn’t answered.

Frantic, you called him. He answered immediately.

“Hey YN, you—”

“Have you seen my journal?”

“What?”

“My journal. I accidentally left it in your driver’s room yesterday.”

“No? I don’t remember seeing it.”

“Shit…” you whispered. Tears pricked in your eyes yet again.

“I’m on my way to the track, I’ll check when I get there and ask the team about it,” he assured. “We’ll find it.”

“Thanks,” you said, your voice dry.

“Look, are you okay? You just disappeared yesterday—”

“I’m fine,” you lied. He knew you were lying.

“YN, talk to me. Please.” His voice was soft with genuine concern, but it pissed you off. There was no way he could know he was the cause of your upset if you didn’t tell him. But you just couldn’t. Not now, at least.

“Can I just meet you at your driver’s room to look for it?”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’ll be there in ten.” You hung up the call.

You had calmed yourself down a bit before you reached the track, but it was no use when you met Franco at his room and found it empty. The desk where you had set yesterday to write looked strangely devoid of life.

You all wordlessly continued to look for a while, and even went around asking the Williams employees about it, but it was no use. It was gone.

When you returned back to the room, defeated, you couldn’t help but cry.

For fear of embarrassment, you'd never cried in front of Franco before, but you didn’t even have the capacity to try and hide it anymore. At first he looked startled, like he didn’t know what to do. But as you crumpled onto the small couch and he saw your body wracked with sobs, he knew all he could do was hold you.

So that’s what he did.

His touch was warm and comforting, but it just made you weep all the more. He just held you tighter, and you were enveloped in the smell of his cologne. “It’s okay,” he whispered gently to you, “I’m here.”

When the sobs finally left you, he looked in your tear-stained eyes and asked, “Will you talk to me?”

You had never wanted to do anything less. But you knew that these were the moments that counted. Your journal had become a crutch rather than a tool—now was the time to actually do the hard work to get better.

You began, “It’s stupid—”

“I want to know anyway,” he assured.

You paused, then resumed, “It just really hurt me yesterday when you didn’t introduce me to anyone.”

He made a confused face at you. “I didn’t?”

“No, Franco, you didn’t,” you said, your tone getting angrier. “You were too busy flirting with that singer to notice that I was sitting there alone.”

“She asked about you, though. I told her you were just a friend.”

Ouch. Just a friend.

“I thought I was your best friend.”

“You are,” he assured, but it felt hollow.

“It doesn’t feel like it when Lily has to come rescue me from being ignored all day.”

“I’m sorry, YN. I didn’t even realize it, I was just caught up in the conversation. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I just felt like an intruder. I mean… I’m not a famous musician or anyone important in Formula 1. I’m not from Argentina, I don’t speak Spanish—”

He cut you off, “So? And you know my mother would adopt you in a heartbeat.”

You were unamused by his attempt at banter. “So, it just hurts because I don’t belong here. And when you ignore me, I’m just alone.”

He paused. “YN, I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t know what to say.

He continued, “But for the record, I was not flirting with anyone. You know the main reason I spend time with all these people is for the brand, right?”

You looked confused. “The brand? Since when do you care about your brand?” Franco was known for being impossible to media train. Why was he suddenly so concerned with his public reputation?

Even though you were alone in his driver’s room, he looked over his shoulder, listening out for any approaching footsteps. But you all were truly alone in the quiet morning at the paddock. “You have to promise to keep it quiet,” he said.

“I promise,” you whispered.

He leaned in closer. “There’s a chance, a very small chance, but a chance…that I could get a contract with Redbull next year.”

Your eyes widened. He continued, “Checo has been driving so bad that they want him out. But he brings in a lot of money and it’ll cost a lot to break my Williams contract. I need to show them that I can have just as much backing in Argentina as Checo has in Mexico.”

You were practically speechless. “Oh my God, Franco, that’s…”

But Franco was more worried about you. “The people are all nice enough, but I’d prefer your company over theirs any day. You’re still my best friend.”

The tears that threatened to fall now were happy ones, from pride in your best friend and the love you felt for him.

You confessed, “I hope you get it. But I’m so scared that I’ll be left behind and forgotten.”

He reached to hold you again and you let him. “Never,” he said, “never. You’ve been here since the beginning, you’re not getting rid of me any time soon.”

You both broke the embrace and he wiped a tear from your cheek. The soft touch sent shivers down your spine.

“Thank you,” you said.

He smiled at you. “No, thank you for opening up to me. You ready for the race today?”

You nodded, “Always.”

He didn’t score any points, but the points weren’t the point anymore. Your conversation earlier had made you feel so close to him in a way you never had before. You watched the screens in the garage with a religious reverence, looking into his eyes when the camera switched to face him. They were focused, like the only things in the world were him, the car, and the track ahead. And for you, that was all there was in the world, too.

Your celebration after the race was more subdued, but nonetheless supportive. As he walked to the media tent, you all glanced at each other and you mouthed to him proud of you. He winked back.

You all had fallen into a familiar routine of dinner together and winding down in his hotel room, and tonight was no different. Again you all found yourselves in the same positions: him, cross legged on the bed, and you in the chair near him.

The atmosphere was a bit tense though. Being back at the hotel, you couldn’t help but remember the horrible morning, and what you had lost—your journal. Who would have thrown away a journal from his driver's room? You had asked around the paddock again after the race and no one had seen it.

Or maybe it hadn’t been thrown away. Maybe someone took it.

Your mind wandered back to the last few conversations with Franco: your “stolen” lipstick, his asking to read the journal…

No. He wouldn’t. That’d cross a line.

But weren’t the contents of the journal crossing a line themselves?

Franco noticed how you’d gone quieter since you got home from the paddock. You all were both exhausted.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, lazily tracing circles in the comforter.

You responded with your own question. “Franco, will you be honest with me?”

He looked up at you, his face hardened with concern. “Of course.” He looked nervous.

“Do you have my journal?”

He shifted his gaze away from you. “No,” he said, simple as that.

“Franco,” you began, “listen to me. I’m not mad, but you understand how this looks, right? I know we joke about this kind of stuff a lot, but you asked to read it and then it suddenly disappears after I left it in your driver’s room.”

“I didn’t even go back to the room after you left,” he said.

“Maybe not. But you got there this morning before I did. And now it’s gone.”

He paused. “You really think I’d steal your diary?”

The situation had become too tense for your liking. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything,” you explained, “and I promise, I’m not mad. I just… there’s some things in there that are too personal for me to share with anyone, even you.”

“YN, I don’t have it.”

“Okay. I’m just saying, if you happen to find it, please promise me that you won’t read it. Please,” you quite literally begged.

“I wouldn’t do that to you, YN. You know I was joking when I asked to read it, right?”

He wasn’t joking. Both of you knew that. And both of you knew that he had taken the diary.

You hoped that he would understand what you asked and respect your wishes. In a few days he’d text you saying that a Williams employee had randomly found it—another lie—and he would give it back to you, unread. And your friendship would go on like nothing had ever happened.

But what if it didn’t? What if he read every filthy word you had written about him?

You thought it through over and over later that night, back in your own room but unable to sleep. So you made a plan.

You and Franco, thankfully, would be on the same flight to Brazil. When you landed and went to the hotel, you’d swap out your room keys and go to his room while he did his media duties. Then, you’d find the journal in his room and take it back.

A few problems with the plan. One, It gave him the first 3 days of the week to read it, and two, it was fucking unhinged of you to go through your best friend’s stuff.

You rolled over and angrily groaned into the pillow.

Brazil was going to be an interesting time.

Well, interesting was the understatement of the century.

It began on the flight, a flight that was way too fucking long. Thankfully, Franco had arranged for you to take this one together, so at least you had his company.

You could never sleep on planes, they were too loud and uncomfortable. Franco usually did, but today it seemed he couldn’t; he bounced his legs and darted his eyes around the plane.

“Nervous?” you asked.

“Very,” he answered honestly. “There’s just so much going on this weekend.”

“I know,” you said reassuringly rather than condescendingly. “You really should try to get some rest though. It’s been a long few weeks for you.”

“I can’t. I’m too wired up.”

You felt an unexpected boldness come over you. “Close your eyes,” you directed, “and take a few deep breaths. Stay still.”

He obeyed, and you grabbed his hand from the armrest between you and held it in yours. You felt him tense at the unexpected touch, but you slowly began to trace circles into his palm with your thumb, and he relaxed into it. With his own boldness, he placed his head on your shoulder and exhaled. Within minutes, he was fast asleep. You knew from experience that he’d be asleep for the rest of the flight, so you let yourself get comfortable with the familiar weight of your sleeping best friend pressing into your side.

Slivers of sunlight from the window traced the soft edges of his sleeping form. Even when unconscious, he was beautiful. If you truly wanted to, you could have turned ever so slightly and kissed his forehead without waking him. And God, you truly wanted to.

So you did, gently pressing your lips to the smooth surface of his skin. Maybe this was crossing a line, but it seemed like, at this point, all lines had been crossed between you two.

His presence calmed you enough that you were able to fall asleep, too. When you woke a few hours later, he was still fast asleep by your side, and you savored the moment.

But deep down you wondered how long this would last. You were head over heels in love with him. He was… well, you didn’t know how he felt. But he was your best friend in the entire world. He knew almost everything there was to know about you.

He had four races left in F1. Four races until you would go back to your day to day lives; still intertwined, but not this close. And if he did get the seat, that you so desperately wanted for him? He’d be gone even more than he already was. You couldn’t follow him around the world forever. He’d go from city to city, race to race, club to club, woman to woman.

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of him with another woman. You remembered the singer in Austin, how he said he wasn’t flirting with her, it was for the brand, whatever excuse he could come up with. You guessed it was true. Or maybe he meant that it didn’t really mean anything to him. Just playing up that side of him that the media absolutely loved. His Argentine charm was undeniable.

Okay, then maybe it was true. Everyone knew Franco was a flirt, you especially. But it made it so much harder to determine, then, what was truly meaningful to him and what wasn’t.

But your friendship meant something to him, right? He had asked you to come along to all his races. He made time for you in the midst of the paddock’s chaos. You had slept in the same bed. He held you when you cried. And now, he slept peacefully on your shoulder, hands still intertwined. How could that not mean something?

You didn’t want your fears of the future to make you miss out on the present. At some point you’d have to open up to him. But that moment wasn’t right now.

And you were determined that you’d be the one in control, so when you landed and made it to the hotel, you enacted your plan you’d concocted earlier. When the receptionist handed you the keys, you waited until Franco was fiddling with your luggage to switch out two, making sure to hand him the correct key. He would never need to know that the other key in the little paper pocket was the key to your room, and if he did, he’d just assume there was an issue. A natural cover.

Okay, maybe you were smart and smooth with it.

You knew you wouldn’t see much of Franco in Brazil. With stakes this high, he had an overwhelming amount of team meetings and media duties. Still, as usual, you all made your way to the paddock together.

The energy was electric—in good ways and bad. Good: there were so many Argentine fans that you often found yourself questioning what country you were in. The amount of support was unreal. And each one of them were proud of Franco—but not as proud as you were.

Bad: Literally everything else.

But that was yet to come. You entered the paddock to a flurry of camera shots and a cacophony of voices yelling for Franco.

Usually you liked to stay out of the shot of cameras, but it was impossible here. Franco did his best to draw their attention towards him and away from you, but it was overwhelming nonetheless.

As you all passed a group of fans, one in particular caught your eye. She was holding out two bracelets. “Franco, YN!” she called out.

You both stopped to speak to her. “I made you all bracelets,” she said, handing one to you and the other to Franco. You read the beads: it had Franco’s name, number, and blue hearts. You smiled at the adorable gesture.

“Oh,” Franco said, looking at you, “This one has your name on it. Let’s switch.”

As he moved his hand to do so, the fan said, “No, they’re supposed to be like that. They’re friendship bracelets for you all!”

“Thank you,” you said, unsure if the warmth of your cheeks was a soft blush forming or from the chaos around you. The fan had wanted you to wear each other’s names.

You kept walking, but when you were out of eyeshot, you offered to switch the bracelets around again, thinking the implication was a little too much for him. He refused, keeping your name around his wrist.

He went off to wherever he needed to be, and you went to William’s hospitality to find Lily, but unfortunately, she wasn’t in Brazil at all.

Maybe, in hindsight, what you did next was a terrible decision. But you did it anyway.

You made your way to Franco’s drivers room for some privacy and pulled up your social media, looking to see what people were saying about him.

Ever since he had confided about his potential for a seat next year, you had also cared about his brand, too. And, officially or unofficially, you were a part of that. Like Lily had told you, people were speculating. You just hoped that what she said about the people loving you was true.

Fortunately, it was.

Franco and YN being obliviously in love with each other; a thread

You tapped on the post, reading your way through the comments.

Does YN know that she’s living our dream?

Oh to be YN, being loved by Franco like that.

Need someone to look at me the way YN and Franco look at each other.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love YN, but Franco should be with an Argentine girl. They’d be a power couple.

The comment soured your mood. You kept reading anyway.

Guys, I met YN in Austin and she was so sweet! Our girl is chronically offline because she was so surprised that I even knew who she was and like, girl, WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU!!

You smiled, the memory of the girl in Austin coming back to your mind.

I love how we have all collectively decided to adopt YN as the newest wag even though her and Franco aren’t even dating

You laughed to yourself, remembering how Lily had mistaken you for a wag when you first talked. Maybe that was the reason why.

You read the replies:

To be fair, you don’t look at someone like that unless you LOVE LOVE them

Does anyone else think this is weird tho? I mean, they're just friends but the entire internet wants them to get together, must make things so awkward…

Honestly I’m glad they’re not together because if my bf flirted with other women the way Franco flirts with reporters, I’d throw the whole man away

You snorted. Of course, these random people on the internet didn’t know you, but they seemed to get inside your head a little too much for comfort. Or maybe you just weren’t as good at hiding your emotions as you always thought you were.

Speaking of hiding your emotions, you had a job to do. Checking your clock, you knew that Franco was going to be busy for the next 3 hours before you all had planned to meet up again. He had a very important meeting with Christian Horner. Your heart skipped a beat and you said a silent prayer for your friend.

But now, you have a mission. You were going to get your journal back.

It would have been an easy task, if not for the fans. Thankfully you got out and into an uber undetected, but upon opening the door to his room, you cursed them in your head.

Gifts were everywhere. His team must have been gathering them all week, and Franco clearly wasn’t organizing them.

You thought 3 hours would be more than enough to leave, find your journal, return it to your room, and get back to the paddock unnoticed. Maybe, you thought wrong. This was going to be a long 3 hours.

As you searched, back at the paddock, Franco sat in the meeting that would decide the course of the rest of his life. His leg bounced uncontrollably, his mouth was dry, and he felt like he was going to throw up his breakfast.

He wished you were here. Your presence always calmed him in moments like these; he had no idea where you were, and the intimidating presence of Christian Horner across the table did nothing to ease his nerves.

“I’ve got to admit,” Horner said, “he’s exceeded everyone’s expectations. But a couple good races doesn’t tell us much.”

Franco’s manager replied, “Of course, we understand. But he’s got more than enough of a fanbase to rival any driver. I mean, just look outside and it’s a sea of Argentine flags!”

“Fans are good, but does that translate to sponsors? I mean, you’ve got to compete with Disney here. Not every driver can bring in that level of support.”

“We’ve gotten some strong sponsors recently, and a lot more in the works currently. Franco’s future is promising.”

“What about his PR? Any disasters there?” Horner laughed.

Franco’s manager, however, did not. “He’s good. The fans love him, and he knows when to shut up.”

Franco suppressed a laugh. Anyone who had been around him for more than 5 minutes knew that he was a PR nightmare. And it seemed Horner knew it too.

“Now, that’s not what I’ve heard,” he said. “I’ve seen the videos. You strike the balance well for the most part, but you can’t be telling people not to buy Redbull merch.” They all laughed. “And you can’t be bringing your girlfriend to every race.”

Franco’s manager began to speak, but not before Franco cut her off. “My girlfriend?”

“Yeah, YN isn’t it? As far as I’ve seen, the fans like her, but if she’s constantly around they’ll get fatigued. Again, it’s a delicate balance.”

“YN isn’t my girlfriend.” The sentence felt…odd, as Franco said it with a matter of fact tone.

“Oh, even better. We can get you with an Argentinian woman, then. Maximize that market.”

“A PR relationship? Those are real?” Franco questioned, and Horner laughed, as if Franco was the dumbest one in the room, and he certainly felt like it.

“Not really. Just be seen a few times, like some posts, maybe go to events together if you wanna really get serious about it. Generate talk, you know.”

“Isn’t that what happens with YN now anyway? I mean, everyone already thinks we’re dating.”

“Yeah, but she’s nobody. No offense,” Horner said, as if his comment held no weight. “But with a celebrity or model? That really gets people talking. A little controversy is good.”

Franco felt sick to his stomach. She’s nobody. But she was somebody, to him. She was his best friend.

“Look, kid,” Horner began, “I agree that you’ve got promise, but it’s too early to make any decisions right now. Show us what you’ve got in these last few races, and maybe we can work something out.”

Everyone rose to exchange polite goodbyes and handshakes. Franco felt like he was in a totally different plane of existence.

His manager came over to him afterwards. “You did well, Franco. We’ll just do as he said—keep focused, get results, and keep your head down. Seriously, watch it with the media.”

Franco nodded absentmindedly, but his manager wasn’t happy with that response. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Franco began, “Look, a PR relationship, seriously? And he’s telling me I can’t have my best friend in the paddock?”

“I think YN will survive if she doesn’t come to every single race.”

“But I want her here with me. I don’t want to hurt her.” He remembered Austin, holding you while you cried, afraid that he’d leave you behind. And here push had come to shove.

His manager looked at him, incredulous. “Seriously, Franco, this is what you're focused on? You have a shot at a seat with Redbull, and you’re more focused on not hurting YN’s feelings? How do you expect to achieve this with that attitude?”

Franco was upset now. “Don’t say that. Even Horner said I’ve been exceeding expectations.”

“I know you have, and we’re all proud of you. But you need to stay focused. Leave the women alone.”

“YN is not just a random woman, she’s my best friend.”

His manager’s frustration was growing by the second. “I know Franco. I know you love her, we all love her. But she is not your priority right now. Your future is, okay?”

Hearing those words felt like a rollercoaster, complete with the euphoric highs and stomach churning lows. I know you love her—well, it was true, you were his best friend. But what kind of love? He didn’t know, and besides, the low—she is not your priority right now—he didn’t have the time or space to find out.

He had a job to do.

All the while, you also had a job to do, but you were failing spectacularly. You had searched every square inch of that fucking room. You looked in every nook and cranny, every pocket and pouch, under the covers and even in the bathroom. Your journal wasn’t there.

There was no way Franco was this good at hiding anything (other than emotions, maybe). You now had to entertain the possibility that you had been wrong all along.

Maybe he didn’t have the journal. Maybe you had just accused him of lying and shown that you don’t really trust your best friend.

You let out a frustrated groan as you put everything back in place. You couldn’t believe it.

If he didn’t have the journal, then where was it?

It was a question you’d have to answer later, because right now you were racing to reconfigure his room and get back to the paddock before anyone noticed that you were gone.

You barely made it in time, arriving at the Williams garage with your body in fight or flight mode. You spotted Franco instantly.

“YN! There you are,” he said. “I thought I lost you.”

“Oh yeah, I was with some fans.” The lie just slipped out without you having to think about it. You’d never done that before—who were you becoming?

Franco looked confused. “You were? Since when do you willingly leave the paddock?” he questioned, clearly joking.

“Since I have to help the brand,” you smiled. “By the way, how did the meeting go?”

He just replied, “Good.”

Franco was never a man of few words, so his hesitancy to speak was a red flag.

“Top secret?” you asked, thankfully giving him an out.

“Yeah, it’s… complicated.”

“Well, you know I’m always here rooting for you,” you said, reaching out to gently squeeze his hand. The gesture sent shivers down your spine.

Seriously, who were you becoming?

The next day didn’t make the situation any easier. The morning sprint had granted Franco another 12th place finish—no points, but still respectable. At least, it was to you. You could tell that he wasn’t happy. You knew that he pushed himself too hard, because how else would he be able to achieve, but it still broke your heart. You assumed that the meeting yesterday hadn’t been the greatest, and you wished that Franco would talk to you about it. But he didn’t. That was okay, you’d done the same to him before. You just wanted to be there to support him, even if it meant being on the sidelines, in the dark both physically and metaphorically.

And the darkness was looming over Interlagos. The forecast was horrific. The reality was even more horrific.

As the rain poured down in sheets, you silently said a prayer for all the poor souls with General Admission tickets who must be swimming right now. You were nice and dry under the paddock, thankfully, but outside it was practically a monsoon.

Everyone knew qualifying would get postponed, it was just a matter of time until a final decision would be made. The atmosphere was tense—a championship battle loomed in the distance between Max and Lando, and Franco would be driving for his life.

But as the hours passed and the rain continued, the energy around the paddock loosened up. You saw Lando and Oscar at the gates waving to fans, George jumping in puddles, Ollie taking naps against the warm tires.

So, of course, Franco would enjoy his time too.

His manager stood in the back corner of the garage, talking with one of the media interns. Looking at her, Franco felt his frustration return. He had never been the stubborn type. But since making it to Formula 1, he had been told what to do left and right. Go here, say this, don’t do that. It pissed him off.

He was going to do what he wanted to, at least this once.

Of course, you were oblivious to all of this. You didn’t know what to make of it when he walked onto the pit lane, exposing himself to the elements. Within seconds his fluffy curls were flattened and he would be dripping in rainwater when he came back into the garage.

“YN!” he called into the garage. “Come dance with me!”

You looked up from your phone, and the garage around you was still buzzing, but you could feel everyone’s necks craning to listen and look upon whatever antics Franco was up to.

You just laughed and shook your head. You weren’t getting out in that mess.

But you didn’t have a choice. Franco marched his way up to the garage and yanked you out.

You yelped his name playfully as he dragged you to the middle of the pitlane and put his arms around your waist.

“What are you doing?” you asked him through your widening smile.

“Dancing. Having fun,” he answered. His arms stayed around your waist, too close to be platonic.

You turned to the crowd of fans in the grandstand in the distance. “We have an audience. Is this good for the brand?”

It would seem ‘the brand’ was becoming a running bit, until Franco shut it down. “Fuck the brand. Dance with me.”

He pulled you closer, the only thing separating you being the layers of clothes that were thinning with the rain. He spun you and you all danced back and forth, giggling when you splashed in the puddles swiftly gathering around you.

And then he dipped you. The world felt like it stopped for a moment. You were suspended in air, an electric warmth between you and your best friend, the only two people in the world.

He brought you back up and you both stopped. Your eyes met for what must have only been a split second. It was like all at once, all the love you had for him flooded your heart, stronger than the unrelenting rain.

Everything about him was beautiful. His arms wrapped around your waist, his eyes now looking at your lips—

He was going to kiss you.

That is, until his manager yelled at you both from inside the garage. “Franco! Quit fucking around and get in here!”

The moment was ruined.

You both sheepishly returned to the garage. Your anxiety had faded in that perfect moment with him, but had now returned with a vengeance upon hearing the frustration of his manager. Luckily, everyone else in the garage seemed to not care. But Franco looked like a kid getting called to the principal’s office at school.

Before you even got back in the garage, you turned to him and said, “Franco, I’m sorry for getting you in trouble, I—”

He cut you off. “You didn’t get me in trouble,” he joked, “I got myself in trouble. Don’t worry about it. You can shower in my driver’s room, I should have a spare sweater in there. I’ll try to meet you there.”

You nodded as you went your separate ways.

You did as Franco said, having a quick shower and doing your best to dry your hair in his driver’s room. You grabbed the spare Williams quarter zip he had and slid it on, relishing in the warmth and the smell of his cologne. You felt safe here, quiet and alone, knowing that he’d come meet you when he could. You scrolled on your phone to pass the time.

Of course, it had only been minutes and you all had already gone viral.

You tapped on the post of a gossip page.

Williams driver Franco Colapinto and friend YN seen in Interlagos having a sweet moment dancing in the rain! Although the pair are quoted calling each other just friends, fans continue to speculate about the true nature of their relationship. What do you think? Sound off below!

You scrolled to the comments.

Might as well just make out with her in parc ferme smh

Why are they actually the main characters of a rom com

Sooooooo when is he proposing

YN the woman that you are. I’d ask what we are after being held like that

You smiled. Maybe the internet was starting to grow on you.

Back in the paddock, Franco was soaked to the bone, shivering, and being scolded by his manager.

“I told you to keep a low profile. What was that stunt?”

“I was just having fun—”

“I know. That’s the problem. You are not here to have fun. You are here to compete.”

“Having fun doesn’t impact my ability to drive,” he said, his voice sharp with anger. “Look, I get that you want what is best for me. But I’m not stupid. Fans love this kind of stuff, they eat it up. And I’m improving every day with my driving. Just let me do what I do best.”

“And you’re doing this purely for the fans?” she asked. They both knew the answer. Franco was silent. She continued, “Franco, she’ll be here at the end of the season no matter what. But this opportunity won't if you don’t focus. You’re distracted.”

“This will be good publicity. The fans like it when I’m flirty.”

“You’re not here to be flirty. You’re here to drive,” she said with a forceful and final tone. She sighed. “The FIA just announced that quali is postponed until tomorrow morning. Go back to the hotel, get some rest, and come back tomorrow ready to perform, okay?”

“Okay,” he agreed.

When he finally made it back to his driver’s room, he found you asleep on the small couch. He thought his heart would burst.

Quietly, he took a shower and changed into dry clothes. He sat down and just watched your sleeping frame, taking in how beautiful you were.

But you couldn’t stay here all night. He woke you up by gently brushing your hair out of your face, and you stirred at his touch.

“YN,” he whispered. “Quali is postponed. Time to go.” You sleepily rose and followed him out of the paddock, only fully waking up on the Uber ride back to the hotel.

The drive was quiet, but peaceful. It was dark out, and the rain scattered the light from the street lamps of Sao Paulo. Franco looked out the window, contemplative. It was a side of him you'd never seen before.

You placed your hand in the middle between you two, and wordlessly, he held it in his own.

It was unspoken, this new…thing, between you two. You both knew that something had fundamentally changed. It was a question of who would crack first.

Franco knew, though, that his manager was right. He needed to focus. He needed to deliver. And you’d be here at the end.

But when he laid in his bed alone later that night, he couldn’t rest. All he could think about was that moment you both had felt, and his eyes that had focused on the soft skin of your lips. How badly he had wanted you in that moment.

A line had been crossed, yes, but that wasn’t the only one.

In his backpack, there had been a weight that had hung over him the past few days. A metaphorical one. He had kept it on his person at all times for safekeeping, not wanting to risk anyone finding out what he’d done.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it. But he needed more of you that he couldn’t have—not now, at least.

But he could have this, right now.

So he sat up in bed, grabbing the small leather diary from the bag, and opened the first page.

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novemberheart · 5 months ago

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{overview} You get attacked. Does your pack step up for you?

{warnings} violence, blood, mentions of sexual content (no sexual abuse), fem reader, cursing, poly141, pain, crying, angst, a/b/o dynamics

Chapter 10 <- Chapter 11 -> Chapter 12

It was Simon’s last day of physical therapy. If he passed this he would be cleared to get back out in the field. On his way, he dropped you off at another Omega Committee event. This one you were actually excited about. It was a hike through the forest at the far end of the base. Priya wasn't there and you wished you had the presence of mind to have asked her for her number. But luckily you ran into Anais.

“You smell like peaches and cream. Anyone ever told you that?” she asked. The sound of Johnny yelling “peaches” instantly ran through your mind.

“A few, yeah.” you smiled.

“Well that's what I'm going to call you, PC for short.” she giggled. You had been called worse. Anais was a chatter. You didn't really mind though.

“Can I ask you something- something personal,” she whispered, leaning even closer to you. Curiosity killed the cat.

“How does it work with all five of you? Do they take turns-” she whispered.

“Oh my god, Anais.” you couldn't help but chuckle, despite the flaming of your cheeks. To be honest you were wondering the same thing.

“That was too much! I'm so sorry. I was just curious and I thought we were friends”-

“Anais it's alright. If I knew I probably wouldn't mind sharing a bit of info.” You assured. She relaxed.

“So you haven't?”

“No,” you responded truthfully.

“Have you ever?” she trailed off. You hadn't. You never really had the chance. You weren't sure if your pack members would approve of you spilling this information everywhere. “I'll take that as a no.” she snickered. You gave her a playful side-eye.

“Don’t worry about it. Took me forever to lose mine too.” she signed.

“It has not been forever!” you gasped, swatting at her. She laughed loudly causing a few heads to turn. Neither of you really cared.

“Just don't get your hopes up. First times are always terrible,” she advised, bumping you with her arm.

“Thanks for the pep talk.” you huffed.

“Do you have a favorite pack member yet?” she asked suddenly. You quickly shook your head. You enjoyed them all- truthfully. “I think if I was in a pack I would have my favorites. Hopefully one would be my alpha, but you never know,” she smirked.

“Can I ask you something?” you began.

“Shoot.”

“Did it hurt when you were marked?” you questioned.

“The first time, yes. I was in a long-term relationship with an alpha who wasn't entirely nice.”

“I'm sorry Anais.”

She quickly waved you off. “Don't worry about it. It was a long time ago. The second time, not as much. He did it during my heat and it only hurt for a day when I came out of it.” she explained.

“You’re strong Anais.” you said. She flashed you a smile.

“We’re omegas, PC. We have to be.”

The hike back was partly uphill, which was nobody's favorite.

“It was so beautiful when we left. When did it get so bloody hot out?” you panted.

“Look. The heat turns you English.” Anais chuckled through her own pants. You may have picked up a few phrases from the boys.

“Alright, everyone, take five!” One of the group leaders shouted. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. You had made it to the edge of the base, still a little under half a mile to get back.

“I’m going to go refill my water. You need some?” you asked. Anais flopped down on the grass, her arms blocking her face from the sun.

“No thank you.” she groaned, rolling onto her stomach. You made your way up to the front, intending to tell one of the leaders you were going to go get some water. You huffed as the same five omegas were consuming all their attention. “Whatever.” you sighed. You knew where it was, you had filled your water bottle up with Kyle a few days ago when he took you bird watching. Besides, Anais knew where you were.

You made your way quickly towards the buildings, going between them to the other side where the water fountain was.

“My thumbs gonna fall off,” you grumbled. You had to press and hold the button down hard. Kyle made it look easy. Your ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. Your head darted around not seeing anything. You figured you didn't need water that bad and began walking back.

You were abruptly thrown to the ground. Your shorts offered absolutely no protection against the rough gravel. The whole left side of your body slid against the ground, the force of the shove sending you a few feet. There was a low growl behind you and you acted purely on instinct. You felt a hand on your ankle pulling you back. You flipped yourself around, swinging your arm luckily catching a man's face with your claws. He howled, throwing himself away from you. You quickly shuffled backward trying to find your footing.

“Shit, that's 141.” the other man with him cursed. He grabbed the bleeding man pulling him away. Even though they were leaving, you knew you weren't safe. You were finally able to get your footing and began running around the corner, almost knocking Anais down in the process.

“What the fuck!” she shrieked. You were beginning to bleed at this point. It started dripping down your left leg, and right knee. It was starting to show through your shirt on your left side, your elbow, both your hands, and your chin. “It's okay, lovie.” she soothed. You were trying your hardest to keep it together, not wanting to create a scene, however, the pain and fear were making it very difficult.

“I can't go back to the group like this,” you whined. People will think you’re crazy.

“Don't worry. This wasn't your fault. Everyone will understand.” she soothed, gently pulling you along. You held your ground shaking your head. “PC you're bleeding a lot. You need help.” she insisted.

“I want my pack.” you whimpered. You pressed the backside of your hand against your mouth, your throat constricting.

“If you come with me you can get to them.” she urged. It was the push you needed. Luckily you didn't get very far before a group leader noticed and raced towards you.

“What happened?” he questioned. You ignored him, not really in the mood to talk to strange men, and pulled your backpack forward grabbing your phone out of the front pocket. You were lucky it hadn't shattered in the ordeal.

“Someone attacked her.” Anais growled, annoyed that he couldn't use the context clues.

“Hello?” Johnny had picked up after one ring. Hearing his voice made it impossible to hold back any tears. You sobbed into the phone. You heard him repeat your name on the other end, it growing louder and louder every time it left his lips.

“I need you, please. I'm not really sure where I’m at.”

“It's alright, Bon. I have your location pulled up on my phone, I'm near there. Just don't hang up,” he assured. Your chip. You breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the side of the building.

“I think you should head back to the group.” The group leader directed towards Anais.

“No way,” she growled. “I’m not leaving her”

“Thank you.” you mouthed.

“Of course,” she whispered back. She leaned against the building with you. The rest of the group was still there, the other group leaders trying to prevent them from getting any closer. You didn't need to worry about that, as Johnny quickly rounded the corner, gravel flying under his feet. His mouth fell open at the state of you. His arms extended out and you quickly threw yourself at him, neither of you caring about any blood, sweat, or tears.

“I got you, baby,” he whispered, causing you to lose it again.

“I want to go home.” you whimpered, against his shoulder. Your legs were wrapped firmly around his waist, his arms squeezing you so hard you might have even more bruises.

“Alright.” he soothed. He nodded his head to the group leader and Anais.

“I'll come and visit you in a few days,” Anais called after you.

“Thank you.” you sputtered back. He didn't say a word but pressed his lips against the side of your head every few feet. He stopped setting you down causing you to sob louder. He peeled off his jacket quickly. Carefully dabbing your legs, where the most blood was coming out. He didn't want you to leave a trail of blood everywhere.

He went a back way, not wanting everyone to see his bloodied-up omega. Johnny carried you like you were a feather, weaving through buildings like it was just another day. Well to him it probably was.

Luckily too many people weren't hanging out around your home, the few that did were ignored or met with a snarl. You whimpered at the sound, all your senses on overdrive. You could tell how upset Johnny was, even though you couldn't smell him. He was shaking, growls escaping him nearly every moment. “Almost there.” he soothed. He made it out of the elevator, slamming his key card against the sensor and throwing open the door.

He set you down on the kitchen counter, making no move to pull away from you. He needed to calm you down first.

“S’alright,” he repeated against your head. “I need you to relax for me, lass. Gonna get you all taken care of, aye?” he shut his eyes tightly, resting his body against yours. Your hands dug into his shirt, and you growled at the inability to smell him. “I know what’ll help.” he soothed. He pulled away causing you to whine, and he darted into John's room grabbing a shirt out of his dresser. He brought it back, holding it up towards your face. You were about to bury your face in it but stopped.

“I don't want to get it bloody.” you sobbed.

“He won't mind, bon. Plus we know how to get blood stains out.”

You didn't need to be told twice, you buried your face into the fabric, nuzzling up to Johnny again. After a few moments, your breathing returned to normal and the tears fell quietly. You were quivering now, the pain making up for the loss of adrenaline. “Gonna tell the rest, okay?” he asked, causing you to nod.

He grabbed his phone out of his pocket.

-come home asap. Omega emergency

He tossed the phone on the counter, pulling away from you, sitting down in one of the stools so he was almost face-to-face with you.

“Need you to tell me what happened,” he demanded softly. He kept his jacket pressed against your legs and used a sleeve to stop the bleeding of your elbow.

“I went to get water,” you whispered. Your eyes burned, now dry. “I heard someone walking so I started to leave then all of a sudden someone pushed me to the ground.” his face twitched, his jaw clenching so hard you worried for his teeth. “He grabbed my ankle and started pulling me back, but I turned around and scratched him across his face. One of them said something about 141 and then they ran away,” you explained.

“That’s good. Did exactly what you should've. This happen by the water fountain?” he asked.

“Mhhh,” you confirmed, wondering what he was getting at. The door swung open.

“Holy shit,” Kyle hissed, eyeing you up and down. He was a bit out of breath and you wondered if he ran all the way here like Johnny had. “Let me see.” he insisted, nearly pushing Johnny out of the way. He peeled away the sweatshirt and pulled John's shirt out of your hands.

“Some bastards shoved her.” Johnny snarled.

“By where you took me to see the birds,” you spoke up.

“They've got cameras.” Kyle said exactly what Johnny was thinking. “Should get it pulled up for when the alphas come.” As if on cue the door slammed open again.

“Where is sh”- John cut himself off. “Let me see.” he demanded, pushing Kyle out of the way. If you weren't in pain you would've laughed.

“Someone pushed me, Johnny’s trying to find it on the cameras.” you caught him up to speed. Simon moved towards Johnny glaring over his shoulder at the device. “It was my fault,” you whispered to John. Everyone's head snapped to you. John had your face in his hands, looking over your chin. “I went away from the group to get some water. I should've stayed with the”-

“You don't get to take credit for this.” John sneered. “I don't care where the hell you are, who you are around, this should never happen to you. Understand?” he ordered.

“Yes, Alpha,” you responded quickly.

“Don't make it a habit though,” Kyle spoke, hovering back over by you and John.

“Got it,” Johnny said. John left you but Kyle stayed.

“I'm gonna take a few pictures of you, love. Gotta keep the evidence,” he explained.

“Okay,” you replied softly. Your eyes trained on the three men watching the video. Johnny's face curled again, gripping his phone so tight his knuckles were white. Simon and John appeared to be fairly level-headed, trying to pick up on every detail.

“Record it before someone deletes it,” John instructed. John came back to you, pressing his lips against your forehead. “I’m going to go take care of a few things. Me and Simon’ll be back soon,” he spoke through gritted teeth, taking an inhale of your scent to prevent himself from shaking. He pulled away, Simon following behind him like a dog. “Send me the pictures after.”

“You did good, pup.” Simon praised, heading out the door with John.

Hi friends! Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 12 will be up in two days! See you then! 🧡

#novemberheart #captain john price #gaz x reader #ghost x reader #kyle gaz garrick #poly141 #price x reader #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish #captain john price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #as needed #cod men #cod x fem!reader #cod x reader #cod x you

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avis-writeshq · 1 year ago

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04 — you are in love

summary: “you can hear it in the silence.”/”you can hear it on the way home.”/”you can see it with the lights out.” in other words; the four times spencer wants to kiss you, and the one time he wishes he did. pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, slow burn, warnings: drug mention, alcohol (reader gets a little tipsy), vomit (not in detail) wc: 3.4k a/n: thank you again to the wonderful amazing @astrophileous for beta-reading MWAH zara you're a real one <3 SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST

Falling in love is something that Spencer thought he would never get the luxury of doing. It’s a fairytale. After all, his parents were supposed to be a perfect example of what love should be like and look how they ended up. Yet despite it all, he always seems to find himself going back to you. You, who makes it so easy to love but he doesn’t deserve it. He refuses to believe he deserves it. He feels so horribly broken that it doesn’t make sense why you would love him, or why he deserves to love you.

It takes Spencer another three months to actually properly come to terms with the fact that he’s in love with you. He’s spent most of his free time attending Narcotic Anonymous groups upon your insistence and he hates to admit that it helps. He didn’t think they would at first, despite the swirling statistics of their effectiveness but he figures that it wouldn’t hurt. The other times when he’s not doing something drug related, therapy related or work related, he’s with you. Your apartment is almost like a second home to him and you’d given him your spare key (he went home with a ridiculous grin on his face and had to chug several cups of water to calm himself down).

Since your leaving the BAU, he’s left a series of trinkets on his desk that remind him of you. A little ceramic blue bird beside the animal skull models. It’s no bigger than his pinky finger and when he asked you why you gifted it to him, you told him that it represents hope and renewal. He thinks he needs a lot of that.

In the first drawer of his desk is a framed picture of you and him at a Doctor Who convention with him dressed up as the Tenth Doctor and you in all blue in an attempt to dress up as TARDIS. It was a fun and silly day but it was enjoyable and that was what mattered. After a series of unfortunate events, Derek happened across the photo, claiming that there was no platonic explanation for it.

(“Care to explain this?” He had asked, holding the frame with a grin on his face. He was looking into Spencer’s desk for a specific file on the Benson murders, only to be met with a very familiar face.

Spencer immediately lunged for the photograph, grabbing it and securing it back in his desk with a heavy slam. “Don’t.”

Derek put his hands up in mock surrender, although his eyes were sympathetic. “There’s nothing platonic about that, kid.”

He huffed in response, rubbing at his eyes and taking a seat at his desk. “I know.”)

The first time he came to terms with the fact that he actually wanted to be with you was after a specific realisation. Some cases are harder than others. It’s a given; some cases are just more difficult to deal with and therefore harder to compartmentalise. Each person is different, especially when you factor in trauma. Derek struggles when pedophilia is involved, and JJ finds suicide cases the worst. Hotch can barely function properly when children are targeted, and Emily hides behind a mask so effortlessly that the most mundane things can get to her. After a period of thought, Spencer realises what he struggles to deal with: bullying.

“You should have– you should have heard what they were saying!” Spencer insists, pacing his living room floor while throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

He had just returned home from a case in West Bune, Texas, and it was probably one of the most difficult cases he had to go through. The UnSub was a teenager named Owen and after a very tense confrontation with him outside the police department, he was taken into custody. The entire nature of the case irked him. So many deaths could have been prevented if people just did something but now a boy is in custody with a body count nearing the double digits.

“They didn’t even try to deal with the bullying,” he continues, running his fingers through his now long hair. He can’t bring himself to get it cut; especially not after the incident with Hankel some moons ago.

You don’t say anything, sitting on his couch and sipping your tea, your eyes trained on the way he paces back and forth.

“People are dead because of them. I’m not saying that they didn’t deserve it because they did, but something should have changed.” His words are harsh as he continues to walk, clenching and unclenching his hands.

“You can’t change anything about it now,” You say gently, your gaze shifting from his hands to his arms to his face. “What’s done is done. All we can do is hope that the school board learns from their mistakes.”

“But they don’t!” He exclaims, turning to face you. He swallows thickly before sighing, slumping into the seat beside you and pressing himself into his side. “It’s just so… frustrating. They never learn.”

You nod, running your fingers through the knots in his hair. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“That could have been me,” he says quietly, burying his face into the palms of his hands. He presses the pads of his fingers into the corners of his eyes, stars dotting his vision.

“But it’s not,” you say firmly. “You’re a good person, Spencer. You’re saving people and putting the bad guys away. That’s a far cry away from being an UnSub.”

You’re looking at him now and he tilts his head to meet your gaze. You’re so close to him and Spencer can hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Kiss her.

The words that enter Spencer’s mind are enough to give him whiplash and he pulls away, pretending that he doesn’t see the hurt in your eyes when he does.

What?

“Are you okay?” You ask, frowning up at him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He offers a smile. “I’m okay.”

***

“Emily doesn’t blame you, you know.”

The words hang in the air as you sit on the floor of your bedroom, the thundering storm pounding against your windows. Spencer shrugs, sitting next to you. The power is out across Washington and the flickering of candles helps to light up the room. Spencer fiddles with the rug on the floor and your brows knit together.

“Walter.”

“I know.” He buries his face in his hands and lets out a groan. “I know, I know. It’s not my fault. It just feels like it, you know? We knew that it was a cult but we didn’t know that it was… that bad. God, angel, you should have seen her. She was beat up and everything and it feels like I could have done something.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” you chastise, brushing your shoulder against his for a moment. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

He doesn’t respond, simply moving so that he’s lying down on the rug in your room. It’s a soft tufted rug that goes from a dark purple in the middle to white around the edges. It’s one of his favourite rugs in the world. You’re sitting cross legged beside him, leaning against the bed. The soft glow of the candles illuminate your face and you truly look like an angel in this light.

He just came back from a case in La Plata County in Colorado and he was ordered to take a week off by Hotch to deal with the traumatics of the case. What started out as an undercover investigation in an underground cult led to a gun fight and a bombing, all while Spencer and Emily were inside the compound. The way Emily looked so in pain after the whole ordeal would haunt him forever; the black eye she suffered from, the bruising to her chest… he doesn’t even want to think about the rest of the things that could have happened.

“Stop.”

Your voice pulls him from his thoughts and he sucks in a breath.

“I didn’t do anything,” he says meekly, playing with the rug underneath him.

“It’s not your fault.” You smile at him before hitting him lightly with one of your pillows. “Stop that.”

He laughs loudly, grunting a little from the impact of the pillow colliding with his face. “Hey!”

You grin teasingly and hit him again with the pillow. He retaliates quickly, gripping the pillow and trying to tug it out of your hands. Your grip is a lot stronger than he thought it was and his tug sends you flying towards him, a shriek leaving your lips as your forehead bounces off his.

A hiss of pain leaves your lips but you’re laughing as you clutch your forehead. “Spencer what the hell?!”

“I’m sorry!” He says, not really meaning it, and rubbing at his head. He’s laughing along, his cheeks warm as he smiles up at you. His hands move to your face, one to your cheek and the other to brush the hair on your forehead to the side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” You laugh again, smiling a brilliantly beautiful toothy smile. The candlelight dances in your eyes with a warm orange light as you do. “Are you?”

His gaze meets yours, watching the way you brush a strand of hair behind your ear and the way your eyes crinkles when you smile. He watches the way you lean against the side of the bed, tilting your head back with your eyes closed. God. He swears you’re trying to kill him.

“Spencer?” You ask with a soft chuckle, and the sound is so pretty that he doesn’t mind the fact that you find amusement at his expense. “Are you okay?”

He nods, his throat dry and his cheeks hot. He blames the candles.

***

The couch is never comfortable. You are well aware that the couch feels strangely lumpy and you’re pretty sure one of the springs is broken but for some reason you keep insisting to take it whenever you stay at Spencer’s apartment. The blanket he lets you use is thick and cosy to make up for it and the pillow is always fluffed.

“Good morning.”

Spencer’s voice is raspy with early morning vocal fry and it makes your heart lurch in your throat.

“Morning,” you murmur, eyes still closed in an attempt to calm yourself down. Maybe if you don’t see him you won’t embarrass yourself.

“Still tired?” He asks, and you hear him start the coffee machine. There’s the sound of rustling in the background along with the flicking of a switch. Too many sounds for too early of a day.

“Mm.”

He chuckles, deep and rumbling, before sipping some water. “Yesterday was fun.”

Yesterday involved fourteen hours of watching Doctor Who and passing half way through the nineteenth episode after stuffing yourself full of junk food. Yesterday involved passing out on Spencer, forcing him to move you to the couch and into a position that wasn’t going to destroy your neck. Yesterday involved the most platonic and innocent activities known to Earth, despite the way his words insinuated something entirely differently.

“You fell asleep before the best part,” he says, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“You could have watched without me.”

He shakes his head as he stirs the sugar. “That wouldn’t have been right.”

A hum leaves your lips as you get up from the couch, stretching your arms and making your way over to him from behind the kitchen island. You’re wearing one of his old Doctor Who t-shirts that he let you keep, the sleeves reaching just past your elbows. Your hair is a mess and your eyes are half closed but you look so…

Cute. Seeing you in his shirt drives him wild. There’s something possessive about it and for a second he feels gross. He feels like he’s taking advantage of you but he’s obviously not; you’re the one who stole that shirt from him many moons ago and you’re the one who chose to wear it that day. Regardless, he can’t help but be transfixed as you walk around his kitchen like it’s your own home. Spencer’s eyes follow your figure as you pull open one of his cupboards and grab your mug (a really stupid avocado mug that’s bright green with a lid) before pouring some coffee into it.

“You’ve been going to your NA meetings, right?” You ask him, sipping your drink.

He nods immediately, his gaze never leaving you. “Yeah. Once a week.”

“That’s good!” You tell him, the caffeine slowly beginning to wake you up. “That’s really good, Walter.”

He smiles at you, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

For a few moments, all he can think about is you. Your hair smells like your special vanilla shampoo that Penelope got you hooked on and your skin smells like lavender and orange blossom. He remembers JJ giving you a sample in the office and you went and ordered a whole bottle during your lunch break right after. The compliments you got that day were like no other, and he remembers the way your eyes would light up every single time someone commented on the perfume, as well as the way you would excitedly talk about the different notes. Now, whenever he smells lavender or oranges he thinks of you. He doesn’t think it’s a problem in the slightest.

You sip your coffee again, the sound of the toaster dinging in the background, accompanied by the thick smell of char. In an instant, Spencer jolts from his place and places two very burnt slices of toast onto the plate, his nose scrunching up in frustration.

“I was gonna make you breakfast,” he tells you lamely. “I think we should get croissants.”

You laugh, dumping the pieces of toast into the bin and nod. “I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all day.”

***

The rare occasion when Spencer drives is when you’re not fit to. He picks you up at two in the morning at a bar and you’re sitting in his passenger seat. Your hair has a few tangles here and there and you’re wearing the prettiest purple dress.

“You really didn’t have to pick me up,” you tell him tiredly, rubbing at your eyes. “I could have gotten a taxi.”

Spencer rolls his eyes, leaning over the console to buckle in your seatbelt. “You called me, I’m here. I’m not going to let you get into a stranger’s car when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk!” You protest, your head leaning against the car door. “I had one drink.”

“Which can lead to a blood alcohol level of 0.01 to 0.03,” Spencer says, shooting you a smile. “I’d rather not risk it, angel.”

You groan and lean back on the chair. “I swear I’m fine.”

“Why didn’t your friends take you home?” He asks, starting the ignition. “Didn’t you say you were going to hitch a ride with them?”

A hum leaves your lips and you nod. “That was the plan. But one of the designated drivers couldn’t come last minute and the car wasn’t big enough.”

Spencer frowns, backing out of the driveway. “How long were you waiting outside of the bar?”

“Um…” your brows furrow as you think of the answer and you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. “Ten minutes?”

“(Y/N).”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t think it would have been that long,” you huff, rubbing at your eyes. “I promise I was careful.”

Spencer shoots you a frustrated look, sipping at his lukewarm takeaway cup of filtered coffee but keeping his eyes on the road. “You should have called me sooner.”

“I felt bad,” you respond sheepishly, offering him a guilty smile.

Spencer hums, running a hand through his hair. He hasn’t had the time to get it cut so for the time being it’s left slicked back and out of his eyes. He’s wearing his glasses now, too, because he didn’t have the time to put in his contacts. He looks a lot better than he did eight months ago, and he feels it, too. The white t-shirt he’s wearing is filled a little better now that he’s gained a little weight. Happy weight you had told him, pinching at his sides, it means you’re healing.

“Can you pull over?”

Your voice comes out small and Spencer snaps his head to look in your direction. “Yeah. Yeah, of course– hold on.”

He parks at a random McDonald’s on the side of the freeway and you immediately get out of the car and hurl in one of the bushes. He grimaces, getting out of the car to rub your back comfortingly.

“You okay?” He asks, continuing to rub circles on your back. He holds your hair away from your face, watches as your necklace dangles from your neck and catches the light from the 24/7 fast food place.

“... I might have had a little more than one drink.”

He can’t bring himself to get upset at you. Instead, Spencer just sighs and brandishes a bottle of water from the side pocket of his car. “Sip it slowly.”

You do as asked, taking small tentative sips of the cold water. He holds your hair in place, brushing a few strands away from your eyes and forehead.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you taking a taxi,” Spencer says with a hum, satisfied when you finish drinking half the bottle. “What if you threw up in their car?”

You groan, wiping a hand over your face. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know, angel,” he says sympathetically, lifting your chin with his index finger so that you’re looking at him. “I just worry. You should be able to rely on me, too, you know.”

“Okay,” you say through drunken stupor. “Didn’t mean to worry you, Walter.”

“I know,” he repeats softly, running his fingers through your hair. “Hey. Look up.”

You do, and you stare up at the sky. Stars dot and litter the navy sky, and if you squint you could see a faint blue star.

“That’s Venus,” he explains, gesturing to the little dot. He points to a smaller, redder light just below it. “That’s Mars.”

Even amidst the light pollution, the planets shine brightly. Your gaze is fixed upon the little planets and stars, enjoying the midsummer night’s breeze, the nausea you felt moments prior beginning to subside.

“Do you know what Venus represents?” Spencer asks softly, brushing his shoulder against yours, smiling when you shake your head. “Venus represents love and beauty in Roman mythology.”

You laugh, pressing your nose into his shoulder. “Do you believe that?”

“Scientifically? No,” he admits, “Venus is a planet. It doesn’t really represent anything but a giant ball of gas. But people place significance on insignificant things because it gives them meaning so I understand why they do it.”

It’s quiet for a little while, aside from the occasional sound of a car passing by and a cicada chirping. A cool breeze blows past but it’s more comforting than anything as the two of you sit on the hood of his car: an old 1965 Volvo Amazon in the colour blue horizon with paint chipping off at the inner fenders and bumper ends. He lets you sit on his jacket, your dress and legs protected from the dirty car bonnet. Your head is on his shoulder, your arms wrapped around his and you’ve traded your heels for a pair of Spencer’s spare mis-matched socks.

“(Y/N),” he whispers, rubbing his hand on your arm. “We should get you home.”

You nod, wiggling your toes in the socks. “Yeah.”

Spencer pauses and looks at you, watching as you yawn and hop off the car. He says your name again, chuckling a little bit when you look up at him a little dazed. The words get caught in his chest as he takes a tentative step closer to you. You’re so close. Just one small move. That’s all it would take… he dismisses the thoughts when he can smell the liquor on your skin.

“You’re my best friend,” he says quietly after several moments of silence.

You smile at him. “You’re my best friend, too.”

He drives you home that day with more regret than necessary. He wishes he kissed you. It would have made his life so much easier.

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full work

reblogs are always appreciated!

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topguncortez · 3 months ago

Text

Blow to the Head - J. Halstead

whumptober masterlist || previous day

prompts: slurred words

synopsis: you had always dreamed of being a police officer, but one bad accident left you with a lifetime of pain. Luckily for you, Jay is the perfect person to be by your side.

warnings: car accident, swearing, mentions of child crimes, mentions of sex trafficking crimes, mentions of passing out, mentions of vomiting, slurring words, intense pain

word count: 1.9k

You knew from a young age that you wanted to be a police officer. Your father was, and there was something about watching him protect and save the people of the city that had you wanting to follow in his footsteps. He always reminded you that it was a daily sacrifice, that some days were easier than others. Some days, he got to do the easy things like write traffic tickets and do school yard crossing. Other days, he was arresting people for warrants or having to tell a total stranger that their loved one was killed. You were prepared to make those sacrifices, prepared for those tough days that came with the job that you so badly wanted.

And you did get that job. You got to have your perfect job for three years. One of those years was spent in a patrol squad, before you and your partner, Jay Halstead, caught the eye of Hank Voight, the captain of the intelligence unit. You knew of Hank’s reputation from your father, and knew that he didn’t extend the invite to join the unit very often. You took the spot without thinking, easily falling into the groove of the unit. It was tough work, and sometimes the bad days outweighed the good by a long shot. But those good days. . . those good days were your favorite.

It was one bad day that took your entire life from you in an instant.

It was going to be a routine bust, you and Jay waiting in your jeep on the side of an abandoned warehouse, waiting for Hank’s call to move in. It had been months of creeping in on a local gang leader who had been involved in a sex trafficking ring involving children. To you, the cases involving kids hit harder. They were the most innocent group, and the easiest to be attacked. You had a chip on your shoulder the whole time while working the case, chomping at the bit to get this guy.

“Come on, Hank,” You muttered, looking out your car window, “Come on, come on, come on.”

“Patience,” Jay hissed, as annoyed as you are, “This guy is skittish. We move too early and we lose everything.”

“Or we lose more kids,” You shook your head, going to reach for the walkie when gunshots fired off.

“I lost him! Out the back!” Hank’s voice crackled over the radio, “Blue car! I got kids here!” .

“Shit! I’m going in, chase after him!” Jay said, jumping out of the car, and running into the building. You quickly put the car in drive, going straight to the back of the building, easily spotting a blue car. You pressed down firmly on the gas, sending your jeep flying through the city of Chicago. You almost had him, closing in closer and closer, maneuvering the car so you could side swipe him. That was, until a black SUV came out of nowhere, plowing into the driver’s side. You felt your head slam against the airbag as it deployed in your face, your body jerking as the car came to a stop.

The accident hadn’t totally crippled you. You had to have surgery to repair a broken pelvis, several painstaking months of physical therapy, and to pass the physical fitness test before you could go back to the team. Although your broken bones had been fixed, your doctor diagnosed you with arthritis, making almost every day a living hell. When you got the all clear to come back to the team, you did, for about a month, but the whole time you felt like such a burden.

“I can’t do this, Jay,” You cried in the locker room, him kneeling in front of you, “I can’t run as fast as I used to, or jump things, or fuck, it even hurts to sit in a car on long surveillance. I can’t do this anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Jay said, rubbing your knee, “I’m going to take care of you. We’re going to be okay.”

Jay kept his promise to take care of you, moving you into his house almost as soon as possible. The two of you hadn’t really defined your relationship at that point, but you knew he was yours and you were his. Hank still had you somewhat a part of the intelligence unit, working more inside the house than out. It was easier for you, the days when your pain was really bad, you got to stay home and work from home.

You knew that you were going to wake up in pain the next day. It was supposed to be an easy gym set, just some light leg work followed by a thirty minute walk on the treadmill. Usually, it wasn't an issue, you would wake up feeling that good type of muscle soreness. But the shift from warm late summer weather to the cooler fall weather had your bones feeling brittle.

You could hardly get out of bed, your knees and hips aching, your spine feeling like cement had been poured down it. It took you nearly ten minutes to pull yourself to your feet, and it felt like pins and needles. Tears filled your eyes as you shuffled your way to the bathroom to do your morning routine. You bit back a cry as you lowered yourself down to the toilet.

Ever since your diagnosis, Jay has done all he physically could do to help you. He read nearly every article he could get his hands on, wrote down all the recipes he could find, googled all the best treatment options there were. On the days the pain was really bad, Jay would help you inject cortisone into your joints, hoping to help relax them and lessen the pain. He hated watching you like this. He hated that your careers, which had started together, had gone in such totally different ways.

You let out a shaky breath as you tried to reach for the ginger tea on the shelf. You had already planned to take some Tylenol, and curl up with your heating pad. You texted your physical therapist and sadly she couldn't get you in for acupuncture.

Your whole body felt weak as you picked up the tea kettle and poured the hot water into your mug. You very slowly walked to the couch, holding your mug tightly in your hands, worried that your hands could give out at any moment and send scalding water to the ground. You gently eased yourself down on the couch, letting out a groan as your body sunk into the soft cushions.

You weren't sure when you fell asleep, but you woke up to Jay's worried face in front of you, gently running his hand over your cheek. "Jay?" Your head was pounding as you looked up at him, the lamb behind his head making it look like a halo around him, "What are you-"

“You haven’t been answering your phone,” He said, “Hailey said that you canceled your lunch plans and then quit answering. I got worried.”

You nodded, “I just. . . hurt.”

Jay’s eyes filled with hurt at your slurred voice, knowing that the pain is damn near unbearable if you canceled your plans with Hailey, “Show me where it hurts.” You closed your eyes as the tears started to fall down your face, “You should’ve called me.”

“The case is important,” You sniffled, not wanting to look up at him.

“You are important,” Jay said, bending down to place a soft kiss on the crown of your head, “How about a bath and a massage?” You nodded, "Alright. I'm gonna help you sit up." You nodded again as Jake put his strong arms under your back and arms, moving your body from a laying down position to a sitting one. You let out a cry and Jake pressed his lips to your forehead, "I know, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

“It’s okay,” You sniffled, taking in a short breath. Just that small movement sent a wave of pain and had stars dancing in your vision. It wouldn’t be the first time that you have lost consciousness from Jay trying to help you. The pain gets to be too much that your body just shuts down. You gripped Jay’s shirt tightly in your hands, willing the all too familiar feeling of bile rising in your throat to go away.

“Do we need to go to Med?” Jay whispered. You hated having to go to Med when the pain got bad. You did everything in your power to stay away from taking heavy pain pills and going to the doctor for treatment.

You let out a slow breath, “No. Just move slowly. Please,” Your voice cracked.

Jay nodded his head, letting you sit up for just another moment, before sliding his arms under your legs and around your back. Another cry left your lips as Jay lifted you up and began walking to your bedroom. He hated causing you more pain, but knew that this was going to be the best place for you to get some reprieve.

"I'll go draw your bath and change," Jay said, setting you down on the vanity chair. He moved around the room quickly, drawing your bath and adding some drops of essential oils in, as you tried to strip from your clothing. You tried to lift your shirt over your head, but even that caused you to cry out in pain.

Jay stopped what he was doing and ran to you, "Hey, let me help you."

"I can do this," You shook your head and Jay nodded. He had learned one thing over the years that you still wanted to do as many things as you could despite the pain. When you were fully naked, Jay helped you to your feet as you walked towards the bathroom. You could smell the lavender and rosemary oils. You gripped Jay's hands tightly as you stepped into the bathtub and he helped you gently lower yourself into the hot water.

Jay sat on the other side of the bathtub on the ground, and watched you. You let out a sigh as you settled into the water, feeling the ache in your joints go from a nine to at least a five. Everything still hurt but it was a bit more manageable.

“I’m still going to call Will and have him come see you tomorrow,” Jay said, grabbing a washcloth, soaking it in the bath and then gently rubbing it across your back and down your shoulders. “You can tell him to fuck off when he gets here, but he’s coming over.”

A small chuckle left your mouth, “Okay.” You knew there was no arguing with him on that one. You were surprised that Jay hasn’t already invited Will over to come take a look at you.

"Do you want to ice down after this?" Jay asked, gently moving his hand in the water.

"No. Just put the lotion in the fridge," You said and Jay nodded, "You already did, didn't you?"

He smiled, "Yeah, I did," He sat up on his knees and leaned in to kiss your forehead, "I rewarmed your tea and got you some more Tylenol. Your physical therapist said she can get you in tomorrow morning. I already got tomorrow cleared so I can take you."

"Jay-"

"In sickness and in health," Jay said, and caressed your cheek, "I made a promise. And I mean it." You nodded and Jay placed yet another kiss on your forehead, making you smile.

#chicago pd #chicago pd fan fic #chicago pd fan fiction #chicago pd imagine #jay halstead #Jay Halstead imagine #Jay Halstead fan fic #Jay Halstead fan fiction #Jay Halstead x reader #Jay Halstead x you #Jay Halstead x y/n #whumptober 2024

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house-of-lovin · 2 years ago

Text

protect her

Tara Carpenter x Detective!Reader

masterlist

Preview: "Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle."

Warnings: suggestive themes, mentions of violence and mature language. slight scream vi spoilers. read at your own risk.

Note: Reader is around Sam's age, so like 25 or 26. Tara being a words of affirmation girlie. Thought this dynamic would be fun to write about. I'm incapable of writing shorter oneshots ig, so enjoy 6k+ words of whatever this is lol.

Word Count: 6.1k+

The honking of horns blowing through the cool night air was muffled when you pushed the glass door of the diner open. The chimes of the overhead bell rang alerting the room of your presence but barely anyone turned their heads – save for Sam Carpenter who smiled at you.

You shuddered away remnants of the chill air off your shoulders, stepping closer to the bartop; claiming your seat in the far corner pressed up against the wall. A mug is placed on the counter before you even finish hanging your jacket on the back of the chair.

You slide into the high-top seat as the brunette pours coffee into the mug with a carafe. “Still hot, wow, I must be special.”

“Yeah okay, hotshot. You just happened to make it in time for a new pot.” She rolls her eyes, and you hide your smirk behind the mug; taking a sip – ignoring the fact that you usually come in at this time.

“You on the clock?” She asks, leaning on her elbows atop the counter. She glances back briefly, making sure her snitch of a coworker wasn’t around to scold her for not doing her job.

It was still too early for the influx of drunk regulars and one-timers to come by, so really the only kinds of people in here were the ones who were getting off work too late to make dinner at home.

“Just got off, 16 hours. But got a new lead on a case that went cold a couple of months ago so I guess I’m doing a double. Just reviewing some notes now.” You sigh heavily, gesturing to the files and folders sprawled out on the table.

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You work too much. You need to take a break and focus on something else outside of work. When was the last time you did something just for you?”

You roll your eyes at her mocking tone, shooting back, “Oh yeah? You learn that from therapy?”

It was her turn to glower when you remind her of the doctor visits.

“Yeah, that’s usually the advice therapists love to give me before I actually open up – you know like they tell me to and suddenly they’re running for the hills, one by one.”

You snort, all too familiar with the tales of her doctor visits. It took a while for Sam to open up to you; trust came sparsely these days for the Carpenter. It wasn’t until one of your frequent visits turned into you having to step in and kick a rowdy group of drunkards who were harassing Sam of something along the lines of ‘Woodsboro’ and ‘Ghostface’. It was only when you threatened the group with jail time did they relent.

Sam knew she could trust you after you sent her an acknowledging nod when the group left and went back to minding your own business. The next time you visited, she opened up; about her past, her father, her hallucinations, the attacks and the trauma that came afterward. And, how she managed to land herself in the big city, which sprouted an overzealous rant about her strained relationship with her sister.

You knew how to read people well, it was a significant part of your job to be able to. So, you knew from the moment you laid eyes on her that there was a fire behind those dark eyes that she desperately tried to douse – you had interrogated and dealt with enough people to know what the glint meant.

You were honest to Sam that you had an inkling of suspicion about the darkness in her mind – you still accepted her despite knowing her dirty secret; that a part of her doesn’t feel bad for killing Richie and Amber, if anything it felt kinda good. Sam was confused as to why you, a cop, weren't locking her behind bars at the confession.

But, having dealt with the scum of the Earth, you can tell she was nothing like them.

It isn’t always easy to differentiate people between just good and bad, you told her when she asked.

A friendship blossomed between you two after that, bonding over similar traumas. Sam invited you to her apartment to meet her friends and sister – who all interrogated you, Mindy, most especially to make sure you weren’t secretly Ghostface. The girl had some skills in that department, you'll admit.

Coming to learn of your career and how surprisingly well Sam trusted you, the group lowered their walls bit by bit. They would never say it out loud but they felt way safer having you around.

“That’s why I don’t go to therapy.” You shrug, taking a sip of the steaming coffee; letting the heat warm your bones.

She snorts, pretending to be wiping the countertop when her coworker peeks her head out to look at you two. “You probably need it more than anyone else in this place.”

“You’re not wrong about that.” You mumble, as you flip through the evidence photos of a homicide you investigated five months ago. The pictures were gruesome, but it was just another day on the job for you. Maybe that’s why you and Sam got along more than expected.

Sam’s phone vibrates from her back pocket and she fishes it out, reading the text.

‘We got into some trouble, some help?’ it was Anika, no doubt being appointed to text Sam because the others didn't want to do it themselves.

“Dammit.” Sam sighs, already taking off her apron to leave.

“What’s up?” You raise a brow at her panicked expression.

“My sister and her friends got into some trouble. I need to get them. Crap! They’re all the way in the East Village.” She says reading the other incoming texts on her phone. “This is what I get for letting her go out.”

“Come on, I’ll drive you.” You say, already standing when Sam mentioned Tara. The thought of the brunette in trouble makes your heart stop for a moment.

“No, I can’t ask you to do that. You’re working.” She shakes her head in protest.

“Carpenter, it’s a 30-minute drive just to get to the East Village, get your ass permission to leave then meet me at my car. Acting like Danny wouldn’t have my ass if I just left you like this.” You mutter, acting indifferent – but it was true, her boyfriend would have your head on a stick if you ever left Sam high and dry, not that you would ever.

She nods, knowing she won’t win this one with you. You throw a $20 tip, slip on your jacket, and make your way back out into the cool fall air.

You lit a cigarette to pass time as you wait for Sam – leaning against your car, trying to ease the nervousness raging in you as you think of what kind of trouble Tara found herself in.

You and Tara are... complicated. You two haven't exactly slapped a label on it, all you know is you care about her more than you probably should.

Because of your close connection with Sam, and how much everyone secretly trusted you. You and Tara found yourselves growing closer to each other with each visit to their apartment.

Tara was weary about you at first introduction, ignoring that you were ridiculously attractive. She can still remember Mindy asking you to your face 'Where did Sam find you?' in a flirtatious tone. You just chuckled and explained how you met her sister, and Tara knew it was kind of wrong, but she couldn't help but be intrigued…

Then Sam started leaving you two alone in the apartment to run some errands. With not much to do, Tara decided to pop a horror movie in to watch with you – finding out you’ve never seen ‘Se7en’ after inquiring if your job was just like the movies.

A connection between you and Tara blossomed from those moments in that tiny NYC living room.

Suddenly she wasn't just your friend's little sister and man, is she magnetic.

She educates you on the joys of horror movies and you watch every single one, listening to her analysis of each scene; simply enjoying the serenity she brings out in you.

Tara is secretly glad you are older than her because sometimes it meant you’re so different, but that just means she can expose you to her interests, and vice versa. You never turned her down – no matter what it was.

On the slim chance you got off work early enough, you visited the diner to keep Sam company and do some work.

Sometimes though, when Sam would end mid-morning, you two would continue your talks at her apartment – sometimes with Danny, over whatever leftover diner food she would steal from her work for you three to munch on over beers and conversation.

Those would be the nights where you would pass out on their couch from drinking and Tara would finally come out of her room when Sam and Danny leave. She would tuck a blanket over your sleeping figure, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, taking the time to scan your features for any injuries. And in the mornings, when you were gathering your bearings from a night of drinks and bad choices, Tara would force you to sit down at their dining table and have breakfast with her. Scolding you for your irresponsible choices, but being grateful you were in front of her, nonetheless.

She worries for you with your job and all.

And as you find yourself giving into her request for morning coffee, stolen kisses, and conversation – you push away thoughts of being late to work as you find yourself grateful for similar musings the longer you stare at the pretty girl across from you.

“Wow, if people couldn’t tell you're a narc. They sure could now.” Sam takes the time to poke fun at you – pulling you out of your daydream. You look down at your figure; sporting a button-down shirt, trousers with your leather jacket on top and trusty leather boots on your feet.

You roll your eyes in realization and flick away the cigarette bud, yanking the car door open.

“It’s the work dress cod– just get in the damn car, Carpenter.”

– –

The usual thirty-minute drive instead took fifteen minutes as you pounded on the accelerator, flipped the sirens on, and dashed past other cars on the road as they cleared the way for you.

You arrive at the corner of a lower Manhattan intersection, the East Village was known for its bustling nightlife; you can see a mix of all ages of people wandering the street as they continue their bar crawl.

It was further down the road, where you can see six sullen-looking figures sitting on the curb of the sidewalk – a police officer standing above them.

Sam dashes out of the car before you can even finish parking. You see her run down the street and talk to the officer, getting in his face and the six others look at her panicked. You sigh, and make your way out of the car, strapping your badge to your belt – you’d need to use it soon, you’re sure.

Tara’s eyes immediately connect to you as soon as you climb out of the car. Before she can think about it, she’s standing up to meet you. “Ah ah, I said sit down! You better listen or I’ll throw you all in jail for the night.”

“You can’t do that!” Sam shouts, stepping closer to the police officer. You decided enough was enough when you saw the police officer resting his hand on his holster.

“All right, that’s enough.” You grasp Sam’s elbow, yanking her away from the police officer. The older Carpenter is slightly startled by the rough tug, but you push her behind you getting in between her and the policeman.

“I think we’re all good here officer, thank you.” You say with finality. You weren’t asking, you were telling and Tara’s inebriated mind is all hot and bothered.

“Like hell we are, these six were caught sneaking into a club underage, and this one.” He points to Sam, “is getting on my nerves. Now, it seems like I can add you to the list, ‘cause who the hell you think you are, buddy?”

You briefly glance a stern side-eye to Tara at ‘club and underage’, she immediately looks away.

“Detective Y/L/N from the 99th precinct.” You slide your jacket aside to flash him the badge on your waist.

”And, you must be… Officer Leroy. From 6th, huh.” Reading his name tag and badge.

“Think that’s supposed to mean something?” You see his eyes on your badge before glowering to meet your eyes. “I’ll arrest you too.”

The group breaks out into loud protests.

You chuckle knowingly, “How long you been in the force buddy?” You ask, not unaware of all of the eyes on you as you and the officer have a stare-off.

“Four months.” He answers confidently, pushing his shoulders up and back to appear taller.

“Hmm… see I had a feeling. ‘Cause, my buddy Rivers just got promoted to Captain six months ago over on the 6th precinct, which means he’s most likely your superior. I wonder what you’ll tell him as to what charge you picked us up for. ‘Cause well, he will see me.” You shrug, offering up that thought for him to think about.

“Oh better yet, I’d just love to see what you write down on that case report, Officer. Leroy.” Your tone was harsh now as you stepped in his face, intimidating him.

He was forced to take a step back as you got in his space, his features paling, it took a few seconds before he conceded. “Fine! Just get the hell out of here, and don’t let me see you again!”

Everyone let out a relieved sigh as you smirked at his submission; everyone immediately takes the chance to leave and Sam tries to tug on your arm but you were still staring the cop down. He put this hand on his fucking gun when Sam got in his face and anger was quickly rising in your veins – you were unmovable, even by rough force.

“Y/N it’s over, let’s go.” Sam tries again but she can feel your arm harden as your knuckles tighten into a fist. “Y/N, seriously.”

Tara sobered up by the time police charges was being thrown around and her worry about your protectiveness was increasing. Sam couldn’t even pull you away. Chad steps in when Sam asks for help to convince you to move. He puts a hand on your shoulder, whispering calming words, no doubt.

But nothing was working as you stood there, still unmovable. She wouldn’t be surprised if Chad threw you over his shoulder and dragged you away, even though you weren’t that much smaller than him. In your boots, you were nearly at his height and Tara had to strain her neck to try and meet your eyes.

It was only when Tara pulled away from Quinn and Mindy’s hold and stepped in front of you, putting a hand just above your chest that you blinked, glancing down at her. “Y/N, let’s go… please.”

When you tried to glance back up at the other officer, whose partner had seen the commotion and tried his own efforts in calming him; his patience thinning by the second – was when Tara’s grasp on your shirt firmed, making you look back at her own stern eyes.

"Let's. Go." Her tone left no room for argument. Warning you from doing something stupid and you clench your jaw, looking away from the uniformed officers.

“Fine…"

Everyone slowly releases a breath when your rigid posture relaxes. “I’m driving you home, let’s go.” You exclaim to the rest but look directly at Tara, “Especially you, Carpenter.”

You place a hand on the sliver of her back and Tara shivers not used to being this close to you in a while. Your hand keeps its place even as you both turn and Sam is immediately on her ass about sneaking into a club. You guide the bickering sisters to walk to the car, zoning out the familiar sounds of their argument.

“–ou’re lucky Y/N was at the diner, who knows what that creep would’ve done if we didn’t drive out here in time.” Your hand tightens, subtly bringing her closer to your side at Sam’s words, Tara glances over when you do.

“It was fine until you got there and started overreacting, Sam.” Tara rolls her eyes, way past just ‘over’ Sam’s overprotectiveness. The younger girl loved her sister, she did, but she didn’t want to live her life constantly looking over her shoulder.

Tara wants to go to college, study, party, make mistakes, and maybe even find love – glancing back at you with that thought. She wanted to be a normal 20-year-old, doing 20-year-old things with her older… girlfriend? Tara didn’t know if she could call you that, but you shared enough sweet soft moments with her to consider you, hers. But she couldn’t do that if she had to look over her shoulder at every creak with a startle.

Sam scoffed offended, “Are you kidding me right now?” And you sigh because you can feel a bigger fight brewing and you can hear the slurring in Tara’s words, not a good mix.

“Let’s get you all home first before we do this, okay?” You cut in when you see the car come closer into view. Fishing for your keys, you throw them at Sam making her catch them.

“Walk ahead and start the car for me, please?” You ask with a raised brow; tilting your head to gesture to Tara saying a wordless ‘i got her’. Sam relents, tightly gripping the keys and walked ahead.

Tara leans her head against your shoulder, grateful for the brief moment of seclusion as everyone else walks up ahead.

“Are you mad at me?” You glance down at her frown, before looking away.

“No. I’m not.”

“That wasn’t very convincing. If you’re mad you can tell me… cause then I can fix it.” You feel her run her hand up and down your back, under your jacket. It made a shiver run up your spine as she continued rubbing lines on the fabric of your shirt.

“I swear, I’m not mad. A little disappointed but no, not mad.”

Tara huffs, sliding her arm off your back when you reach the car; the talk cut short. You open the car door sitting Tara inside, it was a tight squeeze but she was small. You’d sit her on your lap if her sister wasn't here. Anika did sit on Mindy’s lap though with poor Chad in the middle seat and then Tara.

She squeezes your hand just before you shut the door.

Apparently, Ethan and Quinn elected not to go home and continue on with their night.

Sam is already sitting in the passenger seat by the time you closed Tara’s door. With a sigh, you pull your door open, sit behind the wheel and drive off to the Carpenter’s apartment.

– –

Sam hurriedly rushes everyone into the living room as soon she opens the door; making sure to quadruple lock it, twist the handle to make sure it's locked and look out the peephole. It was Sam’s routine whenever she got into their place.

“Come on, let’s go, sit down.” Sam waves at you all, walking to the kitchen to grab water for everyone.

You help Tara onto the far edge of the couch, sitting her beside Mindy, who sat beside Anika. Chad decided to choose a record to listen to get rid of the tense air.

You felt Tara pulling you down with her, “Let me sit on your lap.” She mutters only to you.

“We can’t,” You whisper in her ear, slightly shaking your head. You hear her huff when you refuse her and see the pout on her lips when you pulled back, slightly smiling at her adorableness.

You force yourself to walk away from the younger Carpenter; heart tugging firmly, wanting nothing more than to wrap her in your arms, especially after not knowing what kind of trouble she was in.

Instead, you make your way into the kitchen to help Sam with the water bottles and bread.

“Is this necessary, Sam?” You ask the brunette, who was frantically searching through the fridge on her knees.

“You kidding? Chad is literally just staring holes at the record player.” She rebuttals and you glance back at the younger boy in amusement.

With a chuckle, you say, “He’s just high as shit. He’ll come down soon, plus he’s here now, they all are. Just relax and take a deep breath, man.” You remind her in a serious tone, holding out a hand to hold all the water bottles she was passing off to you.

“I know, I know. I was just worried.” She follows your advice taking calming, deep breaths as you follow along with her.

“Your therapist would be so proud, Samantha.” You tease smugly as she scoffs, hitting your leg from her position on the floor – you kick her back.

“Can you make sure Tara drinks and eats something, and that she’s okay before going to bed?” Sam asks you in a hushed tone, although she didn’t need to. The other four were all too engrossed either in the music or the TV in the back.

“Why me?”

“She’s not ready to talk to me and I’m not either... and I just wanna sleep right now.” She admits with a plead behind her eyes and you nod with no hesitation.

“I'll make sure all of them make it to bed, don’t worry.” She nods appreciatively, then stands so you can both get back to the other four in the living room – tossing them some bread.

“Finish that whole bottle before going to sleep, I don’t care if you piss your pants while you do ‘em.” You say in a stern tone while throwing the bottles, then sitting on the armchair to Tara’s left.

Sam shares a look with you as she slips out of the room, wordlessly, leaving you with the other four. They watched TV for the next 20 minutes, glancing around as each of them got progressively tired the more time ticked on.

“Alright. I think it’s time to call it a night.” You call it.

The twins and Anika slowly got up, muttering goodbyes and promises of texting Tara once they’d made it home. You offered to drive them to their dorm but felt the silent conversation between the friends – as Tara got them to turn you down to get you to stay here with her.

You lean against the front door, watching as the trio made their way down the stairs until they were out of sight. As soon as you shut the door closed, you felt arms wrap around your midsection – making you turn around.

“I missed you,” Tara mutters against your chest making you chuckle when it slightly tickled.

You cup her jaw, making her look into your eyes. “I missed you too, baby.”

Tara melts at the term of endearment, grabbing your neck to pull you down for a long searing kiss. Lips slotted over one another as they found the familiar grooves of each other’s mouths. Only breaking apart when Tara confessed with a bated breath, “You looked so hot confronting that other cop.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhmm…” She mutters connecting her mouth to your neck, peppering wet kisses there. She can hear you sigh in satisfaction and it makes her hold on you tighten even more. But with great reluctance, you pulled away from Tara; who whimpered in protest.

“We can’t, babe.” You remind her, pointing with your head to Sam’s room.

She frowns, “then come to my room.” Problem solved. She smirked devilishly, tugging you toward her room; you refused.

“We still can’t. You’re drunk and I’m not taking advantage.” You whisper, only stepping close to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She groans letting her head drop to your shoulder as your hand played with her hair.

“I hate that you’re a goodie two shoes.” She mutters making you laugh.

You tilt her head up with the hand already in her hair – gaze intense as you whisper, “I can assure you, I am far from a goodie two shoes.”

And Tara thought she melted at the way your voice dropped an octave when you said that but she knew she melted when you leaned down, tugging her by the hair, to connect your lips.

It was barely a peck, all tender and fleeting.

When you pulled away, she smirked knowingly watching as your eyes traced a path from her lips to her eyes – your gaze all dark, lustful. When your eyes connect you dive into her with a hair-raising kiss; all hungry and pining.

The feeling of your tongue clashing against hers and sounds of soft moans sends time stopping like only you and her exist in this apartment together. But Tara knows it doesn’t really stop and she has to eventually pull away before she takes you in the hallway – right then and there.

“God, you drive me crazy,” Tara whispers against your lips.

“So do you… cause sneaking into a club, really?” You ask unimpressed and Tara immediately pulls back, groaning.

Snickering as you follow closely behind when she walks into her room, trying to get away from you.

“You’re a mood-killer.” She mutters sitting on her bed, arms crossed over her chest; sulking.

“And you’re gonna give me and Sam a heart attack soon.” You joke but it was true. Tara loved to prove her sister wrong; not like being told what to do. It grew a defiant attitude in her that loved to stir shit up just for the hell of it, and that landed her in some hot waters with her friends sometimes. She definitely made your blood pressure sky-rocket, sometimes too.

“Why?” Tara probes. You were always so elusive and mysterious – it came with your job and allure. She can barely get you to open up about your feelings most of the time, saying you prefer to show her than tell her. You definitely did, so this admission from you was new. It has Tara yearning to hear more words of affirmation from you.

“Do I have to spell it out for you? I care about you, dummy. I nearly caused multiple accidents just to get to you. I was going like 80 mph the whole time,” You admitted, scratching the back of your neck a little ashamed.

“You were really that worried?” She asks, looking up at you with a hopeful stare like she was surprised.

“Of course, I was Tara. I even used the siren lights.” You shake your head at the fact that she’s even asking.

She was smiling goofily as you walked closer to stand between her legs, taking both her hands in yours. “I worry for all of you. But you, well, I always worry for you 'cause I’m thinking about you all the time.” You confessed in a whisper in her dark room.

Tara bites her lip, staring up at you with an indecipherable look. “You’re the worst.” Was the words that left her mouth.

“What, why?” You ask laughing.

She lets go of your hands to fiddle with your shirt buttons, muttering, “‘Cause you’re standing here looking all good and saying all the right things, and you still won’t fuck me.”

“Oookay…” You chuckle, grabbing at her fingers trying to unbutton your shirt, “That’s enough from you tonight. Let’s get you to bed before you say anything else you might regret tomorrow.”

She huffed but allowed you to grab her some new clothes to help her change; still not fucking her, Tara complains. Your eyes never even strayed from hers, not even when she took her bra off to change shirts and batted her eyes seductively. When she was all ready, you helped her to bed; tucking her in.

“Stay with me?” She asks grabbing onto your shirt, then gripping tighter. “Please.”

“What about Sam?” You ask softly, pushing away some hair from her face.

“She’s probably already sleeping, if not, she’s gonna be in her room all night.” Tara reasons, fully tugging you on top of her.

You give in like you always do.

Work for you and classes for Tara have been a lot right now, not being able to find time alone. You were practically living at the police station with the crime surge in the city, working late nights and long hours. With Sam’s overprotectiveness, Tara can say goodbye to dates so she only really sees you when you come over with her sister. You take your jacket off, place it on the chair in the corner of her room and tug your boots off. Remembering you had a change of clothes here from when Tara ransacked your closet; you picked out a shirt and shorts before getting into bed beside the younger Carpenter.

She was on you in an instant, swinging a leg over your waist, shoving her face in your neck. You feel her exhale a calming breath, once she’d settled into a comfortable position on you. You reciprocate by wrapping a strong grip around her waist, cherishing the way her skin warmed yours and how the weight of her body felt perfect.

“Just stay with me until I fall asleep?” She asks you with such a vulnerable gaze that you would never dream of ever telling her no.

You nod, pressing a kiss to her lips, then forehead. “Of course, pretty girl. Goodnight.”

She smiles against your lips, whispering her own, “goodnight.”

As you hold Tara Carpenter in your arms, you find yourself fending off sleep, only ever being this relaxed around the girl. You squeeze her slightly, feeling grateful to be with her at this moment with all the craziness in your two’s lives. No worries of outside-world problems could break the cozy bubble you and Tara created. Without ever standing a chance, you lose the fight to sleep and easily fall off the precipice with her in your embrace.

– –

“Tara, do you have my nail polish – Oh this is cute.”

You spring up, the voice startling you from the most relaxed sleep you’ve ever had; the type that makes your entire body heavy and head foggy when you wake up. You were the lightest of sleepers, a pin drop could probably startle you awake, but never when you fell asleep beside Tara.

“What the fuck?” Tara grumbles against your side, peaking her head up to see Quinn watching you two in bed.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were and instantly pale when you realize you never left the Carpenter Sister’s apartment, you never even made it out of Tara’s bed. You can feel the stream of sunlight coming in from Tara’s window and just know you had majorly fucked up.

“I just needed my nail polish but this is quite a sight, definitely a pleasant surprise.” She waves a hand toward you two, and you roll your eyes.

“Shit babe, Sam.” Tara places a hand on your arm. You check the watch strapped on your wrist for the time, 10:32 AM – making you leap out of her, oh so warm bed.

“Screw Sam, my Captain is gonna be on my ass until next year if I don’t get to work now. I was late about two hours ago.” Grumbling, you yanked Tara’s closet open and grabbed the spare trousers and button-down, you stowed in there.

"Can't say I blame your Captain." Quinn retorts, heavily eyeing you as you change your shorts into trousers.

Tara groans at the mess this morning has already been, flopping onto her back.

“Screw Sam, huh?” She appears, leaning on the threshold just behind Quinn, crossing her arms over her chest.

Your hands stall on the tie you were tying as you hear your friend’s voice, making you turn around.

“I guess that’s a no on the nail polish?” Tara glares at her roommate.

Quinn shrugs, still ogling as you changed before turning to leave the room. “Not a wasted trip though, nice catch Tara.” She winks at the brunette – holding a thumbs up.

The redhead just laughs, moving out of the way when Tara attempts to throw a pillow at her.

“Sam… I’d love to explain but I am so late for work right now.” You plead at the older sister.

Tara sat on her bed wordlessly, unsure of what Sam’s reaction is going to be – but ready to defend her relationship with you, regardless.

Sam chuckles shrugging lightly, “I already knew. Or well, I had a feeling, but this just confirms it.”

You and Tara look at each other at her confession, unsure if Sam’s words hold positive or negative connotations. Sam sees the eye-contact and laughs.

“I’m not mad, I promise. I was a little hurt that you didn’t tell me…” She pauses, “okay. I was really hurt when you guys didn’t tell me. But I realize I haven’t given Tara reason to trust me with anything about her life lately.”

That makes Tara’s head perk up at her sister’s admission. All she’s ever wanted was for Sam to trust her a little because trust went both ways in every type of relationship.

“And well, I guess I can’t think of anyone better to be with my sister than my cop friend. Especially after you came through for her last night. You were driving so fast, I thought I was gonna die.” Sam laughs a little but you’re still unconvinced.

When Sam realizes no one was still talking she chuckles again. “Guys, I’m serious!”

You cough clearing your throat, “Sorry Sam, it’s just that... I–uh,”

Tara decided to cut off your stammering, “We’re just surprised, Sam. We thought you'd be more upset. And that we were more subtle.” She admits, shooting you a look.

“You weren't. But, I thought a lot about what to say until I realized it was just you guys and I care about you two so much. You don’t think I noticed Tara being a lot happier than usual and you actually looking somewhat at peace?” She asks rhetorically, reading you and Tara to filth – your cheeks reddening, not being used to being at the other end of the ‘questioning’.

“I see how you look at each other. I know you’ll protect her.” That last sentence she says looking at you and it means the world to get her approval – something that you didn’t even know you wanted, you nod at her appreciatively.

Sam pushes herself off the doorframe, tapping on it. “Now come on, there’s breakfast in the kitchen, don't let it get cold. And Y/N, I don’t think you’re gonna make it to work today.” She winks, leaving you and Tara alone in the room.

You didn’t say anything for a few seconds, unable to find words to describe what just transpired in the span of a few minutes. Then you hear a scoff bring you out of your reverie.

“What the hell was that,” Tara commented, getting up from the bed and closing the door before approaching you.

“I’m… not really sure. I can’t tell if I’m still asleep.” You mumble, grabbing at her cheeks to make sure you weren't in a dream. Tara whines against the pinching, swatting your hands away.

You laughed at her frown before leaning down to kiss her slightly chapped lips, all soft and slow. Tara pulls you closer by the neck, sighing against pressed mouths. A sweet moan escapes her mouth when you suck down hard on her lip, releasing it with a loud pop.

“You think I should call in sick today?” You whisper, running a gentle thumb to soothe her swollen lip.

Tara nods, eyes half-open still a little dazed from your kiss. When she gathers her bearings, she runs a hand down your half-done tie, tugging you closer. “Definitely.”

"You can tell me more about how worried you were and how fast you were driving too," She whispers against your mouth, using your tie as a leash.

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Kinda... can I drive with the sirens on?" She slides the question in like it was nothing.

"No."

"Buzzkill." She teases but pulls you on top when her back hits the mattress. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

You definitely forgot to make that phone call.

The rest of that morning was spent in between Tara’s sheets, you two hidden away from the world; ignoring the flurry of texts and calls from your work phone. Only leaving her room to grab some food and water, but getting caught in the crossfire of teasings from Tara's friends when they see the hickeys on your neck.

Tara merely strides past you, dressed in nothing but your button-down, stopping for a peck on the lips and grabbing the water from your hands before hiding back in her room to ignore her friends. You don’t miss the cheeky wink she tosses you and the grimace Sam lets out as she watches. Instead, you keep your head down and follow the smaller girl like a lost puppy, ignoring the other's whistles as you do.

And, when you make your way to your desk the next day, a mountain pile of shitty cases for the next month is stacked high as punishment.

You still find it hard to feel any remorse for the no-show.

It was definitely worth it.

– –

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter imagine #sam carpenter #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #jenna ortega

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Note

may I request an angst with evan buckley

"keep your eyes on me." promt with an established relationship please! but hes been through a lot give him his happy ending please, i love him so much 🫶🏻

Lightning Strike.

28. "Keep your eyes on me."

Author's Note - this is a drabble written as part of my 500 Followers Celebration!! find that post here. my soft sweet buck. thank you for this request <3

Pairing - Evan Buckley x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Warnings - sad buck. mentions of a sort of panic attack.

Word Count - 500 ish maybe??

Masterlist. 500 Follower Celebration Masterlist.

Buck is the king of putting on a brave face.

Always strong, never faltering. He reassures everyone he's fine time and time again, smiling and cracking jokes. But you see right through him.

You've always been able to read him like a book. You don't even have to try.

After the lightning strike, Buck doubled down on his brave face. He wouldn't let anyone see him upset - not even Eddie. Which is rare. And worrying.

He seems to be coping surprisingly well, desperate to get back to work and resume normal routine. While he's stuck at home, he's been cooking, doing puzzles, watching football. You're greeted with a lovingly cooked meal and a glass of wine every time you walk through the door.

Until today.

Today, you walk into the apartment, and it's dark. No lights on, no TV blaring sound. Nothing.

"Buck?"

Silence.

"Buck? Baby? I'm home," you call.

Now you're worried.

You start striding through the apartment, navigating your way through the darkness. When you hear a sniffle, your head whips around. There's Buck, knees pressed to his chest, jammed in between the nightstand and the wall. He's curled up on the ground, head resting on his arms that are protectively wrapped around his legs.

"Buck? Hey, did something happen?"

"Yeah," he murmurs hoarsely. "I got hit by lightning."

"I remember," you say gently. "Did something happen today?"

"I don't know," he whispers. "I think I've been distracting myself. And today it all came crashing down."

"Talk to me," you urge.

Buck's lip trembles, and so do his hands. Warm, salty tears drip down his face, and his breathing quickens rapidly.

"Hey, hey. Keep your eyes on me, Buck."

He locks his gaze onto yours, and mirrors your breathing carefully. Eventually, he calms down enough to speak.

"I died. I've been so close to death so many times that I'm kinda numb to it. But this time was so real. How am I supposed to go on living my life like nothing happened, when I literally died?"

"You don't have to live like nothing happened, baby," you reassure, moving to sit down in front of him. "No one expects you to do that."

"I just -," he sighs, trying to formulate a coherent thought. "I just don't know how to carry on."

You reach out gently and place a hand on his cheek, wiping away the tears that are spilling over. Your thumb strokes his cheekbone carefully, grounding him back down to Earth.

"I know you're like, totally anti therapy -," you begin, and he laughs. "But talking to a therapist or a trauma counsellor might really help. Or maybe we find a support group. This is LA, there's groups for everything."

"You think there's a lightning strike support group?" he jokes.

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised," you chuckle. "And if there isn't? Well, we'll start one."

"I might be the only person who attends."

"Fine by me," you tease, nudging him lovingly.

You stand up, and offer him a hand. He takes it gratefully, getting up and instantly wrapping his arms around you. He inhales the scent of your vanilla shampoo, and the tension leaves his shoulders rapidly.

"I love you," he murmurs into your hair. "I'm so lucky."

"I'm the lucky one," you reassure. "Well, technically you are, since you got hit by lightning. And survived."

"I've always been one in a million," he chuckles, squeezing you a little tighter.

"Yes, you have. My one in a million, Evan Buckley."

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eyelambspider · 4 months ago

Text

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞. - König

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : a year after a near fatal encounter with an enemy bomb, könig has developed severe ptsd, insomnia, and experienced the loss of his voice. Resorting to sign language and therapy, the large quiet colonel finds little to look forward to then returning to the battlefield as a sniper... and y/n, whom he has been... 'observing' for a while. 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 1.2k 𝐚/𝐧 : gyahhh, i also have a bot on janitor of this bot (he meets y/n in group therapy) so check it out if you like this! this is also quick posted dmm, just wanted to get my writing out there finally 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : dark themes, yandere personalities, mentions of harm/gore/ptsd/death, no mentions of y/n

❝ 𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐔𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐓. ❞

König's brows furrowed a bit. The endless droning on from his therapist, Doctor Esteban, having temporarily held his attention. Even as he stared down at the textured brown carpet between his boots.

"König," the Doctor sighed softly, pushing his pristine glasses up his hooked nose as he stared at the broken soldier. He knew better than anyone that war was capable of breaking even the strongest men.

The Colonel sitting in front of him on the repurposed couch was no different.

Just another soldier, no matter his rank, build or height- reduced to nothing but a survivor to the horrors of a brutal bombshell.

"Happiness," he started again, "is a valuable asset. Especially now." Esteban noted, glancing down at his perfect penmanship with a soft grimace.

Today would've been almost exactly a year since it had happened to him. And they both knew it would be nothing more than what it was. An uphill battle towards König's recovery.

"What things make you happy? What things do you like to do recently?" The Doctor's glasses gently clinked again as he shifted, trying to catch the soldiers eye to no avail.

"Have you picked up any hobbies?"

There was a silence, for a moment, but the Doctor waited with a ghost of a smile on his lips. For he had hope, perhaps the only one in the room who currently did.

Hobbies? Happy?

The words stuck like grime against the sides of his skull, unable to be shaken away.

Amongst the nightmares and sleepless nights... there was only one thing that even remotely made him forget about the sound- that haunting sound of the Earth splitting beneath his feet.

The Doctor's smile quirked awkwardly, seeing a visible shift in König and the way he sat. The question of happiness having seem to struck something in the veteran who refused at every turn: to quit service. Even after having lost his voice.

The six foot ten man shifted visibly, his elbows propped loosely on his knees, head tilted downcast... but it was all in his eyes. Those piercing blues that shone from the black sniper veil he wore, cast over his face like a shadow. Lifting finally to glare through the white coat that sat opposed to him.

Side to slow side, König shook his head, the shirt draped over his face hissing almost inaudibly with the movement. The only thing that could fill his newfound silence.

"No?" Esteban quirked a brow, clicking his pen against his paper like he did when he was thinking. Incessantly.

"I know you are eager to get back to the field, König, but I have to clear you for that. And to do that," Esteban gestured between the space, "I need to know you are actively recovering."

While Esteban gave him something to think about, another soft sigh left his lips, considering his and the Colonel's options. The next step, perse. The sound of clicking following.

"When we meet up next, I want to hear of a new hobby? Alright? Show me some progress to report on. It will be good for you," Esteban pushed gently into his head, only to have that piecing glare fall back to the carpeted floor, seemingly going idle again. Or uninterested.

"I do not mean cleaning your sniper, like I know you like to, or any physical activity." An idea struck the Doctor with a pearly smile. "Nothing related to your service," The Doctor set his pen and paper down finally and laced his hands in his lap. "Take up something creative. Knitting, painting, cooking-"

König shot a glare over at the Doctor this time, who in turn held his hands up in mock surrender. "Something new. Try something new and tell me about it next time, hm?" The Doctor looked over the rim of his glasses expecting compliance he knew he would eventually get. If König ever wanted to work in the military again.

That was the only thought that made him happy. Or at least, kept his life's purpose within his control.

König thought it over for a moment before nodding slowly.

As he stood, he remembered to thank Esteban for the time, bringing his hand (palm towards his mouth) and extending outwards. A simple sign he had learned: thank you.

Something new. A new hobby.

It gave him something to think about at least as he left the session, making his way back down the familiar halls of KorTac's base of operations. Merc's and operators alike passed him, or more like, moved around him as he walked. His height and silent presence parting the swarms of rookies and office bugs like the red sea before him. Something that actually hadn't changed for him in the past year.

What changed? What changed in him ran deeper than any physical scars or his inept vocal chords could reach.

It scarred his very soul.

And in all honesty, if he could tell anyone, even his Doctor about it. They would shudder at the thoughts and images that plagued him.

The Colonel made his way down the hall, blue eyes unwavering from its mark... who walked a few feet ahead of him. Unaware just like always that he was following.

Maus.

An imperceptible pang echoed through his chest as he stared ahead.

You had no reason to believe anyone was following you. In fact, you had never noticed him following before. Coincidentally, his path and schedule always lined up with yours. Able to trail after you down a simple hallway after each one of his therapy sessions.

Like clockwork, you were always there. A few steps ahead, but so-so impossibly far behind.

What made you so fucking special?

It was a thought that simmered under his skin like an itch he could never scratch. Uncomfortable and aggressive. Sometimes at night, he wouldn't dream of the bomb.

He wouldn't hear the whistle of it falling from the sky. Or the screams of young boys in men's camouflage using their lasts breaths to cry for home. Or the sound of the devil ripping the earth from beneath his feet. Or the feel of fire latching onto his throat like an iron noose.

No.

He dreamt...

He dreamt-

He snapped out of his thoughts as you turned the corner, your side profile visible to him through the crowd even as you tried to blend in and get back to your work. The sudden change snapped him out of his trance.

He blinked, breath suddenly ragged like he had run a marathon, stopping in the middle of the hallway. Disconnected as people opted to walk around him. As if he was merely a specter in the world of the living.

König didn't know if he dared to turn his head and catch another glimpse of you because...

For the second time in his life, he was scared.

Terrified of the thoughts that now flooded his head.

König's head turned slowly to the right. Body moving on its own accord to follow the sight of your retreating form. The way your hair swayed with your steps. The way you looked down momentarily, flashing a glimpse of your nape to the fluorescent light of the base...

His once dull, tired eyes dilated as he gazed upon the delicate sight of your exposed skin.

At night, he dreamt of wrapping his rough hands around your throat and watching as the light faded from your fucking eyes.

König's heart stopped as the dream reappeared like a vision swimming before him, the itch swarming under his flesh like serpents wanting to strike.

This time, instead of turning away and walking to his quiet quarters, his boots turned right. Continuing to follow after you.

#cod x reader #konig call of duty #konig cod #konig #konig x reader #konig mw2 #call of duty x reader #x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere konig #yandere cod #x male!reader #x fem!reader #x gn!reader #mute!konig #könig x reader #konig x you #könig cod

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fraugwinska · 7 months ago

Note

Since your the queen of fluff, I had to make this request.

It’s more an angst/comfort/fluff, but I want to see Alastor dealing with his girlfriend/lover having body dysmorphia. The comfort in O Mother Mine for him was beautifully portrayed and I want Alastor to provide comfort back. Cant wait to see what you write🩷💖❤️

This was - and still is - an ask that hit very much home for me. Struggling with my self image and a long, very taxing time living with an ED since my teens, I had to take my time writing this - Because with all this history weighing in my own back pocket, I wanted to write something my younger self would've found comfort in reading. Which is why there's a lot of my own experiences woven in. Thank you for this ask, my dear. And to all who fight the fight against their own head each day - I see you. And you are worthy of every bit and piece of love, external and internal. I let our dear deer take it from here.

TW: Explicit depictions & mentions of ED and body dysmorphia - 3k words

“Why don't you want one? Do they look bad? Don't you like my chocolate chip cookies?”

Niffty stared at you, her one big eye glazed and watery, and you felt that at her whining remark all eyes were on you. Shit.

You had been at Charlie's group therapy activities for hours by now, everyone was exhausted and hangry enough for Vaggie to intervene and propose a lunch break. You managed to discreetly dodge every dish that was going around the table, making sure to have an alibi piece of bread and a few leaves of salad on your plate, just in case anyone would look at you funny, and it was good that you did. You glanced around the table to find Alastor of all people staring at you from the other side, and pretending obliviousness you turned to Angel with a smile, laughing at whatever he said, and shoved a few bits of salad into your mouth. ‘See, I'm eating, all good.’

You thought the worst was over when the others pushed their dishes into the middle of the table with content sighs and filled bellies. But then Niffty had been hopping around, offering everyone the masses of cookies she had been baking with Pentious the evening before, and Niffty was just not dodgeable.

“Aw Niff, of course I do, and they look amazing! But I'm so full, stuffed, I really can't take another bite.” Perhaps you imagined it, but you thought you heard a static crack of feedback and you shot a quick glance over to Alastor, but he was drinking his After-Lunch coffee with closed eyes, detached and apparently trying to drown out the babbling sinners around him. Irritated, you turned to the little, pouting cyclops girl again, your voice purposely louder as you said “Tell you what, I'll take one now and save it for later, okay? I can't pass up on your delicious treats, can I?”

That seemed to do the trick, and when you wrapped the cookie you took from a beaming Niffty into a napkin and slid it in your pocket, she and everyone else seemed satisfied and they turned their attention elsewhere - At least you hoped they were.

Another few long, dragging hours later Charlie finally released you all, and the communal groan of relief was only overlapped by the pitter-patter of multiple pairs of feet rushing behind Husk to the bar in desperate need for a strong drink. You were contemplating to join them, even if it was just for a glass of water, but that thought was instantly buried when Angel called over to you.

“Oy, toots, come on and drag ‘ya fat ass over here, I need ‘ya to tell sourpuss here to let me pluck his overgrown eyebrows. Bitch is starting to look like Frieda Kahlo.”

It was an innocent, friendly-meant remark. You knew that. Angel was your friend, you knew that. The laughter that followed his call was a reaction to his crassness. You knew that. But your already aching stomach twisted, and it took everything in you to keep your face from crumbling, and the smile on your lips felt fragile when you answered.

“No can do, Ange, I’m heading to my room. I feel a headache coming up. See you guys later.”

You hurried out the hall as fast as you allowed yourself without looking like you’re fleeing, passing Charlie in vivid conversation with Alastor, throwing her a dismissive wave of the hand when she broke off in the middle of her sentence to ask if you needed anything and ignored the red eyes that were burning your back as you speeded to the lift.

For a moment you felt safe inside the elevator, closing your eyes and leaning back against the wall to deeply breathe in and out to calm your racing thoughts when the doors closed. But then you opened them again, your reflection was staring back at you from the mirrored wide wall of the lift cabin. You stared blankly at the hated body in front of you, eyes mapping every curve that was too wide, every point your clothes wrinkled over a roll of fat.

Oy toots, get your fat ass over here…Fat ass..Fat...

You ran out of the cabin the moment the 'ding' announced your arrival at your floor and the doors opened, vision blurry from the pooling tears. As soon as you slammed the door to your room shut and turned the key in the lock behind you, you sobbed, leaning your head on the hard wood of your bedroom door. Tears were streaking your face as you sank down to sit on the floor and wrapped your arms around yourself, shoulders shaking from suppressed and failed attempts to cry silently. The room was silent, but your head was loud. Too loud.

Honey, you can't go to school like that, you look like a stuffed sausage. Go back and change…

No, pumpkin, the hamburger is for daddy. You’ll eat a salad, like mommy. Don’t you want to be as beautiful as mommy…

A Bikini? Wow, someone's feeling brave today...

You'd look so beautiful babe, if you'd only lose a few pounds...

Oy toots, get your fat ass over here...

"Shut up, shut up, shut up." It was no use. Begging them to stop never helped. Your hands pressed down on your ears but they couldn’t silence the insistent, ghostly voices inside, louder and louder and louder, repeating the same sentences over and over again and you wanted to rip them off, just to maybe get them out, deafen them, make them…

“Stop that now, Darling." Two hands that were not your own were on yours, long fingers peeling them away from your ears and taking them in tender but firm grips to pull your arms apart. Those foreign hands were dark and warm and much bigger than yours, holding you by the wrists as they pulled you away from the door and back onto your feet. Without releasing them, you felt a chest pressing against your back as the hands on your wrists guided them into an embrace, cageing you with crossed arms in front of you in warmth and the firm, humming body of Alastor. "There now, that's much better isn't it. Now breathe, dearest, with me. Do it with me."

Your mind was a haze of scattered and pained thoughts and fears that were struggling and lashing out to the surface, but they quieted into soft whimpers and whizzing like a dying steam train with every steady, deep inhale Alastor took with you, his chest rising against your back and his breath steady in your ears. He waited a few moments after he had made you breathe normally again before letting go and gently turning you to face him, hands now on your shoulders as you avoided his eyes, but when he looked at your face and your tear streaked cheeks he wiped the wetness away from your skin with the pad of his thumb.

"Why did you come?" You sounded husk and defeated. You knew your jig was up. You've been found out. At last.

"How did I not come sooner would be the better question, darling." Alastor answered, leaving his hand cupped on your cheek, thumb still in mid-stroke as he talked to your averted face. His voice was clear, even-keel, just loud enough for you to hear. And you heard him all the better for not facing him, his signature transatlantic accent and theatrical flourish in his tone, always so strong and prominent, was missing entirely as he continued. "For a few weeks now I've suspected that something was not right with you, my dear. Though I didn't want to press the matter, today has confirmed this. You've not eaten any of the food prepared, spare the few bits of greenery that wouldn't even nourish the roaches that pester this hotel, and we both know you only did because you knew you were being watched."

Watched by him. You sighed quietly at the accuracy, finally turning to look at him, awaiting to find judgment and ridicule, though the red deer demon didn't move at all. He just carried on his stroke with the thumb under your eyes, which started tearing up again, his expression strangely soft.

"My shadows reported that you were hiding food given to you just to throw it away later, and I took notice how you constantly avoided reflective surfaces. Darling, your image must haunt you and I cannot imagine the reason why. I find myself asking: What would drive you to starve yourself, to hide from mirrors and cut your eyes to any remarks looking for underlying maliciousness?"

What a loaded question, asked so simply. And he seemed honestly confused. No smirk, no tilted head. You paused for a long while before answering him.

"You... you won't understand, Alastor."

"Then help me to, darling." He coaxed you, now moving both his hands to hold your face and pull your head closer to lean his forehead to yours, looking firmly in your eyes. And it dawned on you then that the radio demon, the overlord who never revealed weakness, never showed real emotions or shared much with anyone, the one demon who walked these halls smiling and sneering with menace and mystery and endless pride, was purposely and genuinely showing you that he cared.

Maybe it was the fatigue and the despair finally getting the best of your defense system. Maybe it was because he wasn't just anybody. Alastor was so many things but most importantly, he was your friend, had been ever since you and him found mutual interests in each other in countless nights that were spent in quiet by the fireplace in the hall. He liked your level-headedness, your ability to listen, really listen, patiently and actively. You liked his vivaciousness, the vast knowledge of him that he could share when one was just willing to let him talk. Yes, the others were nice, and yes, you felt close to all of them after a few months. But you felt the closest to him, proven by the fact that not Charlie knocked on your door, or Angel noticed you were paler and thinner than weeks ago. But Alastor. Maybe you just needed that final push and he had given it to you.

So you spilled. Through sobs, tears and sighs, you told him everything:

From your family that wouldn't stop comparing you with your thinner friends, fostering a hatred for food because of misguided care. You shared that your health became less and less important with every diet and lost pound, seeing your aching stomach as a sign of sucess. How you'd hate yourself for lack of discipline when you starved yourself so much your brain snapped and you ate any- and everything you found until you felt sick and disgusting. How your friends while alive were never intentionally hurtful, yet dismissive about your insecurities, complaining to you about their sizes while you felt like they were mocking you, being stick thin and conventionally beautiful. And you told him about your one and only boyfriend, who accepted the relationship under the pretense that you'd change to fit his preferences, always waiting for you to drop weight he saw as too much, to shape you the way he wanted you to be, threatening to keep you secret from his friends and family until you did. And you did. But you paid the bitter price - got cheated on while you counted calories, and when you finally reached the set weight he dictated, he left. Leaving you hungry and confused, thin and sick and so, so lost.

With every word his hold on you grew tighter and tighter. But so did yours on him. This time, it was him who listened quietly, never interrupting, and only at the mention of that asshole ex is when he made a sound, his ears went flat against his skull as a low growl rumbled in his throat, but his expression remained perfectly stoic, absorbing your words quietly. After you finished you leaned heavily against Alastors chest and hid your face there, feeling drained and guilty for soaking his expensive coat with your pitiful tears. Your entire body was numb with exhaustion and pain, so was the emptiness inside of you that your self-deprecating thoughts have been inhabiting for years, and you dreaded the response Alastor could give to your pathetic life-story.

"All those people have proven to you to be thoroughly disappointing." was what Alastor said first, speaking very softly with his chin leaning against your scalp. "It makes the blood call for revenge when thinking about the throes you've had to put up with. You don't owe anybody to change anything about yourself that you do not wish to."

You couldn't hold back another tear that rolled down your nose and onto Alastor's shirt, clinging tighter to him and shaking your head against his shoulder, nuzzling his shirt in desperate and trained denial of comforting words.

"Aren't they right though? I'm not like Charlie, or Angel, or even you. I'm not...they are so… just... look at me." You muttered and tried to push out of the hug to avoid looking him in the eye, but the demon didn't give.

"Oh, I am." He gave you a stern stare, unintimidating and almost tender as he pulled you back closer. "Darling, I am looking at you, more than you think. And all I see is a strong, intelligent and beautiful little sinner, so willing to give everyone more grace and gentleness than herself that she hides from every compliment she deems unworthy of her, ashamed of her lovely shape that was the source of so much torment." Alastor sighed, cupping your face in a loose grip, shaking his head in disbelief. "Everyone of us has flaws, we are inherently imperfect creatures, some more than others, and yet you've managed to convince yourself those flaws and imperfections define you in their entirety."

Your instincts told you to flee, to run from this kindness that was offered to you so alluringly. It has to be a trap, your head told you, don't trust those words, don't give in. And you almost tried to, your muscles tensed as if to bolt, your breath quickened as if about to run, your heart pounded as if preparing to fight his arms for release. But you didn't.

Maybe, a long forgotten voice spoke in your mind, maybe it wasn't a trick. Maybe he was earnest, like he had been the past couple months in your company. He's here now, isn't he? Holding you and reassuring you and calming you in a way no one ever had. He hadn't put an inch between him and you to allow your doubts space to creep back in, keeping you at his side - not just now, but over the last weeks continuously, had never spoken ill of you or tried to change you, had no agenda, nothing to gain from lying to you.

Alastor smiled when you sank back into his arms, and this time when he stroked your tears away, he let his fingers come to rest at your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. And without a word he leaned forward, eyes half closed, and kissed you on your cheek. His lips lingered for a moment, as if to wait for your reaction, asking a question without words. And you answered it ever so silently, turning your head to meet them with your own.

The kiss was a revelation of truth. Because he was kissing you the way you always longed to be kissed.

There wasn't passion in it, it wasn't hungry and fast or hard and demanding. It wasn't meant to make you hot or make your legs weak, but to tell you that you were cared for, that you were accepted exactly the way you were, imperfections included, and that all the days you've suffered for the wrong reasons were gone with the past and needn't to be re-visited. That you were enough. You always have been.

When he parted from you, Alastor looked content. More than that, actually. Not smiling wide as usually but with eyes sparkling in mirth that could have easily matched that of Charlie on a particularly good day. When he leaned into you again, you almost expected another kiss, but he reached into your pocket, pulling the napkin with Niffty's cookie inside out of your pocket, holding it up expectantly.

"Now, I think it's high time you feed yourself, darling - and you did promise our little Niffty you'd enjoy this later, which it is now."

You stared, first at Alastor, then at the baked good, the guilty conscience you've nursed for so many years creeping back into your thoughts.

"Alastor, I don't know... if I can."

He tilted his head contemplating, turning the cookie in his hand before he snapped it in half, handing you one half while he brought the other to his mouth and raised a brow.

"We'll share it then."

This gesture was everything. It was everything, because you knew he really didn't care for sweet treats. But he cared for you.

You took your half from his hands, feeling the corners of your lips pull into a small smile at the way he scrunched his nose at the sticky thing in his hands when you both bit in. But his free hand found yours, entwining your fingers as he suffered through his bite, and as you watched him him struggling to keep an unfazed expression, you thought that - while Niffty might've put in her best efforts - nothing she or anyone could make could ever sate your hunger more than his lips could.

Tagging my lovely testreaders @bapple117 and @macabr3-barbi3, who really encouraged and reassured me. I love you both, as well as the others in Bapples discord server (TRUST US and join NOW) who never tire of lifting me up when I'm struggling <3

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #angel dust #charlie morningstar #hazbin hotel husk #Habin hotel vaggie #hazbin hotel alastor #body dysmorphia #eating disorder #quickfic #angst and fluff #soft alastor #you are worthy #you are loved #you are not alone

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opinioncore · 6 months ago

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* ੈ✩‧₊˚— VICTIMs HOLD GRUDGES

— getting to know your friends! And enemies! And faculties! And students!

⸝⸝୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ — possessive and obsessive tendencies (yandere things), bullying, incest (not to you), OOC, manipulation, power imbalance (they're all rich and you're poor, or teacher and stuff) assault, you/your and they/them but AFAB reader, animal death (on Kabukimono's part only), OC mentions, mentions of death, choking (on Scaramouche's part only).

ᝰ.ᐟ — part 1 - reader x genshin cast

-–———————————————–-

Tartaglia/Ajax — The older brother of Patrina and Xiao. Zhongli always brought him to business meetings and these meetings are with foreigners, specifically Russian foreigners, since he was a child. He is a child of a different mother, a mother with ginger hair and blue eyes. He's a sporty kid in school, one of the most known representatives in sports whenever the school participates in competitions.

"Did you come to see me?" He asks, you shake your head, "I came here for Patrina, where is she?" You asked and looked around, he laughed, but it didn't sound happy at all, he placed an arm on your shoulder and pulled you close, not caring that he's sweaty, "I'm hurt, you came here looking for someone like her and not me? We gotta fix that, we're 'friends' remember?"

he doesn't really like how the word friend rolls on his tongue.

Xiao — The youngest brother of both Patrina and Tartaglia. He's the one closest to his father — Zhongli — the most. Xiao feels like he's indebted to Zhongli the most because unlike his siblings, he never knew he had a mother, and Zhongli raised him by himself, no nanny or whatsoever, Patrina helped a little to that. He's in that little infamous group — 5WIRL —known for making the teachers live a living hell, he doesn't really do much and just follows what Venti does.

"You're a clumsy person, you know that?" He says, trying really hard to bandage your sprained ankle, that he caused. "This was your fault you know?" You snort, he doesn't really answer, but you're getting irritated at how he can't bandage your ankle properly at all. "I'll just go get Dr. Baizhu to do it in the infirmary—" and you let out a pained gasp, he just tightened the bandage on your sprained ankle, "No. I'll do it."

he doesn't really like how Baizhu looks at you.

Zhongli — The father of Tartaglia, Patrina, and Xiao. Owns the biggest, wealthiest, powerful and most successful company out there. Would do anything he could to spend time with his children despite his very tight schedule, like taking Tartaglia to meetings, studying with Patrina, and raising Xiao. He used to be a student in Teyvat Academy and is now the biggest investor that funds the company.

"It feels like you aren't glad to see me at all. Why's that, I wonder?" He asks as he drinks his tea that's probably more expensive than your entire house and furniture and food all together. He isn't dumb, he knows why you're so unfriendly, but he's the one paying your therapy to help your mental state after seeing your friend die, you really should be more grateful. He doesn't hear you speak, not even glancing at him. "You're quite the troublemaker, no?" He stated.

he doesn't really like how hostile your eyes look.

─── ᯓᡣ𐭩 ───

Kabukimono — The oldest out of the triplets by 5 minutes, but he really acts more of the youngest out of all of them. Was at first supposed to be the heir of the company his mother owns but she soon deems him unworthy (his words), and now he seeks attention from Amaya instead. He doesn't really do the same bad things his other brothers do, his just more clingy and obsessive than an average sibling. He's one of the most innocent and least sane people in the Academy (at least that's what they think).

"Please, have this.." he hands you something, it has a little flower with it.. and the main thing was a dead sparrow. He looks away with a flushed face while you look at it in horror. He fiddles his fingers, "I really love you. It brings me comfort that you don't make me feel less or worthless." It would've been very romantic if it weren't for the dead sparrow in your hands.

he really loves how he never feels left out when he's with you.

Scaramouche — He's next to Kabukimono, he was named Kunikuzushi but he doesn't want to be called that and prefers to be called Scaramouche. He also was supposed to be the heir, but his mother deemed him unworthy too (his words), so he grows to hate, feel insecure and finds comfort when he sees others as unworthy, just like him back then, he refuses to believe that. And thinks he's above everybody when somewhere in his heart, he feels unworthy. He uses Amaya as a way to release his frustrations, whether physically or emotionally or sexually, it doesn't matter. He's also in that little infamous group — 5WIRL —known for making the teachers live a living hell, and he is the worst out of the group, he doesn't wanna follow Venti at all but finds his ideas amusing enough to follow, students fear him, like a lot.

"Tell me. Where did you get this necklace from?" He asks you, holding out the necklace your friend - Nanako - gave you, "And why should I tell you that?" You spoke, defiant, not wanting to tell him anything, what if he was the one who actually killed your friend? It won't be long until he goes after you next if he finds out then. He scoffs, "Stupid... You're just really stupid aren't you?" He pushes you on the ground and gets on top of you. "Let's make something similar then, hmm? Something matching, and on our necks." And you feel something wrap around your neck, and as if on instinct, you wrap your hand around his.

he really loves the look in your eyes whenever you face him.

Wanderer — the youngest out of the triplets, yet more mature than the both of them, he was never meant to be an heir and never cared about it, was just heavily influenced by Scaramouche as a kid but soon grew to be more mature than him. He isn't as bad as Scaramouche when it comes to Amaya but isn't as good as Kabukimono though. He's also in that little infamous group — 5WIRL — known for making the teachers live a living hell, and he is like Xiao, just doing what Venti does, he isn't really with them all the time, just by himself.

"You're putting yourself in danger by talking to me, y'know that, don't you?" He scoffs, you don't even want to talk to him at all, you just want to ask where Amaya is, "I.. where is Amaya?" You asked, and he clicked his tongue in annoyance, should've expected that, "Amaya this, Amaya that," he pulls your face closer to him by your face, "Why not ask me things about me, or yourself instead? I'm tired of getting asked about Amaya."

he really loves how you would call out to him by his name.

-–———————————————–-

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ part 1!! Yippie!! I wanna add more but like, nahh let's keep it to them instead, maybe I should do doodles too?

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little-tainted-angel · 1 year ago

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๑ A secret between interlinked fingers.

Tim Drake x male!reader

Category: [Fluff/sfw/comical(?)]

Warnings: 5/5 bat-bros (Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke and Damian), male reader. Mention of Cassandra. 4/5 bat-bros don't believe Tim could go to therapy at all (I doubt any of them would). Reader uses Spanish pet names. May be too OOC.

Request: Yes / No | From: Anon.

«Hey! Could you please write Tim Drake x reader? Basically Tim is secretly dating a guy and they nostly hang out at school, his brother's get a bit too curious and listen in <3»

Note: My first request! Glad to have you here <3 I apologize if this isn't linked to your ask, Tumblr for some reason wouldn't let me edit it. I only had the options "delete" "program publication" and "post". Also, sorry this is short and if I got the characters personality wrong, I don't really know how to write Tim.

Resume: Tim and reader are dating, but they mostly just spend time in their school. His brothers got curious, and since all of them were raised by the world's best detective, is up to them to resolve the mystery that is Tim's relationship.

"I swear there's something strange in the kid's behavior," Jason muttered as he sat down on the couch, next to Damian while Duke was sitting on the other extreme. Dick was standing in front of them.

The four brothers (Cass also noticed, but Cass being Cass had already found out what it was), noticed that the brother —that was currently disappeared from the manor— had slight changes in his behavior.

It was sort of positive, they noticed. But they didn't know what caused it (therapy was discarded as an option by group agreement).

"Maybe he's self-improving for once?" Duke suggested, though he didn't sound convinced himself.

"TT. Doubt that Drake of all people could self-improve his pathetic self," Damian rolled his eyes.

"Damian, be nice," Dick sighed, looking at one of his baby brothers.

"Well, there must be a reason of why this small change." Jason crossed his arms.

"...And if we follow him to find out the reason?" Duke suggested.

"Wouldn't he notice?" Dick raised an eyebrow.

"It won't hurt giving it a try," he shrugged.

"I say we do it. What can end up wrong?" Jason pointed out.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣🌸￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

"All of this is ridiculous," Damian murmured.

"You agreed to it Habibi," Jason hummed, making Damian click his tongue.

The brothers managed to follow Tim to his school. That was the moment they noticed a male getting closer to Tim with a smile.

You were a new addition, they quickly realized. As they had never seen you before with Tim. And Tim seemed at ease with you.

"A boy?" Dick said amused. "That's the cause for Tim's subtle change?"

Don't get him wrong, his baby brother can date whoever he wants. He was just surprised Tim changed because of someone else.

"Who is dumb enough to be interested in him?" Damian replied, clearly not believing what he was seeing.

"That guy we just saw, apparently," Duke hummed.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩ

"Everything okay, Amor?" You asked Tim, as he seemed to be slightly on edge.

"Yeah...I just feel like someone's watching me." Tim replied, sighing as he left his head rest on your shoulder. He was tired, you could tell.

You hummed softly as one hand came to brush his hair out of his face.

"When did you last slept?" You asked him, quietly enough for no one else to hear you.

Tim grumbled quietly, avoiding the question.

"Cariño, when did you last slept?" You asked again with a small sigh.

"...48 hours ago?"

"Tim."

"You asked."

"Do I have to drug you for you to sleep properly?" You murmured, gently massaging his scalp.

"Mmm....maybe," Tim replied back, closing his eyes as he left you touch his hair.

"What am I supposed to do with you, Amor?"

"Love me," Tim replied.

"I already do that, it's easy," you said amused.

Tim grumbled some sort of answer that you couldn't process.

"Yeah, you're definitely sleep deprived, Amor."

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

#dc x male reader #tim drake #tim drake x reader #tim drake x male reader #dc x reader #batfamily #batfam #jason todd #dick grayson #damian wayne #duke thomas #cassandra cain #reader #male reader

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theemissuniverse · 1 year ago

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“NEVER TELL” SYZOTH X COMEDIC RELIEF FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You have a crush on Syzoth and it’s obvious to everyone but him

WARNINGS : MINORS DONT INTERACT. Nothing major but mentions of Syzoth getting “hard” implied smut and descriptive kissing

MASTERLIST

You and the Earthrealm gang, (Johnny, Kenshi, Raiden, and Kung Lao) were in Outworld trying to figure out how Shang Tsung escaped his prison.

The five of you were were walking with Syzoth leading the way. Your friends watched as your eyes dreamily focused on Syzoth.

You took Syzoth’s hand as you walked. “I think we should hold hands. So I don’t get lost.”

Syzoth responded only by interlocking your fingers together and holding your hand. You gasped at this and turned back to your fellow Earthrealm friends.

They gave you a thumbs up and you looked back to face forward.

“How long do you think it’s gonna take for Syzoth to realize (Y/N) has a crush on him?” Raiden whispered to the group.

“From how (Y/N) is acting…I’d give it five to ten minutes.” Kenshi said.

“Please.” Kung Lao started. “Syzoth couldn’t even tell when Ashrah had a thing for him.”

“Maybe he’s purposely ignoring Ash because he wants (Y/N).” Johnny suggested. “I mean who would you rather bang? A demon with a magic wand or an actual human that can kick ass?”

“A demon with a magic wand.” Kung Lao stated like it was obvious.

“Shut up, Kung Lao.”

Everybody reached to the prison where Shao was being kept. Syzoth stopped holding your hand and went to open the door.

When he opened it, he walked in further, keeping everyone behind him. Shao was chained up so he could not escape. “Wow, do you look ridiculous.” Johnny told him.

Shao looked at him annoyed before turning his attention to Syzoth. “You bring me Earthrealmers. Why?”

“We know that Shang Tsung is escaped. You were his cell mate. Which means you know he escaped. How did he escape?”

“Ha! I will not tell you.”

Syzoth tilted his head at him. That was a big mistake. He then looked back to the rest of you. “I would take a step back.”

Everyone but you took a step back. You just looked at him like you were in love, offering a lovingly sigh.

Syzoth turned back to Shao and transformed into his true form. Your Earthrealm friends jumped back at the sight a little while you were unbothered. They still weren’t used to it as Syzoth was normally in human form when he was with them.

Shao tried to back up but he could not. Syzoth grabbed him by the throat with his rough hands. His mouth started to create acid. Then his tongue came out and the acid was falling onto Shao’s leg.

The Earthrealmers looked like they were going to throw up but not you. You just looked in love. “Isn’t he dreamy?” When you saw the look your friends gave you, you shrugged. “What?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you needed therapy?” Johnny asked you.

“A few but in this economy? Please.”

Shao continued to scream as the acid was burning almost all of his flesh from his thigh off. “Stop! I give in! Stop!”

Syzoth stopped torturing him. He backed away from him and turned back into his human form. You tilted your head, confused. “So is nobody gonna question how he spawns with an outfit or…?”

Your question being ignored, Shao finally tells. “The guards that locked us up in chains gave us the wrong ones. I have the anti magic chains and he had the regular metal ones.”

“Yet you allowed him to escape and never told.” Raiden thought out loud. “Which means you were getting something in return.”

“He said he’d come back for me once everything was done.”

“Once what was done?” Syzoth questioned.

“He did not say.”

Syzoth turned to you and your friends. “We must regroup at the palace and think of a plan to capture Shang Tsung.”

Everyone agreed. They started to walk out the prison cell. After Syzoth was done locking it back up, he held out his hand for you to take. You giggled a little and took his hand. Then the two of you walked away.

Everyone was in the place in the planning room. Syzoth had a map on the table where everything was at. “He could’ve gone back to his old lab.” Syzoth said. “We have not had the ability to get rid of all his foul experiments.”

“He could be back in Earthrealm. He still has a vendetta against Lord Liu Kang because of his destiny in this timeline.” Raiden suggested.

“He could try to attack the palace. Empress Mileena was the one who put him there.” Kenshi also suggested.

Syzoth thought for a moment of the plan. When he thinks of something, he nods. “Raiden and Kung Lao, go back to Earthrealm. Make sure nothing threatens it. Johnny and Kenshi stay at the palace and help the Empress protect it. (Y/N) and I will go back to his lab and see if we can spot him.”

You almost fainted. You and Syzoth alone? Something you always dreamed of but were also too scared to do. You clutched your arm around Syzoth’s. “I think that’s a great plan.”

Syzoth did not notice your behavior and instead looked at everyone. “Is that alright with everyone?”

“Yeah. Sounds good.” Kenshi told him.

“Just be careful.” Raiden said more so to you and Syzoth.

“We will.” Syzoth reassured him.

You and Syzoth were heading towards Shang Tsung’s old laboratory. As the two of you walked, you heard a noise coming from the trees. You immediately clutched onto Syzoth. “What was that?”

Syzoth rubbed your back reassuringly. “This is the Living Forest. Souls remain here.”

“Oh. That’s freaky.” You pulled yourself away from Syzoth. The two of you continue walking. “It’s nice that you picked me for this mission. Nobody ever picks me.”

Syzoth looked at you curiously. “What do you mean?”

“I screw up a lot. Like a lot, a lot. So, no one likes being around me.”

“Your Earthrealm friends seem to not mind you.”

“Yeah, but I think it’s just because they feel sorry for me.” You sighed a little while looking down. “Lord Liu Kang even looks at me differently. I just know it.”

Syzoth felt bad. He of all people knew what it felt like to be an outcast. He took your hand and rubbed it reassuringly. “I’m sure that’s not true. I like you.”

Your eyes beamed in pure joy when he said that. “You do?”

“You’re bright and fun to be around. I don’t know how anyone could not like you.”

Him saying that boosted your confidence up. You dusted your shoulder slightly. “You’re right. I am amazing.”

He chuckled at you. “There’s the (Y/N) I know.”

The two of you made it out of the living forest and were just walking on regular ground. “You know I don’t know why you got banished. I would never banish a hot guy.”

Something in Syzoth clicked. All the hand holding, the excuses to touch him, the sly remarks you would make-all of that made sense to him.

You liked him.

“You think I’m attractive?” He teased slightly.

The realization hit you like a brick. You stopped in your tracks making Syzoth stop as well. You pulled your hand away from him. “No. I didn’t say that. I would never say that.” Then you realized what you said. “Not that you’re ugly. Just that as a friend I would never say that about another friend because that friend would-“

Syzoth watched as you rambled. He stared into your eyes and something in him wanted to shut you up. Syzoth cupped the back of your neck with his left hand and kissed you.

You stood there, shocked at the notion. You didn’t even have time to kiss him back. He pulled away from you.

You blinked a little. “What-what was that for?”

“I don’t know…” Syzoth seemed to be confused with himself too. “You were panicking, then I started to panic…then you just looked so pretty and your lips looked so-“

Syzoth was cut off by his own rambling when you kissed him. Syzoth kissed you back.

He brought you closer by your waist before clutching the back of your head with his right hand. He licked at your bottom lip and you moaned. That allowed him to stick his tongue inside your mouth.

You moaned even more as his tongue felt amazing. Syzoth grunted at your moans and felt himself getting hard.

He picked you up by your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. He pushed you up against a tree and continued to make out with you.

“We should probably stop.” Syzoth said in the kiss.

“We probably should.” You said back.

The two of you continued to make out with your tongues connecting. “I have a confession.” Syzoth started to kiss on your neck. “I don’t want to stop.”

You moaned lightly at his kisses. “Me neither.”

Syzoth sucked on your neck and you moaned louder. He continued to nibble and bite at your good spots but then finally pulled away. “I don’t want to have you this way, though.” Syzoth gently placed you down at your feet.

You looked a little disappointed. “Oh…”

Syzoth noticed your disappointment and he gave you butterfly kisses on your face. You giggled at the touch, making him smile. “When we make love I want it to be perfect.”

Your eyes widen a little. “When? Like it will happen?”

“If you want.”

You giggled dreamily at him. “Are my dreams coming true?”

Syzoth chuckled some as he found you cute. He placed another kiss on your lips. “Come on. Let’s hurry up and get this over with so we can go back at it.” He grabbed your hand and walked with you.

You should’ve told him he was hot waaaay sooner.

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writerofsorts · 9 months ago

Text

Back to Rosewood

(image creds: to the owner)

pairing: jason dilaurentis x female reader.

summary: 2x02 "the goodbye look" episode imagine/rewrite.

warnings: mentions of murder.

*read previous part here!

—————

Night had fallen upon the town of Rosewood and [Y/N] found herself in the safety of her bedroom in her home. She was seated at her desk, trying to finish up her homework. However, the work laid open in front of her, unfinished as she found herself constantly getting distracted by the events of the past few months.

She had never once imagined that Ian’s death would bring up so much trouble for her friends and herself. The entire town seemed to believe the girls were liars, not believing their words of Ian being Alison’s killer. On top of that, she and her friends were still dealing with A along with therapy.

[Y/N] groaned and buried her face in her hands, thinking about the meeting with the therapist, Dr. Sullivan, earlier that day. She and the girls were close to telling the doctor about their cyber bully, and [Y/N] had to admit that it felt good.

But, as always, A was one step ahead and was successful in keeping the girls quiet. [Y/N] knew Dr. Sullivan must think she and her friends were crazy indeed by the way they had acted.

A knock on her door made her look up at the doorway and her parents along with her brother stood there with small smiles on their faces.

“You busy, kiddo?” her father, James, spoke first.

“Uh, no, not really,” [Y/N] shook her head, closing her books and pushing them away. “Come on in.”

Her parents entered the room first and sat on her bed while she turned in her chair so that she sat facing them. Her brother, Sid, came to stand next to her and perched at the edge of her desk, playfully messing up her hair. She gave him a playful glare before laughing when he stuck his tongue out at her.

The parents took a moment to admire their kids and the beautiful bond they shared. Reality hit them the next moment and they looked at each other sadly, knowing what they were about to ask next was going to take their daughter’s smile away, even if it would be temporary.

“So, sweetheart,” Leslie began, clearing her throat. “Your father and I just got off the phone with your therapist a few minutes ago.”

Just as they had expected, the playfulness in [Y/N] faded as her expression turned serious.

“Oh,” she replied softly after a few moments. “Uh, yes, today was not a good day.”

“She didn’t tell us exactly what happened,” James spoke next. “However, she did tell us that she doesn’t think it would be helpful to continue seeing you girls as a group.”

“So, she wants us to come in for individual sessions?” asked [Y/N], thinking that shouldn’t be too terrible.

“Well, yes,” her father continued after sharing a glance with her mother. “Also, based on your sessions, she’s making a recommendation.”

“Which I’m not a fan of,” her brother added to the conversation for the first time.

“W-what recommendation?” [Y/N] asked. Her worry grew with her brother’s words and she looked at him once before turning towards her parents again.

“Dr. Sullivan doesn’t think you girls are capable of maintaining a healthy friendship at the moment,” Leslie explained with sympathy lacing her voice. “So, she’s recommending that you girls spend some time apart.”

“Are you saying that I can’t see or talk to my friends?” [Y/N] asked in disbelief.

“This is not forever, honey,” James replied quickly.

“I don’t understand what the shrink is trying to do here by splitting up [y/n/n] and the girls,” Sid commented. “They’ve been through so much. And, now with everything that’s happened with Ian, separating them is a terrible idea!”

“I know, son,” sighed James. “The other parents and we talked. We all mutually agreed that Dr. Sullivan’s suggestion might be for the best.”

“Unbelievable,” Sid muttered with a shake of his head.

“[Y/N], sweetheart, say something,” Leslie said softly.

“I- I don’t know what to say,” [Y/N] replied with a shrug. “It looks like you guys have already decided.”

“It’s just temporary, we promise,” her mother answered apologetically.

[Y/N] dropped her gaze to the floor. She wanted to be upset and throw a tantrum, but that was not her. At the same time, she knew without a doubt that she and her friends would not just stop hanging out.

Even with this new restriction from their parents, [Y/N] was sure that she and the girls would find a way to connect and deal with the fallout from Ian’s death as well as the threat of A. They had to.

“I understand,” she said, looking back up at her parents with a light smile.

Her parents gave her a hug and thanked her for being understanding before leaving her room. Her brother, however, hung back with a suspicious look in his eyes.

“What?” [Y/N] asked, crossing her arms across her chest.

Her brother didn’t reply and waited until he was sure their parents were downstairs and out of earshot.

“You and your friends are not gonna listen, are you?” he asked quietly, his lips curled in a smirk, and [Y/N] sighed.

“Look, I feel bad, but we can’t just not hang out,” she answered softly. “There’s a lot going on and we need each other.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” Sid's playfulness disappeared and he moved to hug her, not liking the fact that his little sister was under a lot of stress. “I’m on your side in all of this. If you need anything, I’m right here.”

“I know,” she said, hugging him back. “Thank you.”

“Just be smart in sneaking around, though,” he teased, pulling back from the hug and ruffling her hair.

“For sure,” [Y/N] chuckled, nodding in agreement.

…

Later that night, [Y/N] was woken up by the vibration of her cellphone on the nightstand. She grabbed the phone to see a text message from Spencer: ‘S.O.S.’

[Y/N] quietly made her way down the stairs to grab her coat and sneakers. Just as she finished wearing her coat, her phone vibrated yet again and she checked it to see a text from Hanna this time: ‘I’m waiting in your backyard.’

[Y/N] loved that she and Hanna were not only the best friends but neighbors as well. That was how they became close, anyway. Still when it came to sneaking out at night to meet up with her friends, she wasn’t a big fan as she didn’t like the dark. But with Hanna, it was easier and she didn’t feel as scared.

She hurriedly wore her shoes and slipped out of her house through the backdoor to see Hanna waving at her while her other hand was buried in her coat pocket.

“Can’t believe Dr. Sullivan thought she could keep us apart from each other,” Hanna scoffed when [Y/N] reached her. “You can’t tell a lot about a person by their shoes, after all.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” [Y/N] said, half amused as she dragged Hanna with her. “Now, let’s go.”

The night was dark and chilly as the two friends made their way towards the greenhouse where Spencer had told the girls that she would be waiting.

When [Y/N] and Hanna reached the greenhouse, Aria and Emily were already there with Spencer. The five girls huddled closer together and Spencer began to explain about why she had messaged them all so late.

“Anyone could’ve sent that, Spence,” Aria was the first to speak after Spencer showed the girls a text that Melissa had received from an unknown number.

“Yeah, it could be some jerk trying to mess with Melissa,” Hanna added.

“Maybe, but it doesn’t seem random,” Spencer sighed, looking down at the message again and reading it. “It’s not safe. I can’t tell you.”

“I can’t tell you what?” Emily asked, her brows furrowed in thought.

“Wherever he is,” Spencer said, sounding confident.

“Spence, Ian is dead,” [Y/N] spoke, wrapping her arms around herself. The thought of Ian being alive made her feel uneasy. “I mean, we all saw him, didn’t we?”

“True,” Hanna said, touching [Y/N]’s forearm over her coat. “But, there’s only one way to know if its Ian texting Melissa or not.”

The other girls looked at Hanna curiously as she looked at Spencer with determined eyes.

“Answer him, Spence. Ask him something that only Ian would know.”

Spencer nodded before typing, ‘how do I know this is you?’

‘Ask me anything,’ came the reply almost immediately from the unknown number.

“I know,” Spencer whispered to herself before her fingers flew over the phone’s keyboard. “What are we naming our baby?”

“What’s the baby’s name?” [Y/N] asked once Spencer finished typing.

“Taylor,” Spencer replied just as the phone in her hand buzzed. She took in a deep breath before looking at the phone only to gasp out loud the next second. With wide eyes, she showed the phone screen to her friends who all showed similar expressions.

‘Taylor,’ the text read.

“It is him,” Hanna whispered in disbelief.

“Oh my god,” Emily said just as [Y/N] spoke, “Ian is alive.”

As if the girls weren’t already terrified, the wind outside suddenly picked up and the greenhouse’s doors started to slam over and over again.

“Did things just get incredibly worse?” Aria asked, trying to speak louder over the sound of the wind.

“I don’t believe this,” Emily said, shaking her head. “Ian’s dead.”

“Zombies don’t text, Emily,” Hanna said sarcastically. “He is alive somewhere.”

“Spence?” [Y/N] called when the girl in question remained silent for a long time.

“I have to get this phone home before Melissa notices that it’s gone,” Spencer said, her lips almost trembling.

“Okay and then what?” Hanna questioned as the wind continued to blow rather wildly outside. “What do we do about this information?”

“Do we tell the cops?” Aria asked, shivering a little.

“That’s not a good idea,” [Y/N] answered. “Telling the cops never works out well for us.”

“True,” Emily sighed in defeat.

“Why is Ian texting Melissa anyway?” Aria asked but before Spencer could answer, Hanna added, “And, why is Melissa answering him?”

“Is she?” asked Emily, skeptic. “I mean, we don’t know how long this has been going on.”

“Spence, you’ve got to find out what Ian told Melissa,” Aria said to the stressed-out girl. “You are the only one who can find out what he wants.”

“And, where he is,” Hanna commented.

The slamming of the door got louder than before and suddenly rocks started to fall off the roof, causing the girls to panic further.

“Let’s get out of here,” [Y/N] spoke, grabbing Hanna and Aria’s hands, who were standing next to her, and dragging them towards the exit. Emily and Spencer weren’t far behind.

Once they got to a safe distance from the greenhouse, things were strangely quiet except for the soft chirping of crickets. They walked down to Spencer’s house which was closer.

“Let’s just finish this at school,” Hanna spoke first. “I’m cold, damp, and scared. We could talk at school.”

“We can’t talk at school, remember?” [Y/N] asked once they stopped near Spencer’s house.

“Yeah, the five of us are supposed to have separate time,” Aria said in disappointment.

“Doctor’s orders,” Emily said with a roll of her eyes.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” scoffed Hanna. “Not talk to each other when we’re all literally in the same classes?”

“We just have to play it cool,” Spencer said calmly even though she was anything but after everything that happened.

Before the girls could talk further, a loud noise interrupted them. They turned in the direction of the noise and were surprised to see a familiar face outside the DiLaurentis house.

“It’s Jason,” Spencer whispered, surprised.

[Y/N], meanwhile, froze in her spot. The last time she had seen Jason was several months ago when he visited her at the hospital after A hit her with their car.

Even though it was dark, she could still make out his appearance and she was taken aback a little by what she saw. The last time he was in Rosewood, he seemed… put-together, for the lack of a better word. He wore suits and had his hair done nicely, not one strand out of place.

Seeing him now, however, reminded her of the old Jason. His hair had grown a little and fell over his forehead as he bent down. He was wearing a fitted Henley shirt that hugged his muscles with denim jeans. He definitely looked good and she had to try her best to not blush at her own thoughts, especially in front of her friends.

Hanna slowly slipped her arm around [Y/N]’s, pulling the latter out of her thoughts.

‘Did you know he was back?’ Hanna mouthed and [Y/N] shook her head in denial.

“Did he move back in?” Hanna asked, clearing her throat lightly.

“Looks like it?” Aria said, sounding unsure just like the rest of them.

“What is all that?” Spencer asked in confusion as she and her friends watched Jason throw away a bunch of things into the dumpster.

“That looks like all the stuff people left on their curb when Ali went missing,” Aria said.

“Maya said her family kept those things when they moved in,” Emily added. “They didn’t have the heart to throw them out.”

“Apparently, Jason’s moved on,” Spencer said with sarcasm and [Y/N] frowned at the brunette’s tone.

“What is he doing in that house anyway?” asked Aria.

“You know what? We’ve already got a lot on our plates,” Hanna said, trying to shift the conversation away from Jason. “Let’s just go home.”

“Han’s right,” [Y/N] said, grateful for Hanna’s interference. “See you guys at school tomorrow.”

The other girls agreed and said their goodbyes before splitting up.

“[y/n/n], did you know Jason was coming back?” Hanna asked again when it was just herself and [Y/N].

“No, I didn’t,” [Y/N] replied. “The last time I saw him was at the hospital. I remember he said he would be coming back but he didn’t exactly keep me updated. I mean, he didn’t have to.”

The girls soon reached [Y/N]’s backyard and paused in front of the door.

“Do you think he’s moved back for good?” Hanna asked softly.

“I don’t know,” [Y/N] shook her head. “But, why would he, though? It’s not like there’s anything here for him, is there?”

“You never know,” Hanna replied softly.

[Y/N] smiled a little at her best friend; the fact that Hanna was so hopeful regarding her and Jason touched her.

“Go get some sleep, Han,” [Y/N] said, playfully pushing the blonde in the direction of her house.

“You’re no fun,” Hanna pouted, walking backwards.

“Good night, Hanna banana,” [Y/N] laughed, opening the backdoor quietly.

“Good night, [y/n/n],” Hanna said back before the two girls entered their homes at the same time to get some sleep.

…

“Wait, so Jason doesn’t believe that Ian killed Ali?” [Y/N] asked in a whisper, glancing at the closed door of her bedroom once.

The next evening, [Y/N] was in her bedroom, scrolling through her twitter feed when she received a call from Spencer. The younger Hastings had gone to welcome Jason back to town – in other words, she had gone to spy on him – and it hadn’t gone so well. After returning home, [Y/N] was the first person Spencer had called to share how her conversation with Jason went.

“I mean, I think so?” Spencer replied in a whisper as well and [Y/N] could feel the frustration in her friend’s voice. “He asked me if Ian said the words I killed Ali and I told him he didn’t, but that’s what it seemed like and he got all snippy about it!”

Spencer huffed out a breath and [Y/N] bit her lip in thought.

“Do you think he’s in denial?” Spencer asked, continuing their chat quietly. “He and Ian were besties. He probably doesn’t want to accept that his best friend killed his little sister?”

“I’m not sure, Spence,” replied [Y/N]. “Even if they were best friends, Jason can’t just look past the fact that Ian killed Ali.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Spencer agreed. “Hey, do you remember that one day Ali and Jason were fighting?”

“You have to be a bit more specific because all they did was fight around us,” [Y/N] said, mild amusement lacing her voice and Spencer scoffed out a laugh.

“I’m talking about the time Jason was mad at Ali for going to his room and messing with his stuff?” Spencer recalled and [Y/N] found herself nodding at the memory.

“I do,” she said. “That’s when Ali made that comment about things being hidden until she wants them found, right?”

“Yes!” Spencer exclaimed, trying her hardest to keep her voice quiet.

“But, why are we suddenly talking about the past?” [Y/N] asked, confused.

“I- I had a thought,” Spencer said, her words coming out slowly which worried [Y/N].

“What is it?”

“Jason used to be so aggressive, [y/n/n]. Do you think he-”

“Spence, don’t go there,” [Y/N] interrupted quickly.

“You didn’t let me finish!” argued Spencer.

“You were going to suggest Jason had something to do with Ali’s murder,” [Y/N] said, not liking the words that left her mouth. Spencer’s brief silence on the other end was all the answer [Y/N] needed to know that she was right. “Where’d you get the idea that Jason could be an accomplice in Ali’s murder?”

“I don’t know what else to think,” Spencer admitted quietly. “He’s suddenly back in town and doesn’t believe Ian killed his sister.”

“Don’t do this, Spence,” [Y/N] advised softly. “We’ve already got zombie Ian and A on our hands. Let’s not add Jason into the mix.”

“I guess so,” sighed Spencer. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” [Y/N] replied. “I understand we’re all kind of on the edge right now. But, let’s not overthink. For now, at least.”

“I’ll try,” Spencer sighed again, dramatically this time, causing [Y/N] to chuckle.

“Hey, I should go now,” said [Y/N]. “I’ve been in my room for a while now. I should make an attendance downstairs for dinner.”

“Yeah, of course,” Spencer laughed. “See you in school tomorrow?”

“Definitely,” [Y/N] responded. “Good night, Spence.”

“Good night, [y/n/n],” Spencer replied before hanging up.

...

The girls were sneaking out yet again in the middle of the night. [Y/N] was starting to dislike Dr. Sullivan because she hated that greenhouse with a passion. It was creepy, to say the least, but she and her friends had no other choice.

“It was in the pocket of her coat,” Spencer said, showing her friends pictures of Melissa’s ultrasound. “Her coat was wet and so were her boots.”

“She lied to you about going out?” [Y/N] asked.

“I don’t think she went far,” replied Spencer. “I checked the driveway and it was dry under her car so I don’t think she drove anywhere.”

“Who would she want to show these to?” Aria asked, handing the ultrasound pictures back to Spencer.

“I can only think of one person,” Hanna said with a roll of her eyes.

“Ian,” Emily said, letting out a deep breath. “Spencer, if you’re saying she didn’t drive anywhere to see him, then that means he must be close.”

“Han, you were right,” Spencer said. “This is the worst time to be splitting up. We have to stick together.”

“Exactly, no matter how much lying it takes,” Hanna nodded.

“If only all of our parents were like my brother,” [Y/N] sighed.

“Can we switch siblings?” Spencer pouted at [Y/N], who instantly shook her head.

“Absolutely not,” [Y/N]’s instant reply was met with light laughter from her friends and they all cherished it. It had been a while since they’ve had the chance to be normal teenagers and to just have fun.

“Let’s get out of here,” Aria said after a while and the girls agreed before walking out of the greenhouse.

They were passing by the DiLaurentis house again when Emily suddenly stopped in her steps, causing the other girls to do the same.

“What is that?” she asked, looking at what appeared to be garden supplies laying on the front yard of the house.

Before they could inspect further, a bright flashlight shone in their faces and they held their hands in front of their eyes.

“Jason?” Spencer asked first, squinting at the taller man and he finally lowered the flashlight.

“Oh, it’s you,” he said after he noticed the familiar girls in front of him.

“Yeah, it’s only us,” Aria answered with an awkward smile.

He turned off the flashlight and when he looked up, his gaze fell on [Y/N].

“Hey, are you better now?” he asked her, his voice softening. “I haven’t seen you since the accident.”

“Oh, uh, yes, I’m better now. Thank you,” [Y/N] replied, smiling lightly at him. She felt nervous with his attention on her. It also didn’t help that she could feel the curious eyes of Aria, Emily, and Spencer on her as well. Except for Hanna, the other girls didn't know about Jason visiting her at the hospital.

“So, what have you been up to?” Hanna asked Jason casually, shifting the attention away from [Y/N] for which the latter was grateful for.

“I’ve been replanting all day,” Jason replied. “I’m putting up a fence as well.”

“A fence? Why?” Spencer asked – her eyes and voice were obvious of her suspicion of Jason.

“Privacy, security,” Jason answered, his voice turning a little rough. “There’s a lot of curious creeps in the world and one way or another, people are gonna mind their own business.”

The girls looked at each other subtly, feeling a little uneasy with Jason’s piercing eyes shifting between them.

“You girls better go home,” he said before turning to walk back into his house.

The girls walked a little further away and stopped by the side of the road again when they heard the sound of Jason shutting the door.

“[y/n/n], you didn’t tell us Jason visited you,” Spencer shot instantly.

“I didn’t think it was important,” [Y/N] replied, shrugging a little.

“But, why did he visit you?” Aria asked, frowning in confusion.

“He was probably being nice, Aria,” Hanna answered before [Y/N] could. “And, yes, I know that he visited [y/n/n], because I ran into him there.”

[Y/N] looked at Hanna at the blonde’s easy lie. Hanna didn’t meet Jason at the hospital; [Y/N] had told Hanna about Jason visiting her with some get well soon gifts. Since Hanna was already aware of her feelings towards Jason, she was the only person [Y/N] felt comfortable sharing about his unexpected visit with.

“Look, he probably visited me, because he felt obligated to since he worked on Ali’s memorial with us,” [Y/N] said, hoping to move past this topic.

“That makes sense,” Emily said calmly after a few moments, which caused Aria and Spencer to loosen up a little as well. “And, am I the only one thinking who is Jason trying to keep out with that fence?”

“Keep out or keep in?” Spencer asked back, and [Y/N] could tell the former still believed that Jason was helping Ian hide and had some part in killing Ali.

“Look, it’s too late to be doing this,” Hanna said. Similar to [Y/N], Hanna had an idea of where Spencer might be going with this and she was exhausted to be working on any more mysteries for the night. “Let’s just do this at school tomorrow or whatever.”

[Y/N] internally sighed in relief when the other girls agreed with Hanna and parted ways, making their ways towards their houses.

“Thanks for the rescue back there,” [Y/N] told Hanna once it was just the two of them.

“Anytime, [y/n/n],” Hanna grinned, looping her arm around [Y/N]’s, making the latter chuckle.

The two made their ways towards their homes in comfortable silence, hoping to get some rest before facing the stressful days ahead.

—————

#jason dilaurentis x reader #jason dilaurentis x female reader #jason dilaurentis fanfiction #pretty little liars #pll fanfiction #jason dilaurentis #drew van acker

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