#the things I want him to do to me are not fit to be discussed outside of the discord chat

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[nevereclipse]

father figure

Pairing: Platonic!Tim Bradford x femme!rookie!reader

Requested Y/N: no this came from my own brain !!

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Use of y/n, yelling (standard TO Bradford style), domestic violence from a police perspective, light verbal sexual harrassment, mentioned vomitting, mentioned anxiety/nervousness, panic attacks, referenced/discussed past child abuse (emotional, with vague mentions of physical). Tim being a big ole softie (eventually).

Words: 5k+

Summary: How you went from being Tim Bradfords boot, to his unofficial kid.

this one got away from me a lot and has not been proofread!😭 enjoy! feedback is fuel.

----

“Officer Y/l/n, you’re assigned to Sergeant Bradford.” Sergeant Grey was standing at the front of roll call, having just asked you to introduce yourself to your new coworkers. It was your first day as a rookie at Mid-Wilshire, and your stomach was alive with nerves.

“Yes, sir.” You responded, sitting back in your chair.

“Alright everyone, you’re dismissed,” Grey continued, “Stay safe out there.”

Immediately, Sergeant Bradford was out of his seat and walking towards you, his face stony. You’d been warned about him by a… Officer Chen? You couldn’t really remember her name. Still, she’d warned you about his ‘Tim Tests’ and gruff demeanour. It wasn’t helping your nerves.

“Boot! Let’s go.” Bradford snapped, gesturing you over with a flick of two fingers. You smoothed your uniform and walked over. You forced a smile onto your face, wanting to make a good impression.

“Sir, I’m-,” you started.

“Save it, boot.” Sergeant Bradford cut you off. “You will address me as only Bradford, Sergeant Bradford or Sir. Is that understood?”

You nodded, the nerves settling comfortably in your stomach. Bradford was clearly not planning to calm your worries. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Go grab the warbags and meet me at the shop.” Bradford nodded his head vaguely in the direction of the supply room, and you hurried off to prepare the war bags. The last thing you needed was to make a bad impression on someone who was already making you nervous.

---

Tim watched you hurriedly walk to the war room to set up. As he watched you go, Angela Lopez approached.

“So, what do you think of the new blood?” Lopez asked, gesturing (albeit unnecessarily) behind you.

“Too soon to say.” Tim replied, crossing his arms as he turned to Angela.

“Come on, Bradford, you always know right away.” Angela pushed, nudging Tim’s side.

Tim couldn’t deny that. He had a knack for knowing whether someone would be a good fit for policework – it was why he was an excellent TO.

Still, he paused, considering. “She’s… eager.” He hedged. It was true, to a degree. You did seem eager. But he could tell there was something more bubbling under the surface.

“Uh huh.” Lopez grinned, “Don’t be a total dick today, yeah?”

Tim glanced over his shoulder just as you walked out of the storeroom carrying the war bags. “No promises.”

---

Office Chen had been right. Sergeant Bradford was extremely intimidating. You’d graduated third at the Academy, and you knew you were good (well, competent at least), but some part of you was still constantly second guessing. Maybe it was Bradford’s height and build, or his permanently pissed off energy but an hour into your shift and you were scared. Not of him (not really), but of what’d happen when you inevitably screwed up. You’d tried to chat initially, but it hadn’t gone down well.

“So. Why do you want to be a cop?” Bradford asked as he pulled off West Olympic.

After an hour of near-silence, since Bradford had firmly proclaimed that the shop was a personal-life-free zone, the question surprised you. “Is that a trick question?”

“No. If I’m going to train you, I need to know why you’re in this car.” Bradford didn’t even look at you as he drove, instead scanning the streets around you.

You looked out your window for a moment. It wasn’t exactly an easy question to answer. Not without revealing way more about yourself then you wanted to on your first shift. Then you wanted too ever, really.  “Um.” You swallowed. “I know it’s… basic, but I want to help people.” You hedged. “People who don’t have anyone else to-.”

The shop screeched to a halt, and you were suddenly cut off by Bradford yelling: “I’VE BEEN SHOT! WHERE ARE YOU, BOOT?”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck- you didn’t know. “Um…” You looked around, trying desperately to find a street sign, or some clue as to where you were. After a few more seconds, you heard Bradford scoff.

“Now I’m dead. It’s your fault.” He didn’t even look mad. Just completed blank. That was almost more nerve racking.

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” You started, hating the way your voice shook.

“Not good enough, Boot!” Tim’s voice was loud and sharp, cutting through the silence of the shop. “Apologies don’t save lives, rookie. Get out.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“I said get out and walk, boot. You can get back in when you know where you are.”

In that moment, you knew you’d ruined it. This had been your chance to be a cop, and less than two hours in, you’d already fucked it up. You got out of the shop, walking along side it. Hoping Bradford didn’t notice how your legs had shaken as you left. You wouldn’t let yourself be upset by this. Bradford was just doing his job, you were perfectly safe. From him, anyway.

Still, when you finally got back in the shop, you didn’t talk again. All your focus went towards scanning your surroundings.

---

Your legs had shaken when you got out of the car. It was subtle, but Tim had noticed it. Unbidden, a touch of guilt settled in his stomach. He honestly hadn’t meant to frighten you. It was just a Tim Test – he didn’t need (nor want) you to be scared. It was hardly conducive to training a good rookie.

What bothered him most, though, is your complete silence the rest of the day. You’d been annoying chatty the first twenty odd minutes of your shift (until Tim had, in traditional Bradford fashion, banned any sort of personal talk), but since getting back in the car, you’d stuck strictly to ‘yes, sir’s and ‘no, sir’s. It had been… unnerving.

Tim didn’t like changing his training style. After all, after half a dozen rookies, he liked to think that he’d perfected his TO methods. Everyone knew that he was an exceptional training officer. The only people he ever made exceptions for were veterans like him. But the thought of scaring you every time he yelled made his stomach drop in an unpleasant way. You’d been so eager when you’d first gotten in the shop – nervous, sure, but eager. And you were so, so young. You reminded him of himself in a way.

In the way you’d immediately changed he’d yelled, which even Tim could admit would’ve been… slightly scary. And that change had implications, ones Tim didn’t like. He especially didn’t like the implication of what that made him to you. A threat. So he’d never mention it, but he did quietly resolve to adjust – adjust, not change – the way he made sure you learnt what you needed too.

---

A few weeks into your training and Sergeant Bradford had significantly lowered on your rating of ‘scary people I know.’ While he was still harsh, and quick to criticise, he’d never shown you that cold, disappointment-infused yelling that he had on your first shift. It’d made it a lot easier for you to get comfortable around him, and you’d almost immediately started breaking the ‘no personal talk in the shop’ rule.

“Anyway, then she said that I was the one who needed to check my attitude. I mean can you believe that? Me? Having an attitude?” You said, watching your surroundings (you hadn’t forgotten your first Tim Test) as you rambled about some woman you’d run into grocery shopping.

At your comment, Bradford simply side-eyed you. He did that a lot, you were realising.

“Rude. That’s rude.” You said in response to the side eye. “It gets worse, though. She had the audacity-.”

Bradford held up a hand, cutting you off. “Boot.”

You turned, “Yes, sir?”

“Stop. Talking.”

You shut your mouth, but that was mostly to hold back a slight laugh. Bradfords hands were wrapped around the steering wheel, but they weren’t white like they were when you really needed to shut up. (You’d always been observant.)

“But this is the best part of the story.” You pressed.

“Boot, I swear to god-.” Before Bradford could issue whatever threat, he planned too, someone’s voice crackled over the radio.

“7-Adam-100, we have a domestic call at 4195 Clover Drive. Neighbours reported shouting.”

Tim’s face hardened. He glanced briefly at you, and you knew, even without a mirror, that your face had paled a shade. You’d been lucky so far to not have to deal with any DV calls. Guess that luck was over.

“7-Adam-100, show us responding, Code 6.”

Tim floored the breaks a little harder than he objectively needed too.

You could hear the yelling as soon as you pulled into Clover Drive. It was distinctly male, the words harsh and clear, and coming from a house halfway down the street.

It was an effort to clear your head.

“What’s the procedure for a domestic call, boot?” Asked Bradford as you switched off your sirens and approached the house.

You swallowed, “Um.  Get inside the house to assess any damage. Separate the assumed predominant aggressor from the presumed victim or any children if possible. If there doesn’t appear to be violence, there isn’t much we can do, though.”

Bradford nodded tightly. “Good. I’ll take lead on this one.”

“Yes, sir.”

 You knocked on the front door as Bradford called out, alerting the occupants to the polices presence. The yelling stopped immediately.

“Is there a problem, Officer?” Asked a man, probably in his forties. You and Bradford pushed your way into the house as you spoke with him. There was water spilt across the countertop, and a girl in her early teens standing in the kitchen. Her face was tear-streaked, but she appeared unharmed.

“We got reports of yelling from this area, sir.” Came Bradford’s voice from behind you. Your head was starting to spin as memories flooded back to you: late nights, angry words, the occasional smashed plate. Or worse.

You didn’t hear what the man (you assumed he was the girl father) said in response. The teen was watching you and Tim with wide eyes, shaking her head. She rubbed her wrist absentmindedly, and if you weren’t so stuck in your own head, you would’ve thought to ask to see if she was injured. You turned to her father and vaguely registered that he was wearing a wife beater under his button up. Ironic.

“Let’s go, boot.” Bradford snapped, beckoning you over. His jaw was set, and he obviously didn’t believe whatever the man had said. Your head felt like it was underwater as you walked out of the house, and your stomach turned. Memories flooded your head.

Bradford was grumbling under his breath, something about hating the laws around DV in California, when he noticed you stumble towards the bushes outlining the road.

“You good, boot?” He asked, frowning something.

You nodded frantically, “Mmhm… fine, si-.” The ‘sir’ was cut off by the sound of you throwing up in the bushes. You hadn’t eaten since breakfast, so nothing really came out, but still you dry heaved, clutching your stomach.

“Shit, Y/l/n, are you okay?” Instantly, Tim was at your side, one hand on your back. You nodded vaguely, gesturing for a drink of water. He almost ran to get it. When you could finally breathe, and had swallowed nearly half a litre of water, he asked,

“Jesus, boot, what the hell was that?”

“I’m fine.” You insisted, not wanting to get into some conversation about your past: Bradford wasn’t the understanding type. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Like hell it’s not.” Bradford snapped, guiding you back to the shop. His words were harsh, but his touch gentle. A strange combination, but one that left you feeling comforted. “Listen, boot, if you’ve got something that’s going to make you react to scenes like that, I need to know. Now.”

You shook your head frantically, refusing to open up. As much as you were starting to trust Bradford, you weren’t ready to give him that information. Not when he was the age he was, the build he was, holding so much authority over you

“It’s fine, sir. I swear. It won’t happen again.” You repeated, and you meant it. It wouldn’t happen again.

Tim surveyed you for a moment, watching the guarded expression in your eyes. It was one he recognised, having seen it in his reflection countless times after teachers asked about a suspicious bruise. It was for that reason he relented, though he fully intended to bring it up again. “Fine. But if have something you need to tell me… you can, kid.”

“Yes, sir.”

---

More time passed, and even though you still refused to open about your childhood to Tim (how do you even have that conversation?), you were starting to rely on him.

It was inevitable, you supposed. Unrequited, but inevitable. After all, he was in his mid-forties, an authority figure, admittedly a bit of a dick, but you were gradually (ever so gradually) starting to see a slightly gentler side of him. So of course you looked up to him. You had daddy issues, okay?

It wasn’t a crush. You knew that for sure. You’d half expected it to be, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a healthy dose of admiration, paired with a slightly-less-healthy dose of please god be proud of me. But that was fine. It was entirely reasonable given he was your TO. You hoped.

---

“You’re under arrest for attempted grand theft auto and possession of illicit substances,” you said, hooking handcuffs around some criminal’s wrists. He’d been a pain in the ass to catch, and you could already feel a bruise blooming across your jaw from his escape attempts. Bradford had, predictably, been unhelpful in the arrest, instead opting to analyse your fighting technique as you’d taken the crook down. He’d even cracked a rare ‘good job’ smile as you’d put the cuffs on.

You pushed the perp against your shop, already halfway through the Miranda Rights: “You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights?”

The thief mumbled slightly, and you nodded to Tim to take him off your hands. The second your hands were off him, however, he started complaining. Loudly.

“Aw, come on man. If you’re gonna arrest me, at least let the lady cop throw me ‘round.” He said, looking over his shoulder to grin at you. You scrunched your nose. It wasn’t the first time a suspect had hit on you, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“Nothin’? Dude, you gotta… I ain’t going to jail without gettin’ to feel some sweet lady cop ti-! Ow! The hell was that for?”

Tim scowled, hitting the suspect over the back of the head a second time for good measure (or something). “Get your eyes off Officer Y/l/n. You’re not fit to look at her.” He shoved the perp into your shop, rougher than was strictly necessary, and you couldn’t help the slight smile that crept onto your face.

“Really?” You asked, slipping into the shop’s passenger seat.

“What? You got a problem, boot?” Tim said, his voice flat. You just chuckled and shook your head.

“No problem, sir.”  

---

The silence in the shop was unbearable. It was almost lunch, and you’d scarcely said a word all day. You were preoccupied replaying your conversation with your parents from the night before over and over in your head, trying to figure out how them coming over for dinner had dissolved into fighting so quickly.

“You good, boot?” Tim asked after a particularly long stretch of quiet. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up, but you’ve barely said a word today.”

You nodded quickly, forcing yourself to focus. “I’m fine, sir. Sorry. Just tired. Besides, not personal talk in the shop, right?”

“When have you ever followed that rule? You sure you’re good, boot? Because if something’s going on that’ll affect your performance, I need to know.”

“Nothing’s going on. Sir.” You knew the words sounded thin, but what were you going to do? Complain about your parents?

Tim glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Uh-huh. In that case, what colour was the Lexus we just passed?”

Shit. You hadn’t been paying attention to your surroundings, too lost in your own thoughts. “Uh… silver?”

Another side eye, this one harsher than the last. “There was no Lexus. It was a Camry. And for the record, boot, it was blue.”

“I…” You didn’t really have a defence.

“Seriously, kid. What is going on?”

“Nothing.” You said, and you had to admit, you sounded like a kid. “I just. Had my parents over last night, and it didn’t… go great.”

Instantly, Tim was on edge. He wasn’t proud of the reaction, of the way his stomach instinctively dropped. He knew, he knew, that his version of ‘it didn’t go great’ with family wasn’t the same as most people’s. But this was you. You who’d thrown up at your first DV call, even without any violence. You who’d completely shut down after being yelled at.

Which is why he couldn’t help the immediate questions if: “Are you hurt?”

You tensed. Why would he ask that? “No,” you replied, “I’m not hurt.” It was true, technically. You hadn’t been hit since you were fifteen. And even then, it’d been rare.

Tim’s eyes flicked over you, trying to find a lie. “What happened?” He asked, and his voice had a weird gentleness that made you feel... strange.

You swallowed. Shrugged. “My parents came over for dinner. I did something, I don’t really know what, ‘n pissed my father off.” Your explanation was purposeful vague, but you could help but add: “He broke my favourite mug, which really pissed me off. It’s my apartment, you know? He’s not supposed to be able to break my shit anymore.” A long pause, your father’s furious insults running through your head. “He didn’t like it when I told him that.”

Tim nodded slightly, knowing exactly what you were suggesting. “He insult you?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” Despite your cool delivery, the words stung. You looked away, out the window, feeling tears prick at your eyes. You didn’t like talking about this, especially not with Tim. Just because you viewed him as... something, didn’t mean he thought of you ask anything more than a rookie he had to train. A burden.

“I’m sorry, kid.” Tim said, assessing you carefully. “I know what that feels like.”

“You do?” You looked at Tim, curious, and instantly regretted it. The tears welling in your eyes were all too obvious now.

“Yeah. My dad was like that too. I got slapped around my fair share.” Tim’s words were clipped. He clearly also wasn’t fond of talking about his childhood.

“Oh.” What else could you say?

“Listen, boot. I know it’s rough. And you don’t deserve it. But you’re not whatever he says you are, okay?”

You sniffled, hastily wiping your eyes. “Yeah. I know.”

Tim nodded tersely. “Good.” There was a small moment, where Tim placed a hand on your shoulder, and you felt like things might actually be okay. Like you might actually have someone. Then, “Come on, boot. We’ve got six hours of shift left. You gonna focus now?”

---

Tim kept an eye on you the rest of the day. He’d known there was a bit of him in you, but the parallels between your childhoods made his heart crack.

He could see the countless untold stories behind your eyes, ones he’d undoubtedly heard before. And the way you’d tensed when he asked if you were hurt... you hadn’t been hit last night, but you had been before.

He really had tried to not get attached.

And look. He knew you looked up to him. He’d seen the way you preened at praise, the shaky look over to him after making a decision, waiting for his nod of approval, regardless of how confident you were in the decision. He’d tried not to encourage it – limiting praise, refusing to approve your decisions unless you did first. It wasn’t good for a rookie to get that attached to their TO, not when they were only partners for a year. It was especially not good for them to view them as some sort of parental figure. More importantly, Tim Bradford didn’t get attached to his boots.

But goddammit it. The look in your eyes when he’d told you about his dad? It made him abandon all the principles he thought he held so strongly. He’d always wanted a kid, after all.

---

“Does anyone know what day it is today?” Sergeant Grey asked from the front of the roll call room.

You groaned internally. Of course he had to announce it to the whole it room.

A few rows behind you, Officer Chen perked up, grinning, you were sure, at Bradford.

“The day Officer Y/l/n takes her six month exam.” She said.

Cheers and whistles filled the room and you almost buried your head in your hands.

“Boot!” Tim called out. You turned to look at him. “I’ll take it as a personal insult if you don’t get more than a 93 on this exam.”

Great. Like you weren’t stressed enough about the exam already. “Yes, sir.”

As Grey tried to calm the room down, you swallowed, focusing on calming your breathing. You knew what you were doing. You just had to not disappoint Tim. Not forget everything. Not be a total fucking failure.

No pressure, right?

---

Three days later, and you were back in roll call. Grey had written three numbers on the white board. An 84. A 91. And a 95. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the 91 and the 84. Of course you’d failed. Of course. Why hadn’t you worked harder? You’d been a straight A student in high school, and university, why was this different?

“Can anyone guess which of these belongs to Officer Y/l/n?” Grey asked the room. Various answers were shouted out, most leaning towards the 95, until Grey cut them off and said: “The 91. Good work, Officer.”

You could only nod, your head already pounding. You’d failed. Not really, not truly, but enough. And Tim. What would he do?

You didn’t notice everyone leave the room. Didn’t notice Tim approach you, not until he was practically having to shout in your face.

“Boot? Boot! Y/l/n!” The sound of your name, paired with Tim waving a hand in your face, snapped you back to reality.

“Yes, sir?” Your voice had an almost unnoticeable tension to it. A shake. Please, please don’t be mad.

“Let’s go, boot. Why aren’t you getting the war bags?” Tim asked, completely ignoring your test results.

Completely ignoring your test results? What? Why wasn’t he yelling, reaming you out for disappointing him? He’d been very clear with his expectations and he’d never been one to let you down gently if you did something wrong.

“Sir?” You asked, confused.

“What is it, boot?” Tim asked, exasperated. You should’ve been on the road by now. Wait, where you okay...? Your eyes were wide. Almost afraid.

“Why aren’t you mad?”

“What? Why would I be mad-..? Oh.” Tim looked down at you, his face softening as he recalled what he’d said before your test. What you’d told him about your past. “About your test? No, kid, I’m not mad. I was screwing with you when I said you needed to get a 93. A 91 is an excellent result, boot “

“Oh.” You said quietly, looking away sheepishly. Of course he wasn’t mad. This was Tim.

Tim looked at you like you were an idiot, but somehow, you didn’t feel stupid or insulted. “Yeah, oh. You’re not a disappointment, kid. Not to me. Now hurry up and get the war bags sorted.” Tim clapped you on the shoulder as he sent you on your way, and you couldn’t help but think that this was what a father was supposed to be like.

---

“Red or black?” You asked Tim during one shift a month or so later. It was a random question, but you wanted his opinion.

Tim glanced at you. “As concepts, or…?”

“As dress colours.” You elaborated, before hesitantly adding, “I have a date.”

The shop skidded to a stop. “Woah, woah. You have a date? When? With who?” Tim was turning instantly, all his attention on you.

You bit back a laugh. “Tonight. With a boy. Jacob. And I don’t know what to wear.”

Tim frowned. “Where did you meet this ‘Jacob?’” He couldn’t help the protective instinct. The last time one of his rookies went on a date, she got kidnapped. And you weren’t Lucy (he wasn’t in love with you) but he did… care.

“At a bookshop. Calm your farm, Bradford. It’s one date. You really pulling the protective dad card right now?” You smirked, watching the slight red colour Tim’s face.

“I- no. I’m not pulling a card, boot. I’m just… curious.” Tim spluttered, not wanting to admit that he was definitely acting like a protective dad.

“Uh huh. He’s a good guy, Sarge. He’s funny, and sweet, and I actually like him.” You said, as if the concept of actually liking a guy was foreign. It had admittedly been a while since you went on a date. “So, red or black?” You repeated, crossing your arms. Your cheeks were the tiniest bit pink.

Tim glared from the corner of his eye. “Black.”

“Thank you.”

In signature Bradford fashion, Tim huffed and simply said, “For the record, I still don’t like this whole ‘date’ thing, boot.”

---

The date was a success. So much of a success, in fact, that three dates later, Jacob came to pick you up after work the next day. It was adorable, and he showed up with fresh flowers and a planned date, and it would’ve been perfect, if you hadn’t been leaving the station with Officer Bradford.

The same Bradford who’d been demanding more information about “this Jacob person” ever since you’d first mentioned a date.

So, while you were excited about the date, you weren’t thrilled at seeing Jacob stand in front of you, levelled by one of Tim’s many practiced glares.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, crossing his arms. He knew exactly who he was.

“I’m Jacob…?” Your boyfriend said hesitantly, trying to figure out why the man in front of him was staring at him so intimidatingly.

You winced and jumped in quickly. “Jake, this is Tim. My TO?”

Recognition clicked quickly in Jacob’s eyes.  He instantly stuck out a hand to Tim, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Uh huh.” Tim raked his eyes over Jacobs outstretched hand, but didn’t shake it. “You got a last name, Jacob?”

“Anderson.” Jacob supplied immediately, lips twitching faintly in amusement.

“What do you do, Anderson? If you say screenwriter, you’re going in a cell.”

Jacob chuckled. “I’m a teacher, sir.” Tim didn’t look impressed, but he didn’t look totally disgusted either. Which, to you, was a win.

“Is this the part where you tell me not to hurt Y/n?” Jacob asked with a barely contained grin.

Tim glowered. “Yes. In fact, consider this your one and only warning. Hurt her, and I’ll find a way to make you spend the rest of your life in a cell.” Tim crossed his arms over his chest, and God you were glad he’d never given you that look before.

Pitying your partner, you jumped in and placed yourself between the two most important men in your life. “Oookay, Bradford, chill. We’re going to go now. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay, sir?”

“Uh-huh. See you tomorrow, Boot.” Tim’s words came out tense, and he didn’t take his eyes off you until you were well out of the carpark.

---

The day had arrived. You’d officially been a police officer for an entire year. You weren’t a rookie anymore.

It was everything you’d dreamed of it being.

“Finally, congratulations to Officer Y/l/n for completing the FTO program and surviving her rookie year. Welcome, officially, to the team, Y/l/n.” Grey walked over to you, shaking your hand proudly. “Good work, kid.”

“Thank you, sir.” You beamed, returning the handshake. Grey dismissed the rest of roll call, and you walked out of the room. You could barely make it a few steps without someone grabbing you, hugging you or congratulating you in some way. You’d never been happier.

You reached the edge of the room and were met with Sergeant Bradford, a rare smile on his face.

“Congratulations, Y/l/n.” He said, reaching out a hand.

“Don’t even try.” You said, knocking his hand out of the way and pulling him into a hug. It was unprofessional, you knew, but you couldn’t help it. Aside from your boyfriend, Tim had managed to become one of the most important people in your life over the past year.

Tim froze for a moment, but gently returned the hug, patting your back a couple times. You thought you heard Harper snicker from across the room. You definitely heard Lucy say the word ‘Dadford.’ She wasn’t… entirely wrong. You had found a father in Tim. Maybe one day he’d even admit it – in actual words, not just actions. You still laughed every time you thought about his interrogation of Jacob when they’d first met.

You pulled back and only then did you shake Tim’s hand. “Thank you, sir. For everything.”

Tim nodded, the smile lines by his eyes crinkling. “You’re welcome… Y/n. I’m proud of you, kid.”

You smiled softly and forced yourself to only say, “Have a good shift… Tim,” before hurrying away. But as you got into your shop (your shop, for the first time), you didn’t stop a few happy tears from falling.

---

You were nervous. It was your second time riding with Tim since graduating the FTO program and you were nervous. It had nothing to do with riding with Tim, however, and everything to do with what you were going to ask him.

“Tim?” You asked, hesitant.

“Yeah, Y/l/n?”

“I have to tell you something.” You fiddled with your left hand nervously, already missing the weight on your finger.

Instantly, Tim was softening and frowning, “Are you okay, kid?”

“Yes! Yeah, I’m okay.” This time you actually meant it. “I have news, though.”

“Oh?” Tim turned to you for a second, before looking back at the road. “What is it?”

You swallowed, and then, “Jacob asked me to marry him. I said yes.”  

Tim had finally come around to Jacob a few months ago. Little did you know, but Jacob had actually asked Tim’s permission before proposing. You’d told him once about how you wished you had a father that you still spoke to, just for that reason. Jacob had known Tim was the next best thing.

Tim smiled widely, “Congratulations, Y/n. I’ll be expecting an invite to the wedding.”

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about that.” This was where the nervousness was coming in. You were pretty sure the butterflies in your stomach had reached your lungs too.

“What is it?” Tim tilted his head slightly.

“Will you walk me down the aisle?” Tim froze, shocked. You quickly rambled on, as you so often did when nervous, “You don’t have to, I just-.. I don’t talk to my bio dad, and you’re the closest thing I have to a father, and it would mean a lot to me, and-.”

“Relax, Y/l/n,” Tim cut you off with a smile. “I would be honoured to walk you down the aisle.”

The smile on your face then was the third biggest you’d ever smiled. The first had been when you’d graduated the FTO program, and the second when Jacob had proposed. But this… this was an entirely different feeling. This was the feeling of your whole life, finally working out. You had a career, a fiancé, and now, a father. A real one, who never insulted you or made you feel worthless.

What more could you ask for?

fin

!! DO NOT REPUBLISH OR FEED TO AI !!

[bienmoreau]

I ummed and ahhed over responding again. I'm sorry for any misunderstandings and I'm glad we got that cleared up. But I also wanted to finish my thoughts on this so it doesn't nag on me all night.

I want to clarify here that this isn't aimed at you/in response or contradiction to your post. It's just the thoughts that your reply brought up for me about this topic far more generally than just from this exchange! That said;

The 'what was it all for' is such an important line for sure!! So much of his journey is learning that the way he was taught things had to be isn't actually the case at all. And the mental recalibration that's going to require is huge.

And yeh I completely agree about him not being a sheep or wolf and learning how to not be violent & rude.

I've seen all too often and up close how this fandom (tho not uniquely) has a tendency to take characters to one extreme or another in their characterisation. It has done since 2015, I should be used to it by now. But I personally balk at the idea of that happening with Jean in any direction; violence, softness, victimhood. Any of it. None of it does his complexity justice when addressed in isolation or taken to an extreme.

And unfortunately a lot of what I've been seeing in the fandom tags seems to focus on a few cherry picked moments that people have taken and run with at the neglect of other parts that I think shed very important context or contradiction on the parts people have focused on. Even for example (and simply because it is one of the examples we discussed here) the fact that the major contributing factor in Jean swinging at Jeremy in the car wasn't anything to do with Jeremy, it was because Jean was lost in a traumatic memory about him and Kevin in the nest.

What's focused on is Jeremy touching him (and for context, not in an aggressive or invasive or even particularly surprising way it just coincided with Jean being somewhere else in his head) and the context of that moment seems to often be overlooked. Jeremy gets the blame (I'm not saying Jean should either. I don't think there IS blame here!) but I've seen a similar thing happen with other moments being discussed. People pull a single line or two out of a 3 page scene and build a moral stance off that line. It's reductive. Not only of the legitimate critical analysis of these characters and their actions/motivations but also of the thought and care and detail Nora puts into her writing! That's what my original post was about (tho I admit I worded it badly and I regret that.) the detail of that moment is what tells us what jean was actually reacting to and setting up the foreshadowing for what happens with Grayson later. The context here matters and for me at least changes how I read that interaction.

As for them 'holding on tighter' again I imagine the context of these moments is also important. I don't know which bits you're referring to specifically

But from a brief flick through the latter half of the book I found two that I think fit this description and both times it was when they were stopping him from hurting himself and holding on to make sure he was safe to be let go. Or asking him to acknowledge them so they can confirm he is safe to be left/if they can do something to help him. And the time when they see his notebooks but he isn't described resisting Jeremy's hold there, and wrenching out of that hold is descriptive of his physicality in movement not of Jeremy's restraint of him.

The one I found that I assume best fits this description is in that same scene. 'Laila moved faster than a snake to catch Jean’s wrist. How she held on when Jean flinched at her touch, Jeremy didn't know' but again the context is what's important. By this point they have all seen how Jean self harms when he slips and says something he didn't mean to. The next line after Laila's speech is literally 'In another moment he’d draw blood where his fingernails were burrowed into his cheek'.

Maybe I'm forgetting an obvious outlier of a moment where their behaviour is not explicable when in context (my reread has been sporadic and I've been distracted proof reading more recently) And absolutely I agree everyone will have their own reactions to reading behaviour like this. But personally don't fault them for not letting him self harm in front of them if that can do anything to stop it. And beyond any individual context of a scene I think it's really important for the whole fandom to remember that these characters are their own complex imperfect teens and early 20 somethings every time we see their behaviour from Jeans POV he and therefore we are missing the entire world of decisions and emotions and instincts that each of them are also working with in the face of dealing with someone who is deeply traumatised and in ways which they explicitly do not understand or know the truth of.

Back on my annotated reread of TSC and thinking abt how Jean's reaction to Laila when he hits her isn't just about being touched unexpectedly.

It's because it's his neck.

It is specifically because it's 'something warm and wet against his injured neck'.

It's because it's literally happening in the middle of a conversation in which Cat just suggested Jean meet in person with Grayson.

Like as much as people can be upset he hit her or didn't immediately apologise (also tho like. Did we read the same book? It literally has it right there that apologising is not how this kinda thing is handled in the nest. Why would Jean think to do that here??) can you really be surprised that those circumstances triggered his fight response? Like really?

[valar-did-me-wrong]

I just burned my hand while thinking of this Adar headcanon.. (RIP my chai) So now I'm gonna bore you all with it to distribute the suffering :3

So there are 2 major Adar origin headcanons in the fandom rn in my knowledge..

The one most people (including me a few months ago) follow in one version or another is: Adar was among the first elves who woke up in Cuvienen & got captured by Morgoth. Cuvienen Adar

Then there's a minority opinion I've heard come up sometimes (and has me in its grasp since I heard it) that Adar is a nobody Fëanorian who got taken in one of the early wars between Noldor & Morgoth. Noldo Adar

Now I love the angst of Cuvienen Adar, Eldest elf on Middle Earth not quite an elf anymore... It hurts so good 🤌🏽 but there's just something so Noldo about him too! Like his innovativeness in finding unique solutions, his fury, his burning love that keeps him going & his sheer willpower to survive so much torture.. it's VERY Fëanorian coded in my eyes!! ❤️‍🔥

So in an attempt to make both of them work, I created this headcanon which is kinda the best of both worlds for me personally!

I'd love lore experts to correct me if I'm wrong anywhere & for my fellow Adarlings to just take this as a not too serious exploration of yet another version of Adar :))

So my personal headcanon now goes that:

Yes Adar was among the first elves that woke up in Cuvienen, but specifically he was a Tatyar (2nd of the 3 groups of elves in Cuvienen with the leader Tata who was the 2nd ever elf to wake up)

A Tatyar who actually stayed behind instead of following Finwe to Valinor after Oromë had come to take the elves. So in my headcanon he is specifically a Tatyar Avari.

Which makes him kin to Noldor.

As when Oromë came to take the elves with him, half the Tatyar that went with him became Noldor in Valinor (also some parts of the 3rd group also went and became Teleri in Valinor) while those who stayed behind (from both the 2nd and 3rd groups) became Avari. So the Tatyar Avari were related to Noldor.

Now Avari in general are mentioned in some versions to be the elves who got captured by Morgoth to create orcs.. 👀

So it kinda fits the lore too, which is a bonus!

To me this headcanon adds so much more angst to Adar. Specially to his & Galadriel's interactions.

Like not only is Galadriel an elf but she is also a Noldo, from Finwë's line, who lead half the Tatyar to Valinor.. it's everything Adar gave up or lost.

He must look at Galadriel and feel like almost everything he could have been in another life is standing infront of him personified!

I wonder if he ever regretted remaining back in Middle Earth & being an Avari. If he ever regret not following Finwe to Valinor.

Maybe he did not go because he didn't want to follow but rather lead and couldn't.

Maybe thats why he was so unhappy in his existence (along with ofcourse the whole inability to have children thing which implies queerness) and could get corrupted successfully, survive so long & become Sauron's lieutenant; he was an innate leader (but the elves chose the direct descendant of Tata, Finwë instead)

There are so many stories & what ifs to be explored here tbh.

If anyone knows fics that have used this premises please do share with me!!

And if there aren't fics yet, I hope this little attempt of mine at headcanoning reaches and touches someone talented to become a fic now!

Thoughts, discussions and tears most welcome 🫶🏽

[apomaro-mellow]

Govt gets kas!Eddie 6

Part 5

For the most part, everyone got used to Eddie and his new form relatively quickly. Considering his new attributes and the fact he was still working on forming full sentences, that itself was a feat. If anything, the part that took the most adjusting too was how he clung to Steve now. And he really clung. Steve was used to it, in private, at least. The first time Eddie hugged him from behind, pressing himself to Steve from shoulder to ankle, right when they were in the middle of discussing what to do about Vecna...well Steve thought he might die.

Everyone gave them looks but no one said anything. At least, not at the time. Steve wasn't ready for them to be completely out yet. But he wasn't going to push Eddie away. He thought he'd never get this again. Never see Eddie again, much less be held by him.

"I just don't get why he's so close with you all of a sudden", Erica said.

"I've been thinking the same thing", Mike agreed.

"They've got a weird bond", Dustin said.

"Yeah, but like, since when?", Lucas asked, also curious.

Eddie was out in the yard. It was dark out, so they weren't worried about anyone seeing him. And he'd gotten the urge to patrol lately. Maybe he could feel Vecna trying to get close or something? Either way, that left Steve to field the questions.

"He and I did go to school for years. Back when you guys were still in diapers", he snarked.

Dustin frowned. "Yeah, but that doesn't explain why you two are all-"

"Can we get back to the important stuff?", Steve cut him off. "Like anything else?"

"Okay, why are you in sweats all the time?", Erica asked. "Did you just give up on life or something?"

Steve groaned and rolled his eyes. He got up just when more people came in through the front door. One of which was Hopper. Who had been giving him and Eddie odd looks from the start. Steve escaped to the laundry room to do a load. Once alone, he put a hand to his stomach. He'd gone for sweatpants more often lately, simply because suddenly his jeans stopped fitting.

He brought a hand to his stomach but snatched it away when Hopper appeared in the doorway. His arms were crossed as he looked Steve up and down. Steve opened his mouth to ask what was up but Hopper beat him to it.

"I don't know just what's goin' on with you and Munson. But I know it's something."

"Yeah...so?", Steve felt defensive.

"Is that really how you wanna live?"

"And what's that got to do with you, Jim?", Wayne asked, coming by with a basket of clothes.

"I'm not the kind to judge. I just don't think they need to flaunt it. Especially in front of the kids."

"Get your head outta your ass", Wayne said, setting the basket down.

Hopper uncrossed his arms and frowned. "I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea. What they do when they're alone is none of my business, but-"

"No buts, that's the end of the sentence. It's none of your business. These boys have been through too much to have to deal with you or anyone else telling them how to live."

"You sound like you're ready to fight for it", Hopper took a step toward him. "You remember I'm a cop right? And that I served?"

"Yeah we all got Uncle Sam's letter", Wayne said, taking a step towards Hopper. "You're tellin' me you never met anyone like them? People who got more letters from 'brothers' than from any missus? No one who took extra long in the showers?"

"That was wartime, it was different."

Wayne grinned and his shoulders shook like he was about to laugh and Steve was struck by how similar he seemed to Eddie.

"You just worry about Creel's boy. This ain't a fight you're gonna win."

Hopper let out a breath and turned to walk away. Steve sighed in relief and only then did he notice he'd had a hand to his stomach, almost protectively. Wayne said nothing as he put the basket of clothes in the wash and Steve appreciated that. It gave him a moment to think of how he'd approach a certain topic with Eddie later.

It was about midnight when Steve felt Eddie slip back into the nest. Wayne had pretty much moved into the guest room upstairs. Robin was in Steve's bedroom. And some of the kids had taken up residence in his parents' bedroom. Eddie's arms wrapped around his torso. Steve could tell he was in a mood more romantic than lustful tonight. Before the change, they'd taken whatever moments alone that they could and they did so now too.

The first time they'd made love in this nest had been about two weeks ago and since then they'd done it about every other day. Steve would have blamed Eddie's new form for the insatiability but they were both like this before too. Every time they did it though, Eddie talked of breeding. Steve's hand went to his front, where Eddie's hands were.

"Ed?", he whispered.

"Hm?"

"Am I...? Eddie did you-did we-?" He huffed and turned around to face Eddie, then grabbed a flashlight and put it on the couch near their heads to illuminate the room without having to get up and hit a switch.

"Steve?"

Steve met his gaze and then slowly lifted his shirt. It wasn't just his jeans that fit different. His shirts too. And now, in the near dark with only Eddie to see, Steve could admit it. His stomach was growing.

"I think I'm..." The 'p' word was on the back of his tongue and Steve felt like nothing short of his stomach heaving would make it come up.

Eddie was looking at him in awe. His hands, sharp to the point, touched him as gentle as ever. He cooed and Steve felt it before his brain registered seeing it. A wriggling in his gut. Now if, perhaps, Steve had been born with a body that held the right parts to receive and grow new life, he mightn'tve been so surprised. But as it was, he was not. So he could be forgiven for his reaction.

"AAHH WHAT THE SHIT!"

And since all in the house were experienced veterans in their own way, it could also be expected that they'd all converge, various kinds of weapons in hand.

"What is it?!", Robin asked, holding one of Steve's trophies.

"Demogorgon? Are you cursed?!", Dustin shrieked, brandishing his dad's fraternity paddle.

The rest were looking around to find the danger. There was absolutely no way in hell that Steve was telling them he was currently carrying...something.

"There was a...uh a spider", Steve said. "It's gone now."

The rest of them groaned but visibly relaxed and returned to bed. Sure, Steve's reputation was shot even more, but it wasn't like most of them held him in super high regard to begin with anyway. He laid back down, trying to relax as well and Eddie's hand was instantly on his stomach.

"Pups", he said simply, looking at his stomach in pure adoration.

Steve gave himself a minute to process it. He thought Eddie had simply been all talk. But something was inside of him now. Something that was growing. Something that Eddie was already fond of. He thought about them before. The dreams they'd had, the life they had wanted. Steve had never been shy about wanting a family that included children. They hadn't known how that'd be possible, given their circumstances. But Eddie had assured him.

"Gonna give you everything you want, sweetheart. You deserve it."

Steve was brought back to the present by something soft touching his belly. Eddie's lips. Steve stroked his hair.

"Pups", Eddie repeated.

"O-ours?", Steve stuttered out.

"Ours", Eddie echoed, smiling up at him.

Leave it to Eddie Munson to keep his promises in the way people least expect.

Part 7 coming soon

Taglist

@estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @bxnghy @gutterflower77 @v3lv3tf0x

@tinyplanet95 @thedragonsaunt @stripey82 @ajeff855 @bumblebeecuttlefishes

@ellietheasexylibrarian @gregre369 @geekymagicalpotato @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mugloversonly

@reverseteehee @stedestielfrattficlover

[holylulusworld]

No exceptions (2)

Summary: He likes your guts and your cake.

Pairing: Mobster!Frank Castle x Baker!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, mafia business

Catch up here: No exceptions

Over the next few days, you’re a busy bee. Customer after customer enters your little bakery. Every day you’re out of baked goods in no time.

You huff as you carry out a tray with freshly baked cupcakes. You’re unsure if you can keep up with all the hungry customers roaming your bakery for much longer without help. Though, you cannot pay a waitress or barista.

“Sweet cheeks, my friend and I are getting three of these and coffee, black,” Frank, your tormentor, grins as you almost drop the tray at the sight of the man dressed in all black. You had hoped he had forgotten about you and your bakery. – No such luck.

He and his companion claim one of the free tables, making the chairs creak as they plop down. Frank watches you brew fresh coffee as your eyes meet.

“Right away,” you stammer. This man won’t get a reaction out of you this time. If he wants money, you’ll pay him. For the first time in months, you made a decent amount of money.

“Told ya she’s something else,” Frank smirks at his companion. You try to ignore his words and focus on work. While you prepare a tray with the cupcakes and coffee, Frank watches you the whole time. “Got some meat on her cute ass too.”

“Frank,” the other man sneers. You give him a quick once-over and wonder why he’s around a man like Frank. The man is wearing a well-fitted, dark-colored suit, complete with a tie. This is a stark contrast to Frank’s dark, worn-out jeans, a faded t-shirt, a black leather jacket, and dirty black boots.

His glasses are the only thing standing out. The man is wearing a pair of sleek, rectangular-framed sunglasses that have a dark, tinted lens. You wonder if he’s got problems with his eyes, or if it’s just another fancy accessory to him.

“What?” Frank cackles as you near with the tray. He’s quick to get up and take the tray out of your hands. He places it on the table before grabbing you by the waist to sit back down. You end up in his lap, squirming and wiggling. Frank wraps his arms tightly around your waist, laughing as his boss clears his throat. “I like what I see. It’s not my fault you sent me here to collect.”

“Frank,” the man sighs deeply and straightens his glasses. “I don’t need to see the woman to know she’s uncomfortable in your lap. Let her go. She pays for our protection, not to sit in your lap.”

“But—” Frank grunts. “Only thanks to me has she got all the customers. And I bet she likes sitting in my lap.” He chuckles darkly while you still try to break out of his embrace. “Right, sweet cheeks.”

“I think,” his boss cocks his head. He can’t see you, but listens closely as you elbow Frank, “She wants you to let her go and to pay for our service. Don’t ruin another fruitful business relationship.”

Frank smirks because you are no match for his strength. “Sweet cheeks, you are a whirlwind, and that plum you call your ass is as fine as the best wine.” He rhymes. “Let’s get back to this another time.”

“You must excuse my overenthusiastic friend. He’s got a new position, but still likes to come here to collect cash from you,” the man leans back, smirking as you call Frank a jerk. “You must consider that was probably the most romantic thing he ever said to a woman.”

“Relax, sweet cheeks,” Frank nuzzles your cheek. “I’m here to protect you, remember? I won’t let anyone hurt my cute baker.”

“Frank, get a grip. We came here to discuss business and taking over the bakery,” the man says, looking at you. “I’m Mr. Murdock, and your bakery is officially under my protection. From now on, you’re working for me.”

“What? I…no! This is my bakery!” You wiggle even harder, making Frank groan when you brush his crotch with your ass.

“That’s good news, sweet cheeks. No more paying for protection. You can keep the money if you, let’s say, do us a favor.” Frank believes his words will calm you, but you won’t have it.

“A favor?” You quirk a brow. “That’s not going to happen!”

“You see,” Matt leans forward. “This will happen one way or another. You can keep the bakery, make lots of money, and the only thing I’m asking for is a small favor. That’s not much.”

“A favor…” You murmur. “What kind of favor? I won’t do anything illegal.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting my girl do the dirty work,” Frank chuckles as you elbow him again. “I’m going to do it for you.” He whispers in your ear. “If you are a pillow princess, I wouldn’t mind, either.”

“Creep,” you ram your elbow into his stomach, making Frank grunt. “If you want to do business with me, keep that lunatic away from me.”

Matt shrugs and says, “Frank is Frank. He is a little shy when it comes to pretty women. Frank is not good with courting a woman.”

“He doesn’t seem to be a shy guy,” you harrumph. “More the grabby kind of guy. If he doesn’t stop, I’ll poison his coffee next time or beat him to death with my baking pin.”

Frank smirks darkly. “I told you she’s something else, Matt.” He laughs before finally letting you go. “Hmm…I think I’ll marry her one day…”

Tags in reblog.

[vroomvroommbtch]

When You're Ready - MM x fem!reader

Summary: After twenty years of friendship, they finally admit their feelings in a late night confession they should've made years ago.

Warnings: Fluff, some angst, all the pinning around because friends to lovers.

Words: 11.8k

A/N: God, I feel like I haven't written anything in centuries. I probably haven't written anything for centuries, so please be patient? Please? Especially since it's my first time writing for Mason? Anyway, it's good to be back after hundred years. Here's hoping it won't take another century for me to post something. And I really really hope you enjoy it. Love, Alex.♥️

P.S: To my sweet @a-distantdreamer, thank you for existing and reading literally anything I throw at you. Couldn’t have done this without you.♥️

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

They were almost four when they became classmates and neighbors. When her family moved right in front of his house, their parents thought it was wonderful that they had children the same age. Mason was the youngest in the family, and she had no siblings, so it was a perfect fit for them. Their parents also thought they would become good friends, but they never imagined they would be inseparable from the second they knew each other. There was an automatic connection between them, making it very hard to keep them apart without at least a cute pout on their faces.

Her parents found it hilarious that their daughter never cared about sport-related activities, but her playdates with Mason always included balls. The girl who always loved to be home drawing or baking with her mum, suddenly would spend hours playing around in the garden with her best friend. Football was his thing, but she would spend afternoons running and giggling until they were too tired, napping on the couch until it was time to go home.

Their eternal and almost impossible lifetime long romance began during one of those playdates. After having assisted Mason in scoring a goal against an invisible goalkeeper, they ran to each other to celebrate. They were four years old and they had no idea why they did it, but as part of the celebration they shared an innocent tiny little kiss, making them both giggle like crazy. It was their first kiss and it was just a silly thing two tiny kids did, so it meant absolutely nothing.

They started when they were four, but things didn't change when someone asked who their best friend was. As the years passed, they pointed at each other when the question was brought up, not caring if they had other friends. No matter how things changed or how old they were, they were always there for each other. She cheered on Mason with a proud smile at every game he played, her parents taking her knowing how much she loved to support him no matter what. Whenever her parents couldn't attend, she would insist they ask Mason's parents to take her with them. His parents always said yes, totally delighted to have her around. 

They never thought it would happen, but the real beginning of their sad love story wasn’t when they were four, but ten years later. They repeated their first kiss after a morning match one sunny Saturday afternoon in the exact same garden where they had first kissed. They weren't playing football; instead, they were lying on the ground and watching the clouds on an unusually warm day while they waited to be called for dinner. They couldn’t even pinpoint who started the conversation, but they switched from discussing the shape of the clouds and what they looked like to talking about when they were small kids, unable to avoid the part of the story that included their kiss. There was no celebratory excuse for their actions the second time; it was just their hearts doing what they wanted to do for too long.

They never talked about what happened ten years prior, so she thought Mason didn't remember the kiss. She was absolutely shocked to find out he remembered it, his cheeks and nose turning red as they mentioned it. She was surprised to realize he wanted to keep talking about the subject. They were kids, but after so many hours at day together she knew Mason too well to know there was a reason why he decided to mention it. After reaching for Mason's hand over the grass and giving him an encouraging squeeze, he finally admitted it was all because of his teammates talking about girls. At fourteen and being too shy, they were each other's only kiss. At fourteen kids could be cruel and Mason didn't want to share with his mates how his best friend was his only kiss so far. He didn't want to say she was his only crush and the one responsible for the butterflies flying around his stomach, making an absolute mess out of him.

As they lay on the grass, they were so close to each other that there was no way they didn't know what was coming next. She knew it and wanted it, but first she made Mason promise her they would be best friends forever no matter what. They would keep showing up for each other no matter what happened because that's what best friends do. Mason knew pinky promises were always serious matters to her, that's why she understood he was not joking when he locked their small fingers together and assured her they were forever.

As she moved closer to him, she ignored the nerves that invaded her body and checked no one was watching. She made sure neither his parents nor siblings were around and then kissed his lips. It was short, sweet and delicate and she loved every second of it, but she moved away soon enough. Mason kissed her again as she tried to look at his face, letting her know she had made the right decision. There was something even sweeter about the second kiss, and thankfully it wasn't as brief as the first one. If one of his siblings saw them it would have been a nightmare, but even then they held their lips and hands together for a while longer as they enjoyed the feeling.

She had no idea how she found the courage to talk after that. She also had no idea how she managed to do such a thing as kissing him. She might have been his crush since they were babies, but she was crazy for Mason since she could remember. For years she wondered how it would be to kiss him again, but kept her feelings in secret, too scared to ruin their friendship. It was years of drawing hearts with their initials inside, keeping it hidden in the pages of her diary and closing it with a small lock, too scared that anyone would read it and find out.

"If it helps you can tell the boys you kissed three girls instead of just one" she whispered sweetly to him, trying to keep the words a secret, just like their kisses. A thousand years could have passed, but she would never forget his face turning redder than before. She would also never forget how he smiled at her words.

Mason knew she was saying it to make things easier for him, but he didn't want to lie. He didn't want to go around saying he kissed three different girls to look good in front of his mates. He wanted to say he kissed one wonderful girl and how he wanted to keep doing it as long as possible. Mason knew if he was lucky he would keep doing it, which only made him smile even more when he thought about it.

She would lie if she said their kiss in the garden was a one-time thing that ended then and there. Kissing became one of their favorite things to do together. "Practice makes perfection" was their excuse, insisting it was exactly like Mason training every day to be the most talented footballer out there. They knew they should have stopped the first time they were almost caught by her mum one afternoon, but they didn't. They were just teens having fun and experimenting, knowing there was no safer place to do it than their friendship.

Even with their make-out sessions and cuddles they never got to be something. After weeks of pinning around each other the only thing that came out of it was a long list of what ifs. It felt cruel to never get answers to their questions. It felt like an awful joke when Chelsea offered Mason a chance to move to London the day after he had the courage to hold her hand in public for the first time. It was cruel to have her heart broken like that, but she kissed his cheek and told him to go and live his dream. She did it even when all she wanted was to keep holding his hand forever because there was no better feeling that their fingers laced together. 

Mason was her first real heartbreak, but that didn’t change things between them. They had already promised to be best friends forever, and he repeated that promise during their goodbyes in London as she traveled with his parents to take Mason to his new home. Distance and schedules made it complicated, but they were always texting, calling and seeing each other every time he was home or when she traveled with her family to visit him.

It was impossible for them to not make plans for the future, even when they weren't together. Though they loved their hometown, Mason insisted she belonged in a big city. There was nothing wrong with a small town girl's life, but she was not meant to live it. Mason didn't have to say much to convince her to move to London with him after she finished school. He was confident he would make it one day, so it wasn't going to be an issue for them to live there. If things worked out their way they could have a beautiful spacious flat and she wouldn’t have to worry about anything else except reading her books for uni while he played in Chelsea's first team.

No matter how much they planned everything and how badly they wanted it, it felt like the universe laughed in their faces. It all got ruined right in front of their eyes and they couldn't do anything about it. Since Mason moved to the Netherlands, their dream of living together never became a reality. Even when she moved to London for her course, it was not the same. They thought there might be a chance if he moved back to London, but instead he had to transfer to Derby, taking all the chances away from them. 

It definitely felt like a nasty joke when she got her dream job offer in Manchester. She could not say no. Mason was the first to tell her to go for it and accept it because it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but she realized she had made a terrible decision when he moved back to Chelsea and became a first team player. Even though they were seeing their dreams come true, it was heartbreaking to see how the universe decided for them and kept them apart. During lonely nights, she cried too many tears, destined to watch him from afar and only attend some of his matches.

As much as she hated to admit it, Mason seemed like her own curse. He was her best friend but also the one thing she could never have. No really. Not entirely. In some strange way, it was as if she had always been fated to admire him from a distance, too far away for her to try. It's been that way for as long as they can remember, but that didn't mean she didn't hate it. 

Despite leaving all romantic intentions back home when they were kids, she loved being by his side. She was always there for him through thick and thin. She was so proud of Mason for what he was archiving, feeling her heart grow ten times bigger when she saw him playing and scoring goals. 

She loved being there as his friend, but sometimes she couldn’t help but think again about the what ifs. She tried to keep all those thoughts away from her mind because there was no point in wondering about things that never happened, but in the end, she couldn’t help it. She wondered what would happen if she had the courage to tell Mason her feelings. What if they finally found a way to make it work between them. What if she said yes to him every time Mason asked her to not return home and stay with him. 

Whenever she travelled to visit Mason and he asked her to stay, she wished she could do it. There’s nothing she wanted more than to be in his arms and not move for the rest of her life. She wanted to say yes and being the lucky girl having Mason as her boyfriend. She wanted to be the one by his side every single day, but the fear was paralyzing and bigger than all her dreams, making her say she couldn’t stay no matter how much she wished to. She could not bear the thought of losing her best friend, so she let her fears win and stayed on the side, dreaming of what might have been.   

While she hated walking away from him every time, she was happy to be his favorite girl no matter what. For those who knew them, seeing them all over each other and staying close whenever possible never felt strange. Traveling to different cities to see him was nothing out of the ordinary for her, even if it was only for a few hours or even minutes. Trains, cars, planes, and hours of traveling and she never cared if she spent hours alone at his place or wandering streets that ended up being familiar. She really didn’t care, only focusing on the time she was able to spend with Mason after his training sessions or matches. Every single time it was worth it when Mason greeted her at the door with a smile, or when he saw her in the crowd smiling, hoping to score a goal in her honor.

They were something else together. They were late night calls, after-hours texts, and early morning hellos. They were patience, love and understanding. They were their future plans and all the things they wanted to accomplish together. Hands holding hands in crowded places, arms encircling each other without an excuse, heads resting on each other's shoulders. They were long goodbyes and needy hugs. They were the rumors they ignored about their relationship, people seeing them together in a more than friendly way and not believing the story of nothing happening between them. They were their blind adoration for each other and their unspoken agreement not to leave clubs or parties with anyone else because they were supposed to be having fun together.

They both have their reasons for it. She always hoped Mason would somehow realize why she didn’t want to, and Mason insisted he didn’t want to leave with anyone else when she was there because of him. Those places weren’t her thing, but she wouldn’t say no to Mason when he invited her to join him and his friends. Knowing she was there to make him happy was enough for him to only pay attention to her, not really caring about any other girl that would attempt to get his attention. She couldn’t help but admit there was some pride in the situation, smiling proudly at herself because Mason could spend his time with any other woman but decided that he only wanted to stay there with her. He insisted he would never leave her alone in a place surrounded by vultures, but she didn’t care who was there as long as Mason kept his hands and arms protectively around her. 

Physical touch might not have been her love language with people, but it was Mason’s and she had no problem with it. When it came to cuddles it was not unusual to see her sitting on his lap or find Mason sitting between her legs so she would hold him. No matter where they were on vacation with their families or friends, they constantly took naps holding each other. It didn't matter whether it was on a lounge chair or a boat deck, they always took a few minutes to themselves. Every night, Mason sneaked into her room to watch a movie with her before heading to bed because he wanted to spend time with her. After watching something with his family or probably some cartoons with Summer, he wanted to catch up on some TV show they were watching at the same time or some movie he was waiting to enjoy with her. Whatever was on TV was most likely the excuse, knowing Mason would just like to catch up with her after spending the whole day surrounded by people. They waited to talk later at night, even if they talked about unimportant topics, because adults' talks couldn't be had in front of small ears and Summer was always by her uncle's side. 

One of the things that always confused her about them was exactly that. She would never complain about waking up in the same bed as Mason after swearing they were not planning to fall asleep while watching TV, but she had no idea if it meant anything else. She knew they were friends, she knew it was absolutely normal between them to hold each other just because, but the confusion was always there in the back of her head. One thing was their joined hands or his arm around her waist or shoulders to not lose each other in crowded places, but a different thing was his hand constantly on her leg or their fingers laced under tables where nobody could really see it and it wouldn’t keep anyone from trying to flirt with her. His thumb stroking her skin always left her wondering if there could be something else, just like when he decided to hide his face against her neck in their hugs or just without a reason. 

The most terrible part was how her stomach flipped and her heart raced when Mason was near. She never made him move his hands away from her because she loved the feeling. Nothing felt like his breath hitting her neck, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin, or his scruff tickling her. She knew Mason couldn’t like her, not like that. There was obviously something platonic between them and that was the reason for all the hugging and touching, but there was no way Mason had feelings for her. There was nothing fancy or magnificent about her. She had an average body. Her weight and height were average, and her face was normal. She was smart but not brilliant. The only fancy and expensive things in her apartment and wardrobe were the ones Mason gifted her. She was just a girl with a regular life and a 9 to 5 Monday to Friday job. And yes, Mason knew that and couldn't care less about it because she was his friend and he loved her for her and not for her job, but she knew he could have someone better. She hated to think about it, but he deserved someone in the same city, not someone whose destiny didn't laugh in her face. 

Even when she knew how things were when they were dating someone, the stupid crush she had had since forever would appear making her be all smiles as she looked at him. She couldn’t help it. She really wished the feeling would go away, but it was something she couldn’t control. She couldn’t do anything about it, especially when he smiled at her big enough to make his dimples and wrinkles show up, or when he hugged her and made her feel like she was home. What made it worse was when Mason called her Love. When they were kids, Debbie called her that, and Mason adopted it as his friend's second nickname for some reason. Even though it always put a smile on her face, it often brought her trouble. 

That small word was one of the reasons her boyfriend broke up with her. She would lie if she said it was the only reason it happened, but in the end there was plenty. The discussion that ended all started with her phone lightning up and showing a text from Mason that said "You up, Cookie love?" which was normal for her. They always used the cheesiest nicknames, so Mason calling her that or her picking up the phone and calling him Baby was usual. That conversation brought up all the things her boyfriend couldn't understand about her relationship with her best friend. It all began with the drawer that had Mason's clothes in her closet that nobody could touch, the way he could only call her certain names, the way their plans were determined by his games, and ended with how many hours she could spend talking to him and smiling at the screen as if Mason was her boyfriend. 

It became more difficult when he brought up how it looked like Mason lived there with her even when he was in London. Mason's presence was everywhere in her apartment and life. Their pictures as kids were on her bookshelf alongside the ones with her family, as were polaroids of them with Summer displayed on her refrigerator. His things were all over the apartment too; his favorite mug -that she didn't let anyone use or touch- was in the kitchen, his toothbrush was right next to hers, his things were in a corner of the bathroom except his shampoo because he always stole hers. He had a pair of trainers by the door with her shoes, and his favorite blanket was always on the couch perfectly folded for them to use when he visited. His signed England shirt was perfectly framed in the living room. Her favorite hoodie to wear home was a Chelsea one she stole from him, and she wouldn't admit that more than once she took clothes from his drawer to use as PJs when she was alone. She knew Mason was the same with her things in his home. Their places were simply copies of each other. His guest room was basically hers, but her clothes were in his closet. Her skincare routine was in a special place in the main bathroom, her hair products were in the shower and her toothbrush was beside his. Her favorite mug and glass was in his kitchen carefully saved and their photos were displayed all over the place. The things she had were everywhere and he wouldn't hide them. They would never hide each other and it didn't matter if someone didn't like it.

She didn't even argue with him. Yes, she had Mason's stuff there just like she had things her parents left over when they came to visit. She had photos of her family and friends too. But at the end of the day, Mason was Mason. She always spent time on the phone with her best friend, especially as they tried to arrange their schedules to see each other. When she wasn't working and he wasn't training, they talked to see when they could be home visiting family at the same time or when one of them could jump on a train to see each other. If they weren't on the phone, she was probably cancelling or rescheduling her whole life to attend to one of his matches.

After the fight, she told her boyfriend she wasn't planning to cancel her plans to join the Mounts to see Mason in London, so they ended up right there. There were no more arguments or conversations, just a clean cut. As she hugged Mason and told him how proud she was of him while he repeated how happy he was to see her, she forgot about the nasty fight, the terrible accusations, and the disastrous ending of the relationship. 

She would have loved to say that was the only breakup Mason's ghost provoked. She never admitted it to anyone, especially not to her friend, but it happened twice. She cancelled a dinner to be on the phone with Mason the second he called to let her know the club’s plan to get rid of him. All the plans she had with the guy she was seeing were over instantly as she decided to grab her things, take a train and head to London to spend a couple of days with Mason. She knew it was wrong to cancel it last minute, but she didn't give it much thought knowing what was happening.

When she got there she didn't even knock, simply opening the door of his place with her spare key, running to Mason when she saw him on the sofa. Whenever she visited, Mason normally cooked for her. However, this time they didn't dare move, ordering food instead and staying in the living room catching up. As Mason told her what was happening with Chelsea, the new owners and his contract, one question burned in the back of her head. She didn't want to think about the worst case scenario, but she couldn't help it.

"What if you go to a club in another country?" she whispered, ignoring the movie in front of them.

She remembered the pain as she hugged him and waved him goodbye too many times, but especially the day he moved to the Netherlands to play in the Vitesse. She had no idea how she would do that again if that was the case. Regardless of where Mason was moving, she could not watch him leave without asking him to take her with him.

The all-consuming worry built up in her chest, making her mind full of doubts, but she also felt her stomach sink. With her fork in hand, she took only two bites of the pasta in her lap while the bowl grew cold as she stirred it. Her stomach was too knotted to eat anything, but she didn't want Mason to worry about her and remind her to eat, so she took small bites.

Mason moved closer to her, picking up her food and placing it on the coffee table with his plate so that he could wrap his arms around her. “I’ll try to avoid it. But if I can’t, then you’re always welcome to come with me. I’ll could use some company, y’know?"

In her speechlessness, all she could do was nod and snuggle close to her friend, saying "Okay" loudly enough for him to hear. Holding Mason as tightly as possible, she promised herself right there that if he moved, she would say yes. She couldn't care less where, but she wouldn't let him go again.

She couldn't lie and say she slept in the guest room when in reality, she spent the night on his bed. She promised to stay there until Mason was asleep, but while scratching his head she felt first. She woke up at 1 am, totally disoriented, forgetting she was at Mason's. She woke up because even when she was covered in a duvet, she was cold. She looked for her phone on the bedside table and when the screen lit up she could recognize where she was. The framed picture of his family was all she needed to realize she was still in his room. She knew on the other bedside table there was exactly the same frame, but instead it had a photo of the two of them with Summer while they kissed her cheeks.

Her momentary turning and tossing woke Mason up. Even in the dim light she could see his worried and confused sleepy face trying to figure out what was wrong. All she needed to say was a soft "I'm cold" for Mason to open his arms for her to get closer. Her hands, feet and nose were freezing, so in their sleepy state Mason did whatever he could to keep her warm. He didn't hesitate for a second to put her feet against his legs and her hands under his shirt so they could be against his skin. Before she could realize, her face was hiding against his neck, making the cold on her nose dissapear automatically.

She couldn’t admit how that was the closest they had been to kissing again since they were fourteen. She knew it was just a hug to keep her warm, but she could feel his stubble and breathing against her cheek, making it too difficult to drift off to sleep again. Her heart broke when Mason whispered a soft "I miss you" before she felt his breathing change, letting her know he was sleeping. She missed him all the time. She wanted to wake him up, kiss his face and admit how crazy she was about him. She wanted to move her head and place her lips against his, but he was too vulnerable. He was sad, confused, frustrated and still trying to figure out what would happen to his career. The last thing he needed was her confusing him when all he needed was a shoulder to cry on. She wanted to cover him in love, but instead she just stayed there, her hands against his waist and back, stroking his skin with her fingertips, dreaming of what could be.

She'd lie if she said she didn't wake up to Mason snuggling against her chest with his arms wrapped around her body to keep her close. She’d lie if she say she didn’t love the feeling of having him like that, resting peacefully against her as their bodies were tangled. Nobody could hurt him there and that was the most important thing in the world for her.

She didn't move for a while, enjoying those brief silent moments and her last couple hours there, while taking advantage of the extra snuggles from her favorite boy. She took half an hour to enjoy the privilege of being there with Mason, but also to daydream how it would be to spend every night of her life like that. She couldn’t help but smile imagining how wonderful it would be to wake up to exactly that every single day, kissing his forehead as their morning routine.

It was a big effort to sneak away from his arms to get up and make breakfast when she wished to stay in bed with him, surrounded by his warmth forever. She wanted to hold him and promise everything would be alright, even when leaving Chelsea felt like the hardest thing he would have to do.

After that weekend it was difficult to get back to reality, but it was more difficult to leave his side. It felt impossible to break that last hug while Mason promised to do all he could to stay close. It was more painful to leave Mason's side after fifty hours than it was to break up with the guy she had been seeing for three months. There was another unavoidable breakup when she was back in Manchester and she knew it. What she was not expecting was it happening half an hour after she arrived home. It was awful to face him when smelled like Mason. Her whole being and all her things smelled like Mason after running out of her shower gel and using his. She didn’t even have time to shower or change, still wearing one of Mason's hoodies that she took from his closet, promising to give it back next time they saw each other. 

Once again, she didn't argue about it, not making excuses when she heard how her one real relationship was Mason and not the guy who shared the bed with her and took her on dates more than a couple times a week.

"You should stop lying to yourself and admit you're in love with him”. It felt like a punch in the gut to hear those words, but he was right.

Seeing the door close and her apartment take on complete silence, her heart sank a little more. She couldn't keep lying to herself. She couldn't keep distracting herself with men she wished were her best friend, always too scared of mistakenly calling them by his name. She had two options, but it was not a good time for either, at least not until Mason figured out his life first.

The realization came at the worst time, which didn't help. Decisions in sports normally take time and that's something she knew thanks to her friends, but even then she felt powerless. She felt like she should be able to do something. Saying that everything was going to be alright was not good enough. There was nothing she wanted more than to be with him, but it wasn't possible. She didn't have time to travel to London, and then she had days off when Mason wasn't home, making it impossible for them to see each other when she wanted to hug him. It was frustrating, but all she did was listen to her best friend's ramblings, promising to visit as soon as possible.

As she made promises to Mason, rumors about her transfer ate her alive. She never mentioned it to him, but she knew. She had some rules for herself and one of those was not to google Mason. He always said nobody knew him as much as she did, so there was nothing on the internet she needed to know. People and the press often invent ridiculous stories and rumours, and Mason was no exception. She knew better than to ignore it all. Even when some of the rumours and sneaky pictures included her and their alleged secret relationship she ignored them. She didn't even follow football-related Instagram accounts, but she found out anyway.

She didn't want to believe Manchester United was an option for him. He always called her right away when he had good news, and if Mason hadn't mentioned anything to her, it might be a lie. Even if it was rumours it was impossible to wrap her head about the idea. Her apartment was ten minutes away from Old Trafford, and she couldn't imagine Mason being so close.It was too good to be true, and it would crush her heart and soul if it turned out to be false.

The idea that it might happen made her happy but also terrified. For years she was able to put her feelings aside because they were kilometers away from each other. There was no worry about risking or ruining their friendship when they couldn't spend much time together. She could pretend she didn't have the biggest crush on him when they weren't living in the same city. She learned how to keep her feelings to the side when they spent hours or counted days together, reminding herself there must be a reason why life kept putting them apart and in different parts of the country.

Her decision to speak with Mason about her feelings after the Chelsea drama ended suddenly felt like a terrible idea. She was seriously considering doing it, but if Mason were there, it would be completely different. The chemistry between them was obvious and always existed, but she was terrified of Mason not feeling the same way. She could deal with it, but the idea of him having a relationship with a woman right in front of her made her feel sick. It made her cry her heart out until there were no tears left.

She had to act like nothing was happening and it was easy on the phone, but it was a nightmare when Mason asked her to be his plus one at some charity event he had to participate in. It was not unusual for him to ask, taking her or Lewis with him, but it felt like the most terrible moment for him to call. 'No' might have been the right answer, but it would have made Mason wonder if everything was alright between them, and he didn't need another worry. His life was already complicated enough, so rather than making it worse, she made it more complicated for herself.

Acting like nothing was happening was a nightmare while she stayed at his place for two days. She hadn't been there since the last time they snuggled in his bed the whole night. She had no idea what would happen those days around him and it made her wonder why she said yes at all. Her whole trip on the train to London was spent trying to keep calm, but it was difficult to forget how deep she was down the rabbit hole. Mason hugged her longer than usual when she finally arrived, whispering how happy he was to see her and how much he missed her. Five minutes there were enough to make her want to never leave his side again because it was home. He was home no matter what happened and that was never going to change.

She tried to keep herself calm, but it was almost impossible not to blush and smile all the time when Mason was by her side every second of the day. The most complicated part was how it looked like boundaries had disappeared between the two of them. Having spent days together in the sun, there wasn't much they hadn't seen of each other before. Vacations in sunny places and afternoons at beaches and pools included her in a bikini or swimsuit and Mason in his shorts. Mason walking around only wearing his underwear was not weird for her. She normally couldn't blink at it, too used to the sight after a lifetime together, but that afternoon it affected her like never before. Seeing Mason walk into the bathroom wearing nothing but a black, tight piece of clothing made her cheeks turn in a deep shade of red. She was doing her makeup while he walked in looking for his phone, so thankfully she covered it with the foundation she was applying to her face. Feeling his hands stroking her arm or his lips kissing her head as he passed by her side did not help either. His hand resting on her hips as he zipped her dress or when she checked his tie was straight didn't help her case either.

Maybe it was the closeness messing up her head, but she could feel how something had shifted between them. Mason was always close and touchy, but there was something else. She couldn’t help but smile at his words, Mason’s hands carefully placed on her hip as he mentioned how beautiful she looked while they took a couple of photos in from of a full length mirror, joking about having to remember the couple nights they actually got to dress up properly.

He didn't let her hand go as they walked to the car that picked them up and drove them to the event. The whole ride he held her hand tightly, fingers laced together, hands resting against the seat between them, thumb stroking her skin gently. They only acted like normal friends when they arrived at the event. He kept his arm protectively against her lower back or held her arm in his as they walked around the place. It was incredibly difficult to not fall even more for him when he was the perfect gentleman, making jokes to put a smile on her face and making sure she was as comfortable as possible in an environment that wasn't hers. Mason knew she normally felt out of place in those venues, but he didn't leave her side for a second. He was so attentive that it almost felt like they were dating, except for the fact they weren't.

His delightful appearence didn't made it easy for her. He looked like a dream in his suit and freshly trimmed hair. His beard was shorter than she preferred it to be, but she couldn't complain. After two glasses of wine she couldn't help but stare at him in total awe as he talked to someone. She knew it wasn't very polite to do it, but his smile was her favorite sight in the whole world and his laugh was like music to her ears. Mason was all she could think about. Him and how lucky she was to be by his side and how gorgeous he was and how badly she wanted to grab his face and cover his skin with red lipstick until there was nothing left on her lips.

“Do I have something on my face?” Mason whispered in her ear, after the two men talking to him finally left them alone. 

“Not at all. I was just thinking you look alright all dressed up. It's nice to see you wearing something other than a hoodie and joggers. And it's crazy to see you have shoes that ain't made by Nike or made to play football." she shrugged, smiling up at her friend before drinking another sip of her champagne glass. She wasn’t a fan, but they weren’t even done half the night and she needed it. 

“You’re not funny. What do you mean I look ‘Just alright’? And I thought you said I always looked handsome, even when I'm just waking up in my joggers. And I never hear you complain about my clothes when you're stealing them, Cookie." 

“Maybe I was lying? And I take your clothes because you have too much. I'm just helping." She wasn’t lying. Mason with messy hair and comfy clothes was her favorite version of her friend. His sleepy face was without a doubt the prettiest thing she ever saw. The sound of his calm, soft voice was one of the reasons it took her extra time to move. It was those days when it was hard for her to leave, wishing she could just stay together cuddling him. 

“Meanie.” He tried to act offended, but the way his eyes wrinkled said everything she needed to know. “You look beautiful, even if you say I just look alright. Blue suits you.”

The conversation was cut short before she could keep annoying her friend. Another man, identifying himself as a Chelsea fan, stopped Mason for a photo and a chat, leaving her on the side as if she hadn't been talking to her friend. It was the third time in a row that men would shake her hand exclusively because they thought she was Mason's armcandy, then completely ignore her like she knew nothing about football. Mason hated it. She was there because she was his best friend, but he was also convinced she knew more about football than most of the men in the room. Mason insisted she was beautiful, but also the smartest person in the room, making him furious when someone looked at her like she was just a pretty face.

Being the kind man he was, Mason took the time to take a couple of photos with both men, but after some exchange of words he cut off the conversation shortly after it began. While polite and educated as always, he excused himself with a smile, promising to continue chatting later. She knew Mason like the back of her hand, so she knew it was not happening. You could do or say anything about him, but not to her. Acting like she wasn't in the room was the biggest mistake those men could have made.

Taking a moment to escape the crowd, she squeezed his arm as they walked away. It was her silent way to say she was alright, but she could read Mason's face like an open book. "Sorry about that, love," he breathed, ordering one more round of drinks for them as soon as they reached the bar.

"Not your fault, sweetheart" she smiled sweetly, clinking her glass against his as soon as they got their order. "You know, I don't blame them. They're not lucky like me. They don't have Mason Mount available to talk to him and do photo sessions like I do."

"And nobody takes awful photos of me like you do, Cookie."

The smile on her face was interrupted by a yawn she could not control. After years of attending these kinds of events, she was used to them, but her body was exhausted. Her plan to take the train straight after work turned out to be a terrible idea. Since napping on the train was not an option, she stayed up for two hours until she arrived in London. After dinner at his place, she thought she would fall asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but she couldn't. It was ridiculous how nervous she was to see Mason again. It was even harder knowing he was only a couple of steps away from her in his room. The awful part was that she spent the entire night tossing and turning before falling asleep and waking up before her alarm rang off. Trying to nap in the afternoon was impossible, feeling guilty about sleeping instead of enjoying time with Mason. By the time they got to the event, she had not slept as much as she should have. She was overcaffeinated and exhausted, ready to call it a night even when she couldn't do it. Although those kinds of parties were part of his job, she would rather be home sitting on the sofa with a slice of pizza in hand, wearing her pajamas and watching some silly comedy on TV. After the horrible week she had at work, she needed a drink, but after three hours she needed more to take her shoes and makeup off and switch from a fancy carriage to a pumpkin.

“Half an hour and we’re out" Mason promised, reaching for her free hand to squeeze it for a brief moment. Nobody would ever notice, but she could see how Mason was about to lace their fingers together, suddenly regretting and moving his hand away. The Internet had too many photos of them in doubtful situations creating too many speculations, so there was no need to add another one to the collection.

“You’re grand, Mase. We'll stay as long as you need to. I'll sleep when we get home." 

"Heaven knows I'd rather be on the couch with you, baby. There's no point if I can't cuddle you. Half an hour. I promise."

She insisted there was no need to leave so soon, but with incredible timing Mason excused himself and they said their goodbyes exactly half an hour later, just like he promised. Not long later they were back in the same car that took them to the party in the first place. This time it wasn't just their hands together, but Mason's arm wrapped around her waist. Even with her jacket on she was cold, so he kept her warm until they were back home. It was the mix of his warmth, the car's movement and the dim light that made her fall asleep against his shoulder in no time, her body finally giving up to slumber.

Her nap caused the fifteen-minute ride between the venue and his place to feel like it lasted two minutes instead. Though she wouldn't admit it, she loved waking up to Mason kissing her forehead and stroking her cheek to let her know they were only a couple blocks away. She loved it even more when he kept his arm around her waist as they exited the car, making sure she didn't trip as they walked inside.

She knew it couldn't be the two glasses Mason had that made him unable to keep his arms away from her as if he was glued to her body. He did it even when they were inside and she couldn’t help but smile at it. They left their things at the door and the next moment Mason dragged her to the living room. After she sat down and Mason took off her shoes, she smiled even more when he laid down on the sofa and rested his head on her lap. 

Her three drinks weren't to blame either. She wasn’t drunk and not even tipsy, but her brain was somewhere else as she looked down at him. She would normally scratch his head or hold her hand still in one place on a normal night, but not that night. Trying not to scare him, she reached out slowly to his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbones as carefully as possible. Mason could have done something to tell her to stop, but he didn't. She wasn't surprised when he smirked at her, telling her she could go on. Taking her chance to keep the smile on his handsome face, her fingers moved carefully around as she traced a small path without any particular destination. From his cheekbones to his under eyes, from there to the bridge of his nose to his jaw, and all the way to his eyebrows and forehead to end up again in his nose. It was never admitted to anyone, not even to Mason on a drunken night, but if she had to choose one thing about him, it would be his freckles. Her favorite part was the way they covered his nose and cheeks, making her want to kiss and count them endlessly until she eventually got lost and had to start over. She loved it when he blushed or tanned in the sunlight, making his skin turn the most gorgeous tone, enhancing his features and bringing out his freckles. Since they were children she has been crazy about it, and as she grew older she loved it even more. 

“Keep doing that?” Mason asked in a soft voice, interrupting her thoughts. When he opened his eyes and looked at her for a moment everything else faded away.

Visual memory was always one of her strongest skills. The details she remembered from seeing something for a second were ridiculous. That quality enabled her to hold memories in her head like pictures, especially those involving Mason. There was no doubt in her mind that the image in front of her would be put straight into her collection. In that moment she wished she had her phone nearby so she could take a picture to keep forever. 

It was impossible for her to forget the first moment she saw him. She couldn't forget little Mason wearing an England jersey that was too big for him. No matter what she did, she couldn't erase the memory of his smile as he waved hello to her right after their parents first met. Despite being twenty years older, Mason somehow still resembled that boy. She had no idea when it happened, but suddenly the cute kid grew up and became a handsome young man, but lately he looked different. Even though he looked like a man, the boy who taught her how to kick the ball was still there in his face. She still felt the same way about those sweet eyes and smile that melted her as a child.

Although she wanted to kiss him and tell him how much she loved him, everything was upside down, and she couldn't. As usual, she settled for the second best thing since she couldn't have what she really wanted. The only thing she did was touch his bottom lip with her thumb instead of her lips. Despite being the smallest of touches, it made Mason move, so she automatically put her hand away. Although she thought she had done something wrong, he kept her hand right there before she went too far.

There was nothing unusual about it. Mason kissed her hand for comfort whenever she was nervous and it wasn't strange to see him do it, but this time it wasn't just one kiss. He took the time to kiss every knuckle, the back of her hand, the palm, and finally her wrist tattoo, staying against the tinted skin for longer than usual. A small 19 written by him sat proudly on her wrist, a testament to the drunken promise she made one night. The tattoo made Mason smile every time he saw it, insisting she would never do it for anyone else but him.

Although the kisses in her hand weren't strange, when Mason placed their joined hands over his heart inside his shirt, the air completely changed. He undid a few buttons on his shirt and got rid of his tie as soon as he took off his jacket, leaving enough space for their hands under the white material. Feeling his skin and heartbeat like that was the last thing she needed. The fact that Mason wasn't talking to her or looking at her also didn't help her. Being unable to read his eyes was eating at her, but she was too afraid to disturb the calmness in the room by asking what was going on. All she could do was look at his beautiful face, feel the warmth of his skin and scratch his head with her free hand.

She knew what was happening shouldn't happen. She couldn't help it. The couple of glasses of champagne and wine caused her sanity to fly out the window. As the irrational part of her brain took over, she began to crave him. While she felt like her skin burned against his, there was a voice in her head telling her not to.

She didn’t want to lose him. She couldn’t lose him. Mason was not only her best friend but her favorite person in the world. He was her rock, her lifeline, her guiding light and her lighthouse - all in one cute boy with freckles. He was the person she trusted more than anyone in the world. He was the one person she couldn’t live without. Mason was her soulmate and the love of her life even when they weren't together. Apart from her parents, Mason was her only constant for twenty years. Losing him was never an option, even if it broke her heart and allowed her a front-row seat to witness him having a happy life with someone else. 

In the midst of her internal fight, there was a third part of her thinking that everything they did had to mean something. The touches, the looks, the cuddles, the kisses years ago, the things Mason would say to her and about her. His sweet 'Oi, you’re my girl!' was always there, even if it was joking when a friend tried to take her away from him. Mason always said she was his favorite and number one girl and she truly believed in him, even when he dated someone else. She was the only one he called Love, and the way he hugged her practically melting into her couldn't be for nothing. 

All she wanted was to be by his side while he slept peacefully. She wanted to keep holding him and scratching his head, even if just for cuddles. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, but she knew it wasn't a good night, so she decided to take a deep breath and ignore her heart beating and the way her feelings made it feel heavier.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, my Sleeping Beauty” she whispered, tapping gently on his forehead.

“I’m not. I’m just resting my eyes like you in the car. And if I’m the Sleepy Beauty aren’t you supposed to wake me up with a kiss?" By the little smirk on his face she knew he was teasing her. It seemed like another of his funny comments, but the way it affected her was impossible to describe. If she confessed to him that she wanted to kiss him to wake him up, things would be very different. 

“So I’m the prince here? That’s crazy considering you’re the one with the wonderful prince hair” she smiled, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as she ran her fingers through his hair the way she knew he liked it. As much as she hated to admit it, after so many years together, she knew Mason well enough to have him purring in her hands in no time. 

“For you I’ll be whatever you want, love.” 

When Mason finally opened his eyes again, the air completely left her lungs. It was something else to hear his words and see the way he looked at her. Nothing really felt right to say, so it took her a while to organize her thoughts. Since she didn't feel like answering him the way she wanted, she just smiled down at him, pretending it didn't affect her like it really did. “Cmon Prince Charming, you need to go to bed, and I need to take my makeup off. You'll be much more comfortable in bed all tucked in” she reassured him, patting his chest lightly while keeping her hand underneath his shirt. 

“But I’m comfy”. It was not the pout on her face that destroyed her, but the way he only let go of her hand to turn around and hug her waist. "And I don't wanna let you go."

"It's just ten minutes. I promise. Do you want me to stay with you till you fall asleep?"

It took them another five minutes to move after he nodded to answer her question. Mason took care of closing the house and turning the lights out promising to be upstairs in no time as she headed straight to the bathroom to take her makeup off as she said she would. She was sure Mason would at least have changed his clothes by the time she started wiping it all off her face, but to her surprise he came into the bathroom wearing exactly the same clothes as before. Rather than saying anything, he hugged her back while tightly wrapping his arms around her waist, burying his face in her neck. 

“What are you doing here, Masey?” she asked, unconsciously resting her back against his chest. He looked like a dream when they were at the party, but the sight behind her was something else entirely. In the mirror reflection, she observed his arm muscles flexing under the white material of his shirt. He was not the biggest or bulkiest man out there, but he looked perfectly carved like a statue. Even though she loved every single part of him, his body always had her in awe. Seeing him against her made her want to run her fingers down every single inch of his skin or melt against him. The way he smelled only made it more difficult, wanting to hide her face in his neck the way he was doing with her. If it was a way to prove her strength, it was an extremely difficult test, because she had no idea how she was doing it. 

“Waiting for you," he shrugged. What took her by surprise wasn’t the way he answered, but the way he placed a tender kiss on her shoulder, too close to her neck. As the material of her dress didn't cover her skin in that area, he took advantage of it by leaving his face there. “You smell lovely" he murmured and another kiss followed, making her shiver and raising goosebumps everywhere. 

“You got me this perfume, silly” she giggled, feeling him smiling against her neck before he placed a third kiss there. In that instant her plans of putting some night cream on her face flew out of the window, too focused on keeping it together and biting her tongue to not let a soft moan escape her lips. 

“I got a good taste.”

“Sometimes. And depending on what.” She couldn’t help but smile again, but it had nothing to do with her cocky answer. His hands around her waist weren't moving. His fingers drawn lines and circles that tickled her even when there was a layer between his skin and hers. It was awful and wonderful how he knew how to play his cards with her and move her strings, putting a smile on her face so easily it was embarrassing. "Get into bed, darling. One minute and I’m done. There’s nothing to see here. I’m not dolled up anymore, just little old me. Its not charming so go ahead.” 

“You’re always charming and beautiful. No need to put anything on your face to look stunning." Mason affirmed, her cheeks turning red in an instant.

She really thought Mason wasn’t tipsy, but suddenly she couldn’t help but think maybe he was. She didn't think she looked beautiful, especially not then. She threw her hair into a messy bun so that it would stay out of her face while she did her skin care. There was no longer a fancy hairstyle. Not perfectly makeup-ed, her face had gone back to its natural state. The only thing left of her dressed-up version was the dark blue dress she was wearing, but it was about to disappear to be replaced by one of his shirts. It was hard for her to believe that she was beautiful, but if he said otherwise, perhaps she would believe it. Like normal friends do, they always compliment each other, but this was different. She Mason kissing her neck and saying she was beautiful was something else and she couldn’t deny the effect it had on her body. 

“Now he’s saying nonsense. C’mon, bed” she insisted, turning around in his arms. She tried to put a serious face so Mason would pay attention and do as she said, but it was useless. Looking down at her, he did not move, making her legs weaker.

 “Can I get a kiss first?” Mason asked, leaving her speechless. She could feel the tension in the air of the small space, but he left her out of words. She never expected that question. He didn’t ask when they were kids, he didn't ask when they were teens, so it was new. It was different and she had no idea what to do. There was nothing she wanted more than to kiss him again, but the fear of ruining everything between them paralyzed her. They weren’t kids anymore. She couldn’t ruin their friendship with a kiss when there was so much at risk. The only option left to her was to place her hands on his jaw and chest, stand on tiptoes, and kiss his cheek. She was dying to kiss his entire face, but she could only allow herself to do that. “I meant a real kiss, Cookie.”

“That was a real kiss. It wasn’t imaginary. It's not like I'm a unicorn or something like that".

She realized how serious everything was when the joke didn't work. She had the superpower of making Mason smile despite the tough times. He always laughed at her jokes even when they were terrible, but not this time. It made her tongue-tied to see Mason looking down at her as if she had hung the whole sky for him. It didn't help her nerves that he brushed his nose against hers. That was Mason, he was her Mason, but he still made her nervous. Even when she didn't think she had a chance with him, he always made her feel that way.  

“You know what I mean, love. I know it hasn't been ten years since the last time, but I don't care."

“We shouldn't."

“Why not?”

“Cause we shouldn’t”. It was impossible for her to give a convincing answer to his question, or even a real reason for it. She didn't know what to say. Her mind was totally blank, fully focused on the sensation of his lips against her face, moving from her forehead to her temple, and then traveling to her cheek. While he kissed her cheek again, she moved her hands down to grab his waist, not wanting him to walk away from her.

“Want me to stop?” He asked right beside her ear, sending shivers down her back again. There was no way Mason wouldn't notice the goosebumps all over her skin. It was impossible for him not to notice how completely in his hands and at his mercy she was.

“No”. She shouldn’t have said those words because she knew where they would lead. She knew she shouldn’t, but she didn’t regret it, especially not when she could feel his smile against her skin. When his lips got back to work, he kissed her jaw again, then jumped onto her shoulder, slowly moving onto her neck. "You're making it very complicated for me when we know I need to leave tomorrow, darling.” 

In one swift movement, Mason lifted her up and sat her down beside the sink, standing between her legs. One movement, no words, and he was back to kissing her, each kiss more delicate than the last, but all of them making her skin feel like she was on fire.

“Then don’t leave, angel. We can stay here together."

He made it seem so simple that she almost believed she could do it. It made her feel like she could put her life behind her, forget about everything else, and just stay in his arms forever. He said it in a way that almost made her say yes, but as grownups with lives and responsibilities, the bubble needed to be broken at some point. 

“I have work, Masey. I have things to do. I have to get back.”

"That's not fair. I don’t want you to go.” It was like something in the air shifted again. He suddenly stopped moving around her neck and stayed still, his lips ghosting over her skin as he spoke. Her hands left his chest and moved around his body, pulling him into a hug that put all her pieces together. “I’m gonna miss you and I hate missing you. I hate not seeing you every day because you’re three hours away. I hate that we’re always seeing the wrong people when we should be like this all the time. It’s not fair when I know it should be me calling you Love cause you’re my love. It should be me, Cookie. I always wanted it to be you and me.” 

When she heard Mason’s words she knew she had two options. She could pretend she didn’t understand what he was really saying to protect their friendship and stay in an eternal friend zone, or she could just face it. She could put all her fears and the panic of losing Mason in the back of her mind and try to comprehend that it was possible he had feelings for her too. Perhaps they were just two idiots who never got over their crush on each other. Maybe Mason was as scared as she was and all they really needed was to be there holding each other to stop overthinking and being honest. Maybe what they needed was to stop thinking with their heads and think with their hearts instead. 

“It’s always you, my sweet boy with freckles,” she whispered softly, her fingers running through his hair. She could barely breathe from the nerves, but it was a now-or-never situation. She really needed to face it once and for all. “It’ll always be you. It should be us, but time is always a problem. Somehow we can never get it right and it sucks and I miss you all the time too.” 

“What if we can make it right?” Mason asked, moving away from her neck to rest his forehead against hers. They were both too scared to open their eyes and look at each other, so they just stayed there, noses touching as they breathed the same air. “It’s us, so we can, right? I know we can, angel. I don’t care if the time is never right. We can make it work somehow. We’re not kids anymore, so we can find a way. Why can't we be together if we want each other?” 

“Cause we’re best friends, Mase," she whispered, holding his cheeks in her hands. It sounded like the most obvious answer, but it also felt ridiculous. It felt silly when Mason was right. They weren't kids living in different countries anymore. They were adults and it would take time, effort, and patience, but it would be worth it. They could make it worth it. "We can make it work but I can’t lose you after twenty years together. I can lose anything or anyone, but not you, darling. Not you.” 

“You can still be my best friend while also being my girlfriend. My girlfriend or my fiancé. Or my wife. Or my kids’ mum. Whatever you want."

She had to take a deep breath as she heard his words, biting her lips to not smile at them. The idea of having all that with Mason made her want to smile ear-to-ear. Thinking about it brought so much happiness to her heart, but she couldn’t let it all take over her heart. Not yet. Not when it could all crash and end in heartbreak.

“Don’t do that."

“Do what?” 

“Give me hope, Mase. Don’t say all those things. Please don’t give me hope." 

"Look at me, baby.” She couldn't say no to his words, but when she looked at him she wished she hadn't paid attention to them. She always had a terrible weakness for Mason, but nothing affected her as much as his eyes. It was the gorgeous brown color and the warmth they had that made her want to stare at them forever. The way they always lit up for her made her weak. Every time the wrinkles around his eyes appeared as he smiled, she wished she could kiss him. She wished she could do something to make him keep that happy expression on his face forever. It didn't help that he looked at her like she was the most amazing person in the world. She knew it was pure adoration like she felt for him. It was impossible for her to keep running away, not when Mason was telling her that he wanted her. "I can stop right now, we forget about it and pretend we don’t want each other since we were kids. Or we can kiss and talk in the morning so we can finally stop pretending there’s nothing here when we know we like each other. It’s up to you, love.” 

“Promise that whatever happens tonight I am not losing you. Tell me that’s never going to happen no matter what" she begged him. In twenty years she never thought she would have to admit her biggest fear and say it out loud, but it was her time to do it.

While it wasn't her first kiss and it wasn't even her first kiss with Mason, the nerves made it seem like it was. The gap between them was not big, but Mason gave her a chance to change her mind and back up. Since she didn't move, he only needed one glance to answer the silent question hanging between them and place his lips on hers.

The butterflies were still there almost ten years later, making a mess of her and making it impossible for her to not smile. There was something familiar about it, but it was better than all those years ago back home. The biggest difference was the lack of innocence between them. Immediately, the tentative kiss turned into something hungrier as her tongue asked for permission and was granted without hesitation. Although she wasn't thinking straight when she licked his lower lip, she didn't complain as their tongues found each other and moved together. She knew it wouldn't be just one kiss. In silent plea, she moved her hands to his neck and hair, gently tugging and silently begging him not to move. Seeing his response to her melted her heart and encouraged her to keep going. Their kisses brought them closer together until there was no more space between them. His hands slowly moved from her waist to her legs, allowing him to rest them on her thighs as he slowly lifted her dress' hem, tracing his fingers over her soft skin. She kept her mouth shut instead of begging him to mess with her, letting her actions speak for themselves as she bit his lip, indicating how she wanted things to go forward. 

"God, it took you long enough, Mount. It's bad manners to leave someone waiting for so long” she smiled, trying to get used to the feeling of her hands over his body in such an intimate way.

“Sorry, Cookie. Swear it won’t happen again" Mason grinned back at her, before getting back to her lips for another kiss.  

There are certain things she could never forget even if she tried. Twenty years of friendship she would never take for granted or erase from her memory. Even though she enjoyed every minute of those days, as she unbuttoned Mason's shirt to remove it, and he stretched her legs out further, she couldn't wait to spend another twenty years beside him, only this time she got to be the lucky girl who got to hold his hand and call him Love.

[reginaphalangelobster125]

Two Sweet

Tony Stark x FEM!reader

Summary: You continue your relationship with Tony.

Warnings: No smut but it gets heated and references to sex, age gap reader is in her mid 20s and he's in his early 40s, I think that's all.

Word Count: 882

The Halloween party was almost a month ago and you couldn't be happier. You've been keeping your relationship with Tony a secret, fearing the smears to both of your reputations from office members and the press. It wasn't favourable that you couldn't go out to restaurants together, or any kind of dates for that matter, but it was exhilarating hiding. The stolen kisses when no one was looking and sneaking around.

The way Tony would call you into his office and you'd walk in, entirely professional, even though what would happen behind closed doors was anything but. You loved sneaking over to his room in the tower, having an amazing night, then sneaking back out again before anyone woke up. It was thrilling when either of you would sit at your desk for a meeting and the other would be sitting patiently and on most, very happy occasions. relentlessly, underneath.

One most notable, time you had to fake a yawn during a meeting to stifle your moan. Another time you were sitting across from Tony during an exceedingly boring board meeting and you teased him the whole time, but don't worry you got your punishment later that night. One of your favourite things to do was to politely interrupt a meeting you knew was an agonising waste of time and tell Tony he had a very important phone call, most often being from Japan. Then you'd walk him down a hallway you knew no one would be occupying and as soon as you were out of eyesight you'd grab him by the tie and drag him into the closest supply closet or vacant bathroom.

One evening in particular would always be ingrained in your memory. You had been teasing Tony all day, non stop. He called you into his office to discuss an upcoming charity event, or at least that's what he said over the intercom. You walked into his office wearing a tight navy blue skirt, black heels, that paired with the skirt, made your ass look amazing and a white silk blouse, with your hair up. The second you walked through the door and closed it behind you he was on you. He pushed your back up against the door and pinned your wrists. He pressed feather light kisses all over your neck and chest, teasing you right back. You felt his teeth gently graze over the soft spot behind your ear and you let out a soft whimper like moan.

"Shhh baby, we don't want anyone to hear do we?" He purred into your ear, his breath red hot against your skin. You barely let out a shaky exhale in response as one of his hands started to push your skirt up.

These kinds of encounters became more and more common as the weeks went by.

You didn't really think much of Christmas as you had only been together for a few weeks but you were surprised by Tony. He appeared at your door with a large box in his hand.

"Merry Christmas, Vixen"

You grabbed his wrist and yanked him through the door, knowing your nosy neighbours would have gossiped about THE Tony Stark at your door for weeks.

"Someone's excited to see me"

"I'm always excited to see you, but why did you come here? The press would be all over you if they found out and I thought that was my job"

"I just wanted to see you, and that is your job and your job alone"

You smiled and brought him into a sweet soft kiss.

"So, you gonna open the present?"

You took the box from him and unwrapped it with a giggle as you saw the gift. A set of delicate red lace lingerie.

"Is this a present for me or for you, Tony?"

"It could be both"

You went to the bedroom to try it on and it fit like a glove, but of course it would, he knew your body well.

"So" You said, twirling around "What do you think?"

"I don't know"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know if I want you to keep it on or if I want to rip it off with my teeth"

"Well the night is still young, we could do both" You said with a wink, kissing him passionately.

As he pulled away breathlessly, Tony said "God, I love you"

He froze as the words fell out of his mouth, he didn't mean to say it but that didn't mean he didn't feel it.

"Wh-did you just?"

"I-I don't I didn't-"

"I love you too"

He was possibly more shocked than before.

"You do?" He ask in disbelief.

You laughed "Of course I do! Tony, you are a wonderful man and you treat me like no one else ever has, of course I love you"

"You know when I first met you I thought you were too sweet for me"

"And now?"

"And now, I know I was right"

Your lips met in a tender embrace, filled with passion and love.

"You know, even the legendary Tony Stark is wrong sometimes" You say as you lead him into the bedroom.

"I find that hard to believe"

You kneel down in front of him, staring up with big eyes and a mischievous smirk "Oh believe it, baby"

Tags:

@impetusofadream

@goldfishthegr8

@avengers-official-recruit-agent

@goreygirl03

@xenasolos

@sparklyturtlefox

@rios-sythe

@nekoannie-chan

@ilovemarvel12

@hayneyney

[jon-snows-man-bun]

SURPRISE @olenvasynyt

@buffy-vanserra and I were going to save this for @nameless-acotar-weekend, but it turns out that we're both too impatient and too in love to sit on this until May. Can you blame us?! 🔥

It's our favourite mean evil hottie, Raivis Vanserra 🥵 He's got his sneer ON, his braids IN, and he's ready to scheme. Your story has been such a delight that we couldn't resist bringing him to life in all of his arrogant, miserable, bloody-minded glory. Thank you so much for sharing A Court of Embers & Sunlight with the world!

Learn all about Raivis and join the Vanharem in A Court of Embers & Sunlight, an ACOTAR prequel that dives into the delicious, dramatic, and dangerous world of the Autumn Court.

Raivis was brought to life by @onigiripurr, who took our vision for a fairy prince with a bad attitude and ran with it.

[girlishwhimsies]

i love looking at hot takes and realizing that some outsiders fans don’t realize that fandom is something fun. nothing is truly that serious at the end of the day.

[lususnatura]

🎤 🎤 🎤

a song that i associate with my muse meme!

AHH, hey, ramone!! thank you for sending in this prompt :D since you sent in three of the mic's, i shall now be treating you to three songs that make me think of blamore when i hear them / that i associate with it. an explanation of why i chose them will be in the tags <3

hozier - who we are.

icehouse - crazy.

depeche mode - personal jesus.

[seiwas]

omg i ran out of tags 😭 sorry for being so extra op 😭

but i just!! love the development he's had and how he no longer thinks about just himself and is starting to think about a life with you 🥺

your pacing in the bits that say 'he's so in love with you' and 'he likes you so so much' is immaculate!!!! truly felt that deep in my core and idk how you do it 😭 your writing truly has Magic!!!

and the end bit!! with october and the ring 😭 it just brings me back to their conversation: 'why grow something you're going to let go of' (or smth) and how maybe he's an answer to that :--( that!! the love has grown and both of them will have to let go but!! the fact is that the love has grown!! and it's there!! and it's the journey to that 🥺 idk i could be rambling but!!

op!! this is just truly!! thank you for writing this 🥺 i don't even know how to fully express how much i love your works!! i'll be thinking about this for a while, just like i think about all the other works of you're i've loved for a while 🥹

pairing : nanami kento/reader

rating : M tags : Strangers to Lovers, the butterflies are a metaphor, Caretaker Nanami, stalking mention, Soft Nanami Kento, vanilla sex, Nanami is a closet romantic i stand by that, bonding over reading and not talking about feelings

summary:

this never factored into his plan; meeting you is completely incidental. then again, isn't everything?

chaos theory (wc 4500) - ao3 mirror

[xenteaart]

the hard way

pairing: vampire!chris x to be vampire!reader genre/warnings: dark romance, mean chris, angst? kinda dead dove, mentions of death, blood and a lil gore (not too graphic tho imo), it's okay in the end??? and they're in love plot: reader is getting turned into a vampire and it's not as cool as she imagined author’s note: obvsly heavily inspired by railway and that SPITTING SCENE. idk it's prolly gonna flop but i wanted to picture that process and a not so hot side of it

“no.” “why not?!” “because i told you so a million times already. we’re not discussing this.” chris spits out and furrows, growing more agitated with each passing second.

“what, you don’t want me to be equal to you?” you ponder desperately while your mind searches for any, any reason at all as to why chris won’t turn you. it’s been getting to you for the last couple of months, and you’re sure you’ve gone through every possible explanation your troubled brain could come up with: he doesn’t love you. he doesn’t wanna spend eternity with you. or maybe it’s a power thing. or, or, or...? this endless cycle of worry and uncertainty has been keeping you on edge for way too long to think clearly now. “gosh, it has nothing to do with equality,” he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “what is it then?” “drop it.” you snap. “we’ll have to find out the hard way, then.”

you grab the nearest kitchen knife, and it turns out to be the one you use for cutting meat, a chef’s knife as they call it. how fitting. chris barely has enough time to catch up with your madness infused impulse, and when he turns his gaze back to you, the knife is already deep in your guts.

you thought it was gonna be romantic or somewhat dramatic at least. something from the movies where he sinks his vampire teeth into your neck, and just like magic — your eyes flash bright red, announcing the beginning of a new life.

“you dumb bitch,” he exhales shakily and somehow manages to catch you in time because the sharp pain in your stomach makes you lose your balance instantly. you’re still bitter and angry in the heat of the argument and you expect him to be the same way, but when you glance up, chris looks nothing but panicked. “that’s a new look on him,” you think, and it confuses you.

chris growls and sinks to his knees, carefully holding you and trying to move as fast as possible. what you don’t know is that turning can only be done in around thirty seconds since fatal injury. that might explain the rushing and chris’s pure bambi eyes panic but your consciousness is already starting to drift away to hold onto that train of thought.

chris bites into his wrist with unmasked fury, tearing and ripping his own veins even though using a knife would have been much cleaner. probably less painful, too. “swallow. now! come on, don’t you fall asleep on me now, focus!” he grabs your face and presses hard on the jaw joints, making you open your mouth like a puppet doll.

the sickly metallic taste of your own blood at the back of your throat from the internal bleeding mixes up with chris’s thick blood that he generously spits into your mouth, and you want to throw up. your head feels dizzy as your eyelids are getting heavier, your hearing suddenly fails completely as if someone turned the volume down from ten to zero. limbs are falling weak, and the pins and needles in them are so, so far from pleasant.

the thing about turning is... you actually have to die first. be fully, completely gone to be able to come back changed and corrupted, turned to the extent of your DNA having been violently rewritten. that you did not think through enough. the muscles in your throat contract almost on reflex, swallowing and gagging on the gooey salty substance, making your chest heave while coughing strangles you further. the tingles and nausea are so overwhelming and all consuming you actually catch yourself thinking dying would be a relief now. and then it follows as you wished.

you doze off for god knows how long but, by the looks of it, it can’t have been more than a few minutes because as you regain consciousness, chris is still looming over you, his own blood fresh on his lips. he’s blurry, though, everything is.

“come on, suck on me. c’mon, baby, there we go,” he coos as he brings his wrist to your lips, forcefully pressing it into your mouth and leaving you with little to no choice. the phrasing, unlike usual, doesn’t sound dirty or hot now, more like a life-saving command while you’re still so out it. it feels good, though, chris’s blood.

it doesn’t taste so metallic and gross anymore, and the texture feels almost soothing on your dry throat, like hot honey milk on a friday evening. suck, gulp, suck, gulp, suck, it almost lulls you back into serenity, some primal instinct of being attached to your only life line, finding comfort in someone’s warmth and touch and taste.

you wonder how much you’ve drunk already and whether chris will have anything left but you’re so, so thirsty you can’t even bring yourself to care.

what finally makes you stop is the sudden sharp ache in your gums. it feels so piercing the aftershocks are almost reaching your brain and eye sockets, and as you feel your old teeth fall out, a pair of longer fangs cuts through and settles into the upper teeth row. hot tears are stinging your eyes and you whine like a wounded deer, still unable to speak properly. it’s all too much, and you start to regret what you’ve done, and maybe, just maybe that’s why chris so passionately refused to put you through it. this kind of hunger and the animalistic, blood thirst driven rage were never something he wanted to inflict upon you.

your entire body is shaking but it’s not really a fearful tremor, more like restlessness, a new sort of “itch” somewhere deep, deep inside that you’ve never experienced before, the feeling so intense and soul wrenching you simply can’t disobey it. it makes you want to jump up and run.

“don’t worry, i’ll teach you how to handle it.” chris cups your face after taking off his leather gloves so you can feel the comfort of his actual skin. the touch is calming, but barely enough compared to that growing desire and need to satisfy the itch. “you stupid crazy cunt, why do you never listen,” he whispers into your forehead, his lips lightly brushing over your cold sweat covered skin, as he holds you closer, squeezing you against his chest in a protective manner, though the real danger to yourself is now planted within you.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Hard Launching ∘°∘♡∘°∘

Summary: lando and y/n wanted to hard launch their relationship after dating secretly for a while. lando finds the perfect way to do so.

☘ ln x reader ✧˖*°࿐

☘ fluff + humour ✧˖*°࿐

masterlist ☾☼

lando and y/n had been discussing for a while about hard launching their relationship. they had managed to keep it out of the media for an entire season, but the media liked to paint lando as a villain, in more ways than one. not only were they attacking his skills on track, they began collecting pictures of lando with women, no matter how many years ago, and publishing them with articles about him being a womanizer.

the funniest ones were the pictures of lando and her sister out on some bonding time. reading those articles always made y/n laughed, and she would be lying if she said that she didn’t have them bookmarked in her browser for a pick me up when she was having a bad day.

at first, they had thought of doing a simple post with a cheesy caption. enough to let the fans knows that he was off the market again. but, it also felt kind of boring, and that was not lando or y/n’s style.

they discussed it for weeks, looking at different social media websites for inspiration, until it struck lando. scrolling through instagram, he’d found the perfect way to hard launch his relationship with his girlfriend.

when y/n asked him, he said, “you’ll just have to wait like the rest of the world, my love. but, i know you’re going to love it.”

y/n waited, just like he had told her to. she waited for two months, until one day, in the middle of her work, she received the instagram notification of lando posting and tagging her. this was the moment, y/n thought.

opening instagram, she found a reel, instead of a post or a story like she assumed. quickly, wearing her airpods, y/n clicked on the reel, increasing the volume in the background.

the reel opened with someone recording lando as he walked, head down and concentrated. the person recording said, “excuse me, what are you listening to right now?”

lando took out one of his airpods, and said, “my girlfriend yapping,” and then walked away.

the reel immediately cut to different instances of y/n talking and lando patiently listening. they were all sped up videos, and y/n watched her animated hands as she ranted, and lando listening, changing his position every so often. the music in the background was a lively, jaunty sound, and it fit so well with the reel.

there were a series of videos, from their home, from the paddock, from conference rooms where they were waiting for zak, or even from the gym where lando worked out, and y/n basically followed him, still talking his ear off. there were multiple videos of them on facetime as well, or screenshots of their hour - hour and half long conversations.

y/n laughed. it truly was the perfect way for lando to hard launch their relationship. it described them perfectly, if she did say so herself.

scrolling through the comments, she saw a lot of fans crying that he was a taken man now. she saw some saying things like, “this is the realest representation of a relationship.” there were some hate comments too, but they were stupid, so she ignored them.

she commented on the post as well, typing, “wait till i send you a 20 minute voice note on my lunch break” to which lando immediately responded with, “can’t wait, i got my airpods and my phone fully charged”

y/n laughed again, opening her text messaging app, and sending a quick “i love you this was perfect” to her boyfriend.

·̩̩̥͙＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊·̩̩̥͙

hi! i hope you guys enjoyed this! it came to me while i was driving to college! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @anamiad00msday

[muniimyg]

♡ 02: how you talk so sweet when you're doin' bad things

series m.list // taglist

note: ahh !!! thank u all for all the love with pt 1 :) drama begins in pt 3 !!! enj their good moments while it lasts (aka this pt) lmk what u think of their dynamic & if u have any predictions for whats to cum ;) HAHAH mwaaa

also !! happy birthday @jkslvsnella 🌟 thank u for always reading and loving my work 💛

warnings: mean!jk exposes oc (she's a virgin) ,, banter

//

the dim neon lights of the arcade cast a playful glow over the group as they gather by the bar. laughter and overlapping chatter fill the air, but jungkook’s eyes dart toward the entrance, scanning every face that walks in.

he blinks, trying to recenter himself.

why the fuck is he waiting for you?

“do you guys want to play a hoop shoot round?” yoongi suggests, leaning lazily against the counter. “loser buys the next round.”

the guys snicker but agree. without much discussion, they begin heading toward the games, but jungkook lingers behind, hesitating to speak.

there’s a weird feeling that stirs inside him.

he wants to stay and wait for you—wants everyone to stay and wait for you (though he knows how ridiculous that sounds).

his mouth opens, about to call them back, when—

“___!” jimin’s voice cuts through the noise. “over here! great timing!”

jungkook stiffens, tilting his head and clearing his throat as he notices you walking in.

you weave through the scattered crowd, waving casually to the group. your jacket hangs lazily off one shoulder, your hair is slightly windswept, and your lips are parted, like you’re already preparing some half-assed excuse.

“you’re late,” jungkook mutters, his tone sharp as you greet the others with warm hugs and him with a smug smile.

“no shit, mr. know-it-all,” you shoot back, rolling your eyes before awkwardly shifting closer to him for a quick, half-hearted hug.

he doesn’t even unfold his arms, patting your back stiffly—once, twice, three times.

“whatever.”

“didn’t know you took attendance. god, what don’t you do?”

“be late,” he quips, voice clipped.

you scoff, pulling away and swatting his chest. “nerdy of you, but whatever. we all have to accept our flaws one day. acknowledging them is the first step, or so they say.”

“it’s courtesy to show up on time,” he snaps, leaning casually against a nearby pinball machine. his eyes rake over you like he’s trying to solve a puzzle he’s losing patience for. “figured you’d get lost or trip over your own feet.”

“oh, bite me,” you retort, stepping closer and crossing your arms. “maybe find something better to do than waiting for me, hmm? something better to do than—”

before you can finish, a rowdy group stumbles toward the air hockey table behind you, shoving their way through the already cramped space.

jungkook moves without thinking, his hands firm on your waist as he pulls you aside and switches places with you.

“move,” he says bluntly, his grip barely lingering before he steps away again.

you freeze, your words dying in your throat. the touch—the casual way he did it, the way his hands fit so naturally—throws you off. your heart stutters for reasons you can’t quite name.

“what are you—”

“you’re in the way,” he interrupts, already back to leaning against the pinball machine like nothing happened.

“shit, jungkook,” you manage, trying to sound unaffected. “you can’t just move me like that. i almost thought you cared about me.”

“would you rather get knocked into the air hockey table?” he says flatly. “didn’t think so.”

you narrow your eyes at him, brushing past whatever just passed between you.

“fine,” you say with exaggerated calm, stepping away. “thank you… i guess.”

“what was that?”

“i said what i said.”

“say it again.”

“no.”

“don’t make me beg for something i deserve,” he groans, his tone a mix of mock irritation and teasing.

you roll your eyes. “sure… i’ll say it again—for the right price.”

“oh?” his brow lifts, and he’s already following after you. “how much are you charging these days?”

you turn back to glare at him, making a face as he smirks.

what you don’t see, what no one else notices, is how closely jungkook walks behind you as you move through the crowd. his hand hesitates near your waist again before he drops it, settling instead for angling his body, subtly shielding you from the chaos of the arcade.

it’s instinctive, unconscious—a quiet sort of care that he’d never admit to. but it’s just how jungkook is when you aren’t looking.

the air buzzes with the sounds of arcade games—buzzers, dings, and conversation on top of conversation. by now, the group has gravitated towards the hoop-shoot machines, their competitive banter echoing as they took turns missing shots.

when nam joon’s ball bounces dramatically off the rim, nearly taking out jimin, they all collapse into laughter.

"okay, okay!" taehyung claps his hands. "before anyone gets concussed, let's take a group photo!"

everyone gathers in front of the machines, huddling close together. you find yourself standing beside jungkook, his towering figure crowding your space as the guys shuffle to fit into the frame.

“move in,” jin calls out, holding up his phone. “no dead space.”

before you can step away, taehyung and yoongi each grab one of your shoulders, pushing you into jungkook’s side. his arm brushes yours, and when you glance up, he’s already rolling his eyes.

"stop squirming," he mutters.

"stop breathing down my neck," you bite back, earning a stifled laugh from yoongi.

“not my fault you’re short as fuck.”

“what about me do you not have a problem with, nerd?”

just as jungkook is about to tell you off, hobi hits his stomach and hisses at him. 

“shut the fuck up, smile, and—”

hobi bumps his hip with jungkook’s, causing him to lean closer to you. your head tilts and so does his. he clears his throat as he regains his balance. you continue to smile, pretending not to notice him looking at you. 

as the group poses, jin snaps several photos before pulling the phone down to review the shots. as everyone leans in to check the screen, a chorus of teasing begins.

"aw, look at that!" taehyung says, his grin spreading like wildfire as he leans closer to the phone screen. "this is a moment for the scrapbook. you two look so cute together."

the corner of jimin’s mouth twitches as he leans over taehyung’s shoulder, squinting at the photo before letting out a dramatic gasp.

“wait, is this… is this our it couple debuting right here? how did we miss this? it’s always those fucking enemies to lovers stories that hit… this could be it. oh my god!"

yoongi, not one to miss a beat, smirks from the side. 

“don't need to start. pretty sure the fanbase already exists.”

jin snorts. “don’t expose our late night conversations, bro. that’s our special bonding time.”

yoongi hisses at jin, smacking the back of his head for saying it so weird. 

"someone call dispatch," nam joon adds, cackling. "they're going viral as we speak."

"you’re joking,” you groan, face already warming as the guys snicker. “stop acting like it’s some movie poster. it’s just a group picture and—look at that! jungkook is looking at me like i’m stinky.”

“you are stinky.” jungkook scoffs.

you shove him playfully. “shut up.”

“oh no, it’s definitely poster-worthy,” jimin chimes in, nudging jungkook’s arm as he grins like a proud parent. "you can practically feel the sparks flying. jungkook’s over there pretending to hate it, but look at his hand. hovering like it’s meant to be."

"right?” hobi quips. “look at the way he’s leaning into her—”

jungkook glares. “hyung, you pushed me—”

“—bro’s living the rom-com life and doesn’t even know it.” hobi finishes. 

"yeah," yoongi deadpans, his lip curling in a mock-serious expression as he gestures vaguely at the photo. "what trope are you guys?”

"trope?" you snort, shooting a glance at Jungkook. “that’s going too far. i can’t be associated with him to that point. even angels like me have limits..”

"awh, don't ruin it," jimin teases. “you two look like you were made to stand next to each other. it’s fate, ___.”

"fate?" jungkook finally chimes in, his brow quirking as he scoffs. “more like bad luck. uglyass picture, by the way. jump-scare. trigger-warning. photoshop her out, please.”

his words are sharp, but the teasing rolls on, taehyung clapping jungkook on the back as he leans in closer. 

“don’t fight it, man. just admit it—you’re glowing.”

“you’re drunk.” jungkook grumbles, crossing his arms.

but even as he tries to brush it off, you catch the way his jaw ticks, the way his ears turn a faint shade of red. it almost makes you want to keep the teasing going.

almost.

you stretch over and take a proper look. 

your shoulders are pressed against jungkook’s, his hand awkwardly hovering near your back as if unsure where to put it. it’s ridiculous, but you decide to lean into the joke.

“awh,” you say, nudging him with a smirk. “wait. we do look cute together. look at you—nerdy boy finally getting close to the pretty girl. must be the highlight of your life.”

jungkook’s jaw tightens, and for a second, you think he might just let it slide. But then, his eyes narrow, and the smugness in his tone cuts deeper than you expect.

“yeah?” he says, his voice low and dripping with sarcasm. “because the pretty girl who’s still a virgin at twenty-four is such a catch, right? must be fun carrying the weight of no guy ever wanting that kind of pressure.”

the air stills.

“what?” jungkook asks, unsure of why everyone’s mood suddenly shifted. “guys, we don’t need to hold ___’s hand for this. her situationships aren’t real. no guy wants her and it’s because of all her fucking issues… so don’t tease me about shit like that. why would i want her? she’s too fucked up.”

your heart sinks as the laughter dies around you, the guys exchanging awkward glances. you force a tight smile, shrugging as if the jab didn’t just land in the worst way possible.

“ha… ha… yeah. sure. what he said,” you mutter, slipping out of the group without looking back.

you weave through the crowd, the din of the arcade becoming background noise to the rush of your thoughts. yoongi and nam joon sigh and excuse themselves to follow you. 

“fuck,” taehyung groans at jungkook. “for a nerd, you aren’t that smart."

jungkook throws his head back.

"okay, fine. i went too far."

taehyung forces a laugh and pats jungkook's shoulder. "i just... i don't why do you always shit the bed when it comes to ___. would it kill you consider her feelings once in a while?"

"she started it—"

"we started it," taehyung corrects him. "you fuck it up and then we have to fix it. why can't we start it and you figure it out?"

"what's there to figure out?"

taehyung sighs.

"seriously, what's there to figure out?" jungkook repeats, his voice rough with frustration, though there’s a slight tension in his jaw, as if he’s trying to keep himself in check.

taehyung runs a hand through his hair like he’s had this conversation a million times before. “you overthink everything, man. just… talk to her. it’s not that hard.”

jungkook scoffs. "i talk to her."

"yeah right," taehyung shoots back, now leaning in closer, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and exasperation. "she isn't gonna stick around forever... especially with all the shit you pull. is it that hard to show that you care for her? even just a little bit? you can even fake it for all we care... just... stop doing this. stop fucking it up."

jungkook opens his mouth to retort, but then he just...

doesn’t.

he falls silent, his gaze drifting over to where you’re standing, still laughing with yoongi, oblivious to the conversation happening behind her. his expression softens for a moment, but the tension doesn’t fully leave his shoulders.

“... i don’t know what to say to her,” jungkook mutters after a long pause, his voice quieter this time, almost vulnerable.

taehyung rolls his eyes, his voice taking on a teasing edge again.

"i'm not asking you to be perfect," taehyung says, his tone suddenly serious. "i just want you to try.”

jungkook's eyes narrow, but he doesn’t argue.

he knows taehyung’s right.

and the idea of trying—really trying—is both terrifying and somehow comforting. it’s just a matter of taking the first step.

"alright, alright. i get it." jungkook sighs, running a hand through his hair. "but if i mess it up again…"

“you will,” taehyung says with a grin, smacking him on the back. “and when you do, we’ll be here to clean up your mess.”

jungkook groans. "great. thanks. god, you guys are impossible."

taehyung just laughs, clapping him on the shoulder.

"that’s what friends are for."

“that one’s cute,” you say softly, pointing to a pastel plushie trapped inside the glass case. “but aren’t these things rigged?” 

yoongi glances at the plushie, then back at you, offering a faint smile. “hello kitty? can’t you just buy it in store?”

“it’s different.”

“how so?”

“winning it is better. means more.”

he laughs at you. ruffling your hair, he asks; “think you can win it?”

“probably not,” you admit with a dry laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “i suck at these things.”

unbeknownst to you, jungkook has followed, lingering a few steps behind. 

he watches quietly as you and yoongi chat, his arms folded across his chest, his usual cocky posture softened just enough to give off a more contemplative vibe. his gaze shifts to the hello kitty plushie you pointed out, taking in every detail—the soft pastel fabric, the little bow. 

his jaw tightens.

for a second, he looks almost�� distant. something flickers across his face—a mix of regret, maybe? or determination? it’s hard to tell, and he’s quick to push the thought aside. he can’t figure out why this damn hello kitty plushie is bothering him, but it does.

his hands shift in his pockets, fingers brushing against the cool edges of his arcade card. the sound of you and yoongi laughing lightly as you move on to a different machine pulls him out of his trance. 

he’s still standing there, staring at the claw machine, his mind reeling.

get it together, he tells himself. it's a stupid fucking hello kitty plushie.

but as the two of you move further away, jungkook finds his feet taking him toward the claw machine. his body moves on its own, a subtle, almost unconscious determination settling into his posture. he steps up to the machine, his heart thumping a little louder than usual.

with a quick flick of his wrist, he taps the arcade card to the screen, paying for a round. The soft beep of the machine filling the air is oddly satisfying. he glances at the claw, watches it shift slightly in the plastic case, and his mind sharpens. the whole world narrows down to this one moment—the claw, the plushie, and the stupid, ridiculous thought that maybe, just maybe, it would mean something.

he leans in a little closer to the machine, his focus narrowing as his fingers hover just over the controls. his chest tightens, just a little.

but there’s something about this—about trying—that feels...

new.

almost like he's playing for something that’s not just a game.

as the arcade starts to empty out, the night comes to an end.

the group begins to break into separate plans. some were heading out for more drinks, the usual late-night crowd craving more chaos, while others, like you and jungkook, were heading home. yoongi, standing beside you both, clapped jungkook on the shoulder and offered a casual “see you later,” his eyes lingering a moment too long on the tension that still hung between you two.

by now, jungkook had tried to apologize multiple times throughout the night. too many times to count—but each time, you’d brushed him off, walking away before he could finish his words.

it was the same pattern that had played out earlier, with him following close behind, trying to make up for whatever had gone wrong, but you’d always managed to slip out of his reach, words left unsaid and apologies unacknowledged.

as you stepped outside into the crisp night air, the glow of neon signs casting faint colors over the sidewalk, you took a deep breath. the cool wind ruffled your hair, and you tucked a stray strand behind your ear, eyes darting to the ground, avoiding jungkook’s gaze.

“my hinge crush of the week wants to meet up… so, bye!” jimin called out, adjusting his jacket as he moved toward the waiting uber.

the others offered their farewells, the air filled with laughs and promises to meet again soon.

jungkook is quiet, his eyes still on you, a knot of frustration building in his stomach.

as you’re about to turn away, he finally speaks. his voice is soft but firm.

“can i drive you home?”

you don’t even look at him, a slight shake of your head as you took a step back.

“i’m good. thanks for the offer.”

he takes a slow step forward, determination flashing in his eyes.

“shit, ___. come on, don’t be like that. it’s late. i’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“i’m fine,” you reassure him again, taking another step away. “they’re all gone. you can stop pretending you care—w-whoa—“

but as you turn to leave, the way you step gets caught on a loose patch of pavement, and before you can stop yourself, you stumble forward. your heart lurches in your chest as your body lurches toward the ground. 

but a strong and steady hand grips your waist, pulling you back against a solid chest.

“fuck, watch your step—” jungkook mutters, his voice lower now, a hint of something you couldn’t quite place in it. his grip tightened just enough to keep you from stumbling again.

you freeze for a second, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your side, his body warm against yours. the shock of his touch sent a strange shiver down your spine, but before you could react, his voice comes again, this time with a soft but unmistakable smirk.

“you’re all out of choices now.”

his words hang in the air as he takes your waist, gently but firmly guiding you toward his car. the playful edge in his voice made your stomach flip.

he doesn’t wait for a response.

he pulls you closer as you walk together. 

you want to pull away. 

you want to protest, but something about the way he holds you—steady, unwavering—makes it impossible to do anything but follow. 

so, you give in. 

you slide into the passenger seat of jungkook’s car, the leather cold against your legs as you settle in. the familiar scent of his cologne fills the small space, mixing with the faint scent of his car’s interior. before you can even close the door, jungkook is already moving to the driver’s side, slipping in next to you with practiced ease.

he turns the key, the engine rumbling to life, and immediately, he leans over to help you with your seatbelt. his hand brushes against yours, sending a strange flutter through your chest as his fingers fumble with the latch, and you try not to think too much about how gentle his touch is.

“thanks,” you mumble, turning your head toward the window, avoiding his gaze. 

the tension between you two still lingers, thick and heavy, but neither of you says anything, and soon the quiet hum of the engine fills the air instead.

the drive starts out like most others, the city lights blinking past the windows as jungkook takes a turn, his hands steady on the wheel. but then, as the cool night air seeps in through the slightly cracked window, you suddenly feel the chill of the evening air hit your skin, a shiver running down your spine.

you don’t even have to say anything. without a word, jungkook pulls off his jacket, glancing over at you. 

“you cold?” he asks, his voice low, almost concerned, but his eyes are still focused on the road.

before you can respond, his white jacket is draped over your shoulders like a blanket. 

it’s warm, soft—still holding the faint trace of his warmth—and for a moment, you find yourself frozen, not sure whether you should pull it off or accept the comfort. but it’s his gesture, the way he’s silently taking care of you, and the faint thought that maybe he’s not such an ass after all, that makes you just pull the jacket tighter around yourself, not saying anything.

the silence stretches on, with only the sound of his car’s engine and the soft tunes filling the air, low music that drowns out everything else.

it’s a little uncomfortable. 

a little too close. 

and yet, somehow, you don’t mind it.

minutes pass, and you can’t help but notice how the buildings are getting fewer, how the city streets are slipping behind, and suddenly, it hits you—he’s not turning into your neighborhood.

“wait,” you finally speak up, your voice sounding strangely foreign in the quiet car. “you just passed my place.”

he doesn’t even glance over at you, just keeps driving, his eyes focused on the road ahead. 

“i know.”

“then where are you going?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady, but a flicker of annoyance laces your tone. “jungkook, what the hell?”

“the only way for you to talk to me,” he says, his voice calm but with a touch of something else beneath it. 

something you can’t quite place.

“what?” you blink, confusion clouding your thoughts. “this is considered kidnapping.”

jungkook chuckles, the sound low and almost playful.

“only way for you to talk to me, like i said.”

you narrow your eyes at him, a mix of frustration and something else building inside you. 

“you’re seriously driving me around for what, exactly? to waste gas? to waste your time?”

“to wait for you.”

“oh my god,” you stress. “you and your fucking words.”

he smirks. “are they working?”

you gulp. 

“come on, ___. act like a bitch all night, i don’t care… but you’re gonna talk to me.”

you’re quiet for a moment, staring out the window, watching the city blur past. the absurdity of the situation sinks in, but it’s also hard to ignore the fact that you’re starting to feel a strange sense of... comfort in his presence.

“fine,” you finally say, voice quiet but sharp. “what do you want me to say, huh? you’ve been apologizing all night and i’ve been brushing you off. you said what you said. it’s done.”

jungkook shifts in his seat, and for the first time, you notice how his grip tightens on the wheel, how his jaw clenches ever so slightly. 

“keep talking.”

“i’m done.”

“no,” he insists. “i don’t care what you say… i just need you to talk to me, ___. that’s all.”

you don’t respond right away, not sure how to react to that admission, or if it’s even true. but the way his words hang in the air, the sincerity behind them, makes you want to crack open. 

makes you want to say something—anything—but the walls are still up.

“do you want me to fuck you or something?” 

your eyes widen and your throat goes dry. 

what the fuck did he just say?

“excuse me?” 

jungkook then pulls over, parking his car at some random street. his car lights and the lamppost nearby are the only light sources… but that doesn’t stop you from knowing how close he is to you. you don’t need much light—you feel it. you feel his presence. 

“is that why your panties are in a twist? you need dick or something? you’ve been acting weird since you overheard me fucking—”

“i don’t want to know her name.” 

jungkook blinks at you. 

“... so you are bothered by her.”

you pause. 

“n-no. no, i’m not. it’s just… weird. i don’t want to know because i don’t want to know.”

“okay,” jungkook nods. “can i know something then?”

you hesitate. 

“do you forgive me yet? i… i fucked up. i’m sorry, __. seriously. that wasn’t cool of me.” 

you take a breath in. 

“i forgive you,” you admit. “but be honest with me. did you mean it?”

jungkook shakes his head profusely. 

“no,” he confesses. “no, i didn’t mean it. i think it’s cute that you’re a virgin—”

“stop!” you cry, throwing your hands to cover your face. “shut up.”

he laughs, finding your panic a little cute. 

“what? you never get horny?” 

you drop your hands, completely dumbfounded at how this conversation has unfolded in a matter of minutes. 

“i do,” you tell him. 

“with what? with who?” 

you tilt your head and squint at him. 

“curious?”

“disgusted, actually.” he mocks you. 

you can’t help but let out a laugh.  

then, a silence falls upon you two. 

but… it’s an okay kind. the kind where you two aren’t mad at each other and everything is truly lighthearted. it’s a rare kind of atmosphere for you two share. 

the tension that had once been suffocating now feels more like a slow burn, simmering quietly in the space between you. it’s strange, this shift. but it’s also... comforting.

in a way, it’s like stepping onto solid ground after floating in the middle of an ocean for too long.

you glance over at jungkook, his profile soft in the dim light from the streetlamps. his fingers are gripping the steering wheel lightly, his knuckles slightly pale, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded too. he’s not saying anything, but his presence is loud. in some ways, that’s all you need. 

that he’s here. 

that you’re both here, together, after all the back and forth, all the words exchanged, the small cracks and the moments of silence.

the question comes out before you can stop it, and you almost want to take it back the second it leaves your mouth. 

but you’re already committed. 

"think i could do it?" you say, voice softer than you intended, more vulnerable than you meant.

jungkook shifts in his seat slightly, his eyes flicking toward you.

“do what?"

"get you to want me?"

for a split second, you think you’ve gone too far. 

jungkook is quiet for a long time, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. it’s like he’s weighing the question, figuring out if you mean it. if it’s just some fleeting thought, or if you’re really standing here, raw and honest, in the middle of it all.

and then he speaks, his voice low but steady, a hint of something in it that you can’t quite place.

“why would you want that?”

the question catches you off guard, and for a moment, you’re unsure of how to respond. but then you think about it, really think about it. 

"i don’t know."

the vulnerability is almost too much, too raw. 

it feels like every inch of you is laid bare, exposed in a way you weren’t sure you could handle. you stare at your hands, anything to avoid the intensity of his gaze, but it’s there, lingering in the quiet air between you. it fills the space, like you can feel every word left unsaid pressing against your chest.

jungkook doesn’t say anything right away, the silence stretching long enough that you start to wonder if maybe you said the wrong thing. maybe you pushed too far, too fast.

but then, he speaks.

"wanna find out?"

his voice is low, almost teasing, but there's something else there too—something that makes your heart skip a beat. 

you glance up at him, your eyes meeting his again, and you realize in that moment that this is where it all comes together. the question, the hesitation, the rawness of it all. 

he’s not pulling away, not like you expected.

he’s waiting…

for you.

[reidsglasscs]

TALK NERDY TO ME

✸ pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

✸ synopsis: you love to just stare at spencer as he info dumps

✸ warnings: none!

✸ a/n: this isn’t proof read at all by AYYYY look at me writing again on here 🙌 spencer reid is the new loml btw

You loved to listen to Spencer talk. And when I say love, I mean love.

He could ramble on about anything from the weather to the gravitational propulsion of the moon in comparison to the rest of the celestial bodies in our milkyway, and he could do any of it happily and until someone inevitably told him to just shut up.

That someone was never you though, and it never would be.

You didn’t quite know what it was, but there was just something about the way he spoke that was entrancing. His voice, his focus, the way he talked with his hands, and how his volume would gradually increase as he got more and more excited and remembered more details about what it was he was explaining.

If he moved around, your head moved with him, swiveling about to keep up, awe-struck eyes stuck on him the entire time.

Spencer could infodump about the drying times of different paint brands and you’d hand onto every last word he said, just because he was the one saying it.

It was safe to say that the team had gotten sick and tired of the two of you quickly.

Nobody else wanted to hear Spencer rattle on about useless, unrelated topics, and they certainly didn’t want to sit there and watch as you just prolonged the discussion by encouraging him to continue further just because you liked his voice.

And yet, it happens nearly every single jet ride without fail.

“I mean, really, it’s not all that uncommon for killers to write letters to their victims before killing them. In most cases, it’s seen as either a form of warning or of love. That’s why it never raises any red flags in most cases, because the victim is simply led to believe that they have a secret admirer of sorts. Oh! And a study done in the early 80s by Alexander Wilkins found that in over seventy percent of those cases, the unsub actually was in love with his victim or victims.”

Here Spencer was yammering on about false love-induced psychosis, and you were looking at him like he were professing his own undying love for you.

A hand propped up on the armrest of your chair held your chin, your big doe eyes watching him close and listening even closer.

You didn’t even know yet if it retained to the case whatsoever, it was just a possibility that Emily happened to throw out there in the initial case overview, and now you were all listening to the history of psycho killer lovers.

Spencer caught a glimpse of your wonder-filled gaze and smiled, continuing on with his explanation with a newfound encouragement.

“There’s no shot you’re actually interested in this,” Morgan grumbles to your left.

You swat a hand at him in a weak attempt to shush him, eyes still trained on Spencer.

He talked and talked for about ten more minutes before concluding the topic and being cut off by Hotch before he could cross into another one.

Taking the hint, he reclaimed his seat beside you, all rambled out for the moment.

When he does, you weave your hand through his, your hands resting together in his lap.

“I thought it was interesting, Spence,” You told him as a little boost of reassurance.

“You say that every time,” he smiled.

“And I mean it every time,” you countered with a smile of your own.

“Oh yeah?” He rose a brow. “Can you tell me a single thing I just said or were you just staring and not listening?”

After considering it for a moment you realized that no, you couldn’t tell him a single thing he’d said, having been too distracted with your enraptured staring to actually pay attention.

So you just smiled wider at him, leaning a little closer as you both dissolve into a fit of childish giggles.