#the prompt’s from last year’s list- ‘I love you’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fissions-chips · 3 months ago

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love you not

(set ambiguously in 'canon'- tw for smoking, implied nsfw and abuse)

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At this hour of the evening, even the streets of Chicago were mostly empty.

Jon watched the world blur past outside his window, head resting on one hand as the other tapped a furious, staccato rhythm against his thigh, nearly in time with the patter of the rain hitting the hood and windshield. Streetlights hazed over and the slick asphalt and concrete shone red, green and gold as mist lifted from the ground. The storm had begun to lighten, taking the worst of the downpour with it, soon to be gone entirely when the sun rose.

The mood in the car, however, remained no less unpleasant than the foul weather.

The silence hung thick and heavy between the two passengers, the interior shrouded with thick blue smoke, jet from between Valentine’s teeth as he idly tilted his head back and sighed. It was a mild sound, nonplussed- perfectly poised to cut through Jon’s thoughts and sink its teeth into him. Biting. Needling. Valentine leaned his head against the window as the other man took the bait and bristled.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jon didn’t turn his head to look at the other man- he could see him clearly enough in his mind, smirking and saturated in alcohol, even as his good humor dissolved completely. His smile hadn’t dropped yet, teeth smudged as they were with his own lipstick and the taste of another’s tongue.

Jon ran his free hand beneath his nose, wincing at the sharp sting to be found there, still tacky with half-dried blood. A pang of hurt ran up the lines of his face and down the back of his throat, teeth grinding together at the sound of the other man slumping against the window, feet rising to settle upon the seats and knock against his thigh. Valentine was pointedly avoiding the sight of him, and he knew it.

After a few more seconds, the car rumbled to a stop at a red light- the sunglassed man raised his cigarette to his lips and took a drag. Stretching out to further intrude upon the other’s space, his gaze shifted to watch the cars pass from the corner of his eye as Jon pressed himself against the opposite window, hand clenched against his knee hard enough to bruise.

“… Still pissy, aren’t you?”

Valentine’s voice was low and smooth, utterly unimpressed- the kind of tone that dug its way beneath Jon’s skin and itched. He didn’t want to rise to the bait, wanted more than anything to be back in his own bed so he could forget the miserable evening he had had… but he was Jon Spiro, and Jon Spiro, more often than not, took any bait hook, line and sinker.

“What… what the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jon’s words dripped with venom- his lip curled as he spat them out, head snapping around to snarl in the other man’s direction. There was a note there, taunt and strained and begging to snap completely- the man’s hands curled into trembling fists as he watched Valentine smoothly roll his shoulders, still pointedly keeping his odd eyes on the curb blurring past.

“Of course I’m fucking ‘pissy’, you self-centered prick-“ Jon hissed, his whole body bristling as he grabbed Valentine’s legs and flung them away from him- that got the other man’s attention, Valentine letting out an outraged squawk as his lower body nearly slipped from the seats entirely. “Do you expect me to praise you for the shit you pulled tonight? For acting like a fucking whore?“

“Oh, that’s rich, Jonny- got any better sticks and stones?”

Valentine’s voice cut right through his own, Jon forced to pause when the other CEO once more flung his feet up onto the seats beside him, shoes pointedly pressing against the white fabric of his side and smudging the pale linen with street-stained rainwater- Jon barked a curse and lifted a hand, only to be stopped dead in his tracks by the car rounding a sharp turn, knocking his head into the window. The man glanced up to see the driver staring down the two of them in the mirror, a warning glint in his eye- Valentine rolled his eyes and tucked his knees to his chest, Jon once more pressing himself against the glass and praying the chill from its surface would calm him, somewhat.

His nose still ached. It wasn’t broken, of that he was sure- but it would bruise nastily. At least his rings didn’t cut me, Jon thought, trying to draw some satisfaction from the knowledge that he himself had escaped largely unscathed- all he found was a deep, deep bitterness, and he clung to it. It was better than the alternative, the well of grief he felt bubbling up within him.

The other guy can’t say the same.

Lifting a hand to smooth through his tousled hair, Valentine stubbed his cigarette out against his window and tossed it to the floor, grinding the remains under one heel. “I don’t know what you expected, really.” He muttered, pushing his glasses further up his nose. The smile had finally fallen from his face, mouth twisted in a sneer as his voice took on a slightly petulant note.

“It’s your fault for inviting me- you know me better than that, Jon... I’m nobody’s ‘plus one’.”

For a moment, silence filled the car- the only sound was the low purr of the engine and the quiet click of a lighter as Valentine pulled another cigarette from his case and jammed it between his teeth.

“… Then why did you accept the fucking invitation?”

Jon’s voice was quiet, cracking sharply as the man dug his nails into the flesh of his arms until he felt the skin bruise beneath. His mind flashed back to the other at his arm just hours before, Valentine’s hand pressed against his hip and his breath soft against the side of Jon’s neck as he purred something saccharine and sugar-sweet into his ear. The memory of the warmth of the other man’s body made his chest ache- Jon pressed his head against the glass and bit his tongue. You fucking idiot, he cursed himself. You stupid goddamn idiot. You knew this would happen.

“I suppose…” He grit out, after a long moment. “It’s too much to expect common fucking decency from you… but when I invited you to come with me, I thought you’d…” His voice trailed off, Jon struggling to choke the words out.

It was well-known in their world that Valentine was a man of few attachments- for all his sweet, shallow smiles and attention-seeking, only happy in the eyes of a crowd, the man was, at his core, cold. Jon knew it better than anyone. He’d woken up to an empty bed more times than he could count, no matter how much he tried to tempt the other man to stay a little longer once the sun rose. He was skilled company, and, if Jon was being honest, one of the few reliable opportunities he had for a good fuck- but god, Valentine had a special way of making someone feel lonely, even when he was sitting right next to them.

Even now, Jon could feel the frustration emanating off of him in waves, all traces of former good humor gone. Valentine was watching him from the corner of his eye like one would watch a roach they found beneath their shoe- disgusted. Wary. Disappointed.

Despite knowing the other man well, Jon had hoped that Valentine would at least have the sense to play along kindly, when he had called him up and offered an invitation to a business partner’s gathering- scheduled for the month of February and meant for a plus one, isn’t that lovely?

Jon… hadn’t known who else to call. And Valentine had accepted, had played the role graciously for an hour or two, despite his reputation. They had danced, even. Like some happy high school couple.

Jon screwed his eyes shut, hating the way he had laughed along, giddy with the joy of it. Hating the way the other man had cooed his name so sweetly as he tucked him beneath his arm, like he was something precious.

Lovesick fucking idiot.

“I thought…” He repeated. “You could just play along for one night. One. When you accepted the goddamn invitation. I shouldn’t-“ His voice cracked sharply, and he winced.

“I shouldn’t have to find you with another man’s face in between your fucking legs, at a party I invited you to, because you couldn’t keep it in your pants for one fucking night.”

A mocking scoff met his ears, the click of a lighter echoing as Valentine lit another cigarette and jammed it between his teeth. Waving a hand dismissively, he sank against his window as well, idly running a hand up the bruising marks dotting his throat. “Jon, it was a couples’ party. Everyone fucks at those parties, if they can find somewhere out of the way- you’d know that if you hadn’t gotten us kicked out early.”

The last words were spat with venom. “Or maybe not. You can’t go anywhere without making a scene, can you?” Beginning to bristle now, Valentine rolled his eyes again, the flickering point of his cigarette spilling hot smoke around his features as his voice sharpened, cold and sneering. “I was having fun- I didn’t go for you, Jon, and you damn well know that. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not yours. Never have been.”

Jon stiffened, fingers tightening into fists once more as he fought to keep his eyes to the floor- the other caught the brief glimmer of hurt there, caught somewhere between fury and frustration, and, having found the point at which to dig, sank his claws in.

“Just because I fuck you on occasion doesn’t mean you mean shit to me, Jon, not like that! I don’t want a partner, and I certainly don’t want you. You can’t stop fucking… fucking nipping at my heels about it!” Leaning forward, Valentine snickered nastily as Jon shrank away, pointedly avoiding the gaze of the other man.

“Get over yourself! You throw a shitfit when I decide to have some fun, and now you’re acting like this when you have to live with the consequences? You ruined my night! You broke that man’s nose over it, you jealous little bitch! Now I’m gonna have to play the peacemaker when the press finds out- it’s not like anyone expects any better from you.”

Pulling his cigarette from his lips for a moment, Valentine opened his mouth and let some of his fury roll off his tongue with the smoke. Then, sneering, and with the added impulse of the high he was under, he pointedly ground the cigarette’s end against the white fabric of Jon’s pants leg, grinning as he heard the other man hiss between his teeth.

Any further insult or injury was suddenly cut off by the sound of a blow and Valentine’s squall of pain, the raven-haired man sent sprawling in the back of his own car as Jon screamed.

“Don’t FUCKING touch me!”

The car ground to a screeching halt at a corner, both men jostled against the leather seats. Valentine blinked up through glasses sent tilting, one hand reaching up to cup his stinging cheek. He winced slightly. His odd eyes were wide with shock- they drifted towards the driver’s seat, the man out-of-view from his angle. Swallowing thickly, he heaved himself upright from the aisle flooring. His cigarette lay smoldering on the carpet below.

Jon was staring down at his open palm, other hand still white-knuckled against his pants’ leg- a perfect circle of soot etched only just shy of his fingers. For a moment, the man’s expression was blank, Jon stunned into silence by his own actions as his fingers fell into his lap.

Then, his expression twisted into one of horror, nausea roiling in his gut. The taste of bile mingled with the bitterness on the back of his tongue, and Jon slumped against the door- his hands fumbled for the latch that would open it. Goddamn stupid sonova bitch-

He needed air. He needed to get out. He needed to cool off. Jon’s hands shook with the unbearable urge to be anywhere else than in the company of the other man- he could see Valentine moving in the edge of his vision, a bristling black shadow, eyes hidden by pink-tinged lenses and smoke.

He found the latch and pulled it, forcing himself outside and into the open air, heavy and damp with the last dregs of the storm. Jon’s feet met the wet pavement and threatened to slip from beneath him entirely as he slammed the door behind him with one shaking hand, the other trembling, clenched in a fist and pressed to his mouth to stifle a short, choked sound.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him I hate him I hate him-

Jon bit his lip until he tasted blood. He wanted to scream. He wanted to sob. He wanted to curl his fingers around the other man’s neck and squeeze- almost, almost as much as he wanted to hide his face against it and just be held.

He looked down at his hands. Still shaking, the damn things- the other man’s pained yelp echoed in the back of his mind, and despite his fury, his face fell. Some things couldn’t be taken back.

Even if Valentine himself was guilty of it before, even if Jon was well-familiar with dodging a reaching hand or cuff to the head, even if his words cut sharper than split glass… even if…

Jon shuddered.

You’re no better than he is.

Head bowed against the faint patter of rain, Jon stumbled on in the direction of home, praying that once he made it, sleep took him quickly and deeply. He needed to forget this night had ever happened- and he needed a stiff drink and a cigarette, doctors be damned.

And, once he had shed his wet coat and shoes by the door, haphazard, and dimmed every light in his penthouse suit to stall the headache brewing, he would do just that… but the scent of the other man’s smoke lingered, no matter how Jon tried to drown it out with the taste of his own tobacco. This kind of poison didn’t have a cure. It just sat, and festered, a perpetually open wound.

Jon traced the circle of soot printed against his pants leg, the slight sting on his skin comforting.

I need to ditch his damn number.

He wouldn’t. He knew that. Thinking about it made him feel better, though, so Jon allowed himself to pretend, staring out at the empty sky and pointedly ignoring the sight of his reflection, etched and alone, in the glass before him.

#this is really more emotionally angsty than anything but it’s the wip I had on hand so… here!#the prompt’s from last year’s list- ‘I love you’#but yeah! Val and Jon! expect more of them this month. i wanted to write Val being a bit overtly nastier than I usually write him- he’s not #- always smug smiles! sometimes he’s just an asshole. unfortunately for Jon he’s a deeply attractive asshole who he’s unhealthily attached #- to.#I don’t focus on it often but for all that Valentine loves leading Jon on and manipulating him he’s pretty annoyed with the fact that Jon i #- in love with him.#anyways- I won’t be doing daily updates but I’m gonna write *some* angsty shit! at least some lol.#fission’s fics

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novelbear · 1 month ago

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"your love is like loneliness - angsty dialogue for a dying couple

a prompt list by @novelbear

"there's someone else, isn't there?"

"so what, that's it? you're just going to walk away?"

"whatever, do what you want."

"i can't believe i wasted five years of my life on you. on this."

"i don't need this."

"when was the last time we had a proper conversation?"

"everyone is noticing..."

"you always have something to say, don't you?"

"go! see if i care!"

"aren't you tired of fighting?"

"there's no helping this."

"don't you walk away from me!"

"you hang up and it's over."

"enough with the empty threats. you're bluffing."

"i hate the person you're turning me into."

"i never have these problems with anyone else." "then go talk to everyone else! why are you still here?"

"we're not happy. look at us."

"has it ever occurred to you that maybe we're just not meant for each other?"

"you wouldn't fight for us?" "what is there to fight for?"

"i don't understand why you always have a problem with me."

"oh go to hell."

"now you care?"

"no. i got it. i'll do it myself."

#otp prompts #writing prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #romance prompts #romantic prompts #angst prompts #dialogue prompts #dialogue list #otp #writeblr #prompt list #sad prompts #angsty prompts #romance writing prompts #writing prompt #argument prompts

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motorsportbarbie13 · 4 months ago

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A Package Deal - Part 4

In which the real world threatens to ruin your happiness.

Warnings: angsttttttttt :) fluff at the end tho!! Pairing: Lando x SingleMom!Reader Word Count: 3.6k words

- A Package Deal - A Package Deal - Part 2 - A Package Deal - Part 3 - Master List

yourusername (private) posted:

yourusername life lately ❤️ BFFSarah omg, someone who loves pizza just as much as Stelly Belly??? >>>yourusername they polished off a large pizza between the two of them. It was a sight to see. >>>land-ho WE WERE HUNGRY. >>>yourusername you bet my six year old she couldn't eat 4 pieces of pizza, sir. >>>land-ho AND SHE PUT DOWN FIVE! Proudest moment of my LIFE. >>>yourusername 🙄

land-ho (private) posted

land-ho party of three? smoooooth_operator it was good to see you two last night! >>>yourusername dinner was delicious, C!! tell R thank you for all the shopping reccos in Barcelona 🤭 >>>landonorris oh god, my wallet already hurts >>>yourusername well now i'm never going to beat the sugar baby allegations. >>>honeybadger y'all are a walking PR nightmare waiting to happen. kelly_pickme i must meet your two favorite girls soon! bring them to Monaco soon! >>>yourusername 😘 did L give M the lion plushie and princess dress for baby and P? can't wait to meet you all soon!! >>>kelly_pickme yes! P hasn't taken it off and the lion is a hit as well. >>>yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

Miami May, 2025

"Okay, anything else you guys want to talk about before we start filming?" Victor, the team's head of communications, asks on Thursday afternoon.

Victor sits in one of the several conference rooms located in McLaren's hospitality suite surrounded by the rest of the communications team as well as Lando and Oscar. The weekend debrief is wrapping up as he asks one last question.

"Actually, kind of." Lando clears his throat, rubbing his palms on his jeans.

The entire team turns to him then and he feels his face go a bit red. He hadn't really planned on making a big deal of this in front of the team but after his meeting with Zak earlier, he thought he should at least let the comms team in on what he was going to do tonight.

"What's up?" Victor prompts, tucking his iPad under his arm.

"Well, it's more of a 'heads up' kind of thing but Zak thought I should let you guys know that I'm planning on going public with my girlfriend tonight."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lando sees Oscar smirk. He can almost hear the 'well it's about time' teasing he's about to get when they wrap up this meeting.

Victor blinks, casting a sideways glance at Melanie, Lando's main press officer for the weekend. He could tell Victor was reluctant to agree but in all honesty, this wasn't his call and Lando was ready to make that known. "What were you planning on doing?"

Melanie pulls out a notepad to take notes, just in case she's asked about the relationship this weekend.

You were also in Miami this weekend for your second race of the season and the subject had come up last night as you were cuddled up in bed after Lando had posted about you and Stella on his private account for the first time. You had been hesitant at first, not wanting to bring the team or Lando any drama during the race weekend but he had been insistent. While you hadn't been together officially for very long, you spent nearly every spare moment together and Stella had become a huge part of Lando's life too. He was tired of being linked to endless Instagram models and having to hide you away from the public.

Lando shrugs. "Nothing big or anything, just a post of my feed with her, some kind of witty caption."

"She's the one who works in the accounting department?" Melanie asks.

Lando can't help but glare at the woman. She's in her mid-30s with mousey brown hair and wire rimmed glasses. Melanie was kind enough but sometimes Lando wondered if she had any of the media training that was forced on him and Oscar with the kinds of questions she asked him.

"No, she's on the product development team, and she's right over there." Lando tips his chin towards the large glass windows that looks out onto the rest of the hospitality suite where you sit at one of the tables typing away at your laptop.

"Isn't she a single mom?"

Again, Lando glares at Melanie as the rest of the team shifts uncomfortably in their seat. Sure, it was their job to handle any press inquiries that came into the office and sometimes there were personal questions that got asked, but that one was toeing the line of appropriate.

"I don't see why that makes any sort of difference." Oscar surprises everyone by speaking up, his tone a bit colder than usual. "I've worked with her a lot lately, she's a lovely person and wicked smart. Lando's a lucky guy."

"Thanks, mate." Lando murmurs before turning back to Victor. "HR is aware of our relationship and, not that it should matter," Lando looks pointedly at Melanie once again, and is pleased to see her look a bit sheepish as if she's just realized how inappropriate her questions had been. "But Zak is also aware that we're together and has given us his blessing too."

That had been an awkward conversation but Lando admired the McLaren CEO too much to leave him in the dark about something that involved his two employees. He'd scoured the McLaren employee handbook (thankfully there was nothing in it against fraternization of employees, so HR hadn't been a problem either) before approaching Zak first to tell him about the relationship. If there was anyone that Zak Brown loved more than Lando, it was you so of course he had been ecstatic at the news and had immediately given the relationship his full support.

Without waiting for further comment from anyone, Lando gets up and strides out the door, furious at how the ending of the meeting had gone. There were far more problematic WAGs in the paddock and you were a McLaren employee after all, shouldn't you expect the same support from the team as he did? He didn't really understand why it was such a big deal that you were a single mom or technically a coworker.

From your spot in the middle of the hospitality suite you can see when Lando walks out of the conference room, hyper aware of the way his shoulders are hitched up towards his ears, something that only happens when he's upset or stressed.

"Momma!" Your attention is drawn back to your phone where Stella sits on FaceTime before her bath for the evening. You'd been distracted by Lando's sudden shift in mood and had stopped listening to her mid-story.

"Sorry, baby. I'm listening. You and Cora had a good playdate today, yeah?"

Stella prattles on, seemingly satisfied with the half-attention you're now paying her again. But your focus is pulled elsewhere for a moment as you watch a girl you know is on the comms team follow Lando out of the conference room and into his drivers room. You couldn't remember her name but knew that she was working with Lando this weekend as his press officer so it didn't impress you as unusual that she was following him. Maybe something had been said in the meeting and she was going to try to calm him down.

"Momma, can I talk to Lando now?" Stella sighs and you grin. You were beginning to think that your daughter loved Lando a bit more than you the way she constantly asked about him and wanted to see him.

"I think he just walked into a meeting, S but how about we do this. Why don't you go take a bath and by the time you're done, Lando should be finished with his meeting and you can talk to him then."

Stella nods, seemingly happy about the arrangement. You say a quick goodbye before packing up your laptop to go check in on Lando. You were essentially done for the day so you had planned on hanging out with a few of the engineers during their meetings this afternoon before going to dinner with Lando later that night. And then you fully planned on spending the rest of the evening underneath your boyfriend.

You can see the door to Lando's driver's room ajar and you can hear raised voices floating out. Hesitating, you pause with your hand on the door handle. The conversation sounded heated and you didn't want to interrupt. You swear you didn't want to eavesdrop but Lando's shouting didn't leave you much choice.

"What the fuck do you mean the team doesn't want a 'Kelly Piquet 2.0 situation?"

Oh. Oh dear.

You had known Lando was going to tell the team of his plan to hard launch you on his socials tonight and by the sounds of it, it hadn't gone well.

"Lando," The woman, you think her name is Melanie or something, tries to sooth him. "All we're saying is maybe you should think of how this could impact her daughter. When Max and Kelly went public, it was a shit show."

"Yeah, because her father is a racist piece of shit." He spits.

"And she was accused of being a predator!" Melanie fires back. "All I'm saying is that maybe right now isn't the best time to launch a potentially controversial girlfriend."

Your blood goes cold. Controversial? There was nothing in your past that you were ashamed about. No racist relatives. No sex tape scandals or even potentially embarassing photos somewhere out on the internet. You had, all things considered, a pretty wholesome reputation. Everyone at McLaren loved you, as far as you were aware. With the apparent exception of Melanie.

"Controversial? Please, elaborate." Lando's voice goes deadly calm, as if he knows exactly what she's going to say but wants her to say it out loud.

"Lando." Melanie sighs and you take a step back, unsure if you want to hear what she has to say. "She's a young, single mom who got knocked up at nineteen years old." Melanie practically laughs, as if Lando is a complete idiot for not understanding. "There's no way she won't be seen as a gold digger or worse! She's going to be eaten alive on socials. I'm only looking out for her daughter's reputation. Don't be so naive, Norris."

Your fists clench up so tightly, the bite of your nails in your palms pulls you out of a near rage. It takes every ounce of control not to go straight into Lando's room and give that bitch a piece of your mind.

On the other side of the door, Lando swears he sees red and has to take a step away. "This is about your workload, isn't it? You don't want to deal with the awkward questions and the drama? Listen very closely to me, Melanie okay? Because I'm not going to repeat myself." The venom in Lando's voice startles you. "The three of us are a package deal now, do you understand? I am madly in love with that woman out there and her little girl? Her little girl is the center of my world too. I don't give a flying fuck if me being with her means more work for you, that's too fucking bad. If you can't handle it, I'm positive Zak will be happy to replace you. She's here to stay, you are replaceable. Understood?"

Hearing Lando say he loves you and Stella has your world tilting underneath your feet. He'd never said that to you before even though you'd been confident for a while now that he did feel that way. And that you felt the same way.

Melanie's reply is so soft, you don't hear it but moments later, the door flies open so fast you're forced to jump back bit. Melanie's flushed face looks horrified when she sees you standing in the hall. She can't hold eye contact with you for longer than a flicker of a moment before she's dashing down the hall.

Lando stands in the doorway looking horrified that you're standing there. "How much of that did you hear?"

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, your anger at Melanie now replaced with sheer embarrassment. Even if she had been the one to voice it, you were certain Melanie wasn't the only one who was thinking the same thing.

"Everything." You whisper as you look away, brushing at a tear that rolls hotly down your face.

"Goddamnit." Lando swears, shoving a hand through his curls. He hadn't even noticed his door was open after Melanie had followed after him. "Baby..." He reaches for you and you let him pull you to him, his steady warmth a comforting feeling as the panic rises in your chest.

"She's right, you know." You whisper into his chest so softly Lando nearly misses it.

Lando pulls back and the look of desperation on his face nearly breaks your heart. "What are you talking about?"

"The hate we're going to get. I'm going to get. She had a point, you have to admit. I'm a young, single mom dating a millionaire? People are going to think all I'm interested in is your money, just like they did with Kelly."

"Who cares what people think? Who cares what they say about us? The people in our lives that really matter know that's not why you're with me. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Until they start in on Stella. Have you seen some of the things they say about P?"

You were pretty confident you could handle any hate that you got but you knew that the moment you saw any hate towards your little girl, you'd be devastated. It had been something you'd been thinking about since Lando had brought up going public last night but you had been able to brush it aside. It hadn't seemed possible, the worry seeming far away and a little over dramatic but now? Now Melanie's words had anxiety twisting in your stomach.

"That's not going to happen." Lando pulls you deeper into his chest and nuzzles into your neck. He can practically feel you pulling away from him and terror shoots through him.

"You don't know that. Even if it doesn't, do you really want to spend the rest of this relationship constantly defending me? Defending us? That's no way to live, Lando. Melanie was right. I'm controversial and maybe we need to rethink this."

Lando's entire world stops spinning, his breath catching in his throat. "Wh...What? No, baby, no. Please don't do this. Don't pull away. Melanie is being hysterical. Nothing like that is going to happen."

If he had to get on his knees and beg you not to leave him, Lando would do it in a heartbeat.

"I'm not doing anything, I just need a minute to think okay?" You step out of his grasp, instantly missing his touch. You can't even look him in the eye, knowing that if you do you'll crumble. But you can't think of Lando or even yourself right now. "I have to consider what's best for Stella, okay?"

"Don't do this." Lando begs.

"I think I'm going to stay in my own room tonight." You whisper, voice straining with emotion as you barely contain the heartache in your tone.

"Is this the end?" Lando chokes out as he shoves his hands deep in his pockets. He's sure you'd step away if he tried to touch you right now and he knew he wouldn't be able to handle that kind of rejection from you. It felt like his entire world was crumbling around him and the only thing that could right this was you.

Tears stream down your face as you struggle for an answer. "No." You tell him after a moment and the relief that floods Lando's face nearly breaks your heart. "I just need some space to think is all, I promise."

"Can we still have dinner tonight?"

"I think it'd be best if I just spend the evening alone." It hurts, saying those words because you rarely get this much alone time with Lando but you need space so badly your skin begins to itch. You're desperate to get some distance from the paddock and the team and even Lando himself, to right yourself back to the proper head space. You had to consider Stella above your own heart.

If it was possible to die from a broken heart, Lando knew he was about to find out. He lets you go though, watching miserably from the spot he's rooted to on his floor as you back away slowly, almost like you're retreating from a dangerous animal or something.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, okay?"

All he can do is nod as he watches you walk out the door for what he hopes isn't the last time.

You're just finishing the last bits of your makeup when there's a knock on your door Friday morning. You were a bit surprised because you knew full well that Lando had a key but the fact that he was nervous to use it after what had happened yesterday tugs at something in your chest.

You had been in the shower when he texted you that morning and the string of texts nearly broke your heart. You hadn't wanted to put him through that kind of pain but you had needed to take a moment to think through what had happened with Melanie and the comms team yesterday.

Slipping the robe Lando had gotten you in Japan a few weeks ago, you pad towards the door to open it. You're stopped completely in your tracks when you swing it open and get a glimpse of Lando in the hallway. He looks absolutely ravaged, like he didn't sleep a single second the night before, eyes red rimmed and puffy.

"Lan..." You whisper, tears instantly flooding your eyes. You reach for him, utterly perplexed suddenly as to why you had felt you needed distance from him.

When he folds you into his arms, the damn finally breaks and you sob into him, the entire previous day's emotions coming to a head. The way you finally feel complete when he's got you in his arms is unlike anything you've ever felt and for a brief moment yesterday, you had forgotten that fact.

When he kisses you, cradling your head in his hands, everything else quiets. The doubts, the fear, the anxiety. It all fades into the background with his lips on yours and you sigh into his mouth. For the first time on 24 hours you feel relieved, like you can actually tackle this issue instead of feeling like you're going to drown in your own thoughts.

Lando tugs you over to the bed, pulling you into his lap as he sits against the headboard. You tuck into his body as close as you can, head folded into that space between his neck and shoulder, drinking in the smell of him: fresh from the shower and slightly spicy from his cologne.

For several minutes, you both just sit there. Lando struggles to contain the relief that is flooding his body. He'd been absolutely miserable last night, eventually working himself into a panic attack at the thought of losing you and Stella. There was such a gaping hole in his soul when he thought about the prospect of you walking away, it scared him to death. He had never planned on falling for you, had resisted it for a bit, trying to convince himself that it was too quick to be feeling the way he did. Last night though? Last night had showed him he was further gone than he had ever expected.

"Did you mean what you said to Melanie yesterday?" You mumble into his neck after a few moments.

"Every word." Lando says without a moment of hesitation. "But is there a specific part you want me to confirm?"

You chuckle, pulling away so you can look him in the face. "The part where you said we're a package deal? That you love love us both?"

Lando brings his hands up to face your frame and you can't help but lean into him. "Of course I meant it. I'd do anything for either of you. I thought we'd established that, baby."

You drop your gaze from his then, somewhat knocked off center by the intensity of his gaze. "I'm sorry I got spooked. I'm just so used to doing this all on my own, no one ever wants to stay."

"Do you remember what I told you the first night we spent together in Bahrain?"

You blink, a small smile playing on your lips for the first time that morning. "You said a lot that night."

Lando rolls his eyes and kisses your temple. "It was after you had fallen asleep and I got up to get a drink of water. When I came back to bed, you curled right into me and said you thought I'd left you. You asked me to never leave you and and I told you I'd never leave you. I didn't mean it for just that night though."

Your heart thunders in your chest. You didn't remember that at all but the fact that he had said those words to you all those months ago. He'd been as far gone for you back then as you had.

"I love you more than words can say." He whispers and all you can do is nod back, emotion choking out your ability to speak for a few moments.

Lando reaches under your chin after a beat, lifting your face so he can see you. "Nobody said this was going to be easy but if we do this together, it'll be okay. You've got to trust me on this, baby. The team is fully supportive, I swear to you. Zak, Andrea, Oscar. Everyone that matters is on our side. I know you're scared and you want to protect Stella but you can't give up on our happiness because of some stupid people on the internet that don't matter."

Pain shoots through you, bright and quick as a lightning bolt as realization hits you like a ton of bricks. Something becomes crystal clear in that moment and you find yourself nodding.

"You're right. I know you are. I want Stella to see me choose myself instead of sacrificing my happiness for some stupid what ifs." It isn't until Lando says what he does that you're able to finally put into words what you've slowly been coming to realize over the last few hours. You'd been scared to admit it, scared that choosing yourself in this meant you were putting Stella second but when Lando tells you that you can't give up your own happiness to protect her, everything clicks into place.

"I want her to know that she can do hard things and choose her own path and if i listen to Melanie all I show her is that the bullies win."

"That's my girl." Lando praises, pulling you into another soul shattering kiss. "I love you." He whispers against your lips.

"Lan..." You pull away suddenly, eyes going wide. "The reason I was outside your driver's room yesterday was because Stella demanded to talk to you before bed and then..." You drop the sentence, the memory of yesterday slicing through you once again. "Do we have time to call her now? She was so mad at me last night when I said you were too busy to talk."

"Don't you ever tell my Stelly Belly I'm too busy to talk to her again." He teases before grabbing his phone. "Is she with Sarah today? They had a half day, didn't they. She was all about going to the cinema with Sarah today last time I talked to her."

The smile that settles on your face is nothing short of brilliant. For the first time in nearly 24 hours, you finally feel settled, like everything had righted itself after being so very briefly run off course. "Lets see if she can talk now before the get to the show."

landonorris posted

789,039 likes liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, BFFSarah, and others landonorris did someone say 'hard launch'? user029 oh she's PRETTY PRETTY yourusername <3 >>>user029 ugh, profile's private but SHE HAS A CHILD??? >>>user2992 if this means we're going to get dad lando content the same yaer we get dad max content, the internet may not survive BFFSarah can i like this more than once!?! <3 user0299 OMG WAIT I saw her in the background of tv shots this weekend except she was in a McLaren team kit. LANDO NOT DATING AN INFLUENCER??? >>>user3422 didn't know he had it in him >>>user000 god, i am such a sucker for a workplace romance trope

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#f1 #formula 1 #lando norris #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #ln4 #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fic #ln4 x reader #lando norris x female reader #lando norris x singlemom!reader

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brights-place · 1 month ago

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[TWST] First years & Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Stupid Slang Prompt by: bakuhve

A/N: I HAD TO WRITE IT OKAY IT WAS SUCH A GOOD IDEA LOVE BAKUHVE FOR EXISTING YOU GORGEOUS HUMAN BEING! Banner art is by @maenongdeuce on x @/ List: @c0ralrubi , @writingbluerose , @bakuhve, @goose-things, @s0mething27, @kingheinrey, @gracegarnet, @honey-inthe-moon

Summary: [MC] joins the first years on a recent trend in TWST, GEtting the prefect to read off twisted wonderland lingo from a paper meanwhile the others take a gulp of water trying not to laugh. The only thing though that made it funnier was the fact that [Mc] was staring at the piece of paper like it was the most unhinged thing in their grasp

You blinked in surprise, staring down at the sheet of paper in your hands before glancing up at the group of first-years, who eagerly gave you a thumbs-up.

The moment the video started, Ace barely managed a snort before immediately choking on his water, sputtering and coughing in an attempt to recover himself. You haven't even started on speaking, your lips twitching up seeing how Ace reacted before you even said the first thing on the paper, Deuce, caught between concern and stifled laughter, clamped a hand over his mouth, while Epel burst into uncontrollable cackles at how quickly Ace had lost his composure. Meanwhile, Jack stood off to the side, arms crossed, exchanging a puzzled glance with Sebek, who looked equally bewildered by the scene unfolding before them. Ortho, positioned slightly apart from the group, blinked in amusement before letting out a cheerful laugh, muffling it behind his robotic fist. "I DIDN'T EVEN SAY ANYTING YET DAMN?!" You exclaimed smacking Ace who grinned. Grim, who had been lounging off to the side munching on his tuna, barely spared a glance before blinking and going right back to eating.

After a brief pause to let Ace stop dying, the group restarted the recording. You stood in the middle, gripping the paper like it held the secrets of the universe. With a deep breath, you squinted at the words, already side-eyeing the group, who were barely containing their laughter.

Your e/c eyes scanned the paper. “…‘Where the huzz at?’” A chorus of barely restrained giggles filled the air. Epel’s shoulders started shaking violently, and Ortho, standing beside you, blinked as his pupils dilated. His scanners were running at full capacity, desperately searching his database for any form of context. “‘Skibidi… tuah…? Hawk tuah rizz?’” you continued, blinking in confusion. Jack’s tail stiffened, wagging slightly as he tensed, trying not to laugh. The water in his mouth swished dangerously from side to side. Deuce, meanwhile, was already tearing up, his hand clamped over his mouth as he turned away in a last-ditch effort to maintain his dignity water dribbling onto the floor as he sucked it in. Ortho, despite being a robot, looked like he was about to short-circuit from secondhand embarrassment, while your own awkward grin only made the situation worse.

Then came the final blow

“Level 10 Gyatt…?" you mumbled, mispronouncing the word entirely.

That was it. Ace completely lost it. The redhead was gripping your shoulder like his life depended on it, cackling so hard he went limp, before suddenly spitting out another mouthful of water. It dribbled down his chin as he wheezed, clutching onto you tighter for support. Deuce, in sheer panic, smacked Ace’s back probably not to help, but just to distract himself from laughing. Sebek stood stiffly to the side, his brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the madness. He turned to Jack and Epel, hoping for answers, but found only barely restrained chaos.

“Fine Shite?” Epel, in that exact moment, wheezed so hard he started choking on his water, doubling over and nearly collapsing to his knees. Jack’s tail wagged like crazy as his ears twitched, his restraint barely hanging by a thread.

Sebek, utterly lost, turned to Deuce with the intensity of a man demanding answers to the universe’s greatest mysteries. He gestured wildly, his hands cutting through the air like he was conducting an invisible orchestra of confusion. “EXPLAIN!” his eyes practically screamed.

Deuce, however, was in no state to answer. Face red and trembling from suppressed laughter, he barely managed to choke down his water before doubling over, wheezing "Negative 1000 aura" You uttered with a raised brow.

Ortho knelt beside Ace, patting his back with the solemnity of a grieving widow at a funeral. Ace, still sprawled out on the floor, was wheezing so hard that he looked like he was about to pass into the afterlife.

“N-Negative… 1000… aura…” he gasped between ragged breaths, tears streaming down his face. You surveyed the utter carnage before you, the sheer stupidity of the situation making your brain short-circuit. With a deep, exhausted sigh, you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“…What the hell did I just read?” Epel, positioned beside Ace, let out a laugh so violent it sounded almost inhuman. His legs flailed in the air, kicking wildly as he cackled like a dying horse. Deuce turned to you, still laughing but visibly fighting for his life to not end up on the floor alongside the others. Jack and Sebek, however, remained standing barely. Jack’s shoulders twitched like he was trying to physically restrain himself, and Sebek stood stiffly, looking dangerously close to short-circuiting.

Ortho, ever the curious observer, peered over your shoulder, scanning the paper before pointing at the next phrase with his mechanical finger. “There’s more,” he helpfully informed.

You hummed, looking down before hesitantly reading aloud, “…Raise your ya ya yas’?” Silence filled the room before Jack exploded.

The wolf beastman bent over, gripping his knees as his entire body shook with laughter. His canines flashed in a wide grin before SPLOOSH the water he had been holding in his mouth shot out like a geyser.

Right onto Ace and Deuce’s already suffering faces. Sebek, who had been holding in his composure like a dam about to burst, could no longer take it. His patience snapped like a twig in a hurricane.

“WHAT ARE THESE SAYINGS?! WHAT DO THEY EVEN MEAN?!” he bellowed, eyes wild as he snatched the paper from your hands, shaking it as if that would somehow force it to reveal its secrets.

Jack, still doubled over, was barely holding himself together. The rest of the group was done. Sebek, however, was not.

He stormed over to you, planting himself at your side, his booming voice practically rattling your skull as he yelled at the others, demanding explanations while trying to read the paper. Before anyone could answer, Epel, still weak from laughing, tried to take a step only for his foot to land right on the puddle of water Jack had spat out.

He went down like a crate of spilt apples.

“AH—!”

With an ungraceful thud, he tumbled forward right onto Deuce.

“AGH—DUDE?!—”

Deuce yelped, the sudden impact knocking him clean off balance. He flailed helplessly for a moment before crashing straight into Ace, who was only just recovering from his previous collapse.

SMACK—THUD!

Ace let out a shriek of laughter as he lost his footing, landing square on his ass with a loud oof.

The room fell into stunned silence, everyone processing the absolute disaster that had just unfolded in real-time.

And then

“…‘Ohio Oni-chan’?”

The second the words left your mouth, the room ERUPTED. Ace was gone, his laugh turning into a dying wheeze as he clutched his stomach. Deuce slammed a fist into the floor, absolutely done. Jack had to physically turn away to keep himself from collapsing. Ortho let out a gleeful robotic giggle, his eyes flashing brightly as he recorded everything for future blackmail.

Sebek, however, did not look amused. His eyes twitched violently, his entire body stiff with frustration.

You sighed, lips twitching despite yourself as you took in the absolute mess before you the heap of bodies on the floor, Jack barely holding it together, Ortho just enjoying the show, and Sebek, who looked like he was questioning his entire existence.

Honestly… you couldn’t even be mad. A grin tugged at your lips as you shook your head. “…What a disaster.” you muttered grinning

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst imagines #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek #sebek zigvolt #ace trappola #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #deuce spade #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #ortho shroud #jack howl #jack howl x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #fluff

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lostalioth · 7 months ago

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☆ hi my loves here we go with a what 3rd or 4th i don’t even know attempt at doing kinktober lmaoo. now as always i can never seem to finish kinktobers which is why i lower how many days i do as well as i pick a variety of characters to write for so i don’t get bored writing all month for the same 3-4. the same as last year i will plan on posting a fic sort of every other day so (sun, tue, thur, sat) which is why it’ll be 18 days and not 31. if you recognize any as repeats in last years kinktober prompt lists, yes i carried some over from past lists that i didn’t get to.

☆ i do not do taglists on any of my fics and kinktober is no expection however you can follow my library acc → @aliothslibrary i reblog all my fics on that account seconds after i post it, and only my fics so if you wanna be notified of my posts for kinktober follow that acc and put notifications on :) you can also search up the tag #lostalioth kinktober for all my past kinktober fics etc.

☆ MY BLOG IS 18+ MEANING MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT!! ALL OF THESE FICS INCLUDE SMUT AND EACH WILL HAVE THEIR OWN INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS.

day one → body worship + love marks w/ roommate!stucky

day two → dry humping + handcuffs w/ steve harrington

day three → high sex + bribery w/ eddie munson

day four → bondage + fingering w/ tasm!peter parker

day five → creampie + master kink w/ loki laufeyson

day six → face sitting + thigh biting w/ marc spector

day seven → piercing + cock worship w/ bucky barnes

day eight → pain kink + praise w/ dean winchester

day nine → obsession + belly bulge w/ logan howlett

day ten → overstimulation + hand job w/ sub!miguel o hara

day eleven → semi-public sex + against a wall w/ steven grant

day twelve → dacryphilia + corruption w/ perv!bsf!eddie munson

day thirteen → cock warming + begging w/ steve harrington

day fourteen → free use + primal play w/ logan howlett

day fifteen → lap dance + choking w/ mob!bucky barnes

day sixteen → edging + sir kink w/ steve rogers

day seventeen → caught masturbating + anal w/ sam winchester

day eighteen → double peneration + drunk sex w/ steddie

☆ hope you enjoy my babes!! please send me feedback, don’t be shy to comment or reblog your reactions to the days as i love seeing how you guys feel about my fics :) thankk you so much for reading and supporting my writing if you do and if you don’t for whatever reason that is perfectly fine as well!!

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dumplingsjinson · 1 year ago

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List of established relationship prompts

Requested by: Anonymous Request: “heey! i love your prompts and i was wondering if you could write fluff/romantic prompts about a long lasting/established relationship”

“So… Do you actually like me—” “We have been together for seven years. We’re getting married next year. What the hell do you think?”

“You… You learned to cook my favourite meal?”

“You always know the exact temperature I like my baths at.”

“It’s weird that you know me better than I know myself.”

“Life would suck complete testicles if it weren’t for you.” “Oh love, I really wish you weren’t always so vulgar when expressing your affections.”

“So… I heard from the grapevine that I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.” “Stupid, you hear that from me every day.”

“Tell me how you fell in love with me.” “…I literally told you that again yesterday—” “I don’t care, I wanna hear it again. Plus, I like hearing you speak.”

Picking up little quirks from each other over the years.

“My love, why don’t you just use the whole closet instead of three quarters of it?”

What’s Character A’s is also Character B’s, and vice versa. Sharing isn’t caring, sharing is the norm.

#writing prompts #prompts #otp prompts #dialogue prompts #writing scenarios #request #established relationship prompts #fluff prompts #romantic prompts

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ailesswhumptober · 10 months ago

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Prompts for AI-less Whumptober 2024

As promised, we're bringing you the official prompt list of AI-less Whumptober 2024 today!

We have 31 days of excellent whump prompts, with three prompts per day to pick from, fun themes, and 10 alt prompts to play around with. We hope you enjoy! Additional info + plain text versions of the prompts can be found under the cut.

FAQ and Rules

What sort of content can I create for this event?

You can create whatever you want (fic, art, edits, etc). Any fandom is allowed, as well as OC stuff. NSFW is allowed, but please tag your content accordingly! The only thing not allowed is AI-generated content.

Do I need to make 31 things to participate?

Oh heavens no! You can make as much or as little content as you like, skip days when desired, or combine prompts (so for example, write something that covers a prompt from day 1, 2, AND 3). You don't have to do the days in order either, go wild! To be considered a 'completionist', you only have to make sure that at the end of the month, you've covered 31 prompts from 31 different days, but whether you do that in 31 works or just 1 is up to you.

What are these alts about?

If none of the three prompts of a particular day are your cup of tea, you can swap them out for an alt prompt of your choice.

What are these themes about?

Just a little bit of extra fun for the mods. Like last year, we'll be handing out various badges for people participating in the event. A full list can be found here, perhaps there is a special badge or two for people who can't be completionists but who do manage to finish every single day of a specific theme ;)

How do I tag and is there an AO3 collection?

It suffices to tag your work with #ailesswhumptober for us to see and reblog it! Please also tag nsfw, since we'll be using that tag too. Tagging the day is optional but does help the mods along.

There is an AO3 collection to add your fics to here.

That should be all. If you have any additional questions, check our pinned or hit us up in the ask box. Or join our discord maybe, whumping can be a great group activity!

---

Plain text versions of the prompts:

October 1 - Torture Tuesday

public torture/public use, stress position, “If you cry, we’ll go easy on you.”

October 2 - Whumperless Wednesday

Unfortunate fall, car accident, “Don’t move. You’ll be okay.”

October 3 - Trauma Thursday

Shared trauma, survivor’s guilt, “It’s not your fault.”

October 4 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Painful transformation, non-consensual body modifications, “You’re a monster.”

October 5 - Sensory Saturday

Overstimulation, migraines, “I can’t take this anymore.”

October 6 - Surprise Sunday

Multiple whumpees, self sacrifice, “I’m the only one who can do this.”

October 7 - Medical Monday

Field medicine, running out of supplies, “Hold on, we’re going to have to improvise.”

October 8 - Torture Tuesday

Rope burns, gagged, “You’re so much prettier this way.”

October 9 - Whumperless Wednesday

Hypothermia, heatstroke, “You look pretty pale.”

October 10 - Trauma Thursday

Self worth issues, pushing away a loved one, “You don't need to earn this.”

October 11 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Hallucinations, truth serum, “Why would you even say that?”

October 12 - Sensory Saturday

Isolation, sensory deprivation, “Can you feel me? I’m right here, whumpee.”

October 13 - Surprise Sunday

Whumpee using themself as bait, defiance, “Take me instead.”

October 14 - Medical Monday

Seizures, concussion, “See if you can follow my finger with your eyes.”

October 15 - Torture Tuesday

Waterboarding, removing body parts, “Don’t break down on me yet.”

October 16 - Whumperless Wednesday

Drowning, hostile environment, “I don’t know how anybody could survive that.”

October 17 - Trauma Thursday

Abandonment, misunderstanding, “Why did I even think you cared?”

October 18 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Mind control, possession, “Everybody will end up despising you.”

October 19 - Sensory Saturday

Disassociation, losing a sense, “I wish I could get you back.”

October 20 - Surprise Sunday

Enemy/Stranger to caretaker, accidental de-aging, “I’m absolutely not qualified for this shit.”

October 21 - Medical Monday

Drugged, ambulance ride, “This will make you feel better, okay?”

October 22 - Torture Tuesday

Forced (to kneel/watch/hurt somebody else), whipped, “Do not look away.” October 23 - Whumperless Wednesday

Fever, passing out, “Hey?! Stay with me, okay?!”

October 24 - Trauma Thursday

Deconditioning, relapse, “It’s normal that you need more time.”

October 25 - Fright/Freaky Friday

Humiliation, betrayal, “How could you?!”

October 26 - Sensory Saturday

Electrocution, burning, “This is going to sting.”

October 27 - Surprise Sunday

Before vs after, Alternate universe, “Well, there’s a first for everything.”

October 28 - Medical Monday

Internal bleeding, needles and stitches, “I didn’t think the wound was that bad…”

October 29 - Torture Tuesday

Ownership, branding, “Everybody will know that you’re mine.”

October 30 - Whumperless Wednesday

Poison, delirium, “You’re not making sense.”

October 31 - Trauma Thursday

Panic attack, facing a phobia, “You need to get out of here!”

Alt prompts:

1) Pistol whipped

2) Co-dependency

3) Animal bite

4) Zombies

5) White room torture

6) Shock collar

7) Pulling teeth

8) Kidnapping

9) “You always make everything worse!”

10) “If you weren’t around, I’d be long dead by now...”

#whumptober 2024 #whumptober #ailesswhumptober2024 #whump prompt #whump event

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ghostedgwen · 29 days ago

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but I knew you | j.potter [part one]

note : I took a massive break - almost 2 years and I am back now to continue where I left off and decided to finally write this as it was the prompt I was most excited about from the ts + marauders list! Hope y'all enjoy and pls be kind to me, I am not sure if I still have it in me to write fics like I did before :(

warnings : unparalleled amount of angst (though it's obvious), James x lily, hurt with a little bit of comfort but that's not until I decide to be kind, mentions of injury, just pure angst for now, this is tamer than later parts

James gets into an accident during a Quidditch game and develop amnesia - he doesn't remember the past 2 and a half years, and he currently has the mentality of fourth-year James. This doesn't bode well for you that your boyfriend of 2 years now currently thinks he's still in love with Lily.

└——————— - [ 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 - 𝙲𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚗 ]. +

You were eating your pancakes while tuning out the usual commotion in the great hall when you felt his familiar presence behind you and that scent of his filling your nose, burning wood with hints of caramel and pine. You still wonder if your boyfriend uses perfume and don't really care enough to even ask as you prefer not to know to keep the illusion up. . .somewhat.

"Good morning, love." He greets you as he settled on the space beside you. Your housemates already knew to provide a space next to you, knowing James would appear any moment and claim it. He settled right in like he belonged in it, he did.

That, and people avoiding getting too closer to you in fear of your boyfriend setting his eyes on them and deciding they're a target for the Marauders' next pranks.

You smile at him. "Good morning, Jamey. You excited?"

He nods, flashing you his charming grin. "Always. Specially that you're gonna be watching me win another game against those sly bastards."

You laugh at him, you never understood the whole rivalry between Gryffindors and Slytherins. Sure you knew it dates back a thousand years ago to the founders, but you still cannot wrap your head around it.

Instead of disagreeing with him for the nth time, you only nod. "I'm sure you'll trample on them again like you did last time."

That response made him flash you his perfect set of pearly whites. Merlin, you can never stop your heart from skipping a beat when James bloody Potter grins like an idiot with hearts gleaming in his eyes.

You stand with the crowds cheering, waving the colors of red and gold son proudly as they yell at the top of their lungs. Welcoming the entrance of the Quidditch players of house Gryffindor.

There goes that familiar excitement, adrenaline creeping up from you as you take in the view of the Quidditch pitch filled with hundreds of students cheering.

And there goes your boyfriend in all his glory flying in with his broom, even looping in circles to show off and you laugh at that, Marlene scoffing beside you.

"Show off." She rolls her eyes.

You nod in agreement at that as you continued watching his familiar figure show off, flying close to the different stands to flash them his grin and once then he zeroed in on you, standing so proudly while waving at him.

He zoomed closer and gripped his broom to a halt, close enough to make sure you saw his wink which you playfully scoffed at. "Whad'ya say about giving a kiss for every goal, eh?"

You hear the surrounding students cheer and whistle as they enable his behavior. You laugh loudly at that but it's drowned out by their enthusiastic cheers, egging you to agree.

You roll your eyes this time. "But only if you win the game, if you lose then those points mean nothing."

James gives you the biggest grin and nods smugly at other Gryffindor at the stands. "Lucky me then, 'cause I never lose."

"I swear he needs a bludger to hit his head to knock 'im down a peg." Marlene scoffs next to you and crosses her arms. "That oughtta teach him."

The game is finally starting and the energy is higher than ever. You happily cheer on with your housemates as you watched your boyfriend play, never once taking your eyes off him.

You never really liked Quidditch, you though it was far too dangerous and ridiculous, why anyone would wanna risk getting hit by bloody balls so high up in the air in crusty brooms is beyond you.

But he loved it, he lived and breathed the sport. You also saw how much he enjoyed playing it with his best friend so you never spoke out against it despite how much you worry every single time he's on that broom in the air.

That bloody broom that you sometimes wish would malfunction so he'd stop using it and choose to stay on the ground with you forever, but you can't really clip his wings - so you just watch him soar.

And soar he did as he makes a show of flying in loops again to avoid the Slytherins blocking his way and successfully scoring a point. He turns right away to grin at you, although he was way too far - you could just tell he was grinning so proudly.

The noises drown out the sound of your heart beating rapidly. This is the nth game you've watched and you still cannot get used to it, this sport is gonna be the death of your heart one day.

It wasn't long before Gryffindor gained the upper hand, scoring way more than Slytherin did and the two Marauders were not above gloating.

They even made a show of smirking near the Slytherin stands so smugly, it had you slapping your forehead. They have a great knack for pissing people off.

The intensity of the game is rising as it nears its end and the opposing team try their hardest to catch up. The snitch finally appeared and it was down to the Seekers to finish the game and decide who wins this.

You watch in bathed breath as both Seekers chase after the snitch, right next to each other with both arms stretched out to catch it - everyone was watching them - and that meant everyone.

You turn away from them to look at James and it was there, as if the world slowed down as you watched a bludger make its way to him while he remained unaware - looking down at the two seekers competing below him in a close race to victory.

You felt your words get caught in your throat as it all happened too fast, you couldn't even get a word out as you watched him take the hit and his grip on his broom loosened.

It felt like forever watching him separate from his broom, fall slowly and Sirius flying down after him. The bludger hit him square in the back of his head and it disoriented him enough to make him fall off his broom.

You watch in horror as Sirius tried his best to catch up. It was only 2 feet from dropping to his death did he manage to grab James' arm and prop him up enough for both of them to tumble down and roll on the grass, avoiding pummeling straight down to multiply the bones they both had in their bodies.

You finally felt your scream escape you as you watched them roll on the grass. You hurriedly exited your seat and ran out of the stands. It felt like a blur, making your way down and running to where he was at.

All you could hear this time was your heart pounding, your blood almost raising to your head with how much you worried. You ran straight to James to who remained lying on the ground as the Professors were just a few steps behind you rushing in as well.

You dropped to your knees beside him, grabbing him to make sure there was still a sign of life in him. You called his name desperately many times as you shook his entire frame.

"It was probably my fault." Sirius was the first one to break the silence. Remus was quick to turn to him with a frown.

"Don't say that," Remus interjected right away. "No one could've seen it. It was unexpected."

"But it was my job to keep those buggers away from him," Sirius clenched his jaw. His position of leaning against the stone pillar not hiding his trembling frame. "I should've -"

"You saved him." You cut him off, your strong voice bouncing off the infirmary walls. "He would've just dropped down to die if you didn't act fast enough to catch him. By the time he was falling, some of the audience were still watching the Seekers."

Peter only nodded in silence, his eyes red from crying.

"Had you not been quick to dive after him, he would not be here in this room, but somewhere else getting treated for worse injuries." Remus added, agreeing to your words.

"You saved him, you're an incredible friend, Sirius." You give him a small smile which he returned, although you still see the strain in it.

"Did they say when he will wake up?" Peter asked, finally speaking up through his sniffles.

You shake your head, looking down at your hand in his. You are so not used to this, watching him lie so vulnerably like this. "They did not say, but they assured me that he's fine. Nothing is broken."

"That's a good thing, then. A fall like that would have been fatal, had it not been for Moony." Remus pats Sirius on the shoulder, your eyes did not miss the way Sirius followed his hand when he retracted it after the action.

You choose to ignore it and turn back to James' sleeping frame. You squeeze his hand. "He's a fighter, always been. He'll surely wake up in no tim-"

Not even getting the chance to finish your words, his eyes opened. It blinked many times to adjust to the light but you were already grinning so widely to see him regain conciousness.

"Bloody hell, the wonder boy lives." Sirius cheers as if he wasn't just moping and being all depressing moments ago. He walked over to James' bed, the opposite side of you to greet his best friend. "You bloody mutt! You finally decided to wake up, eh?"

Remus and Peter approached as well.

"Takes more than that to bring down a Potter, huh?" Remus joked.

"James Potter lives." Peter chimed in.

You ignore their jokes and dove right in to hug him, making sure you didn't put down all your weight on him and breathed in his familiar scent.

He's fine, you James is fine.

"You twat! I was so worried, I thought I was gonna have to wait on you to wake up for days or weeks."

You pull away smiling softly at him while he remained frowning. He scanned the people around him and the confusion left him as he saw the familiar faces of his best friends.

"Still disoriented, isn't he?" Peter asked Remus who hesitantly nodded at him. "Wakey wakey, Prongs."

"You worried the bloody hell out of us, mate." Sirius laughed, patting him on the chest.

"What- " James looked down, about to grab his head when he realized a weight rested on his hand. He looked down to find yours on top of his and immediately retracted it.

The action made the other three boys frown, it made your heart drop. You stare at him, you smile fading by the second as you start to drink him in.

His appearance, it is exactly like James. Your James. But those eyes, the way he looked at you like he did not know you, like you were a stranger made your skin crawl and it was then you slowly started to realize -

"Who are you?" James asked.

"Come on, mate. This is not funny." Remus scolded him, attempting to console you while a light tap on your shoulder as he stood next to you, looking down on James.

"What's not funny?" James asked, frowning still. "Why am I here and - what're you doing?"

You could feel your ears almost ring from the realization. It was slowly dawning on you while the other boys struggled to understand just what is happening.

"Sod off, Prongs. You gave ____ a big scare, it's not right to joke about it." Sirius was telling him off which was unusual but he's grown close to you enough through the years - he was your biggest supporter, he didn't like seeing your face react to James' words.

"What do you mean? And who is ____?"

You could almost laugh. Quidditch always scared you because of how dangerous it was but you let him soar free because he was a free bird when you met him, you weren't about to change that but here it is, your fears manifesting to a brutal reality.

"It's really not funny -" Peter was interrupted.

James sat up abruptly. "I don't understand you lot, I am telling you I don't know who that is." He points at you and the action made you want to throw up.

"Did he hit his head that hard?" Remus asked, starting to deduce the situation and forming theories right away as he was always the smart and rational one. "Prongs, you had an accident during Quidditch yesterday and you just woke up now."

"Yeah, mate. It was a big thing and your girlfriend, ____ has been with you all night." Sirius added.

"I have a girlfriend?" James frowned and looked at you, you begged yourself to look away so you woulnd't see how he looked at you like he was looking at a complete stranger but your eyes refused to move.

Instead they met his gaze bravely and every second felt like a stab to your chest.

"You've been together for 2 years, ____, tell him." Peter nudged you but your words would not come out.

You dared not move nor speak, in fear of what you'd show them. You knew you'd break down and you didn't want to show any of them that.

You swallowed it all down and just blankly stared back.

"If this is another prank you lot are pulling, it's not funny, we all know Lily is the only one for me."

Bloody fucking mumbling hell. That hurt.

to be continued . . .

part two | masterlist

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders imagine #marauders era

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screamlet · 12 days ago

Note

♞: Caring for each other while ill

thank you for the prompt! have another 1.2k of fluff, this time set during the summer between s7/s8 when bucktommy was new and anything we wanted it to be, lol. from the nonsexual acts of intimacy prompt list

---

On a really good, horny day, Buck might be strong enough to haul Tommy off his living room floor and drop him on the couch. That's not one of those days, though: Buck is sick, Tommy is sick, and they might be better off dying together in each other's arms on the floor of the loft.

"I should just go home."

"Tommy, you fainted when you tried to put on a sock."

They're lying side-by-side on the floor of the loft; Tommy did try to put on a sock and faint, but Buck caught him before he shattered his skull on the floor. Once he had saved Tommy's life, he felt vertigo kick in and slowly lowered himself to the floor, too, where he and Tommy could lie together for the last 10-15 minutes of their lives.

"I don't need socks to drive," Tommy answers.

Buck laughs quietly. "Don't make me laugh, everything hurts."

"It's too early for flu season, it's the fucking Fourth of July."

"Eighth."

"It's the fucking Eighth of July."

"You know, the Declaration of Independence was signed on July 4th, but on July 8th at 12 PM, it was read aloud in public for the first time."

"So… Happy Public Declaration of the Declaration of Independence Day?"

"It's a little wordy."

"Just a little."

"And it doesn't need to be flu season for my niece to get us sick." Buck turns his head and pouts. "I'm sorry you're sick. I'm sorry I'm sick, too, but I'm more sorry you're sick."

"Don't apologize. People get sick sometimes. This'll probably be the last time I'm sick, though, since I'm gonna die from this, whatever it is."

"No you're not." Suddenly Buck's eyes widen as he flails at Tommy. "Are you? You don't have like a compromised immune system or anything? Are you actually dying? Tommy, we're first responders, why haven't we called 9-1-1?"

Tommy's eyes close for a beat. "I'm not dying, I'm just a very melodramatic 39-year-old man who doesn't want to be sick in front of this guy he really likes."

"Oh," Buck says.

Tommy turns his head to look at Buck. "I'm sorry. I was saving that for my deathbed confession, but that could be now. You can't cringe at a guy's deathbed confession, Evan. It's the law."

Buck doesn't—he doesn't know how to—how he can talk to Tommy. He doesn't know how to keep up with him when he's so—he's funny and flirty and sexy and sometimes he seems so serious that everything in Buck's soul quakes in a way he doesn't understand because he's never felt it before. There's a hundred, a thousand things Buck wants to say to him: he wants to flirt back, he wants to be funny, he wants to say something that will get Tommy to smile in this way he has, when the grin breaks across his face like a sunrise Buck stayed up all night waiting to see. He's so—he's so much, and Buck wants so much.

Buck softly replies, "Okay, I won't."

Tommy's eyes soften, too, like Buck had done or said any of the things that might make Tommy fall in love with him. He hadn't, though. Maybe Tommy just likes him.

"Is it more embarrassing to DoorDash Gatorade and more cold medicine, or to text Eddie and make him our DoorDash guy?" Buck asks.

Tommy's eyes crinkle a little. "Do you think either of those entities have the capacity for shame?"

"No, it's me, I'm ashamed. Which is more embarrassing?"

"Well how about this." Tommy closes his eyes and sighs as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone like it's made out of lead. "You keep your shame and I will get a whole pharmacy delivered to your door, and no one will ever know that you have a cold, too."

"Now it just sounds silly. It's fine, I'll do it."

Tommy swings a hand to Buck and holds it out. Buck rolls his eyes and takes it, links their fingers together. "Let me treat you to some electrolytes and cold medicine before we spend our 48 off on this floor, choking on our own phlegm."

"Yeah, not even each other's," Buck says. "I bet your phlegm tastes great."

It slips out of Buck's mouth and makes Tommy stutter and laugh with his whole achy body. Buck's so embarrassed and so proud and so embarrassed, but how can he want to wither and die when Tommy's looking at him so—

The way Buck looks at him? This warm look like—like he can't look away from Buck, the way Buck can't look away from him.

"I can't believe you've been depriving the queer community of hits like that all these years," Tommy replies, still grinning at him. Buck squeezes his hand and hopes this lightheaded feeling is just—it's that he likes his boyfriend, not that worms are eating his brain or anything.

"Hey, uh." Tommy's hand has loosened around Buck's. Buck wants him back, but maybe he's letting go for a good reason. Or a bad one. Buck doesn't care, he wants it back. "So I'm gonna build this delivery order to end all orders, and then maybe…"

"Maybe…"

Tommy turns his head, but he looks less confident than he did 90 seconds ago. "I know we had really amazing plans for this 48 off, so many things we were going to do to each other's bodies that didn't involve cold compresses and acetaminophen. But now that's all been crushed… would it be so bad if we… like if we still, I don't know, spent them together?"

Buck stares at him, long enough that Tommy looks away and shakes his head. "Never mind, I was—"

"Tommy, you fainted trying to put on a sock," Buck interrupts. "You're not leaving here until I say you can."

"I mean, that sounds very hot and in charge of you, but this was supposed to be a fun little weekend. You didn't sign up for—"

"Yes I did," Buck says. "You're gonna stay here until we're strong enough to fuck each other's brains out again. Upstairs. On the bed." Buck links his fingers with Tommy's again and squeezes (clutches) his hand. "It might take a while. We might even need to take a sick day."

There's something around Tommy's eyes that Buck wants to rub away. Tommy, his fun Tommy, the one who's been funny enough to keep him on the floor for this long, is slowly coming back, but Buck wants—he wants. He wants to be the one to say or do the thing that gets Tommy to stop thinking dumb things like is he gonna kick me out of his house when I'm sick. Just like Tommy makes him laugh and think, Buck wants to be the one to—

He just really wants to be something, mean something, to him.

"If you mean it." Tommy lets out a long-suffering sigh. "If you'll have me, Evan Buckley, I would really like to take a sick day with you."

Buck nods with more confidence than he actually has. "Good. Cause you're gonna. Add some popsicles on there, too."

"Oh, good idea, you're very smart."

Tommy flashes him a grin that makes Buck an even weaker puddle on the floor. Good thing he doesn't have to get up yet so he can lie here, watching Tommy order them Gatorade and popsicles and cold medicine, and try not to fall in love with him.

#911 fic #bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan #tevan fic #my writing #my fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #writing games #writing games: acts of intimacy

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dxckgrxsonx · 2 months ago

Note

#9 with Jason Todd PLEASE I beg of u

Title: Payback, Backfired. Pairing: Jason Todd x (F) Reader, (Mentions of ExBF!Dick Grayson x (F) Reader). Words: 1.4k Warnings: SMUT 18+ Plot: Prompt 9 from this list. Revenge Sex. (Readers ex is Dick Grayson.) Notes: i literally had so much fun writing this. also hi my beautiful darling @sio-ina-bottle thank you sm for requesting this prompt ily <3

****

“Tell me.” Jason starts the second he sinks the tip of his cock into you, mouth twisted into a fucked up grin, all sharp and triumphant; like getting into your pants grants him some sort of award, maybe something akin to bragging rights. “Is he better than me?”

Your answer circles around a snarl, fury swelling thick and suffocating between your teeth, “Shut the fuck up. The last thing I want to be thinking about is my ex whilst you’re fucking me!”

Hindsight knocks at the edges of your skull, perspective swinging on its head to offer a different look at what you’ve gotten yourself into, because decisions birthed in the face of spite and heartbreak don’t typically have happy endings.

If you’re honest with yourself though, things have limits.

However, a compelling argument to it is this: you’re long past caring.

You’re hurting–more than you ever thought capable–and more than three-quarters of you wants him to hurt too.

You think of the breakup all over again and your stomach rolls, eyes burning, Dick Grayson was supposed to be the one you built a future with; the one you looked at and never turned away from. But he didn’t seem to have much trouble walking away from a relationship spanning almost a year.

“Hm.” Jason almost purrs, bottoming out, stretching your pussy wider than it’s ever been before because he’s thick and so heavy. “Your ex must have been something special if you’re getting all teary on me.”

His hand reaches up, palm covering your cheek so he can thumb away the wetness from your eyes. Under different circumstances the action would make you melt–would probably have you squeezing at his cock like you’re coming–but Dick would do the same thing when your emotions bubbled over and you can’t stand it.

There’s also the look on Jason’s face, the twitch in his mouth, the glimmer in his eyes. It’s almost like he’s conquered something; capitalised on someone else’s failure and taken it as his own.

“Be quiet.” Your voice shakes until you tighten your jaw to settle it. “And take your fucking hand off my face before I chew it off.”

Jason’s hand grabs at your jaw as he shifts, pulling out and sinking back in so your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He laughs, free hand sliding around the back of your knee to stretch you open wider, and you can’t quite silence your whimper as the head of his cock rubs so sweetly inside you.

“You’ve got a filthy mouth.” He hisses, pressing his fingers into your cheek to force open your mouth, the callouses on the tip of his pointer finger digs into your skin and you kick up your hips in frustration. “I take it he didn’t treat you like this very often, huh? You’re clearly not used to anything like this.”

The rhythm Jason sets is easy, a slick glide of his cock splitting you open until the empty space Dick left is filled with pleasure and your own weeping cunt. Something sparks up the length of your spine when he rubs at your clit and you groan, body shaking apart.

“You have no idea of the things he did to me.” Your words are slightly slurred from the way Jason shoves his fingers into your cheek, and the discomfort from it overlaps with the wet smack of his hips. “You’d be appalled.”

In your relationship, Dick was many things to you, a soft touch, a problem solver, clever beyond anything you’d ever seen before. But there were moments in your sex life where he was mean; when he guided you beyond anything you thought possible and made you hurt and beg and cry.

And the truth of it is: you absolutely loved it.

The world tips when Jason flips you over, and instead of being flat on your back–his well muscled body bullying you into the mattress–you’re manhandled onto your knees, face down in the pillows. His cock parts your folds, the tip pushing from your entrance to your clit and back again.

He angles his hips and pushes into you in one long stroke.

You moan and spasm around him.

“How about here?” He asks, pausing to hold himself deep in your pussy as his thumb rubs over your asshole. “Did he ever fuck you here?”

The noise you make is unhinged, a sob stuck between fury and ecstasy. Of course he’s fucked you there, you want to snap, worked you open using his fingers and tongue until you cried so softly for him to please, please fuck your ass.

But you can’t speak. Not when Jason fucks you, sinks his thumb juuust past that tight ring of muscle and praises you for taking it so well.

“Stop talking about him.” You try to say, every part of you shaking and fucked open. “The whole point of fucking you is to stop thinking of him.”

Jason stops talking eventually, which should have been a relief. But rather than putting energy into taunting reactions out of you. He fucks you through orgasm after orgasm until you splinter and crack, calling Jason’s name, overstimulated and vibrating like a live-wire.

His resounding laugh in response holds weight, holds something you’re not privy to.

If you had any sense about you, you would almost think he knows exactly who your ex is, despite the fact you’ve not once mentioned his name. Hell. The whole point of you taking Jason home was out of revenge because maybe, just maybe, Dick would find out and hurt just as much as you.

****

There’s noise coming from the living room.

Sheets off, you shuffle around your bedroom, Jason still sleeping in your bed. He’s completely naked, fabric pooling at his waist. The expanse of his chest is littered with scars, some thin and faded, others thick and pink with raised tissue. Oddly, it makes him more attractive, but you’re not sure if it’s because Dick had scars too.

You should know, after all, you’d pressed your lips against every single one of them.

The closest article of clothing is his t-shirt and you slip it over your head, the hem settling comfortably against the tops of your thighs. Underwear comes next, but the pair you find are torn, seams ripped apart under Jason’s hands. You ignore the arousal still clinging to the gusset of the fabric, the wetness soaked through when you flirted with Jason.

Frustration flares. He’s such a prick.

Finding your pyjama pants you slip them on and move towards the door. Glancing back at Jason you hesitate for a handful of seconds before exhaling and continuing forwards. He can get himself up if things go to shit.

Coming into the living room you freeze.

“What are you doing here?”

Dick stops at the sound of your voice, head snapping towards you so fast you take a half-step back. There’s a box on the coffee table, half filled with his things, in his hand is one of his hoodies–all black with a brilliant blue stripe down the sleeves–the very first one of his you ever wore.

“Getting my things.” Dick answers eventually. He sounds tired. You want to cry. “Figured I’d be able to get them before you woke up.”

You hum, not trusting your voice.

You still haven’t moved.

He continues, “I think there's some more stuff in the bedroom if you don’t mind.” It’s not a question, it’s a heads up of where he’ll be going next and you bristle.

“You can’t go in there right now.”

Dick’s eyebrows furrow, attention shifting to your slightly ajar bedroom door, “Why not.” He looks at you again, bright blue eyes lingering on the shirt you’re wearing. “That’s not mine.” Everything about his voice is unrecognisable and all the hair along your arms prick up.

Time stutters and stalls when Jason breaks the threshold, still shirtless, jeans hung obscenely low at his hips. The grin on his face is downright mocking, there isn’t a single thing on his face that isn’t coated in near cruelty.

You feel caught up in the middle of something you had no idea about. Jason was a quick, easy fuck. Someone you didn't know, someone you didn't think had any real connection to Dick; someone you could have used to make him jealous.

But right now, looking at the outright horror on Dick's face, and remembering the way Jason looked at you last night, you think he might have played you both.

“What’s up, Dickie.” Jason says, tone scarily even. He slings an arm over your shoulders and stares Dick in the eye, “You don’t mind me fucking your ex do you?”

****

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd smut #jason todd fanfiction #ohhh im living for this #jason is such a dickhead and im sorry!!#he had a mind of his own and took over #ella writes

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alotofpockets · 1 month ago

Text

What if this is the end? | Alexia Putellas x Reader

Part 1 of 'What if this is the end?'

5k celebration prompt: "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."

Warnings: breakup, car crash, injuries

A/n: pretend the italics are Spanish pls :)

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.5k

-----

Your relationship with Alexia had always been good, until out of nowhere it wasn’t. For the past month every small disagreement you had, turned into a fight. You didn’t know where all of this tension and frustration with each other had come from, but you didn’t know how to fix it.

Maybe you just needed to spend a bit more time together, you hadn’t been able to do that much with both having busy work schedules. It was your anniversary tonight and you had the reservation at your favourite restaurant set for a while ago, it was the same place you went every year to celebrate your relationship, and you were looking forward to it. Looking forward to spending some one on one time with Alexia in a different environment than your home.

The two of you had spoken about going last night so you knew that Alexia was aware that the dinner was a go. Yet, every minute since you arrived, you’ve checked your phone to see if you had gotten a message from Alexia.

You had desperately hoped that this wouldn’t be one of the days where Alexia would forget about your plans, but after waiting at the restaurant for 45 minutes, without a single reply from Alexia to your texts or calls, you decided to give up on that hope and just head home.

After an hour of being back home, you finally heard from Alexia.

Alexia: I lost track of time at training, I’m sorry. On my way home right now

You stare at the message, trying to convince yourself that it was okay, but it wasn’t. It has happened too often already, and now on your anniversary. On the day you thought maybe you could turn this all back around.

When Alexia arrived home she was met with you and two packed suitcases. She looked between them and you confused, her brow furrowed. “What is going on?”

“I need some space, so I am going to stay with one of my friends for a bit.” You had thought it over and you had decided that you needed this.

Alexia sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. “I said I was sorry. I just lost track of time. Can’t we just reschedule our dinner plans?”

You shake your head, “No,” She wasn’t getting it. “That’s not the point.” Your frustration resurfacing again. “You always lose track of time when it comes to me. I feel like I am not a priority anymore. I get that football is your job, but why do I always have to be the one that gets left behind?”

“That’s not fair.” Alexia said softly. “You know how much pressure I’m under, and I try, I really do. At the end of the day, I give you all the energy I have left.”

You wipe away the tear that was threatening to escape. “So, loving me is just another task on your to-do list?”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Alexia said full of frustration. But she had said it, the damage was done. The fight got bigger, bigger than any fight you had ever had before. Raised voices, harsh words spoken, tears flowing.

“I can’t do this right now, Ale.” Your voice hoarse from yelling. After wiping away another tear, you turn towards the door. With your luggage at the door, you reach for the handle.

"If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back." Alexia said firmly.

You let your hand fall and take a step back. Alexia breathes a sigh of relief, maybe she could still fix this.

With a deep sigh you turn around and walk back towards her. Alexia thought you turned around to stay and fight for what you had, but instead you slipped off your engagement ring. She watched you take it off and place it on the table, before you walked back to the door.

“Wait! I didn't mean it.” Alexia called after you, but this time it was too late. You had already closed the door behind you.

Alexia had sat watching the ring on the table, regretting everything that happened for it to be laying on the dining table instead of where it belongs, around your finger.

She picked up the ring and left. She wanted to go after you, but you never said which friend you would be staying with, plus the gesture of giving your ring back was pretty clear.

Instead, she drove straight to her mom's house. Eli was already waiting for Alexia at the door, when she heard her car pull up in the driveway. She was excited for her daughter to come by for a surprise visit, but was quickly aware that the visit wasn’t as random as she thought.

Alexia stepped out of her car and slowly walked to the door, seemingly having no energy whatsoever. The closer she got, the more clear it got that she had been crying. Her eyes were red and swollen, and dried tears coating her cheeks.

“What’s wrong, nena?” She said as Alexia took the final step to reach the door. As soon as Eli asked, the tears started flowing freely again. Alexia falling into her arms. “I messed up.” Eli held her daughter tight, rubbing her hand over her back to try and calm her down.

“Messed up what?” Alexia sniffled, “Everything, I messed everything up. I think I’ve lost her mom.”

Eli shook her head, slightly pushing her daughter away so she could look at her. With her thumbs she wiped away Alexia’s tears. “You two can get through everything together. I’m sure you can work on it.”

Alexia reached into her pocket and showed her mom the ring, “I’m not too sure about that one.” Eli pulled Alexia in for another hug and pulled her inside the home.

It had been a month since then. Neither one of you had spoken to each other in the time that had passed. Alexia noticed you had been by the house when she had been at training or had a match, because she would notice you had taken some more stuff on a couple of occasions. Your favourite hoodie that you missed while packing, the mug you’d use every morning for your tea, or one of the pictures with you and your friends. Each item gone was like another reminder that she was losing you.

She hated that you still knew her schedule well enough to avoid her. Hated it that she hadn’t changed it enough to surprise you one day, because she would really like to see you and tell you how sorry she was. She wanted to fix things, but she knew that you didn’t walk out that door without your engagement ring over nothing.

On some nights she almost texted you. On others she would open your contact and let her fingers hover over the call button, before turning her phone off again. She convinced herself that you didn’t want to hear from her. You made that clear by stopping by the house when you knew she wouldn’t be around, and she didn’t blame you. Her words and her actions that night had hurt you.

Still, the ring never left her. The first few days she kept it in her pocket, but now she wore it on a chain around her neck, hidden under her shirt. A constant reminder of what she had lost, but was not ready to let go of yet.

That morning had started like any other. Breakfast with the girls before a training session where her head was half somewhere else. Her mind was always on you nowadays, and it was starting to affect her game. She went home and was just about to take a shower, when her phone rang. It was an unknown number, but she picked up nonetheless.

“Hello?” she said as she answered the call.

“Hello, is this Alexia Putellas?” A lady on the other end of the line said.

“Yes, who is this?” She questioned.

“I’m Carmen from the hospital. You’re listed as the emergency contact for Y/n.” The call had Alexia’s full attention now. “She has been in an accident.”

The news felt like a punch to the gut. Carmen went on to tell Alexia that the accident had been serious and that you had been unconscious when you were brought in by the ambulance. She told Alexia that you were in surgery right now, and that she couldn’t give more details over the phone, but she should come to the hospital for more information and to be there for you when you got out of surgery.

Alexia’s mind was going crazy, but there was no hesitation present. She was already on her way to her car before Carmen was even done talking. “I’ll be there soon.” She said before hanging up the phone and stepping into the car.

When Alexia arrived the nurse caught her up to speed. You had been in a bad car crash. The fire department had to cut your car open to get you out. You broke your leg, and fractured a few ribs. She said that you had been unconscious upon arrival, and that they didn’t know if it was because of the blood loss or if you had a head injury, and that only time would tell. She escorted Alexia to the room that would be yours once you were out of surgery.

Alexia put her stuff down on the table in the corner and instantly started pacing the room. She needed to call your parents. What would she tell them? She wasn’t even fully aware of your state right now, but she knew she had to tell them everything she had just been told.

She called right away, and told them everything the nurses had told her. They said they would be on the first flight out, and asked Alexia to update whenever she got more information.

A few minutes after she had hung up, you were wheeled into the room. Alexia watched in fear as more of the bed entered the room. Your body was battered and bruised. Your leg wrapped in a cast, bandages around your arms, butterfly stitches on your face. Her heart broke at the sight, but the steady beeping of the monitors reassured her a little.

“The surgery went well, she should make a full recovery. She hasn’t gained consciousness yet, but we are hopeful that once the anesthesia wears off, she should regain consciousness. I’ll check in soon.” The nurse says before leaving the room.

Alexia shot a quick text to your parents, updating them on the news, before she sat down by the side of your bed. She studied your face for any sign of movement, any sign that you would wake up.

There was nothing for almost half an hour, but then she saw your hand move. Alexia shot up from the chair, eyes wide open as yours fluttered open. Clearly not enjoying the brightness of the hospital light.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not warning to hurt you by speaking too loud. “Hey, can you hear me?”

You turned your head slowly, brows furrowing as your gaze landed on her. “What are you doing here?” Your voice was hoarse, and you struggled to get the first words out. Before Alexia could answer, you asked a second question. “Who are you?”

Alexia’s heart dropped, you didn’t remember? That must mean that you did indeed injure your head in the accident as well. “I’m Alexia.” You looked her over, clearly thinking before saying, “And who are you to me?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words caught in her throat. That was kind of a tough question in your current situation, but she should just tell you the truth, so she did.

“Well we never really discussed that, but I ehm, I was your fiancée.”

“Was? What happened?” you asked.

Alexia sat down again, playing with the hem of her training top, she was still wearing. “A lot happened." She looked up nervously meeting your eyes. “I don’t think I should get into the details right now, since you’ve just woken up from surgery and everything. But in short, I did a lot of things wrong that I wish I had noticed sooner, so could’ve fixed us.”

You took in the words she spoke. Did she really mean them or was she just saying them because you were laying in a hospital bed? But then your eyes fell onto something, the light catching something around her neck.

There it was hanging, your engagement ring. That’s when you could no longer keep it up. “You’ve held onto my ring?” Alexia looked down at the ring that was no longer hiding under her shirt. “Of course I did. I want to fix this, fix us. I could never let it go.”

“Wait, you remember the ring?” It just dawned on Alexia that you could’ve assumed it was your ring, but that it was also an option that you remembered it.

Your cheeks turn slightly red. “Yes, I do. I remember it all. I was surprised to see you here, and my mind convinced me I should see what your intentions were. I’m sorry.”

Alexia looks at you with a blank expression for a moment, before she smiles. “I guess I deserved that. I’m just glad you don’t actually have memory loss. They called me because you have me listed as your emergency contact. But don’t worry, I’ve called your parents and they will be on the first flight out.”

The last part surprises you. “You called my parents?” Alexia nodded, “Of course I did.

You give her a weak smile, now realising that your face is pretty battered up. “Thank you.” Alexia smiled back. “I’ll text them you’re awake, but they should be on the plane right now I think. I can stay until they get here if you want, but I could also leave right now. It’s up to you.”

“Can you stay?” Alexia nods. “I don’t know what this means for us, and I realise I am probably on a lot of medication right now. But I want to work on us too, see if we can get back to where we were when everything was going right.”

“I can stay however long you need. Just let me get a nurse to come check you out, now that you’re awake and I will be right back.” With a nod, you watched her walk out of the room. You knew that there was a lot to work on, but Alexia being here and showing up for you with your ring hanging around her neck made you feel like there was a way to come back from this if you worked on it together.

Continue reading part 2

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willowsnook · 24 days ago

Text

The history of love

“Once upon a time there was a boy who loved a girl, and her laughter was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering.”

Oscar piastri x childhoodbsf!reader

request from @opastries81 prompt list here

—-----------------------------------------------------

Oscar thinks he probably fell in love with you when you were both 10 years old. Your family had moved into the house next to his, having moved overseas from America for your dad’s job, and it was like a missing puzzle piece in his life had finally fallen into place.

Everyone always said the two of you were two peas in a pod. The two of you were inseparable, and when his family decided to send him to boarding school, you cried harder than you ever had before. But even after he moved, nothing changed between you besides distance.

You talked on the phone almost every day, constantly in communication. As you got older, people often pointed out that you became carbon copies of one another, that dry sense of humor, non-expressive behavior, and general casualness. While Oscar might have known he loved you early on, you were oblivious. You missed all the signs.

Like when he memorized your coffee order down to the extra pump of vanilla, he never dated anyone longer than a few weeks but always knew exactly what to say to cheer you up after your breakups. When he flew home early just to make it to your birthday, saying it was for “the cake.” When he watched every dumb reality show you loved, even though he claimed to hate them. When he looked at you like you hung the stars—every time you laughed, every time you weren’t looking.

You just thought… that’s what best friends did. And he was okay with that, deciding that he’d just wait until you’d figure it out, even though it grew increasingly frustrating as time went on.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just tell her,” Lando questioned as he and Oscar walked into the paddock.

“It’s not that simple,” Oscar said and Lando threw his hands out.

“What do you mean it’s not that simple? You two are practically married!”

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Not this again. She's just oblivious."

"That's an understatement," Lando muttered. "She didn't even realize when you ditched that important testing session last year to help her move apartments."

"I told her I had the day off."

"My point exactly," Lando said, slapping Oscar's shoulder. "She believes whatever you tell her because she trusts you completely. Just tell her the truth."

Oscar sighed, running a hand through his hair. "And risk fifteen years of friendship? No thanks."

His phone buzzed with a notification. It was you, sending a picture of yourself in your F1 team merchandise, captioned: Ready to watch my best friend crush it this weekend!

"Speaking of your wife," Lando teased, peeking at Oscar's phone. "She's coming to the race?"

“Yeah, she’s flying in tonight,” Oscar told him. “Join us for dinner?”

“I’m not interested in third-wheeling, so no,” Lando said, rolling his eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

Since it was the Tuesday of race week, Oscar had the evening free so you were happy to get to go out to eat at a normal time versus the late night meals you were used to when you came for his races. He was already in the hotel lobby when you came down and your mood increased the second you saw him; the tiredness of a long travel day already forgotten.

“Hi buddy,” you greeted, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Hi, y/n,” he said into your hair. “Ready?”

He’d picked out a cute little Italian place that was near the hotel and you were lucky to get seated outside, right next to the water. Looking over the menu, you brightened.

“They have that bottle of wine I loved so much from that place back home we went to a couple of months ago,” you said. “No glasses option though, just the bottle.”

“We can split it,” Oscar offered.

“You sure? I know how you get with wine,” you teased and he rolled his eyes. Oscar was generally not a lightweight except when it came to wine. There was just something about it that got to him.

Sure enough, two glasses later, that familiar glassy look was on his face. You were tipsy and amused, quickly flagging down the waiter so you could leave before he decided to order something else. When you made it outside his fingers slipped easily into yours as you walked.

As you were walking, you smiled at an old couple sitting on the bench sharing a cup of ice cream. You hoped for that kind of love one day.

“Do you think you’ll get married one day?” You asked, looking over at Oscar. He laughed at the randomness of the question.

“Of course,” he said confidently.

“You’ll just have to find someone who can put up with your weirdness first,” you teased.

“I already have so I’m all set,” he answered and you furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Who?” You asked. Maybe he hadn’t told you about meeting someone new recently. You had just seen him a couple of weeks ago though.

“Well you of course,” he said nonchalantly, not even stuttering in his step. He stopped though, once your hand yanked him back.

“What are you talking about Oscar?” You asked and he gave you a tipsy smile, the pink on his cheeks from the wine making him even more attractive in the streetlight.

“I mean we are going to get married, isn’t it obvious?” He asked and your lips pursed.

“Not very obvious,” you told him. “When were you going to tell me?”

He shrugged, pulling you back along. “Eh, I don’t know. Everyone says that I should but I was just going to wait it out until you said something.”

“How’s that working for you then?” You asked, deciding that this had to just be some kind of bit he was playing.

“Not very well,” he admitted and you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

The next morning, you woke up with a slight headache and a fuzzy memory of your conversation with Oscar. Had he really said you two were going to get married? You shook your head, attributing it to the wine and his typical sarcasm.

Your phone buzzed with a text from Oscar: "Breakfast before I head to the track?"

Twenty minutes later, you were sitting across from him in the hotel restaurant, studying his face for any sign of awkwardness about last night. There was none. He looked completely normal, scrolling through his phone while munching on toast.

"So," you started casually, "you were pretty wine-drunk last night."

Oscar glanced up, a small smile playing on his lips. "Was I? I remember everything perfectly."

"Even the part where you said we were getting married someday?"

He didn't flinch, didn't even blink. "Pretty big moment for me to have forgotten.”

You were frozen, just staring at him. How long was he going to let this bit go on? It was impressive though, how he had yet to break.

“Right,” you muttered, going back to your food.

The next few days went by quickly and you didn’t bring up his confession and neither did he. You decided it was business as usual, since he wasn’t treating you any differently than normal.

On race morning, you were hanging out in the garage when Lando caught sight of you.

“Hey y/n,” he called out. “Heard lover boy finally confessed, congratulations.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, “So he roped you into the bit too? I thought you were better than that Norris.”

Lando’s face scrunched up in confusion. "Bit? What bit?" Lando looked genuinely perplexed, glancing between you and something behind you. "Oscar's been in love with you since you were like, children."

You laughed nervously. "That's not funny, Lando."

"It's not supposed to be funny," he replied, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Wait, did you think he was joking when he told you?"

Your heart was suddenly pounding in your chest. "I—"

“Lando, let’s go,” a mechanic called out to him and he gave you a sympathetic look before running off. The garage picked up with activity and you made your way to your usual spot, your mind racing.

It hits you all at once.

Like a memory crashing into your chest, knocking the air out of you.

He was in love with you. The kind of love that was patient. Quiet. Unshakable.

You thought he was just good.A good friend. A good person. But now you see it—the way his eyes softened when you walked into a room. The way he lit up just to hear your voice. The way he always put you first, even when you didn’t ask.

He loved you.

The camera caught you just as a small smile appeared on your face and for the first time, you were desperate for this race to be over as soon as possible. You watched as they took off, Oscar starting second on the grid. The race was pretty uneventful, not a lot of overtakes besides Oscar taking the lead when Max went wide on a particular turn.

The garage was wild as he crossed the finish line and you joined the team in celebrating, following them to the podium area.

You stood on your tiptoes trying to catch a glimpse of Oscar as he made his way to the podium. The crowd was deafening, but somehow in that moment, everything felt quiet to you. Your heart was racing, and it had nothing to do with the race that had just finished.

When Oscar took the top step, champagne in hand, his eyes scanned the crowd until they found yours. He gave you that smile—the one you now realized had always been just for you.

After the celebrations, you waited by the paddock entrance, nervously fidgeting with the pass around your neck. When Oscar finally emerged, still in his race suit tied around his waist, his hair damp from champagne, he looked surprised to see you waiting there.

"Congratulations," you said, your voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos in your chest.

"Thanks," he replied, that familiar softness in his eyes. Before you could change your mind, you steadied your hands on his shoulders, leaning up to press your lips against his. There was no surprise on his end, just a small grin before he kissed you back, wrapping an arm tight around your waist.

“Ready to get married then?” You joked and he brought his lips to yours once more.

“I’ve been ready for a while.”

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader

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miedei · 2 months ago

Text

so many hills to die on

a case has you re-evaluating your tenuous relationship with spencer, coming to a head when the unsub triggers a confrontation.

cw: fem!reader, soulmate!au, angst/fluff, lighttt miscommunication trope, canon level violence and gore, descriptions of being bound and kidnapped, descriptions of stalking behaviour

a/n: this is probably my most ambitious fic ever, has been in my drafts for sooo long but I rallied and wrote it finally! merged these two requests about a soulmate au from this prompt list, and I definitely went overboard with the concept. title is from $20 by boygenius (lol), unsub name and picture of spencer from loml @siriuslylantsov

prompt: b...ody art (doodles that a person draws on themselves appear on their soulmate’s skin).

wc: 11.3k (holy shit)

mlist

(reblogs are the only way to promote fics on tumblr! please reblog if you enjoyed it :) )

Spencer Reid could say a lot about the phenomenon of transcorpal connections. The incidence of a level of mental connection between two individuals that manifests itself in the melanocytes in a person’s epidermal layer to reflect the markings that another person has exacted upon themselves.

Or, if Prentiss forced him to speak ‘like you’re a human 27-year-old, please’, it was the instance of two supposed ‘soulmates’ where drawings or tattoos on one person’s skin are reflected on the others.

Soulmates weren’t something Spencer took much stock in, to be honest.

A fated partner that some amorphous being has assigned him is not something he really believes in, not just as Dr. Reid, man of science, but also as Spencer, the guy who’s had to watch every loving relationship he’d ever seen end.

He’d seen his parents fall out of love, the little messages his father would write for his mother always there, until one day he’d seen his father write a to-do list on his forearm, the words never arising on his mother’s skin. He’d had whatever that was with Ethan, where he’d desperately hoped that his incoherent scribbles would eventually pop up on his friend-not-boyfriend’s arm, but never did. He’d seen Hotch, the last ‘Jack misses you’ message that Haley had written him still on his upper arm, no matter how long it had been.

The connections between people’s skin wasn’t anything he aspired to, not anymore. He could rattle off facts and musings about the instances of ‘soulmate connections’ in history for hours, but it held no more significance for him than it did as a profiling tool.

Hence, Spencer never really held out for anything to show up on his skin, not until it did.

You had spent years with your body, the parts of it you saw on the daily, and the parts you preferred to avoid in the mirror. The expanses of skin, littered with marks and scars from years of living, are familiar to you. Too familiar.

You’d spent years watching your friends, acquaintances, and even strangers' skin change. Like the first time, in secondary school, whenever you saw lines begin to form on a friend's hand, it always filled you with a strange sense of melancholy.

Of course, people lived whole, fulfilling lives without ever having a soulmate connection, and you’re sure your life wouldn’t be any different, but there was always that little thought in the back of your mind, every sighting of a couple on the street adding feathers to its wings.

What if. What if all that skin finally changes? What if you’ll finally experience the life-shattering love that soulmates are supposed to be?

You had always been holding out for something to show up on your skin, but it wasn’t until you’d least expected it.

Being the newest profiler in the famed BAU was more than daunting. It was terrifying, like hyper-aware-of-every-bone-in-your-body terrifying. Your transfer from Domestic Trafficking had been a long time coming, your experience in psychology and previous work under David Rossi making you the ideal candidate for the spot. You knew all of that, but somehow it didn’t dampen the nerves that coursed through your body every time you walked into the bullpen.

It’s your third case as an official agent on the team, and your fear of messing up the biggest leap in your career hasn’t waned. In a lull in the briefing that Hotch gives on the jet, you refer to the case file, questioning the tiny Garcia shown on the screen set on the surface in front of you.

“And this witness who wasn’t present? What’s that about?” You point to a name noted on the case file, which has very little information listed next to it.

“Yes, my love, that is a little strange.” Garcia’s slightly tinny voice floats through the interior of the cabin.

“She is a Mrs Amaya Walker, not technically a witness, seeing as, you know, she lives and works two hours away from the crimes, but there is a pickle.” As she speaks, Spencer slides into the seat across from you, and you flash him a quick smile as he slides a mug of coffee over the table to you.

“Our lovely Mrs Walker here saw a list pop up on her forearm, right when the last murder happened. Initially she didn’t think it was anything, but later she saw the press conference that the local P.D. did after the second murder-”

“Against my advice, by the way!” JJ pipes up from her spot on the sofa.

“Yes, against JJ’s advice, but once she saw it, she thought her little list might come as useful to the investigation.” Your tablets chime, a picture of a forearm you assume belongs to Amaya Walker popping up on the screen. The fax machine set up under the table whirs, and you pull out the printed version and pass it wordlessly to Spencer. The brown skin of her forearm is marred by scratchy handwriting, a list of household points of interest:

“Bedframe

Edge of coffee table

Light fixture

Oven door

Nightlight

Garage door

Silver spoon”

Your eyes widen, picking up your case file to compare.

“These are all…”

“Where the unsub left smears of the victim’s blood.” Spencer finishes your sentence, his eyes meeting yours with lines of confusion between them. The seemingly random smears of blood had been a point of confusion for you all when you did the initial walkthrough of the two murders back at the office. Each very far from the site of the murder, the team had concluded it had to be part of the unsub’s signature, although they were different for each murder.

This was part of why JJ didn’t want it released to the public, on the off chance that the publicity causes the unsub to escalate or double down.

“Yes, wonderful profilers, you’re correct. The list correlates with all the different spills of blood and…” Garcia shudders, “gore left at every crime scene. Her husband has refused to speak to the police, and she insists he has nothing to do with it, but the police are working on a warrant, they should be getting them both to the station tomorrow.”

“Yes, that is strange. Reid, L/N, you two go to the ME’s office, figure out if there’s anything we can get out of the method of killing. Dave, you go with Morgan and JJ to the most recent crime scene. Maybe we can get something more out of it. Prentiss, you and I will head to the first crime scene, see what we can see. Hopefully we can correlate that with whatever we get from Walker tomorrow.” Hotch’s stern, no-nonsense voice cuts through the confusion, and you all straighten up, ready to get to work.

The medical examiner’s office is chilly, and you regret forgoing a blazer as you step into the bright building from the warm evening air. Spencer laughs softly next to you, and he nudges your shoulder.

“Cold?”

“No.”

You speak resolutely, but the sparkle in his eye indicates he knows your lie. Grabbing the distinctive purple scarf from around his neck, he wraps it around yours, smiling when he meets your eye. The moment is only broken by the clip-clop of shoes coming down the hallway, and you both turn away hastily.

The ME walks up to you, his voice clipped and curt.

“You’re from the FBI? Come with me, please.”

You follow him into a room that smells overwhelmingly of formaldehyde. Two examining tables stand in the middle of the room, white sheets covering the bodies.

“The methods of killing were very different for each case, so much so that we didn’t put together that they were related until the police did.”

Spencer nods from beside you, accepting a clipboard from the doctor. Not bothering to read it, when he can do it in a fraction of the time, you converse with the doctor.

“Yes, we saw that one of the victims was stabbed, and the other strangled? That doesn’t track with any evolution we’ve seen before. Stabbing’s generally much easier than strangling, we usually see them go the other way around.”

He nods, pulling back the sheet on the second victim. You can see mottled bruises around his neck.

“Yes, the most recent victim, John Coulhain, was strangled. By the angle of the bruising, it’s clear he was attacked from behind, and by something that has both leather and metal in it. You see here, there’s a larger imprint from the metal segment.”

Spencer raises his head.

“It says here that he had just gotten out of the shower after work?”

“That’s right. He was found in only a towel. His clothes weren’t found.”

You frown, turning to Spencer.

“Leather and metal… that sounds like a belt to me. Coulhain was a lawyer. He wore suits to work.”

He picks up on your train of thought, continuing where you leave off.

“His clothes weren’t found. The unsub might have used his belt as a murder weapon, so he took the rest too.”

You turn to the medical examiner

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson, what sort of knife do you believe was used?”

He walks you over to the second table, drawing back the sheet so you can see the seemingly random pattern of wounds.

“They’re varying degrees of shallowness, but the shape of the wounds makes me think it was something medium-sized, probably stainless steel.”

Spencer leans forward, inspecting the wounds closely as he muses.

“Stainless steel isn’t the sort of knife you buy with the intention of violence. 54% of stainless steel knives are purchased for everyday purposes, like cooking.”

The ME walks you through the rest of the details of the murders, but the randomness of the methods of killing and the missing clothing stick with you.

An hour later, when you and Spencer walk out of the building into the dusk, it’s still on your mind.

“Reid, why would an unsub use a perfectly good knife for his first murder, but forgo bringing it to the next scene, and use his victim’s belt instead? That reads like a devolution, and this guy is still ramping up.”

“Maybe he’s relishing the deaths? Strangling takes longer, so maybe he realised that stabbing wasn’t going to give him the time with the body that he wanted.” He offers, but you can tell he’s not convinced.

“The scenes don’t show any sign of him lingering. And even if that’s the case, why not bring your own strangling equipment? A belt doesn’t give him the precision he needs in order to control the rate of death, especially one he just snatched off the floor.”

Spencer nods slowly as you approach the car.

“He doesn’t hesitate at all in killing them, but he doesn’t come prepared. It’s like he’s obscenely confident in himself, and doesn't think he needs to plan in order to pull it off.”

You slide into the car as your phone begins to buzz in your pocket. Fishing it out, you pick up the call.

“Hey Emily, you’re on speaker.”

She speaks immediately, forgoing any greeting.

“The first victim, Cohen Gibson. Was the weapon a stainless steel knife?”

You exchange a look with Spencer, replying quickly.

“Yeah, it was. Why do you ask?”

“Gibson’s wife just confirmed that their knife block is gone, along with six stainless steel knives.”

Spencer leans forward to speak into your phone.

“That makes sense. We think the unsub is showing up with no preparation because he believes he doesn’t need it. He’s a narcissist.”

She makes a distracted sound of affirmation.

“That sounds right. Okay, Hotch wants you to meet us at the hotel, we’re going to compare notes there.”

You go to hang up, before she speaks once more.

“Oh, one more thing, the local police department got the warrant to bring in Amaya Walker for an interview tomorrow. You guys should do that, she’ll be more relaxed with younger people there. If her husband has something to do with it, you have to get it out of her.”

Stepping out of the SUV the next morning, you and Spencer walk through the sliding doors of the Decorah P.D.'s office, greeted by the captain of the precinct.

“Hi, I’m SSA L/N, this is Doctor Reid.” You shake his hand, chuckling under your breath as you watch Spencer awkwardly avoid doing the same.

Once you’ve set up your things in the conference room they’ve allocated to you, Spencer turns to Captain Peretti.

“So, is Mrs Walker here? We’d like to ask her a few questions.”

Spencer is sitting in the chair across from Mrs Walker in the interrogation room, while you are leaned against the desk next to him.

“We really appreciate you coming in like this, I understand that this is a stressful time for you. Mrs Walker, what can you tell us about your husband’s whereabouts when the list showed up on your skin?” She’s being cagey, not answering your questions and clamming up whenever you mention her husband.

“Eric had nothing to do with it. I’m telling you, it was a mistake for me to come in, I’m sure it’s unrelated.”

She motions to the words on her arm, and you sigh. It looks like straight questioning isn’t going to get you anywhere. Spencer leans his elbows on the desk, looking at Mrs Walker, his brown eyes seeming larger in the dim light. His shirt sleeves ride up his arm a little, and a flash of dark lines shows before it’s covered again.

“Let me ask you this, have messages like this come up on your skin before? Whether they’re lists or not, have you ever seen anything show up on your left forearm?” She shakes her head mutely, eyes trained on the steel surface in front of her. You sigh, motioning discreetly at Spencer, and you both rise, walking out to the viewing area where Hotch and Emily are standing.

“She won’t say anything?”

“Only that her husband has nothing to do with it. But…” Spencer trails off, and you take the opportunity to finish his thought.

“But, she clearly has some hangup about the messages. When Spencer asked whether they’d showed up before, she said no, but it’s clear there’s more there.” Hotch nods thoughtfully. Lost in thought, you spin a pen in your hand, tapping the uncovered tip against the inside of your wrist, accustomed to the ink blotches that appear on the skin there.

Your eyes wander aimlessly as you do so, and land on Spencer, who is scratching at his forearm. It causes his shirt sleeve to ride up a little again. That’s when you see it.

Small marks are on his skin, more muted than you usually see them, but you’d recognise them anywhere. Your eyes widen, looking down at your own wrist. A constellation of ink dots and lines are scattered across the delicate skin, identical to the ones on Spencer’s wrist.

Is this really happening? Reid? Of course, you’d never been able to convince yourself you weren’t attracted to him, but he’s your coworker. He’s a large part of why you’re so nervous at the BAU. He’s not your soulmate… is he?

Hotch’s unflapped voice breaks through your racing thoughts. “Okay. Head back in, press about their relationship, not the list. Let’s see if we can find a weak spot.”

Well. Looks like you’ll have to contain this revelation until you’re done for the day. Your head reels with the discovery, but you have to put it aside in favour of the case.

Your mind made up, you snatch the pen off the table before following Spencer back into the interrogation room, steeling yourself with a deep breath.

“We’d like to get to know you a little more, Mrs Walker, if that’s alright with you. How long have you been married?”

She shifts in her seat, uncomfortable, but answers readily. “Fifteen years. And no, there’s never been any red flags that make me think he would ever be capable of something like this.”

From his spot next to you, Spencer nods once.

“Okay, we understand. In your relationship, do you guys have any rituals to do with your connection? Like writing to each other throughout the day, or a code system or something with your skin?”

Her cheeks flush, eyes trained on her lap. You press further.

“What is it Mrs Walker? Whatever it is, we really need you to tell us.” No answer. Spencer leans forward.

“Mrs Walker, two men are dead. We’re doing our best to find whoever did it, but we need all the information you can give us in order to do that. You can help us prevent any more deaths.” She wraps her arms around her middle, but still doesn’t say a word. Following his lead, you slam a hand down on the metal table.

“Mrs Walker! I understand that, whatever this is, it’s personal, but this is not the time to be hiding information from us. Men are dead, and it's starting to look like the perpetrator had some connection to you. The local police have a warrant for your husband’s arrest. I want to help you get your family out of this mess, but you need to tell us everything you can. Now.” Her shoulders slump, and finally, you feel like she’s telling you the truth.

“I… I started getting the messages in September. They’re not- not from Eric.” A wordless conversation passes between you and Spencer. That was 4 months before the first murder. You turn back to her, nodding encouragingly as the words seem to spill past her parted lips.

“I never expected to have a soulmate. Or at least… to be able to speak with them. My husband and I, we’re happy! I didn’t care that we weren’t soulmates until…”

Spencer prompts her, leaning forward. “Until?”

“Until the first drawing showed up. It was just a doodle of something, I barely remember now, but we started writing to each other. In places that no one would see, the underside of my arm, or my ribcage. I didn’t- I never did anything! I love my husband, I do, and I would never-” She cuts herself off, holding up a hand to ask for a little time. A few minutes later, she pipes up again.

“I don’t know his name or anything. We talked about surface level stuff, you know? Favourite books, shows, things like that. I was never going to do anything about it, so I didn’t tell anyone.” You can’t help but raise your head, flashing a look at the one-way mirror, hoping Hotch will read the urgency on your face.

“This is good, Mrs Walker. Thank you for telling us. It’s going to take us some time to deduce whether this is related to the murders or not, but I hope you won’t object to helping us further.” Wordlessly, Spencer slides your notepad and pen over to her.

“I’m going to need you to write down everything you can remember from your messages. If there are any still on you, I really need you to write them down as clearly as you can. In a few minutes, one of our teammates will be in, and they’ll walk you through a cognitive interview, try and see how much we can recover.” The two of you rise, nodding to the officer stationed inside the door, but you pause when she calls out to you.

“Do you- do you think that it’s wrong of me? To stay in this relationship, when I know there’s a soulmate out there for me?” You go to speak, but Spencer beats you to it.

“Mrs Walker, the phenomenon of connections like these doesn’t necessarily mean that the relationship would be perfect. You love your husband, and you have loved him for years. A ‘soulmate connection’ doesn’t mean you should even be in a relationship. Many people don’t even believe it has anything to do with compatibility, those relationships are just as flawed as any other. Honestly, I sometimes think the expectations could hinder a relationship.”

It startles you a little, the emotion behind Spencer’s eyes when he speaks. Does he really not believe that a connection means anything? Your eyes can’t help but flick down to the faint marks on your wrist.

By the time you look up, Spencer is already in the doorway, looking back at you with concern in his eyes.

“You okay?” His voice is hushed, intimate, but it’s all you can do to brush it off. Walking back into the conference room, the team is already hard at work.

Spencer’s confused. Something clearly rattled you in the interrogation room, but despite his attempts to meet your eyes, it’s like you’re purposely avoiding his gaze.

He hasn’t taken the time to think about it, but whether that’s because he’s busy or because he’s worried, who knows?

What he does know is that you have quickly become one of his favourite people to work with. Hours spent hunching over maps together, inspecting crime scenes and interviewing witnesses have endeared you to him faster than he thought was possible. It’s this unexplainable fondness that leaves him reeling when the comforting smiles and shared looks are lost all of a sudden.

He attempts to push it to the back of his mind as the team runs through the case once more, Garcia’s tinny voice streaming through the room. However, he’s not fully in it, and the team notices. By the time they’ve concluded that a reinspection of the crime scenes and interviewing Eric Walker was necessary, Emily is eyeing him weirdly, and Morgan all but frog-marches him out to the precinct’s kitchenette.

“Kid. What’s going on?” The elder man braces his hands on Spencer’s shoulders, eyes blazing into his.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since the second interview with Amaya Walker, and so has L/N.” A sense of relief floods through Spencer, and he speaks earnestly.

“I don’t know! We interviewed Mrs Walker again, and it was all fine, but the moment we left the room it’s like she can’t look at me anymore. It’s making me feel all awkward.”

Morgan sighs, his fingers unintentionally digging into Spencer’s shirt.

“What did you say when you left?” Spencer bristles a little at the implied accusation, but can’t help but run through the last few parts of the interview.

“It was all normal, but then she- Mrs Walker, asked if she was wrong to stay in her relationship when she has a ‘soulmate’ out there.” He nods, prompting Spencer to continue.

“I told her what I think she’d agree with, that I don’t know if a connection would make a relationship stronger. I thought that was right, it felt like it soothed the witness.” A troubled look passes over Spencer’s face. He’s always struggled with social cues, but he thought he’d improved. Mrs Walker looked much calmer after he said that to her, and that was protocol.

Calm the witness, make sure they think you are in their corner. Gideon’s voice rings through his head.

“And that was it! We left the room, and then she started acting all…”

Morgan’s features are unreadable, but his hands relax on Spencer’s shoulders.

“Sounds like you need to figure out why she’s bothered. But, kid… Don’t let this affect the case.”

With that, he pats Spencer’s shoulder and walks off, leaving him pondering his words. Figure it out.

Spencer Reid is good at figuring things out. Maybe he can’t tackle this like Spencer, your bumbling coworker, but as Spencer, the profiler.

You’ve been at the first crime scene for only a few minutes, but the awkwardness is thick in the air between you.

Spencer has that infuriating look on his face, all furrowed brows and piercing gazes and so attractive it makes you want to pull your hair out. It’s making it so hard to try and detach yourself from him.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you sidle over to the evidence markers that tag the blood smears in this crime scene.

“So we’ve got… A side table in the master bedroom, a heart pillow that was in the living room and an elephant painting on the wall in the landing. All far away from the site of the murder in the kitchen.”

Spencer steps up next to you, still gazing at you unreadably, but opens his mouth to follow your train of thought.

“The blood spatters indicate that the attack began in the hallway, and the final blows in the kitchen. No blood anywhere else, nowhere near the smears.”

You nod, trying to run through the details of the case in your mind.

“The attack is rushed, hasty. All the stab wounds indicate a blitz attack and a lot of overkill, but the smears are calculated.”

He smiles, and it’s all you can to not turn and reflect that back to him.

“Right, no blood dripping anywhere outside of the murder, not even when he takes some to the different areas of the house to smear. The murder itself is charged with anger, but this is something more. It’s deliberate, it’s…”

You meet his eyes, finally, and voice what you know you’ve both concluded.

“It’s a message. But to whom?”

He holds your gaze, going to reply to you, but is cut off by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. With a sigh, he fishes it out of his breastpocket, holding the brick-like device to his ear.

Whatever he hears has him tensing, and you feel like a coiled spring, bracing yourself for whatever grim news is awaiting you.

“Okay Hotch, we’re leaving now, get Garcia to send all the photos to us.” He sets down the phone, looking at you.

“There’s been another murder.”

You stand at the clear whiteboard, surveying the images tacked on to it. The blood smears of the newest crime scene are pinned up next to those of the two previous ones, and it’s driving the two of you crazy trying to decipher what the patterns are. Spencer fiddles with his fingers, the marks on his wrist flashing as his sleeve shifts, sending your mind spiralling every time you notice them.

“A painting of a tree, and an orange. Let me ask you this, do you think the things themselves are significant or the locations of them?”

You shake your head slowly, trying to clear the fog from your mind. The both of you are silent, standing in front of the board with puzzled looks, when Morgan bursts in, waving around some papers.

“Got the pictures of Mrs Walker’s newest message.” He grabs a magnet and pins a picture of Mrs Walker’s calf to the centre of the board, two things listed there.

“Tree painting

Orange”

“Ok kids, we really need you to work your magic this time,” Morgan taps your shoulder.

“The cooling down period has gotten shorter and shorter. We can’t expect to get to tomorrow evening without another murder.”

You sigh, rubbing your wrist absentmindedly. The marks and your newfound realisation about Spencer haven’t left your mind, but have been pushed to the background for the time being. However, the frustration brings it back up. The connection. Does it mean nothing to him? Does he not think that it would do something for a relationship? You’ve always thought it would indicate that you belong together, wouldn’t you…

Your body moves without your go-ahead.

Eyes widen.

Shoulders tense.

Your arms reach forward, haphazardly grabbing and moving the lists until three pictures sit side-by-side on the board in front of you.

One is printed, a crude attempt by the CSU team to catalogue the items marred by blood. Two are images, words on skin. Words, the first letters of which spell out…

You grip Spencer’s arm, pointing at the first image of Amaya Walker’s skin, the second murder.

“Belongs. Spencer, the second crime scene.”

He doesn’t even acknowledge your use of his first name, leaning forward like you are. He zeroes in on the newest image.

“To. The third one. It’s an acrostic. The first letter of each item spell out his message.”

You move forward, writing the words ‘__ BELONGS TO’ on the board. You are feeding off of each other, thinking aloud in a way that has Morgan sighing to himself.

“She didn’t get a list for the first one.”

Spencer nods. “She didn’t notice. He had to show her.”

You grab the printed list of the items smeared in the first crime scene. “Side table, pillow, painting”

He leans over your shoulder. “He’s more specific than the crime scene techs were. Heart pillow, elephant painting.”

You turn to him, stomach dropping. “She. She belongs to…”

He writes in ‘SHE’ next to the two other words. “He’s possessive, something happened to make him think he doesn’t have her.”

“Narcissistic. Driven by ownership.”

“Eric Walker was here when the third murder happened. Who else would want to lay claim to her?”

You straighten up, meeting Spencer’s eyes, not looking away even as you address Morgan.

“Derek, where’s Eric Walker?”

“They released him from questioning an hour ago, he went home.”

You and Spencer spring into action, scooping up your abandoned holsters.

“We need to get to the Walkers’ house, now. Our unsub is taking out what he sees as competition, and Mr Walker’s all he needs to get rid of.”

In the SUV, you are jittery. Morgan sits in the driver’s seat next to you, and Spencer in the back. As you fiddle with your vest straps, you can’t help but think of Mrs Walker, the woman who never wanted a soulmate. And now her soulmate is trying to kill the love of her life.

Maybe Spencer was right?

Hotch is barking orders at the gathered agents when you step out of the vehicle. Nodding along, you fall to the back of the group, your designated role until you’re called to enter the house.

Your vest is uncomfortable. The straps are always too long or too short, and you have to get it right before you storm the house, but your thoughts are so loud, and Rossi on the phone with the unsub is so piercing, and it feels like you will never get comfortable.

Finally, you feel like giving up, until warm hands find purchase on your shoulders. Looking up, you see Spencer, standing before you with a slight, nervous smile. His hands gently move yours away from the straps, and he looks at you questioningly.

“Can I?” You nod dumbly, unable to tear your eyes away from him.

The touch is soft, tentative. He pulls at the straps dangling over your shoulders firmly, tightening the vest until it sits snugly over your chest. As if acting on instinct, he slips a finger under the kevlar, brushing the thin fabric of your shirt over your collarbone delicately. It makes you shiver.

“Is that good? Too tight?” His eyes are devastatingly soft, head tilted down to face you fully.

“No, it’s good. Thanks, Reid.” You have to get yourself away from the magnetic pull of him, stepping back and letting out a sigh of relief.

You walk away, heading Emily’s way, completely missing the look of confusion he aims at you as you brush past him.

Joining the circle of agents and officers, you tune into Morgan’s run down of the plan.

“Hotch and JJ will take 5 officers and break down the front door. Now, we know there are two other doors that the unsub will probably make a break for once we enter. Prentiss and I will be at the northfacing one, Reid and Rossi at the westfacing one. L/N, you and Captain Peretti should be stationed in the land behind the house, secure the outbuildings before the unsub can think to rush to them and destroy evidence.”

You nod, exchanging a glance with the police captain.

“Remember, this unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. He won’t stop at anything to get what he wants, including opening fire on us. Do not engage him in a confrontation. Challenging his goals and views will push him further, and we don’t want any more casualties at the hands of this man.”

With a decisive nod, Morgan breaks away from the group, the people beginning to station themselves at their posts. With the captain at your side, you walk around the house to the field behind it, directing officers to each of the small barns and outhouses dotting the land.

With the captain, you stand ready at the large wooden door of what you think is a stable, when the crackling of your earpiece alerts you to JJ’s voice.

“We’re heading in on 5, 4…” You can hear a crash and a shout, and JJ’s voice turns hurried. “We head in now!”

A few minutes have you tapping your index against the side of your firearm, worried.

“He’s not here. We have Mr Walker here, multiple stab wounds but a relatively steady pulse. House is clear.”

Emily starts speaking. “He hasn’t gone through our door. Rossi?”

Rossi crackles out a negative response. Bringing your wrist to your mouth, you speak into the mic embedded there.

“If Walker’s still bleeding out, the unsub has to have just been there. Are there any other possible exit points?”

There’s silence for a second until Reid’s voice comes over the comms, frantic.

“There’s a northwest facing window that’s unlocked! Footsteps leading away from it, into the field.”

Immediately you spring into action, autopilot taking over as you direct multiple officers to search the surrounding woods, and the rest to clear out the outbuildings.

Counting down, the police captain kicks in the stable door, and you flick on your flashlight, advancing.

The large room is drafty, the old wood planks creaking with every gust of wind. At first glance, the dark room seems quiet and empty, and each movement of your flashlight seems to confirm this.

The only thing of note you see is the row of stalls along the left wall, the angle of the opening making sure that you can’t see into all of them.

Silently, you begin to walk towards them, signalling for the captain to follow. Despite the first few being completely empty save for some hay, a chill runs down your spine, bracing yourself for a confrontation that hasn’t happened.

As you begin to inch your way to the second-to-last stall, you hear a shout from outside the building.

“There’s someone in the woods!”

One of the officers rushes past the open door to the stable, and the captain raises her head immediately, dropping her defensive stance.

“That must be him. Let’s go!” Without waiting for a response, she turns, running out of the stable, as if she can’t hear your hushed whispers.

“Captain! This building hasn’t been cleared—” She’s gone. You can hear the rush of officers running past the building, towards the wooded area to the back of the property. Despite the high probability of the unsub being the person spotted there, you know you can’t leave this building without clearing it.

You really should wait for someone to do this with you. Never enter a potential crime scene without backup. Rossi’s voice rings in your ears.

But there’s only two stalls left. The rest of your team are still securing the house and the victim. The officers are gone.

You can clear two stalls on your own. They’re probably empty anyway.

Having made up your mind, you straighten up, tightening your grip on your gun and flashlight, and advance.

Slowly walking to the first stall, you turn the corner, quickly flashing your light in the small space. Empty.

One more.

The floorboards bend slightly as you walk across them. The wind rushing past the walls ruffles your hair. The metal of your gun is warm under your palm.

The wall of the final stall comes closer, closer, until you’re stood behind it. One step forward and a turn to the left, and you’ll be at the doorway.

It’ll be empty. They’ve all been empty.

You take the step, right foot planting in front of you, and turn on the balls of your feet, flashlight and gun extended in front of your chest.

“Hello, agent.”

Not empty.

The house is finally cleared, and Mr Walker loaded into an ambulance. As he watches the vehicle retreat down the road, Spencer hears the chatter over the comms.

“Is it him?”

“The woods are thick, how did he get here without us seeing—”

“—in pursuit of the person we saw—”

“He’s a white man, late 60s—”

“It’s not him! You hear me, officer? That’s not him, do not arrest that man!” Morgan’s voice cuts through the jabbering, voice stern.

They haven’t gotten the unsub? Spencer turns on his heels, striding back into the house, where Hotch, JJ and Rossi stand around the blood spatter on the floor.

“Spence. Doesn’t look like the unsub could’ve gotten to the woods in time, not before we were stationed in the field he’d have to cut through anyway.” JJ stands with her hands on her hips, irritation clear on her face.

“The other buildings on the property?” He comes to stand next to Hotch.

“I saw Captain Peretti. She said they were all cleared. CSU’s sending more units to secure all of them, but we’re not considering any of them crime scenes as she says it’s clear he hasn’t been in them. It’ll take a while for them to get here and secure them all.” Hotch replies, brows furrowed.

The door opens, and Morgan and Prentiss walk in.

“Everything okay?”

Emily huffs. “The locals almost arrested the elderly neighbour, but other than that, the woods are seemingly clear.”

Morgan adds, “There’s some trampled plants in the cornfield to the west of the property, so we’ve got officers searching that now, but that field backs up onto a major road. If he made it through that, he could be anywhere by now.”

Rossi sighs, shoulders slumping.

“I’m getting sick of this son of a bitch slipping out of our hands.”

“I agree. Rossi, go with Prentiss and Morgan to the road by the cornfield. Canvass anyone you find, ask neighbouring homes if they saw anyone emerge from the crops onto the road or lone cars idling. If he took that way out, he'd have had a car waiting for him there.” They nod, shuffling out.

JJ pipes up, her brow furrowed in thought.

“The smears were on a milk carton in the fridge and an envelope. Me. His message is finished, isn’t it? ‘She belongs to me’. What’s he going to do now?”

Spencer’s not sure. Hotch shakes his head exasperatedly.

“JJ, let’s go find Captain Peretti. We’ll head back to the PD and see what we can make with the old clues now that we think he had an intricate exit plan. Reid, stay here, get updating the geographical profile with the information from this crime scene. We’ll send L/N here to work on it with you.”

Spencer nods, heading to the SUV to grab his map, and settling at the Walkers’ dining table to get working.

It’s hot, sweltering. A throbbing pain thuds in your skull, the feeling of dry hay against your face making your cheek itch. Instinctively, you attempt to bring your hand up to brush it away. It won't move.

You jerk your wrists, but find them bound, and a dull pain pangs in your thigh. It’s clear you’ve been out for a little while, your eyes feeling crusted shut.

With a little effort, you prise your eyes open, feeling your pupils adjust to the darkness of the room. You’re still in the final stall, sprawled against the far wall. Another experimental tug on your wrist and you realise that they’re bound together, the coarse rope wound around your right thigh, forcing you to stay hunched over.

It all comes rushing back. Losing the unsub. Peretti leaving. The empty- no, not empty stall. The raspy voice that met your ears before the resounding blow to your head.

Twisting your hands awkwardly, you begin to pick at the rough rope, trying to map out the knot that keeps you in your uncomfortable position. Sweat drips in rivulets down the back of your neck as you crane your neck.

Your position ensures that you can’t survey the entire stall, but he’s got to be close. The property’s crawling with officers.

“I’m still here, sweetheart.”

The voice rings out from somewhere behind you, dark and smug. Your hand automatically makes for your holster, but the rope digs into your skin, leaving you unable to reach it.

“Don’t bother. You think I’d let you keep your gun?”

You can hear the bastard smirk, anger and fear running hot through your veins. Your gun is your lifeline in situations like this, as not only a means of attack, but a grounding feeling. Without it you feel unmoored.

The only thing you have in your arsenal is your knowledge of the case. Of him.

“Why don’t you come stand here? Don’t tell me you’re afraid of showing me your face.” Your voice is low, cracking with dryness.

Prodding him just enough should… there it is. You hear his footsteps, walking past your bent head until you can see his feet and legs, standing in front of you.

“That enough for you? You can see me now?” He crouches, squatting by your calves to show you his face.

He’s surprisingly handsome, flushed from the heat, dark eyes boring into yours. Dressed in a suit that’s slightly too large for him, he looks out of place in the grimy stable. He’s playing the role of a businessman, save for the gun dangling from his left hand, and the telltale bulge of another— yours— in his pants pocket.

This unsub is severely narcissistic and delusional. Morgan’s words come back to you now.

“You- you outsmarted us all. We were sure we’d catch you.”

A smile spreads over his face, his ego clearly swelling. You can see his shoulders relax slightly.

“You thought so, huh? I guess even the FBI has hubris.” His lips form the word hubris with some effort, pronouncing it as huh-brus. It’s clear he’s putting on airs.

You need to get the others here. You could wait it out, until the crime scene techs eventually make their way to this building towards the back of the Walkers’ land.

But he has two guns, and he wants Amaya Walker, not you. Who knows how long he’ll be content to lord over you, until he inevitably gets tired of playing with you. He has two guns.

How do you get a message to them? There’s no way he’ll let you have your phone, and this guy has no reason to contact anyone but Mrs Walker. He doesn’t need a phone for that, just a pen, probably in his jacket.

A pen. Spencer. That’s it.

“So, you and Mrs— um, Amaya. Are you guys going to meet in person soon?”

That does the trick. His eyes glaze over with an expression that would look love-drunk, if you didn’t know about the blood on his hands.

“Soon. There’s nothing keeping us apart now. I’ll go to see her as soon as I’m done here.”

“That’s why you’re dressed up? I think she’ll like that suit.”

His voice is deceptively soft, almost tricking you into forgetting how dangerous he is.

“I think so too. I borrowed it from a friend, John. She’ll like it.”

John Coulhain. The second murder victim, the lawyer. You resist the urge to gag.

“Yeah. It’s- it’s hot in here, isn’t it? Maybe you should take off the jacket and save it for when you see her. You don’t want to sweat through it.”

His metaphorical hackles raise, and you can tell he’s getting ready to stand and walk away from you.

“No, I don’t mean it in an insulting way, not at all. It’s just really- really warm in here. I’m sweating. Maybe Amaya would like to hug you when you meet her. She won’t want sweat on her.”

Your voice is wavering, eyes unable to move from the gun still in front of you.

It takes a long minute before he speaks again.

“Maybe I should take off the jacket. Just for a little.” He’s clearly loathed to admit his perceived fault, muttering to himself rather than speaking to you. Straightening up, you hear rustling above you, until the jacket falls in a heap in front of your bound wrists, part of the fabric falling on the tips of your fingers. You grasp it in your hand, wincing as the rope rubs the sensitive skin on your wrists raw.

As smoothly as possible, you hunch over further, settling in the foetal position, pulling the jacket to cover your hands a little more.

Seemingly not noticing your movement, you see his legs walk out of your eyesight, padding around you until he comes to a stop somewhere behind your body.

“Now, we’re going to wait here until your police friends are all done at the house. Then I’m going to take you with me, and we’ll go see Amaya. You’re going to be our witness, and then I’ll get rid of you, got it?”

His voice is unnervingly slow and deliberate, as if he’s fully convinced this plan will work. You wish you had that same conviction, but you’re sure you know how this is going to end. The stress of hiding out will surely break him, sending him into a spiral where he will either kill you and then himself, or kill you and let the police kill him.

You have to get them here before that happens. Heart pounding, you slowly inch the jacket closer to you, until your hands are fully buried in the folds of fabric. Feeling around blindly, you trace the inner lining of the expensive fabric until you feel a lip of material. The inner pocket is welcoming to your aching fingers, and you sigh, nearly delirious with relief when your index brushes against a pen. You were right.

Thanking whatever deity there is, you grip the pen, shoving it between your bound wrists, out of sight.

Tugging once more, you’re resigned to the fact that you don’t have the range of motion to write legibly on your forearm, hands laying uselessly against your clothed thighs. The nearest exposed skin is on your ankle, and you have no hope of contorting to reach that without him noticing.

Chancing a look behind you, you can see him hunched over his knees, muttering to himself. You don’t have much time left.

Deciding to make a rash decision, you grip the pen once more. Shifting so your left leg is hiked up, your wrists shoved between your legs, you take the pen, jabbing harshly at the fabric of your pants. Without being able to see, your aim is sloppy, but after a few minutes of brute force, you’ve ripped a jagged hole in your pants, near where your left calf meets your knee.

Tension runs through your body, shifting the pen in your hand so that you can write.

‘Spencer’

Spencer is stumped. Standing over the large map spread over the dining table, he can’t think of a reason why the unsub would ever leave the scene. This was his endgame, his final target until he could have Amaya Walker to himself. Why would a narcissistic sociopath flee after that?

Garcia’s voice comes crackling over the comms.

“My good doctor, it’s a little ridiculous that I had to use the PD’s satellite phone to get in touch with you. Do any of you pick up the phone anymore?”

He huffs out a laugh.

“We’re in the middle of farm country, Garcia. None of us have signal. Have you got anything?”

“You know I do. I took a look-see into Mr Walker’s history to see if he’d been stalked, and in multiple stretches of CCTV footage he’s being tailed by a white SUV. Including two hours ago, when he was on his way home. The car followed him on the main road, and pulled into their private road after Walker.”

“The car probably belongs to our unsub then. Do you have a name?”

“Do you even need to ask? Name’s Randall Slater, seems to tick most of the boxes of the profile. I’ll call back when I have more, Garcia out!”

Spencer slumps back in his chair. Sure, they have a name, but until he gets anything else from Garcia, it does nothing to help him with the geographical profile.

Wracking his brain for any possible lead, he doesn’t hear Hotch and JJ walk back in, not until they stand at the table with him, the police captain in tow.

“Reid. Where’s L/N?” Hotch speaks in a low and measured tone, but Spencer can tell that he’s worried.

“She’s not here yet. I thought you guys were going to send her here?” He raises his head, meeting JJ’s concerned eyes.

“She wasn’t with Captain Peretti.”

“When we were pursuing the neighbour in the woods, I lost her. I figured she’d come back to find you guys.” Peretti’s voice is tight with worry, and a tinge of something else that Spencer doesn’t have the time to decipher right now.

“Morgan and the rest haven’t heard from her?”

Hotch shakes his head no.

“Her comms have gone silent.” JJ brings a hand up to rub her temples.

“Captain, inform your officers that we are looking for Agent L/N as well. Hopefully there’s nothing wrong, but we can’t rule out the possibility that the unsub found a way to get close.”

Peretti nods stiffly, striding out of the room hurriedly.

He can barely wrap his head around it. You’re not checking in? If there was a word stronger than worried, he’d find it, but his brain seems to be wading through sludge at the moment. He hadn’t realised how untethered he feels when you’re not there, until now, where it feels like the only thing he can think of.

He can’t just sit around. Spencer straightens up, snatching his FBI windbreaker off of a chair and beginning to put it on.

“Okay, I’ll head out into the crop fields. If he took her as he fled, there’s got to be evidence of it.”

He’s already halfway across the room when Hotch calls out after him.

“Reid, no. You need to stay here. Work on the geoprofile.”

Spencer can feel the irritation bubbling up inside him, his voice straining with the effort of not yelling.

“Hotch, I’m not going to sit around here and do nothing when the unsub could have Y/N with him. If I can find—” Hotch cuts him off.

“We. Reid, I know you’re emotional, we all are, but you cannot forget that this is a team. We’re all prioritising this. You know that you are best used here. If the unsub took her, we need to locate that secondary location immediately, that’s what you need to be doing.”

Incensed, Spencer can’t help but raise his voice.

“Do we even know that he left? We profiled him to be a delusional narcissist, why would he ever leave? Hotch, I’m telling you, something is wrong here!”

Hotch’s eyes flash with emotion, and he opens his mouth, presumably explaining why Spencer shouldn’t leave. It’s all a moot point, however, because in that moment, he feels a burning on his left calf.

The one-sided conversation goes over his head as Spencer can’t help but tug up his pant leg, itching at his skin as he runs through possibilities in his head. The unsub could’ve done what they’d now theorised, taken you and dragged you through the cornfield, into a car that was waiting by the main road. But why?

He huffs, sitting down in a dining chair as he continues scratching at his leg. Hotch falls silent, but he doesn’t notice, lost in his thoughts.

“Spencer. Spence!”

JJ’s voice snaps him out of his haze.

“What, JJ?” He snaps, irked that he’s been pulled out of his thoughts.

“Spencer, your leg.” He follows her pointed finger to the exposed skin of his calf, red from his scratching. It looks normal, smattering of hair covering the dark moles and lines covering his skin.

Wait. Lines?

He shifts, hooking his ankle over his right knee so he can see his calf more clearly. Shaky lines are forming on the skin in jerky motions, spelling out words in a familiar script.

‘Spencer

unsub in stable

west edge

2 guns

wants amaya’

The handwriting is slanted, letters running into each other and words misspelled. And he knows it’s yours.

“Y/N. It’s her handwriting. She’s writing to me.”

He feels like he’s in an out-of-body experience. He can hear JJ’s gasp, but it feels as though it’s coming from miles away. Hotch is saying something, but the words don’t register as anything more than misshapen sounds.

Graphology is one of Spencer’s specialties, but now he wishes he’d never learned about it. He wishes he didn’t know that the harsh angles of your writing indicate that you have adrenaline pumping through your veins. He wishes he didn’t see the way your letters jumble together, a physical manifestation of your fear.

He slowly comes back to his body, finally understanding what Hotch is saying into his comm.

“—a stable on the west edge of the property. We need the three of you back immediately, JJ, Reid and I will coordinate with the locals to have the building surrounded. Reid, can you hear me? Reid!”

Spencer nods, looking up at Hotch.

“We need to know what’s happening in there. Is she hurt? Can she overpower him?”

He agrees, snatching up a pen and wracking his brain on what to write.

‘Are you hurt?

Are you armed?

Can you talk him down?’

He writes carefully, focusing on the drag of the ballpoint pen on his skin rather than the pure fear riddling his body. Once finished, he doesn’t set down the pen, fiddling with it in an attempt to stop himself from running to the building immediately.

JJ sets a hand on his shoulder, and although he’s grateful for her support, he can’t bring himself to look at her. He can’t look away from his leg. He has a soulmate.

You’re laying at an awkward angle, neck craned and back hunched over so that you can read what Spencer’s written.

Are you hurt? Your head hurts like hell, and the rope has irritated your skin to no end, but nothing that impairs you. You write a shaky ‘N’ next to the question.

Are you armed? You chance another look behind you, looking longingly at your gun in his pocket. Another ‘N’.

Can you talk him down? Can you? You remember the many times Rossi tutored you on interacting with narcissistic unsubs. Learn what they want, promise they will have it, and don’t challenge them. What does he want?

You decide you can, writing a small ‘Y’. Next to that, you scrawl hurriedly, hearing him shift around.

‘bring amaya’

With that, you stuff the pen in your sock, relaxing your body and hoping you don’t look like you’ve been up to something.

The unsub is unsettled, and you can hear him oscillate between standing and sitting repeatedly.

If you want to take control of the situation, you need to act quickly. He’s losing patience with you and the officers outside. If you wait too long, he’ll snap, and then you’re done for.

A final peek at your calf finds the words ‘5 minutes’ etched there.

Five minutes to talk him down. You can do it for five minutes.

You croak out lowly, vocal chords rasping against each other.

“I— I spoke to Amaya. When we were investigating. She told me about you. About the two of you.”

You can hear him stop moving abruptly, and then the patter of his feet as he walks quickly to you. He comes to a stop right in front of your face, your eyeline taken up by his feet and ankles. He speaks in a hushed tone, as if tasting the words carefully before speaking.

“She did? What did she tell you?”

“She said you’d been talking for a while. That it started when you drew a flower on your upper arm? She drew it for us.”

His voice has regained some of its smugness as he replies. His feet are tapping softly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“Of course she did. She loves me.”

You nod jerkily, continuing with your waffle.

“It's clear she does. I'm— in the FBI, I'm a profiler. I'm an expert on human behaviour, and I could see it, despite…”

You trail off, hopeful that he'll take the bait. He does, voice gaining a dangerous edge.

“Despite? Don't let me stop you from speaking your mind, agent.”

“Well, she was scared when we spoke. You know, suddenly there were all these dead bodies that were linked to her. She was pretty shaken.”

His tapping stills.

“Because of the bodies? I did that for her. For us!”

“Yes, I know. It's romantic, really. But, it scared Amaya a bit. It's all so sudden, you see. She was a little freaked out, especially because you hadn't told her about it.”

He's silent for nearly a minute, breathing heavily.

“She's angry about what I did for her?”

“No, not angry. I know she'll understand. You did it for her, she'll love it. She just… wanted to know from you, instead of the police.”

There. You've set your trap, and hopefully he'll fall right in it. Rossi's good-natured lectures play out in your head.

Never challenge a narcissist directly. Make them worried, but never tell them outright that the object of their desire isn't going to be theirs.

He feigns nonchalance, but you can hear in his voice that his narcissistic possessiveness is warring with the uncertainty you've introduced.

“Your friends had better be leaving. I've got to get Amaya, and if that takes too long, it's on you.”

You fall silent, hearing him mutter to himself as he begins to pace. If you push further you might be toeing the line too far.

The five minutes are almost up, you've got to believe that you've done enough to help them talk him down.

As if on cue, you hear the familiar crackle of a megaphone. Rossi's voice, albeit muffled, comes booming towards you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Randall, we have the building surrounded! Let the agent go and we can end this peacefully!”

The unsub, Randall, you suppose, straightens up, and you see him walk cautiously away from you. He walks to the far wall of the wooded building, and you catch a glimpse of him peering through the wood planks. He swears, shoves his gun into his waistband and paces hurriedly back to you.

“You bitch. Did you tell them? Huh? Did you?” He grabs a hold of the rope binding your wrists to your thigh, tugging you up to face him. The rope cuts harshly into your skin, forcing your right leg up at an unnatural angle to follow your wrists.

“I didn’t! I didn’t tell them, I don’t have my phone!”

Wrong thing to say. His eyes darken, and you see his hand twitch toward his gun.

You’re so close, you just need to show him what he’s here for. You hope Spencer got Amaya here.

“I can get you to Amaya! I swear it, if you let me talk to them, I can get them to give you Amaya.”

It works. He doesn’t let you go, and you whimper at the feeling of the rope cutting you, but he pauses, and you can see him thinking it over in his head. It takes one long minute, but he seems to make up his mind.

“No funny business. I’m going to be right there, so don’t even try sending them any messages, got it?”

You nod, and he whips out a pocket knife, using it to slice through the rope. You let out a deep sigh of relief, your right foot meeting the floor so you can finally stand alone. Blood seeps from the cuts on your wrists and thigh.

He grabs you by the throat, pressing himself to your back, and you register the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your side, where your vest doesn’t cover.

As he half marches, half drags you to the large door, he hisses in your ear.

“I don’t want to hear anything other than Amaya, got it? You say anything that doesn’t have to do with getting her here, I shoot you.”

You nod wordlessly, stumbling towards the door. He comes to a stop right behind it, and maneuvers around you to shove it open, thrusting you out into the fading light of the evening.

Blinking rapidly, you slowly focus on the cavalry in front of you. Multiple SUVs are parked at a three meter’s distance from the stable, doors flung side open so the officers and agents can huddle behind them. A few steps away from them stands Rossi, the sight of him sending a rush of comfort through you.

Rossi clutches the megaphone tighter, and you notice he’s speaking to someone by the SUV in front of him— Oh. Spencer is crouched at the car right in front of you, silver revolver glinting in his hand, and his eyes trained on you as he speaks to Rossi.

It feels rather stupid, but you can’t help but note how pretty he looks, hair tousled and jaw clenched.

You’re pulled out of your reverie when Randall jabs you in the side with his gun, making you yelp.

“Now.” He warns. You straighten your neck, making eye contact with Rossi.

“He’s demanding to see—” Another jab. “—to have Amaya Walker. Please bring her out.”

As you speak, you take your right hand, which was dangling at your side, and bring it up to your pants pocket. Making a gesture that resembles a gun, you slip it into your pocket softly. There’s no significant signal that they’ve understood, but you see the skin around Rossi’s eyes pinch, and you hope you’ve gotten the point across.

If they can get him to move just a little, you can retrieve your gun from his pocket and incapacitate him. And the only thing that will get him to move now is Amaya.

Rossi brings the megaphone back up to his mouth.

“We can get her here, but we need a guarantee that you won’t harm this agent. Randall, can you do that? Give us Agent L/N, and we can get you Amaya.”

Incensed, Randall hits your side harder with the barrel of his gun. You see Spencer and Morgan twitch forward slightly.

“No! I want Amaya here, now, and I’m not letting your girl go until I see her!”

Rossi nods quickly, signalling to someone behind him. At that motion, JJ emerges from who-knows-where, Amaya Walker in tow. The older woman is wearing a bulletproof vest, her face ashen at the sight in front of her.

They walk forward until they’re standing by the cars.

At the sight of her, Randall relaxes slightly, but not enough to where you can easily maneuver to your gun. Shaking your head slightly, you see JJ prompt Mrs Walker.

Her voice is shaky and quiet, but you know Randall is hanging on to every word.

“Randall. That’s your name? I’m—” She chokes back a sound. “I’m so glad to meet you.”

Randall makes a pitiful noise from behind you.

“They said you were scared of me.”

JJ prompts her again.

“I- I could never be afraid of you.”

At that, Randall lets his hand fall from your throat, and you move. Whipping around, you shove his gun away, diving into his pocket and retrieving yours. You straighten, pointing your gun at him as steadily as you can, with the wobble in your right leg.

He attempts to run to Amaya, but JJ’s already swept her away.

“Randall, surrender now! You’re surrounded!” Rossi’s voice booms, but it only serves to madden him further.

With a roar of anger he begins to charge to you, and you squeeze, before collapsing. The bullet hits his thigh, the last thing you see before you pass out.

It feels like hours later when you come to, but it's clearly only been a few minutes. You’re sitting on something hard, cold metal, but your back is being supported by something warm.

Only a few beats pass until the sounds come rushing back. You hear the chatter of multiple people around you, but three voices come the clearest. One is deep, interjecting intermittently to the conversation.

The other is calm and melodic, speaking in a steady rhythm that doesn’t falter at all.

The last is hurried, speaking so quickly that it feels as though it all runs into a pleasant hum. They’re clearly asking questions to the second voice, but you can’t fully understand what they’re saying.

You want to know who it is. With an immense amount of effort, you prise your eyes open, blinking blearily at the lights.

“Hey, there she is.” There’s that deep voice. Turning to it, you see a familiar face. Derek smiles at you softly, his hand coming up to rub your shoulder.

“You had us worried there, sunshine.”

Looking around dazedly, you can finally take in your surroundings. You’re sitting in the open doors of an ambulance, the evening having given away to the darkness of night. Headlights from multiple cars light up the area, leaving you spaced out.

There’s a medic standing next to Derek, tending to the cuts on your thigh. Who’s the last voice?

You twist around, much to the chagrin of the medic, but their protests fall away when you see him.

Spencer sits next to you, your back leaning against his side. His eyes are worried, pinched together, but still lovely.

“Hey.”

It’s simple, but the word seems to mean something more, when it’s coming out of his mouth, and when he’s looking at you like that.

You’re frozen, unable to speak. The medic pats your knee, saying that the rest of your patching up should be done at the hospital. Derek walks away after kissing your forehead. You can barely say goodbye to him.

It’s only once you’re relatively alone that Spencer speaks again. You turn to face him, immediately missing the heat of his torso against your back.

“Was… this why you were acting differently?” He raises his leg, pulling up his pant leg to show you the words on his skin.

You nod.

“You said you didn’t think it was real. I didn’t know how to tell you yet, and then— it was the only way to contact you.”

You see his hands raise slightly, but refrain from touching you. You want him to touch you.

“I don’t know if I believe in it. But… Even without it, I wanted this.” His words are achingly sincere, and his hand comes to rest over yours.

“Wanted it since we met.”

Your breath hitches slightly, and you turn your hand to hold his, your wrist with pen marks meeting his.

The words don’t come to your tongue, but you’re sure he knows. He figured it out.

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