#you know what? loosely based on real events

[ghost-proofbaby]

Can I request Back to December with Eddie?! and if you could make it kind of angsty 🫣🥹

back to december (eddie's version)

warnings: angsty. very, very angsty. hurt/no comfort.

wc: 2.6k+

a/n: fuck it we ball. i have nothing to say about this one. if it's trash, that's between me and god.

Love was never something that came easily to Eddie. 

Maybe it was due to his upbringing, maybe he was another victim of circumstance, but love and him had always had a complicated relationship. It had left him scorned usually, a long line of failed situationships that trail behind him like ghosts of his pasts. Times he let bury themselves, relationships he’d get involved in knowing he’d never achieve the kind of love he’d seen in books and movies. Other people would talk about their small town romances, and he would only think of all the one night stands he’d subjected himself in which tore off a piece of himself every time he’d depart. He was the type of person to be used, to be drained of what fun the other participant could suck him dry of and then discarded for the next one. He wasn’t relationship material – he wasn’t love material.

Until you. And how unexpected you had been. 

You, who was suddenly sitting in front of him in a coffee shop, hunched over your laptop and no doubt working on finishing up classwork for that degree you’d always talked about getting with him. You, who had been the exact opposite of someone Eddie would have ever anticipated falling for. You, who had never looked at him as something to use and to discard, but to have and to hold. You, the one (and possibly only) exception to everything he thought he knew. 

You’re just as stunning as you had been on late summer afternoons in the passenger seat of his van. Same messy hair, same glowing eyes, same jestering lilt to your lips that seemed ever present even in the most serious of situations. Even with brows furrowed and new stress lines in your forehead, a slight pucker of your lips at whatever was on the screen in front of you and accentuated eyebags that hadn’t been there in your past life but now exist in the here and now, most likely a symptom of the long hours you’d always been willing to put in for the things you wanted – you still took his breath away, even now. 

The first time you’d ever spoken to Eddie, he had considered it a cruel joke. You were beautiful, someone who entered the room and everyone just knew you were the smartest person there. Teachers loved you, others at the very least tolerated you if not admired you. It prodded at every insecurity he’d already harbored. All his fears of not being good enough, of being judged for his repeating years, of forever being doomed to be worn as a mark of shame rather than a badge of pride had been put in front of him with a pretty bow on top. You were something to show off. You were something good. But those wide eyes that had slowly pulled him in, had broken down all his defenses. He’d never stood a chance.

“Eddie?” 

It’s not your voice, but that of the barista sitting down his order on the pickup counter. But his name still tears you from your concentration, and when you pale at the sight of him, he doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he had been staring. 

They have to call out his name a second time before he moves to grab the coffee, turning his back on you just as he had all those ages ago. His fight or flight kicks in; he doesn’t know whether it would be better to leave it as it is and hurry out of this coffeeshop with his tail between his legs, or if for once in his life, it was worth leaning into the discomfort. Instead of running from that crackling in his chest and all the hurt flooding him the same as that final time he’d seen you, maybe he should take a deep breath and dive right in. 

Would you even recognize him as he recognized you? Would your soul see his as if for the first time all over again, and sadly smile with a whisper of, oh. There you are, again?

Or would you pretend to be strangers again? Would you pretend like all the history had faded to smoke and he was just some guy you’d bumped into at a cafe? Would you give him the honor of wiping his slate clean and just starting over, as if he’d never hurt you? 

He had been an idiot when it came to you. A loser who had been handed a gift on a silver platter, and instead of cherishing it until the end of time, he’d ruined it. Ruined you. 

The decision is made long before his palm wraps around the overly warm cup, and his feet carry him to your table before doubt would wrap its chords around his throat.

His chest flutters just like it had in the autumn when he’d first realized that how he felt for you was different. As the leaves of Hawkins had changed color, so had his feelings, turning their own brilliant and vibrant shades between him draping his leather jacket across your shoulders and the gentle kisses you’d wake him with before the sun even rose. Quiet and private moments between just the two of you that Hawkins had never bore witness to. Hazy afternoons spent under the guise of tutoring him in subjects like math and science bled into dinner dates at Benny’s, sharing milkshakes and him teaching you how to tie a cherry stem with your tongue.

He had loved you. He still loves you. And he’d been a fool, because it had never occurred to him that during those Autumnal months, more than just the leaves or just him had been falling. 

Even the warmth of all your love that he had been blind to wasn’t enough to stave off the chill that had crept in by that December. Winter was cruel. You’d both learned that the hard way. One bad argument, one stormy night, and it had all fallen apart. He’d lost you — he’d lost that ray of sunshine in his life, the one thing that should have kept him warm through icey December nights. All over something that had started off over a disagreement of future plans and unraveled into an argument over differences.

His voice cracks as he stands before you, eyes wide as he says, “Hey.”

When you look back up at him this way, it’s hard to believe that he never saw it. That love, swirling with endless depth. That quiet but firm matter of fact that you loved him, and a piece of you if not all of you always would, even after he’d shattered your heart on the ground carelessly. 

“Hi,” your voice is meek. Even after nearly a year, all it took was him being here, and you felt the person you’d worked so hard to build from scratch fall right apart, exposing all your old wounds and still-sensitive nerves. Before Eddie, you’d always seemed so sure of yourself.

He should walk away. He should leave you be. He should just live with what he’d done, the damage he’d inflicted, and let you continue to heal.

He can’t. “Is this seat taken?” 

You hesitate as you stare at the chair that his hand lands on the back of, and he doesn’t blame you. He isn’t sure he’d let him take that seat either. 

“No,” you answer honestly, clearly against your better judgment, “It’s��� open.” 

There were a million other seats he could have taken. A plethora of empty tables he could have chosen over your currently occupied one. Hell, he could have even just walked out of there and let your soul rest. But for the life of him, he couldn’t. Because you’re here, and you’re only staring at him rather than cursing him with every foul name under the sun like he deserves, and all of the rotten parts inside of him are clawing out for your kindness. Like a child desperate for comfort, like a wounded animal taking shelter. 

He takes that seat wordlessly, and watches you slowly shift your laptop out from in between you two. 

You clear your throat first, offering that first olive branch, “How’ve you been?” 

He almost wants to wave your question off. He’s been giving a rare opportunity and almost can’t stomach the thought of wasting it on small talk.

“Good,” he forces the answer out, “We, uh- we got picked up as openers for a tour this summer.” 

We as in the band. The thing he’d put above you. He just might regret that decision for the rest of his days.

You’d had a college plan. He’d had a drop out plan. But you had still tried to fight tooth and nail for him; you'd given up a fraction of your reputation for him, a side effect of being associated with the freak, and you hadn’t even blinked an eye. It had been the bare minimum, at least in your eyes, but to him it had been a sign that he was nothing but poison for you. It went further than just the fact that you had your shit together and he didn’t. Once the first weak spot had his attention, all the fragile delicacies that your relationship hung on by did. He stopped ‘studying’ with you at Benny’s, choosing Hellfire Club over you. He always forgot to congratulate you on your accomplishments, whereas you never missed a beat in recognizing his. It was always him taking, taking, taking. He had watched you give, endlessly, over and over, and convinced himself that one day, he’d bleed you dry. He convinced yourself it was better to break your heart than to drain you for all that you were worth. He’d never considered your perspective of it all.

“That’s amazing,” you should be scathing, hurt and angry to have to hear about how the very thing he’d broken your heart over was working out for him. But you aren’t, and you both know you never could be; you were happy for him and still cheering him on, even after all the damage done between you two, “What’s the band you’re opening for?”

Stiff, cool small talk continues. Talk of this band that had so graciously taken Corroded Coffin under their wing. Discussions of the weather. Comments on the college you’d been accepted into, and confirmation you had been working on class work when he’d found you. You had a full ride. He tries to remember all the times you’d discussed your specific accomplishments that would award that, if you’d ever bragged about your GPA to him or any of the extracurricular activities you’d taken part in for a shiny bit on your applications. But he can’t recall them; maybe he had just gotten too jealous at the time, or maybe you’d been aware of the hurt it would have caused him and avoided the bragging rights. (It was the latter. God, he knows it’s the latter, but it hurts to admit it). 

It’s painful. So, so utterly and terribly uncomfortable. He once knew everything about you. The mundane things like your favorite song to belt out with the windows down, and the remarkable things like how it felt to feel your heartbeat pressed to his while his bedroom window was open on frigid November nights. He’ll never know that feeling again. He’ll never feel your breath sync with his, and he’ll never get the chance to not take for granted that serenity you’d always offered with open palms in his direction.

When the conversation dwindles and the coffee goes lukewarm, he knows it has to end. He’d replayed this scenario a million times — rehearsed his apologies and tormented himself with endings where you took him back. You’d forget the past and drop your guard as you welcomed him back into your arms. The night he should have vocalized his fears of dragging you down with him but instead claimed you were holding him back would be erased. His pride would become a caged animal who had spent enough time roaming free and wreaking havoc on the best things in his life. Everything would go back to the way it was. Everything would be okay again. In his mind, that’s how this should have gone.

It didn’t. But he could still offer at least one piece of his dress rehearsals to you, leave at least one bandage behind for the trouble he’s caused.

“I’m sorry, you know,” he stumbles out, and it’s not nearly as smooth as all the words he’d repeated to the mirror, “I’m sorry for the way things ended.” 

You’d loved him. Really, really loved him. And he’d taken it for granted, he had used it and discarded it for all it had been worth. 

He’d always known you were smart. You wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, even if that love still burrowed in the channel of your heart frozen in time, forever cursed to a loop of the December night he’d chosen to chew you up and spit you back out.

“Don’t be,” you smile sadly, and he sees the glimpse of the you that still loves him, that still wants the best for him. The piece of you that will always treat him better than he deserves, “We got everything we wanted, right? It all worked out in the end.” 

“Right.” 

His tongue is dry, almost swollen, heavy in his throat. 

He doesn’t know how to tell you that no, he didn’t get everything he wanted. None of it worked out in the end. Because at the end of the day, he finds that the only thing he really wants is you, and he will never have you again. You had treated him so well, had been so damn good to and for him, and he hadn’t known what to do with himself. Some foolish part of him still believes that with the knowledge he finally holds now, he could treat you better — treat you right. But he can’t. He’ll never even get the chance. He’ll never even deserve the chance.

An exchange of goodbyes. A final glance. An acceptance that even if he locked away his pride now, it had already dug its claws into you, and the scars would always remain. 

He leaves more unspoken words in that coffee shop, at that table with you and your cold latte, than he can count. You both promise to reach out to each other more often, but you both know it won’t happen.

He doesn’t sleep that night. He never does these days. 

Repentance churns his chest, a familiar friend, and demands to be felt until he can see the sun begin to rise through the curtains of his hotel room. He swears he feels the ghost of gentle lips kissing his cheeks, whispering to come to bed, but it might just be the wind. 

There may only be a small piece of you frozen to that night and all your time together, and you may still have a possibility of thawing from the cold that he left you out in, but there is no such luxury for Eddie. He’ll always be there. Repeating words he doesn’t mean, watching tears well in your eyes as he destroys everything he’d ever wished for, setting aflame the one thing he could have done right in his life.

He writes another song about it, ignores the tear stains on the paper and adds it to the collection of all the ones that came before it. 

Across the city, your pillow matches the sheet of lyrics. Tears shed that Eddie would never be able to recognize through his own smoke and ash.

Love was never something that came easily to Eddie. Regret, on the other hand, always would — always, for as long as you exist somewhere out there, frozen in December. 

“And I think about summer, all the beautiful times when I watched you laughing from the passenger side – and realized I loved you in the fall.”

[cherry-leclerc]

we never talk about it ☆ op81

genre: humor, angst, yearning, massive crushes, and lots and lots of miscommunication, assistant!reader

word count: 11k

It's unwise—longing for someone like Oscar. While he's the epitome of someone anyone can easily fall in love with, you're the epitome of a devoted girl who will fall in love with him. You might not even care too much about all the heartbreak you endure along the way.

inspired by this !

cherry here!... based on real events.

Do you remember the day we first met?

The wind doesn’t do its job in blocking him out, the way you prayed and wished it would. You’re still able to catch the crack in his voice—a distant reminder of the way it once made you giggle. Even his nose is beet red, matching the Christmas lights. But apart from all that, you still hear him. You still see him. 

You always have.

“A little bit. Yeah.”

He flinches, then tries to play it off with a soft smile. Like he doesn’t want you to uncover the slight hurt he feels. But he can’t read your mind. He never could. And that was the problem.

Oscar nods, feigning indifference. “I do. Remember it all, I mean.  Think back to it quite often."

-

It’s utterly useless to try and ignore him, really.

His hair is too fluffy, his eyes are too bright, and his accent is making you want to flaunt the way some loony character would with a hand over their heart. It was honestly a tad bit demeaning.

But you can't help it. You admire the way his brown locks fall in a lousy manner when he towers down to sign the contract. You blush when his eyes get that twinkle in them. And you swoon over almost anything he says with a shy smile.

“You’re drooling.”

Mortified, you briskly run the back of your hand against your mouth before sending a harsh glare. Lando snickers. “Would you please stop?”

His jaw drops, theatrically. “You’re not actually into him—are you?”

He says it with a trace of humor, but also shock, and you can't help but have your mouth run dry. A loose grin starts to expand across his lips as you hurriedly shake your head. “O-of course not. Are you crazy?”

But if anything, you feel crazy. You must be, right? With every passing second of your heart beating faster and faster against your chest simply just by looking at the young Australian, you’re sure you fall straight into the category like some love fool.

Lando squints his eyes. “I don’t know.” He leans in straight into your face, nearly hissing. “Am I?”

“Am I interrupting?” 

Flinching hard, you turn quickly to face Anastasia. You’d initially met the black haired girl back in 2019. As you started off as the Brits personal assistant, she took over as Carlos’ and later also Daniel’s. Over the course of time, you two came to be as close as sisters. 

“No! Not at all,” you squeak, nervously before pushing the McLaren driver away and patting towards the open chair next to you. She giggles, rolling her eyes and adjusting herself. “How was the flight over?”

A shrug. “As good as it can get. Sat next to a silver fox, so I guess that must count for something, no?” Lando shudders. She leans in closer, plopping her head against your shoulder. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Only, that’s not true. She missed the way he laughed awkwardly when the doors wouldn’t slide open and let him into the headquarters. She missed the way he rolled his R’s a little too hard when saying ‘sorry’. She missed the way he grabbed the pen with a certain glow on his face, like he almost couldn’t believe any of this was happening. Lazy fingers pat her head gently once before sighing. “He seems nice.”

“How do you know?”

You know because of the way he talks to everyone. Like he cares about what they have to say. Whether it’s about how great his career is going to be here in McLaren or if they introduce their kids to him via FaceTime. He always wore the same smile, talked in the same warm tone. So, could your guess be far off? Yes. It could be completely far off. But you would bet money that it wasn’t. 

“Just a wild hypothesis.”

Her laugh isn’t too loud, not ridiculously so, at least, but the fact that it echoes is what makes it appear as such. Anastasia is quick to slap her hand over her mouth, the Brit turns fast to face her with panic evident in his eyes, and you simply blink with a shade of red slowly creeping towards your cheekbones. 

Zak grins. “You three.”

“Oh, we’re out,” Lando mumbles in monotone, already grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the exit. You follow numbly, like you don’t have any strength left in your body. 

“You’re leaving me?” Anastasia hisses.

“She’s my assistant,” he says like a matter-of-fact. “Where I go, she goes.”

“Oh, you Judas—”

“All of you,” Zak clarifies, narrowing his eyes over to you and the Brit. You gulp.

With a soft curse, Anastasia stands up, tall and firm, and makes her way over with all the confidence in the world. You frown, craving to be the same way, even just a small percentage. Instead, you have to be forced by the McLaren driver. 

With every step, your head just spins faster because now, he’s more than real. You can smell his cologne. You can count all the moles that cover his face if you really wanted to. You can spot how his hair is still a bit wet, indicating an early shower. 

He’s just becoming— too real. 

“Lando, buddy, meet your new teammate!”

“Nice to meet you,” the blue eyed boy declares with a loopy grin, letting go of your hand in order to shake his. 

“Likewise.”

Zak claps once. “Oh! And meet your personal assistant, Anastasia.”

“Here for anything you might need,” she cheers with a bright smile.

“Fantastic.”

A wave of silence overlaps your four before Lando clears his throat. “And even though you might not be working with her one-on-one, this is my Anastasia.” A snicker. “My assistant, if you will.”

“Nice to meet you—”

“Nice to meet you—”

You both freeze, hands intertwined for a second longer before abruptly letting go. He lets out a dry laugh while you do the same. The way your skin tingles makes you blush. 

“This is fun and all, but we actually have somewhere to be,” the Brit claims with a suspicious look slashed across his usual laid back expression. You nod. “But we’ll see each other soon, man. Can’t wait to race together!”

In a flash, you two are out the door, leaving a dumbfounded Oscar blinking slowly.

-

“He fucks with you.”

“Excuse me?”

Another bench press. “As in, he likes you. He’s into you.”

You don’t dare ask who he is because you already know who the Brit’s referring to and that would only inflate your ego. Snapping your fingers, you narrow your eyes. “Focus. Two more sets left to go.” He groans, flipping you off.

It would be a lie to say that this didn’t make your self-esteem skyrocket. Could he be right? Could someone like Oscar ever lay eyes on you? Somewhere in your dreams, you’d like to say yes. Yes. That is a possibility. But the longer you think about it, the more unrealistic it gets.

You don’t have what others do. And that itself is enough to pop the bubble. 

-

The start of the season is always tough. 

“He’s extremely nervous.”

For some more than others.

You frown. “Really? But he’s usually so…relaxed.”

Anastasia shrugs, hair falling over her shoulder as she continues typing. “I mean, I tried talking to him but with everything I said, he’d just reply—'that's nice’. It was sarcastic, if anything. I would have laughed if I didn’t feel for him. Poor boy.” Her fingers freeze mid-air. “Wait—do you think you could talk to him?”

“I’m not sure that’s a great idea—”

“Come on! Maybe it’ll help him ease his nerves!”

“Ana—”

“Please.”

You huff. “Okay. Fine. Yeah. I’ll see what I can do.”

As soon as you knock, you almost want to turn away. Maybe it was all an exaggeration. Plus, it’s not like he’s going to die from having butterflies in his stomach. Yeah, surely he’ll be fine and he doesn’t really even need you to—

“Come in.”

He wasn't expecting you, that much you can tell by the way his brows go up. But he’s quick to erase the confusion, settling with a fond expression. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you squeak before cringing at the sound. He chuckles, returning to his warm-up exercises. “How are you feeling?”

Another chuckle, this time amused. “Anastasia sent you, didn’t she?”

“What?” A beat. “No.”

He hums. “Tsk. I’m a bit nervous, that's all.”

You lick your lips, kicking your foot up against the doorframe. What could you possibly say that she hasn’t already? If she couldn’t ease him, then how can you? The thought of messing up and making it worse makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re going to do g—”

“Great?” He sighs, blowing his cheeks. “That’s exactly what she said.”

“And what’s wrong with it? She’s only trying to help.”

“No. I know she is, but…” He looks down onto his lap, pausing all movements. “Look, I appreciate you both. What you’re trying to do for me, but I can’t stand hearing what others think I want to hear.”

“It doesn’t do it for you?”

His eyes grow slightly wide with the way you go about and ask. He’s never seen you be anything other than sweet and reserved. But this—right now—is stern and very coach-like. Something and someone you aren’t. Not even close.

“It doesn’t,” he admits, finally looking away. “Never liked it. Always sounds too forced.”

You nod, crossing your arms. “Fine. I can tell you the truth. I can be truthful.” He perks. “Oscar, you’re a terrific driver.” He groans, covering his face with his hands. “But just because you’re great doesn’t mean you’ll be great all the time.” The Australian frowns, uncovering and looking up at you with attentive eyes. “You’re going to mess up. You’re going to be second, or third, or sometimes even twentieth, but that doesn’t matter, you know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you signed that contract, so you sort of have to suck it up, either way.” He lets out a loud laugh. Very unlike him. A weak smile threatens to fall as you try your best to push it back. “There’s going to be bad races, but there’s also going to be very good races. It all depends on you and how hard you work. Sometimes you’ll have a good car, a good strat, and others you’ll have a shitbox and a bad strat. That’s just the way this sport works, okay?”

Oscar blinks slowly, as if trying to decipher who you are, and that itself makes you dizzy. “I-I-I don’t care if you’re nervous, I don’t care if you’re sure—all we care is that you drive that car, and that you try your best no matter what. Can you do that?”

It’s foreign. The feeling in his chest. He’s not used to hearing any of this. As of recently, everyones been texting him to say how great he’s going to be. How far he’ll go. And while he was grateful for having unconditional support, he also dreaded hearing it sometimes because he doesn’t even want to picture letting any of  them down. He’ll act like he’s fine, he’ll act like he doesn’t care—but none of that would be true.

The brunette tilts his head to the side, slightly squinting. “I can. I can always try my best. Even if I fall short.”

“Good.” A beat. “We all believe in you. No matter what, okay?”

A timid smile. “I know…”

He ends up having to retire the car by lap fifteen, but the most astonishing part is that he’s not even upset. He tried his best. He listened to every single advice his engineer would alert him with. He practiced long hours in the stimulator.

This is just the way things go sometimes. Just like you said.

-

“I’m bored. Can I get a ten minute break or something?” Lando grimaces, rolling his wrist like it's the worst pain in the world. 

You hum, fixing the signed hats back into the box. With eyes screwed, you shrug. “Fine. But only ten! I’m serious. We need to have this done by one.”

“Yes! Ten—got it.”

He doesn’t come back in ten. For the matter, he actually goes missing. 

You narrow your eyes towards the clock, watching as it clicks like some mockery. You’re going to strangle him. You vow at that very moment that you’ll strangle the Brit as soon as you lay hands on him. With one final huff of desperation, you stand up, rubbing your eyes. People frolic through the paddock—you’re sure you even catch a glimpse of Lewis being papped—but that’s not what catches all of your attention. 

Instead, you find yourself leaning against the rail, squinting down to where the man of the hour sits, microphones huddled all around him like some interrogation. Anastasia smiles politely, back straight, and voice-recorder in hand. 

It’s faint—you almost can’t hear a thing—but it’s just enough. 

How does it feel to be back home? Enjoying it, no?

Oscar hums, straight brows slightly furrowed due to the bright sun, but just one adjustment of his hat makes that all go away. “Feels good. I’m able to sleep in my own bed, so that’s pretty cool. And yes. It may be a bit biased, but I am enjoying my time here more than the last two races.” Everyone chuckles. 

Can we talk about your expectations for this weekend? 

You can see him pause, and from where you’re standing, the way his fingers drum against his chair. “Well, I, uh…I hope for a good car.” The joke is supposed to be there, but you can tell everyone was expecting more with the way they murmur to one another. You wince.

Will raises the microphone up to his lips, along with his hand in order to catch the brunette’s attention. “I’m sure there’s been lots of people reaching out to you since this is your first home race, but has there been someone’s advice that has stuck like no other?”

Oscar smiles gently. “There has been, actually.”

You freeze, gripping the steel bar with anticipation. Your knuckles nearly feel like they’re about to snap, and you feel like you’re probably leaning a bit too far over the edge to hear it all, but you don’t even care. Will chuckles. “If it’s not too much to ask, would you mind sharing with us all? I’m sure it’ll help a lot of youngsters watching.”

Anastasia slides the recorder closer. Oscar visibly swallows. “I’m not sure I can. I never asked her for permission to talk about it. And quite frankly, I’d like to keep it between us.”

Will perks up. “Her?”

The black-haired girl is quick to whisper into his ear, turning the opposite way so no one can even attempt to read her lips. He nods, eyes trained forward like some guard. “Any more questions?” But everyone’s intrigued at this point, so all the questions that follow remain the same. Something that makes Anastasia panic and Oscar regret his choice of words. 

“Can we get a name?” some blurts out, nearly seeming desperate to get the inside scoop.

Only, his face remains still, jaw slacked. “No.”

Will raises his hand. “Very well, we don’t have any right to know, but are you willing to share a bit about what she said?”

And it’s almost as if the Australian can foresee that the only way to get out of this situation is by giving them what they want. Even if it’s a stupid little crumb. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “She told me to try my best. That’s all I can really do.”

The mix of photographers and journalists deflate. “I-I’m sorry,” Lawrence Barretto slides in with a light tone and an ever lighter smile. “Don’t mean to lessen its meaning, but isn’t that a common thing to say? To hear?” An awkward laugh. “I mean, I just thought it’d be something a bit more…deep. Inspiring, perhaps.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks and you’re grateful to whatever God may exist that you’re not down there. On the other hand, Oscar is a bit bothered by the innocent comment, but then realizes he doesn't have to be. They weren’t there. They don’t know just how much more you said. How upfront you were with him without sounding condescending. Something most people did without even realizing. 

The brown eyed boy spares a smile. “Like I said—some things I’d like to keep between her and I. And even if it was just that, it’s the way she said it.” A beat. “It’s quite a lavish thing to have. A sincere person to talk to, I mean.”

Will tilts his head suspiciously. “It appears she might be someone special to you, yes?”

The Australian freezes at the unwanted interpretation. Suddenly, the atmosphere is far too crowded. He lets out a forced chuckle, rolling his neck before messaging it gently. “Well, yes. I’d agree.” 

A mix of giddiness and shock rushes through your veins as you refrain yourself from jumping up and down with excitement. 

“You’d be lucky if you had her as a friend too.”

-

“Is everything okay?”

Biting down on the churro he had gifted you as an apology for not getting back on time, you growl. “Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Lando raises a thick brow. “Dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re moping.”

Your jaw goes slack, immediately turning to face him. “I am not moping.”

The sound he lets out indicates he doesn’t quite believe you, but is choosing to let it go. Also, he doesn’t want to see your patience run out, too scared of what you might do. The curly haired driver plops down onto his bed that stands in his motorhome, closing his eyes. You nearly envy the indifference in him. The lack of worry. 

“I can hear your teeth clenching. Gross.”

A grunt. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Need anything?”

“Only a nap. It’s a good thing you’ll be gone.” He turns over to his side, bringing your jacket over his face to block out any light. You bite the air, swinging silently for a minute or two before exiting the cramped room. 

The sun hurts, you remember thinking, but the upcoming migraine you’re getting is even worse. You should be used to this by now, given you’ve suffered from them since elementary, but based on the way you zig zag without meaning to is enough proof to know that you’re not. Everyone's voices are suddenly muffled, even the sound of engines roaring is as soft as a feather. You wince, massaging your temples as if that might help. 

Woah, are you feeling alright? 

“I’m fine,” you respond meekly, to who even knows. You wave them off rudely. “I’ll be fine. Just. Leave me alone.” 

Anastasia frowns, all while fanning your face. “No. You need to lay down.” She nudges the Australian, who up until now, you had no clue he had his arm clung around your waist. If you weren’t too busy feeling like shit, you’d definitely be making a fool out of yourself. Her green eyes fill up with worry. “I’m gonna go look for a paramedic.”

“You’re doing too much,” you slur, body letting loose and making the brunette shriek as he grips you harder, trying to keep you upright. 

A deadpan expression. “Oscar, take her back to your motorhome and have her lay down.”

He nods, hesitantly. “Y-yeah, okay. Okay.” Once she runs off like a headless chicken, you let out a dramatic gag. Sharp brows knit together with horror. “Do I smell bad?”

A giggle. “No. As a matter of fact, you smell rich.”

With his arm still wrapped around you securely, and warm eyes flickering from to you back to see where he’s heading, he grins, eyes crinkling. “Rich? That just so happens to have a scent?”

You purse your lips, wincing at the fact that your peripheral vision has gone completely dark. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I’m a terrific liar and I’m only stroking your ego for my benefit.”

Another chuckle. “Benefit? What benefit may that be?”

Tsk. “How else am I gonna get you to take me to bed?”

The Australian instantly chokes hard on a string of his own saliva, causing you to flinch at the loud sound. Loud to you, at least. He apologizes, but not before taking a glance down, like it’s the first time meeting you. 

As soon as you lay down on the miniature mattress, you release a groan. Even just having your eyes closed makes you dizzy. You let out a loud groan, kicking your feet against the cushion in desperation.

“That bad?”

“That annoying.”

And even though you can’t see him, he nods, internally freaking out, trying to think of ways to help. “Does this happen to you often?”

“Yes.”

He nods, sheepishly. “W-what do you normally do? You know? To help?”

Tossing over to lay on your side, you pinch your eyes, grinding your molars. For a minute, you sort of thought your teeth might crack. Everything about this situation was becoming unbearable. “My mom, she, um…she’d normally braid my hair. It helped sometimes. Others it didn’t.�� Messy hair dangles over your face as you let you out a loud exhale, as if you were in the middle of releasing some demon. “I moved too much, she said.”

Oscar smiles, coming across like a faint memory locked in the back of your mind. “I-I-I can try…” Loopy eyes flicker up to face him, and he’s quick to scrunch his nose. The sight alone makes you breathe easier, though he doesn’t know that. Of course he doesn’t. “Only if you want me to…”

“You know how?”

“Sort of? When I was younger, I used to sit across from my sisters at the breakfast table. I was bound to learn a thing or two.”

The subtle proud smile makes your heart beat flutter, smitten at the insight to his childhood. You wish you knew more. Like what was his favorite show? Did he have any imaginary friends, just like you did? Or maybe his favorite superhero? But you swallow all those questions down your throat as soon as he kneels down next to you. The whiff of soft musk distinctively adds to your headache, but you’re too focused on him for something as dumb as that to matter. 

“Just…close your eyes.”

Taking one last glance at him, you comply, lashes fanning slowly before going completely dark. You can still hear him adjusting, you can feel him take your hair into his hands, but nothing makes you stop breathing like his touch that grazes your cheek. 

It’s almost ghostlike—doesn’t really stay on the same spot for too long—but you know it’s real. Long fingers calmly push strands of hair behind your ear, tranquility expanding over your body. The slight tickle it causes helps ease your pounding migraine, little by little. 

“Are my hands too cold?” he whispers, not trying to intrude, but at the same time, wanting to know. You twist, bottom lip jutting out. Not at all. Keep going. And he does. He ends up tangling your hair a bit, because as it turns out, he doesn’t remember much, but he’s sure to delicately fix his mess, brows drawn in with heavy concentration. 

As soon as your hair is back to flowing free, he relaxes, wincing a bit at the pain in his knees. Your hair feels soft. Just what he would imagine a cloud would feel like. For a second, he begins to wonder, who’s this really for? He feels like this might be soothing him more than you. 

Just then, his finger catches on a knot, and he freezes, stopping all movements. “Holy crap, I am so sorry, I—”

You let out a low whimper, but don’t do so much as bat an eye. You’re sound asleep. The brunette lets out a breath of relief, falling back to sit on the ground. 

Your face is a bit squashed—and you’re drooling just a tad bit—but for some odd reason, he finds himself admiring. You’re full lips. You’re lashes. God, even the way you breathe. He feels a tender smile itching, but it never truly gets to see the light of day, because before he knows it, the door is swung wide open. 

Anastasia stops dead in her tracks. “What happe—is she asleep?”

Oscar opens his mouth, then snaps it shut. He does this a couple of times, awkwardly turning to face you and his assistant, back and forth, back and forth. “She, um…just did. A minute ago.”

She pouts, scratching her head. “Weird. Usually when this happens it prolongs for at least ten minutes before it gets any better.” The green eyed girl sheepishly waves the group of paramedics away. A trail of sighs echo as they turn away. As soon as they’re gone, she gently shuts the door, then tippy toes towards the edge of the small bed. Neat brows furrow. “At least she’s feeling better, no?”

Brown eyes follow her gaze. “Yeah. At least.”

-

Lando ends up throwing—and according to him— “The World’s Coolest Jamboree”. You beg for him to call it anything but jamboree, but he’s too attached to it by the time he sends the last text invite, which so happens to be to the rookie driver. 

“Has anyone RSVPed?” you question over his shoulder. He’s in the middle of mixing some mysterious liquid, but by the looks of it, doesn’t look any good. You grimace. 

He lets out a bleh before dropping his utensils. “No one RSVPs these days. They either show up, or they don’t.” 

A slow nod. “So, you don’t know who’s coming?”

“Not a clue. But most likely everyone.”

You scoff. “How are you so sure?”

He gives you an ‘are you kidding me?’ type glare before sending a sly grin. “First of all, it’s my party. They’d be crazy to miss out. And second of all…it’s only the biggest, funnest, coolest jamboree!”

“Funnest is not a word.”

“And party-poopers aren’t welcomed.” You gasp, smacking his chest harshly. He lets out a snicker, picking up a bag of ice and spilling it into the glass bowl. “But I’ll make an exception. Just this once.”

“Just this once,” you mimic before dipping your pinky in. He instantly slaps your hand away. Smacking your lips, you let out a yelp at the bitter taste. “This tastes like ass. God—not even Daniel will drink this, and that guy drinks anything in his way. I’m surprised he hasn’t been accidentally roofied.”

Lando claps his hands with amusement. “God forbid. And please, pay your respect to Lando’s Best Worst Decision.” A beat. “™.” 

“™?” you deadpan. “What? Are you planning on adding a trademark to this sewage water?”

“It’s good, okay?” Mixing the clear liquid once more, he smiles fondly down at it. “And maybe. I’m seriously considering it.”

You sneer, already walking away.

He ends up being right. Not even an hour later, the party is in full swing. Sure, a couple drivers aren’t able to make it, but it’s still jammed packed. It's honestly a miracle to get through the Monaco flat. 

You’re still sober?

Laughing, you nod, raising your water up in the air like some toast. Daniel frowns. “Considering I have to make sure my number one client doesn’t make any bad choices tonight, then nope. Can’t have a sip of alcohol.” 

Brown eyes flutter slowly. “I’m sure there’s other beverage choices. Have you tried Lando’s Best Worst Decision?” He leans in, winking. “™.”

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you actually like it?” He shrugs and you shudder in disgust. “I’m sure I saw him add ten energy shots and God knows what else.”

“No wonder I feel kinda funky.” Your face drops. “Hey, if you pass out, can I crash tonight?”

“Daniel!” you groan, covering your face. “I swear, I’m going to spill that stupid drin—” Only, Daniel is gone. Craning your head, you circle the room. From where you stand, you’re able to see Carlos and Lando taking part in a heated round of pool, all while Charles sways back and forth, infamous red cup in hand.

Marching over to the kitchen island, you pick up the glass bowl and carry it over to the sink before tipping it over. You huff, hair fanning across your nose. 

“Stupid, stupid boys—”

“Hey.”

You shriek, dropping the bowl, and wincing at the sound of glass shattering. 

Oscar grimaces. “Shit. Sorry. Are you hurt?”

“No.” You sigh. “Lando’s gonna kill me.”

Grabbing the nearby broom, the Australian sweeps carefully while knitting his brows. “Why?”

“It’s a family heirloom.”

“A glass bowl?”

You giggle. “I wonder why too.”

Despite the blaring music, and constant chattering, the room feels rather silent. You fiddle with the hem of your dress, and that seems to catch his eye as it dawns on him that he hasn’t really seen you in anything other than your usual uniform. To be fair, you could say the same. He likes it. 

You clear your throat. “Halfway done. How do you feel?”

He sips on his water, jaw clicking before settling with a sharp tsk. “Good. I think I’m finally getting the hang of it. Anastasia even congratulated me the other day when I diverted a series of questions with ease.”

Impressed, you raise your brows. “Bravo. Wish that was the case with Lando. I swear, sometimes I think he does and says things to make me look bad on purpose.”

“He should stop,” he says with a goofy smile. “Does he not know how lucky he is to get to call you his assistant?”

You blush. “Best friend, actually. I’ve been promoted ever since I pretended to be his girlfriend last New Year's Eve.”

The brunette inches forward with curiosity. “Wish to clarify?”

You hop onto the island, fixing your dress and crossing your legs. “Don’t tell him that I told you any of this, but I secretly think he was embarrassed of not having a midnight’s kiss. Especially since his ex was there with her new boyfriend. Talk about the unexpected.”

His chest tightens. “You two, um…kissed, then?”

“Yes,” you confirm with a childlike grin, and for some reason, it makes him want to puke. “Oh God, I haven’t thought about this in forever!”

He pretends to find interest in the crowded room, but really, it all remains on you. “Was it any good?”

You blush this time and he swears he’s close to walking away. “Yes and no. I mean, it wasn’t bad, but it just didn’t feel right.”

He perks up then, floppy hair bouncing at the sudden speed. “Really?” He coughs, then fixes his watch, training his eyes towards the floor. “Erm, I mean, is that so?”

A nose scrunch. “It felt like kissing someone you’re not supposed to. Which I suppose is true. We’re better off as friends.” He relaxes. “Thinking about it, we might’ve gagged each other's mouths.” You grimace. “If that doesn't show our discomfort, then I don’t know what will.”

“Good to know.” Oscar rubs his arm, up and down, then steps closer to you. You blink. “Hey, I was meaning to ask—”

Strippers? I didn’t order any strippers. 

Hire, a male voice interjects. He means to say he didn’t—hire—any strippers. 

“Son of a…” You wince apologetically, to which he shrugs. Don’t worry. Go. Biting your lip, you nod, rushing to the living room, where Lando, Daniel, and a bunch of other randoms circle the almost nude girls with long legs. 

“I mean, I won’t turn you away, ladies,” the Brit mumbled, already wrapping his arms around their waists. They all giggle, inching closer until he’s a blushing mess. 

You snap your fingers, pointing towards the exit. “All of you need to leave.”

Is that your sister? the one with a cowboy hat whispers into his ear. He quickly shakes his head, narrowing his eyes at you like a deadly weapon. 

“No. That’s his girlfriend,” Daniel yodels, face pressed up against the couch, admiring the group of girls. “But they’re in an open relationship.”

“I’m not his girlfriend—”

“She’s not my girlfriend—”

Oscar’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on the entire commotion. The older Australian rolls his eyes. “Right. We don’t talk about it.”

“Would you stop trying to help?” you shoot back, sarcastically, and clap your hands as if you’re rounding up a new high school cheer. “I need you all out. You want money? Fine. He’ll give you money,” you declare, signaling towards Lando. 

“Hey,” he groans, instantly letting go and stepping closer to you. “They haven’t even done anything to earn it….”

Your eye twitches. “I swear to God—”

“Deal,” the redhead shoots out. “But we need a moment to come to an agreement. You know? On how much we want to ask for.”

“Perfect,” you chirp, rolling your heels. “Take out your wallet, Big Boy.”

“You used to be fun.”

“And you used to be terrified over a pair of tits when I first met you. Whatever happened?” Lando blushes profoundly before pushing you away. “Want them gone, Lando, gone!”

“Yes! Jesus Christ—let me deal with this.”

“I’m done,” you promise with your hands raised up in surrender. “But just remember what happened last time.” He frowns, cocking his head to the side. You wiggle your brows. “São Paulo.” 

Color drains his face before letting out an unhinged laugh and motioning you away. You giggle, heading back to where Oscar stands. 

“I see what you mean,” he announces. What? “How he can have a bit of a headache.” 

“See! I told you! Four years of this!” A dramatic yawn. “I’m tired.” 

A string of boo’s follow once the strippers prance out the door, waving all their money in the air. Specifically Daniel, who genuinely looks upset to see them go. Oscar leans down against the counter, the proximity between you becoming smaller. “You should get some rest, then.” But he selfishly doesn’t  mean it. He wants you to stay—to keep talking to him. 

You let out a snort, grabbing your sides. “I mean, I'm tired of being Lando’s assistant. It’s a full time job, y’know?”

“Oh.” He stands up straight again. “Right. Of course.”

You purse your lips, looking down to your shoes. “But that was actually quite thoughtful.”

She thinks I’m thoughtful, he internally swoons because that must be a good sign, right? Not everyone is thoughtful, but he is, and that must count for something. Gathering all the strength he has left—which is not much considering you blink up at him like some angel—he licks his pink lips. “Back to what I was going to say earlier before you left—”

“I wasn’t trying to step on him! I already said I was sorry!” you hear a familiar voice, instantly turning to find Anastasia kicking Daniel’s face back into place, well, since he now lays asleep on the floor. You curse beneath your breath, jumping off the island once again. 

“His head did a complete 360!” Yuki accuses, clearly panicked. “That's not normal, is it?”

“No, it is,” Pierre replies with a bored tone. “I’ve seen it happen before.”

Crouching down next to the curly haired driver, you jab his cheek before motioning Oscar and Anastasia closer. “Help me carry him to the guest room,” you instruct, already taking off your cardigan. 

The black haired girl is quick on her feet, grabbing the Australians right leg as you grab the left. Oscar, however, swallows hard at the amount of cleavage you’re suddenly displaying, but instantly snaps out of it when both you and Anastasia blink back at him. He picks up the Alpha Tauri driver’s upper body before puffing. 

You blush bright pink at the sight of his muscles pulsing against his t-shirt. “I-It’s just around the corner.” 

As soon as you make it into the room, you three carefully place Daniel onto the bed, to which he squirms before flipping over and snoring away. You motion a finger over your lips before pushing them both out. Gently closing the door behind you,you let out a breath of relief. 

Anastasia lets out a whistle. “Surprisingly not that heavy.”

Oscar scoffs. “Easy for you to say. I had to carry most of his weight.” 

She shrugs, hugging you hello and apologizing for being so late, and you’re quick to reassure her that it’s fine, though she missed the chance to see strippers give Lando a tough time. She sneers. “I didn’t even know there existed strippers in Monaco.” And then she’s off, clapping loudly at the sight of Lando giving out a round of jello shots. You sigh, rubbing your temples.

“I-I’m sorry. What were you going to say?”

He freezes. “Oh. Just that—” He panics. “Only that I like your shoes!”

You blink, deflating from within. But you try to cover it up with a soft smile. “Thanks, I guess?” Orbs flicker down toward your white Sambas. “Lando says they are overrated, but I like ‘em.”

He nods. “Yeah. I like them too.”

-

It happens one Friday afternoon—the decision. 

You’re in between races, you’re in between headaches, and you’re ready to self-implode. So, before any of that happens, you make your first decision. To go on a walk. 

It’s getting rather chilly these days, something you love, but also hate. You love it because there is a certain coziness that comes along with it, but you also hate it because you can’t always be cozy, so you’re left shivering. Much like now. But to be fair, this was your own choosing. 

The pounding that takes over your head lessens the longer you stroll, the longer you breathe actual fresh air. You don’t really think much, you mainly remain blank, but the sound of tires screeching rips you away. Squinting hard, you catch a glimpse of a lady with grocery bags flipping off the fellow driver, who shares nothing but an apologetic smile before driving off. 

“What happened? Do I have something on my face?”

Dusting your nose, then your cheek, you blush faintly. You instantly assume it’s the powdered donuts fault—the one you had gobbled up in a hurry during the drive back to the paddock. It was an early morning, and no one really made it on time when it came to early days, but you always did. And so did Oscar. So, a sleepy Zak gave you a wad of cash, and sent you two to the nearest donut shop. 

The Australian shakes his head, blinking straight ahead. “N-no, I was just checking my blind spot.”

That only makes you blush harder because in what crazy world would he be looking at you? 

A single nod. The car is quiet apart from the sound of his hands moving against the steering wheel, and the sound of the blinker clicking. It’s gloomy, too. You clear your throat. “I love it when it rains.” He hums, calmly, encouraging you to continue. “It just makes me happy.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” You purse your lips. “I sort of wish I were home. That way I can snuggle near the window and fall asleep to the sound of light drizzle.”

The brunette quirks a brow towards the road. “That sounds nice. Like…really nice.” A pause. “Why can’t you do that here, though?”

Here—here means where you are right now. Here means this place that’s not home. Here is not close to being enough, but he doesn’t figure that one out. You blink, dragging your finger along the pink box sitting on your lap. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” A small shrug. “But it’s just not the same, y’know? There’s always something missing.”

He doesn’t waste a moment in asking. “What do you think that is?”

Taken aback by his inquiry, you let yourself surmise for a second or two before licking your lips. “Maybe a pup. To keep me company”

He semi-frowns, cocking his head to send you a deadpan expression. “A dog?”

Now it’s your turn to frown, sending him a glare. “What were you thinking?”

The red light lets him take focus on you. “Dunno. A boyfriend, maybe?”

You’re sure you’re nearly as tomato red as the light staring at you both. “What? You instantly just assume I don't have one already?”

He freezes. “Well, I, um…t-that’s not what I meant—”

“Look, I know I’m not a guys’ typical ‘dream girl’, but sheesh I’m not that unlovable. At least, I hope not, but now you’re making me second guess. I mean, your opinion must indicate everyone sees me as some sort of lonely widow.”

Oscar shakes his head, adamantly. “I don’t see you as such.” A slow pause. “A lonely widow, I mean. I find your words to not be all that true, really. You’re nice. You’re persevering, You’re beautiful. And you have a good heart.” The light translates back to green, and you’re freakishly thankful, that way he can’t see you burn up. “You could easily be anyone's dream. Whoever makes you think otherwise is a phony.”

It’s getting harder not to laugh—most likely out of skeptic shock—but you refrain. He’s simply being kind with you, but that doesn’t stop you from nearly going into cardiac arrest. His words should have been labeled with a warning. 

“Guess this world is filled with lots of phonies.”

He scoffs. “There shouldn’t be. Not when it comes to a girl like you.”

Your breath catches. “Os—”

All of a sudden, the car comes to a harsh stop, sending you flying, but not the Australian, who remains sitting up straight. An older man flips him off before riding off on his bike. You both breath hard, turning to face each other. 

“Are you okay?” he questions, voice laced with worry. 

You nod, slightly dazed. “I, um—yeah. Are you?”

A nod. “I didn’t even see where he came from.”

A weak laugh finally erupts. “Blame it on the poor innocent man— clever.”

Brown eyes soften. They flicker from your orbs back to your pouty lips. He’s only checking if you’re okay, of course. You send him a reassuring bow and he releases a heavy breath. 

“Guess I was too focused on my blind spot, once again.”

The next decision comes when you opt in to join your neighbor, Mr. Lennon, for a cup of tea after he finds you shivering. By that time, it’s raining hard, you're soaking wet, and it only makes sense to accept his kind offer. 

“Mint. To hopefully push back any upcoming cold. God, what were you thinking?”

You let out a laugh. “Not much. That’s why I was aimlessly roaming.”

“What about now?”

You halt, mug raised up to your chapped lips. “What about now?”

He smiles, softly, mixing his own tea with a heavy spoon of honey. “Did the walk help? Were you able to get the wheels rolling?”

Now you giggle loudly. “That’s not very nice! The wheels are working just fine, thank you very much.”

The light scent of pine trees enter the room as soon as he stands up to open his window, the sound of soft rain singing to you as some much needed therapy. “So? What were you pondering about out there?”

“I wasn’t pondering.”

“Walking alone in the middle of a thunderstorm?” A sore laugh. “Been there. Done that. There’s always something on someone’s mind when that happens. Which isn’t often, or usual, so that must mean you’re really stuck up on something.”

“Or someone,” you mumble beneath your breath. His brows dart up, and you sheepishly settle the mug down. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

You blink. You don’t really talk about him out loud. Not with Lando. Not with Anastasia. Not even with your own reflection. Everything has always remained with you. A place you knew to be safe because you made it safe. But Mr. Lennon’s eyes prove to you that he’s lived enough lives—enough scenarios—to maybe understand. Even just a fraction. He watches you visibly gulp. And he knows that look. The confusion, the yearning. 

“I’m in love with this boy.”

He hums, leaning back against his wooden chair. “There’s always a boy.”

You look down. “He’s a friend of mine, which makes everything much worse because I can’t ruin that. But for the first time in all my years of living…” Round, glossy eyes stare back at him with a hopeless expression. “I really—really—want to.”

He’s attentive, he listens like some frozen statue, and maybe that’s what fuels your courage to continue speaking. “My entire life, I’ve had crushes, sure, but I’ve never loved someone. Not seriously. So, of course I’m caught off guard when I do feel that for someone who I’m not even in a relationship with.” A playful snort. “God, I feel so stupid.”

The silence that lingers is comforting. Your nerves flow away with the rain, and you feel at peace. Quietly, he clears his throat. “Can I tell you a story?”

A soft sigh. “I’m all ears.”

Gray brows furrow as if trying to recover a distant memory. “I once loved a boy, too.” Your eyes widen. Sure, you knew he was never married, never even had a kid, but you never thought of any reason as to why not. He nods, faintly. “Not many know, and not because I’m ashamed, not by any means…” A single beat. “But because real, sincere feelings are easier to ignore. Because who wants to deal with reality, right? Who wants to confess and be turned away like some dog at your door?”

Exactly, you think, nodding along. “Everyone is always going to be scared of something, but avoidant people like us are terrified about the what-ifs.” He sends a wink. “And I’m living proof that being that way won’t get you nowhere. And you'll realize sooner or later in life that you’d rather be nowhere with someone you love, than nowhere…” His eyes circle the nearly empty kitchen, despite living there for the past twenty years. “...all alone.”

Your chin wobbles. “You know you have me, right? I’m always next door.” A wet laugh follows. “Anyways, I might even join you in this lonely life, eh? Doesn’t sound half bad if I’m doing it with you.”

Tender eyes close slowly before blinking back at you. “No. I want you to be the complete opposite from me. Be different. Tell him how you feel. Even if it costs you a broken heart, tell him. Because I’m telling you right now that a broken heart is always better than the constant desire that will always follow you like the devil.”

A warm droplet rolls down your cheek as you sheepishly laugh, but he doesn’t judge. He never has. Instead, ever the true gentleman, he hands you his handkerchief. “Did you ever get the chance to tell him that you…”

His wrinkles imprint more vividly as he breathes out. “I did, but it didn’t really make the difference I had hoped for. He was already married to someone else.”

A loud sob escapes. “That’s not f-fair. You deserve to be happy with the man you love.”

“I do. But you know what?” You rub the tears away, eyes connecting. “I’ve made peace with the consequences of my own actions.”

By now the rain has died down, and so have you. With one last smile, Mr. Lennon gives your cold hand a soft squeeze.   

“Learn from my mistakes, won’t you?”

-

That same night, as you cried over a bottle of wine, you made your third and final decision. And you would execute it all the next time you saw him, no matter the outcome. 

But now that you spoke about it once to someone, you felt almost invincible. Which is why you called Lando. 

You what? 

A wince. “You can’t tell him, okay? I’m legitimately trusting you with this!” He opens his mouth, but you’re quick to signal him off. “Including Ana.”

“Wow. I thought she’d know.” You shrug because you don’t really have an explanation for not having had confided in her, but you know deep down that you’re not really into playing a game of Cupid, and that’s exactly what she'd turn this into. The Brit nods, sympathetically. “Alright. I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell him how you feel?”

His question comes out hesitant—like he’s afraid of scaring you away from the possibility—but it doesn’t. Instead, you nod, to which he’s extra surprised because you’ve never been the kind to. “That’s the main reason I told you any of this. Because I wanted to ask you if you knew if he has a girlfriend or not? Someone he’s trying to pursue? I’d hate to…intervene.”

Lando let’s put a soft smile, dimples imprinting neatly onto his face. “I mean, he’s particularly private—you know him—but I’ve never heard him mention having a girl. It doesn’t seem like he does. Go for it. What do you have to lose?”

“My dignity? A good friend?”

Silently, he grimaces because even he can see how much this all means to you—how much you’re scared. So, to boost up your confidence—which is something he definitely doesn’t lack—he flashes a loopy grin. “He probably likes you, anyways.”

You come to a fast halt. Suddenly, painting your nails isn’t your top priority. “Really? You think so?” He nods, and you can’t help but smile back. “What’d he say?”

“Well, as I already stated before, he keeps his things locked up pretty well. But I do recall one time…” He closes his eyes harshly. Then, he snaps his fingers loudly. “I believe in Hungary. He was on a high. And we shared a bottle of champagne to celebrate. So, he sort of let loose. Like insanely loose.”

“And?” you push, eagerly trying to get whatever he has stuck in his throat out of him. The green eyed boy snickers. 

“He wasn’t very clear, but he did say he had a crush on a girl. Someone he really wanted to get to know. But that  things were a little bit difficult.” You nod, urging him to continue. “I asked why, and he said it was because she had a good heart, or something of that sort? Good intentions? Can’t remember—and that he didn’t want to ruin it.”

Your breath hitches.

And you have a good heart. You could easily be anyone’s dream. 

-

Ironically, you’re huddled in Lando’s flat once again when it happens. Well. Almost happens. It’s filled with a few McLaren members because he insisted on hosting a nice brunch. And it was. Nice, you mean. 

“Pretty,” Anastasia says, sending a soft smack towards your ass. You yelp, swatting her hand away, and pulling your skirt downward. She snickers. “You should tie your hair up more often. Let’s everyone admire such an angel face.”

“Stop it,” you hiss, but can’t hide the pink flush. “But thank you.” 

She grins, eyes crinkling. Black hair sways as she moves to the beat of the music, nursing her drink. “Nice to have a break…”

“Definitely.”

At some point, she slithers away, leaving you all alone on the balcony. Which was quite lonesome until he came along. Oscar scrunched his nose, meekly. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. Don’t own this place, do I?”

He lets off a raw chuckle. Deeper than when you first met him, and you come to the realization that a lot about him has changed. His hair is longer, his neck is thicker, and his shoulders are wider. But his smile and eyes remain the same. Boyish.

“Thinking?”

You sigh, admiring the ocean set out right in front of you. “Thinking, yes. A lot these days.”

And if he’s patient enough, he’d notice the way your hands shake. Tiny vibrates, but still.. He’d notice the way you bite down on your lip, brushing it along the way. He’d notice the way you blink feverishly, like even the wind hurts. 

And he is. He is a patient person. So, he does notice. 

“Do you know what song this is?”

Brows furrow, deep in thought. And he’s quick to note that the ticks you had are coming to an easy halt. Mentally, though, you’re cursing yourself out because you do know. You do know the song that flows nicely into your ears, but simply having him next to you is what’s making you forget. How dare me have that kind of power over you?

“I know it,” you start. “But I can’t seem to remember right now...”

The brunette gently nods his head along to the beat. His eyes close, and his hair delicately tussles, and suddenly he’s the only thing you see. “Sex,” he says. You blush, ripping your gaze away before he catches you in the act. Oscar laughs. “It’s Sex by The 1975. How could I forget?”

“Oh yeah.”

The guitar screeches when the volume somehow gets louder, despite not being inside. “Would have killed me not to get it right. My sister listens to it all the time.”

Plump lips pressed together. “You have a sister?” But you know the answer to that question, of course you do. You’re a girl. You’ve done your research, even when you pinched yourself not to. 

He nods. “Three, actually. Talk about a headache, am I right?”

And it’s almost nostalgic—your laugh. Like it might be one he heard in his past life, but in his current one, can't remember. But it’s okay if he doesn’t because at least he knows he can learn it. And he has. 

“You look really pretty when you laugh that way. Insanely so.”

You can’t seem to register his words. The way they come off as soft and ginger as they could possibly get. As if he really means it. And for the first time since your first interaction with him almost two years ago—you sort of believe he might. 

“You’re just saying that?” you question as some test, does eyes challenging him into finally spitting out the truth. The same truth you carry. He shakes his head, taking a step closer.

“I mean it.” 

Like a sudden magnet, you two are hesitantly connecting closer and closer together before either of you could stop it. Not that either of you would. The Australian towers over you, almost caging you like some endangered species he’s afraid of slipping away and going extinct. 

You swallow, lashes fluttering, and he smiles at the sight—melts. You’ve always been reserved. Quiet. Shy. And so has he, so he can’t really judge you, but he’s willing to be different—just once in his life—to get what he’s been wanting for a long time now. 

His eyes follow your lips. Admires how plump they are. How they’re the perfect shade of pink. So, when he leans in and you don’t pull away? He thinks he might explode with the need to kiss you. One time. If he’s lucky, just—once. 

“You’ve always been my dre—”

“There you two are!” Anastasia cheers, zigzagging to you both as an apologetic Lando follows right after. By now, Oscar has jumped far away from you, and you’re left feeling empty and lost, blinking at an alarming rate. “We’ve been looking all over!” A hiccup. “What were you doing?” Your lips remain open but Oscar is the first to let out an awkward cough.

“We were just talking about…logistics!” He turns to you, sparing you a pleading look. “W-weren’t we?”

You finally come to, nodding slowly, eyes buzzing between the two McLaren drivers and your best friend, who wobbles from left to right. “Yeah, I….we—logistics, and whatnot.” A beat. “Doesn’t matter.”

He flinches, avoiding your doleful stare. Oscar forces such a bright smile—the kind that can’t go unnoticed by even the biggest idiot on earth—and nods in agreement. “She’s right. It doesn’t matter.”

Lando analyzes you, then his teammate, and wishes he had done more to keep Anastasia from barging in. But really, was this some sign? Maybe you were some delusional little girl who truly believed she had a chance with the boy next door. The one everyone wants, but only one will get to have.

And let’s face it. 

It was never going to be you.

-

You’d make an excellent detective in your next life, you’re sure of it. But for now, you’re just some brokenhearted assistant who mourns the death of her what-ifs. Someone who is really good at picking up on clues. 

It’s right before Christmas—right before Anastasia’s birthday party—and you’re curling your hair quite poorly. You daze off every now and then, you apply mascara almost zombie-like, and you’re dreading even showing up. Have you been avoiding him? Yes. Yes, you have. Have you been good at it? Only the best, if we’re being truthful here. And were you ready to face him without feeling the need to bolt? 

Nope. Not in this lifetime nor the next.

But still, you force yourself to finish getting ready because this isn’t about you. This isn’t about him. It’s about being there for your friend. 

Mindlessly, on the drive there, pouting in the back of the yellow cab, you click onto Instagram and the first thing you do is smile at the birthday post Anastasia had posted not even five minutes ago. You scroll, smile wider, and then come to a harsh pause. The kind that makes your throat close up. The kind that makes you stop breathing. 

The kind that lets you know—

You’ve lost.

His arms are tied around her waist, his head nuzzles between her neck, but you can still tell it’s him. His hazel hair can’t go unnoticed. Maybe to someone else, but not you. 

Then, as if all odds are against you, your feed refreshes and you’re left far more dumbfounded. 

She appears in most of his pictures because why not? It’s his girlfriend's birthday, it goes as expected. Museum dates. Pictures of them with each other's families. And you feel greedy like never before because—why couldn't that be you? 

Venmo or cash? You look up, making eye contact with your taxi driver who looks as tired as you are. You press your lips together into a fine line. Digging into your purse, you grab all that you have and jump out of the cab. 

It’s chilly out and the lights are beautifully hung, but it doesn’t do you any good. You just want to go home. Curl up in bed and die. Dig a hole—self-suffocate—who cares. And you’re ready to turn around, go back and apologize to Mr. Lennon for not doing better. You really thought you had it in you, but it just wasn’t enough. 

But then, the door swings open and Pierre curls a brow. Kika waves from behind “He thought you were some serial killer. He’s been watching too much Dateline.” The brunette scurries over, throwing her arms around you and takes a step back. “Come in before you freeze to death.”

But even that didn’t sound too bad. You sheepishly thank her, following the couple back in. A string of jazz cradles the warm lit living room and the scent of apple pie makes you inhale sharply. A giggle stirs up behind you. Anastasia grins.

“You’re here!”

All of a sudden, you hate her smile. You hate her laugh. You hate her entirely. But you also don’t. You can’t hate her smile. You can’t hate her laugh. You can’t hate her entirely. Because even though you feel like she owes you loyalty, that’s not really true. She had zero idea about your feelings towards Oscar and she won. Fair and square. That doesn’t mean you had to like it.

“Happy birthday, Annie.” Hugging her, you giggle against her ear when she jumps up and down, nearly knocking you two over. “For you. From me.”

She wiggles her neat brows, green eyes buzzing with suspicion. “Is it a vibrator again?”

You blush. “No. Even better.”

“Wow! Even better?” She rips the small bag open, eyes widened double in their size. “Oh my God, you got me the Mary Jane’s I wanted?”

“Well, you kept bugging me, and so I thought—”

“D'accord, je comprends. I love them, thank you.” Grabbing your wrist, she tugged you into the empty hallway, and you can already feel her buzzing with excitement. Your stomach churns. “I wanted to tell you as soon as he asked me out—I really did—but he insisted on keeping it between us two for a while, and I told him no, I had to tell you, but then I understood that maybe it was for the best, and I’ve always liked him—”

Every word makes you feel smaller and smaller because the light in her eyes gives it all away. She, too—much like you—is in love with Oscar Piastri. You shake your head, sharing a light laugh. “I totally get it. There’s no need to explain.” 

The green eyed girl visibly relaxes, shoulders rolling back. “I knew you’d understand. Oscar was right—you have a good heart.”

Ana, Yuki just spilled wine on your coach, Daniel rattles from the other side of the room, pointing accusingly towards his teammate who rubs the cushion with his Dior sweatshirt. She sighs. Be right back!

At that moment, you don’t care if you wind up with a deadly case of hypothermia, you simply walk out of the warm house.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get sick.”

Screwing your eyes shut seems to be the only answer to help your mending heart into not breaking completely. And fuck him—fuck him for sounding so goddamn caring. 

You turn with a soft smile, shrugging nonchalantly. “Won’t really make a difference, I already feel sick.” You cough for emphasis. “See?” Oscar rolls his eyes, ignoring the poor excuse, and hands you his puffer jacket. You shake your head. Take it. “No.” He frowns. Why not? Rocks crunch with every step he takes. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“What? Borrowing a jacket from a friend?”

“Borrowing my best friend's boyfriend’s jacket.”

His stomach drops, rolling with a wave of anxiety as he tries to not show his uncomfort. “She told you?”

Your teeth grind harder. “That, and you both posted about a thousand pictures together. Wasn’t that difficult to understand what was going on.” A sore laugh. “I’m happy for you two, though. Really. I am.”

“You are?”

Sending a nasty glare that you tried to keep in for the life in you, you turn over to face him, nose rosy. “Yes. Over the fucking moon.”

He flinches. “Listen, about that day at Lando’s house. I-I-I was caught up in the moment. I shouldn’t have said what I said, o-or tried to kiss you—”

“You’re a phony, you know that, right?”

Another flinch. “I’m trying to apologize to you. I’m sorry. I feel bad, okay?”

Tears well up inside your eyes. Somewhere deep inside your chest, you feel a harsh sting, and still that doesn’t compare to his pity. You let out a scoff, crossing your arms. “You feel bad, for what? For messing with my emotions, or for getting with my best friend?” You poke his chest hard, but he remains as still as a brick wall, a pained expression mapped out. “Which one is it?”

“For all of it!” He grabs your face, making you freeze under his fire-like touch. “I loved you—God—I loved every inch of you. Your humor, your heart, your jokes that never land, the awkward giggles that follow afterward—everything. There was not a single thing you could do that could have pushed me away.”

“Then what happened?” you whisper, eyes tracing his pink lips, trying to enjoy his hands. They’re calloused, sure, but they’re by far the closest thing you’ve had, so nothing else matters. His breath hitches, soft eyes looking down at you in complete defeat. You grimace. “Why was I not enough for you to try?”

His hands drop. Brown locks shakes as he rubs his eyes, like this is all some part of a fever dream. Maybe it was. The Australian frowns. “I could ask you the same thing.”

It’s a slap in the face, and it burns like never before because you know he’s right. “I wanted to tell you!” A shaky breath. “I was going to tell you.”

Leaves rustle. “You were?”

“Yes,” you confess, nodding adamantly. “That day at Lando’s place—I wanted to tell you.”

The McLaren driver bites his tongue hard, blinking rapidly. “W-what would you have said?”

“That I loved you too.”

He can’t hide his pain just by hearing those words. He scrunches his nose. He nods robotically. And he keeps his eyes trained towards the ground, like he’s in the middle of solving a puzzle. 

“I really did like you. From the moment we met.” Finally, he looks up, round eyes searching for any sign of intimacy. If there’s any left—any you still save for him. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

“A little bit. Yeah.”

A second ticks by. “I do. Remember it all, I mean. Think back to it quite often.” He lets out a boyish grin, crinkles forming, making your heart flutter. “You took my breath away.” 

And as if humanly possible, despite the icy air, your cheekbones flush harder as you bite back a giddy smile. “You barely even noticed me—”

“You wore a white ribbon. Hair half up, half down. Denim overalls with your initials sewn onto them. Emerald earrings.” You blink, clearly taken aback by his polished memory. His eyes soften. “I’ll always notice you.”

-

Anastasia pecks the Australians cheek, giggling after each one. Oscar smiles, letting out a sheepish laugh. From the corner, seated next to Lando, you sigh sadly. The Brit bumps his shoulder up against yours. What’s wrong? But you must not have heard him, or you ignore him, but he, too, has eyes. 

“I swear I didn’t know a thing about them,” he whispers. “If I had, I would have warned you, you know that—”

“Lando,” you cut him off, voice weak and mellow. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault.”

He frowns. “I know that, but—”

“It’s not your fault,” you repeat, this time more firm. He swallows, nodding hesitantly. With a soft laugh, you poke his ribs and he’s quick to let out a yelp. “Just want to forget, you know?”

Lando hums. “Understood.”

Anastasia clinks her spoon against her mug. The one you each painted differently in that one pottery class years ago. She grins. “I’m so glad all of you could make it, really, it means a lot.” Her eyes crinkle sweetly towards Oscar who traces shapes down her back. She blushes for him—the same way you do. “I feel like…I finally have everything I ever wanted.”

A string of oohh's echo the room, whistles ringing. She laughs, head falling back, and he lets out a single chuckle, rosy cheeks making everyone grow louder. Meanwhile, you stay silent, focusing on Lando’s shoes. The Brit winces, rubbing your shoulder awkwardly. 

Daniel yodels, raising his beer. “Well, in that case, I feel like I do too!” He hiccups, making Pierre and Yuki snicker. “A hot girlfriend, good ‘ol friends, and a nice pair of abs.”

“They are nice,” Lily mumbles, earning her a soft smack from Alex who rolls his eyes. 

Carlos cackles. “Me next—um, okay. A good team, my girlfriend, and…and—my hair.”

“Narcissist,” Lando whispers, trying to get a good laugh out of you. And it works. You giggle, muffling the sound with the back of your hand. Oscar perks up, orbs floating over to where you and the Brit whisper to one another, smiles only growing wider. His jaw clenches. Either way, you tune out all the constant chatter after hearing how Pierre was grateful for having a massive cock. 

“I really hope nothing changes between us.”

You laugh. “I think it might be a bit too late for that.”

The Australian scratches his shoes against the wet pavement. He agrees. He won’t admit it, but he agrees. Everything has changed. Timidly, he glances over at you, biting the inside of his cheek. His gaze burns—just like always—and you turn to face him.

By now your tears have dried, but your heartbreak still continues. Something deep inside tells you that it’ll continue for as long as you live. You despise yourself for letting any of this get out of hand. For letting your fear of rejection play a big part in losing him. He smiles.

“I love you, okay?”

You smile. “I love you, too.”

Your voice sounds sweet—just like honey. And if it’s a lie, just to make him feel better, then he’s a grateful bloke. He might not have your heart—not completely—and he might not have your hand in his, but he’s fine with that. Because he’s heard all he’s needed to hear. And he can live at peace.

Oscar grins, leaning down to kiss your cheek. It’s tender, just the way you pictured it. You smell like flowers, just like he had dreamt. He pulls away. “You can always talk to me. Whenever. I’ll always be there for you.”

“Thank you. But I won’t bother you too much.” His brows furrow, mouth opening to protest before you wave him off with a tired smile. “Don’t want to vent to you about…well—you.”

“What about you?” Anastasia squeals, making your jump in place. 

“What about me?” 

She rolls her eyes, theatrically. Oscar remains as still as a statue, enjoying the moment to admire you without having to explain why—all eyes were on you, after all. “Have you ever gotten everything you ever wanted?”

Wistfully, your eyes look up, connecting with the ones you know so well. You admire his boyish features one last time before looking down onto your lap and then focusing on Anastasia.

“No. But I once got very close.”

taglist: @blueflorals @starmanv @coolio2195 @lovrsm @weekendlusting@chanshintien @brune77e @myownwritings @timmychalametsstuff @milasexutoire@alesainz @c-losur3 @darleneslane @togazzo @urfavnoirette @namgification @lpab @d3kstar @anniee-mr @nebarious @notkaryna

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[princessbrunette]

⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … COINCIDENCE ♡

track six of the short n’sweet series. pairing: toxic!jj x reader. based loosely on the song coincidence by sabrina carpenter. enjoy! ໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა

you and kiara carerra were not similar in the slightest.

both beautiful in your own right, sure — but just… different. she was tomboyish, a natural beauty with the ‘cool girl’ charm. she knew makes of cars, how to play pool and actually be good at it. she got competitive and passionate at sports events. she could make a plain tank top and denim shorts look effortlessly gorgeous. she was kiara — and you were well, you. a real girly girl, nails were always done, not the biggest sports fan and you’d always make sure your bikini matched your flip flops even if you were going to be taking them off the second you reached the beach. you were two people that probably wouldn’t cross paths otherwise, but you can see why she had her eye on you and likewise.

infact, you remember the first time you saw jj maybank — and he’d done a double take to watch you go by while she was still at his side.

granted, it was the very end of their relationship. you’re talking — break up the next day end. but still, it was grounds for you to raise an eyebrow. doubt strikes your chest each time you remember it. what should have been flattering was actually waving red flags in your face.

it wasn’t just a glance either, if you were being totally honest. it was a greedy stare — one that travelled from your face to your feet, every ex girlfriends nightmare when he ended up at your side just a few weeks later.

just like that, kiara started to show up everywhere the two of you were. haunting you like a ghost. she didn’t seem like she loved parties before, much preferring to surf and grab food on a saturday evening — but since you coupled up with the maybank boy you’d think she was hunting for the next Project X — around each turn all dressed up with a drink in her hand, chatting happily away to all of jj’s friends that you didn’t know how to talk to. it set you on edge.

a revenge plot, sure — and you couldn’t blame the girl. you’d be scalded too. you knew to stay out of her way, despite the situation bothering you. you knew jj noticed her scheming, infact she’d occasionally find reasons to talk to him and you’d swallow it down. she was confrontational, you were not — and perhaps guilt was involved, because you’d pathetically glue your eyes to your shoes whenever she’d smugly approach. you daren’t start anything.

you felt paralysed when she approached the blonde at your side at the next party you were at. “dude, can we talk in private?” she stresses solemnly, even glancing your way in reference as if to say ‘without her.’ you look helpless, bless your heart— looking over to jj and just praying her tells her to fuck off finally. but he didn’t, and wouldn’t. he might have been a little toxic in his decision making, but you’d like to think on the inside he was too good of a guy to let her down like that. which is why he presses his lips together awkwardly and nods, giving you a reassuring little pat on your lower back before strolling off with her towards an empty room, running a hand through his hair. you watched him go, you watched her take him away.

you walk to the drinks table and pour way too much liquor into your cup. pope watches, standing nearby having definitely scoped out the situation and sends you this… look. he meant well, but the gaze of sympathy did nothing to reassure you. what did he know? why would he be sorry?

you down the drink, and next thing you know it’s been fifteen minutes and they’re still behind a closed door. you shove your cup into john b’s hand, who looks taken aback but guards it nonetheless, and you storm right up there without thinking. you’re done being the sweet, lenient girlfriend. he wants crazy? you can match that too.

“times up, you can get the fuck ou—” your voice trails off after you swing the door open with such a force. it’s not exactly the sight you were expecting to see, shocked that you weren’t witnessing a head of blonde hair between her spread legs. instead, she paces infront of him in tears, all while he sits on the edge of the bed awkwardly, brow creased. whatever was happening, it didn’t look like cheating.

“of fucking course.” kiara gestures to you before pushing past, wiping her eyes and leaving the room. you clear your throat awkwardly.

“wanna leave?” your voice comes softer this time and he blinks at you.

“‘ya.”

the drive home is weird and suspenseful. he’s gripping the steering wheel and you’re fidgeting and itching, dying to ask what happened. what you saw.

“i just don’t understand why she won’t leave you alone.” your voice decides on a solemn tone as you stare ahead at the dark road ahead of you. jj’s jaw ticks in irritation and his eyes flutter as if resisting an eye roll. you just about catch the expression when you turn your head, and no — it’s not what you were expecting.

“its not really like, up for discussion right now? so can we just—” his hand lurches forward to press the on button to the radio, music ringing out for not even a second before you shut it off just as fast, frowning now.

“no, that’s — don’t be unfair. i’ve been so fucking tolerant jj. you know i have. i have never asked— but— but can you not see how this might concern me?” you feel your face getting hot and your voice raising.

“alright we’re goin’ there— okay! look, babe — she’s my friend. i’ve known that chick since i was like fourteen so this whole issue is kinda bigger than you, i’ll be honest—”

“you’re in a relationship. you left her! why do i feel like i have to hold you so tight or you’re gonna run off to her!”

“i’on know maybe you should be lookin’ at your own trust issues ‘stead of pointing the finger at me.” he pulls into your drive, haphazardly parking the car but neither of you make a move to get out, turning your bodies to face one another.

“trust issues? jj do you really think it’s a coincidence that she shows up everywhere that we’re at? she’s trying to get you back and i don’t know what hold she has over you but you need to stop letting her run you if you wanna stay with me.” you assert, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. he rolls his eyes practically into space, leaning back in his seat as he runs a hand over his face.

“look. she got the wrong idea. last time me n’you had that big fight i… i went over to see her. nothin’ happened i just talked about…us, and i guess she just — she got her hopes up— that’s it, okay—”

“are you serious? jj are you fucking serious?” your voice shakes, and your feet move. you open the car door, being sure to slam it shut before marching to your door, trembling hands fumbling for the keys in your purse. he’s quick to follow, sighing at his own choice of words as he tries to block you from getting inside, continuing to ramble.

“dont be like that, mama. c’mon, you know i wouldn’t go there. you really don’t trust me— like at all?”

“the first time i saw you, you checked me out while you were still with her. you’re not above it.” you sniff angrily as you finally find your keys, shoving past to slot them in the keyhole. he grabs your arm as you pass him, stopping you in your tracks. you always forget how strong he is.

“it ain’t right. i know.” he defends, eyes wide and urgent as he stares down at you. he softens, trying to pull you toward him. “i know.”

“no you don’t. so what, when you lose feelings for me you’ll just toss me to the side when a hotter girl comes along? no thank you.” you shove him off you, storming into the living room and he curses, shutting your front door and chasing you in.

“i’on know what you want from me but i’mma guess it’s some kinda sick reassurance. i told you time and time again that me n’her just weren’t right. we outgrew eachother. end of freakin’ story. you know what? you know what babe? i’mma show you what you do to me.” you feel him on you, manhandling you like some kind of brute, a kidnapper of sorts and roughly lowering you to the ground so he can hold you down on your front no matter how hard you squirm.

nothing in your body is saying no despite your violent wriggling from his grip. infact, on instinct your back arches and you groan, petulantly.

“yeah, tha’s what i thought. all this ‘cos you wanted papa to show you how much he cares? that it? god damn you piss me off.” he grits his teeth, fighting your skirt off your body as he holds your body down with his knees, practically straddling you.

it doesn’t take long for you to get wet, not with the way he’s handling you, with the way he’s talking to you, a hand on your throat pulling your face off the carpet to listen good.

“i was in the room tellin’ her to stop playin’ in my girls face and she was cryin’. that what you wanted to hear? huh? that it’s you over anyone? ‘cus if that’s what you want i can drill it right into that brain all night. pull your panties to the side n’don’t lemme tell you twice.”

your glossy folds part for him when you arch harder, tears on your cheeks that you don’t remember falling as you reach back and peel the panties away from your cunt. you hear him belt buckle and you mewl from habit. it felt so good. it felt so good to be chosen.

“mhm. if i’m so bad, and such a pig, why am i holdin’ you down gettin’ ready to pound your shit right now and not with her? huh?”

you couldn’t answer. maybe this was bigger than you, maybe it wasn’t — but for now you’ll believe his every word. hard not to listen when he’s pushing his tip in.

[yourmidnightlover]

the sun

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: after the events of the snap, you find out news that's both heart wrenching and warming. what happens five years later when bucky's back?

warnings: death, mourning, pregnancy, childbirth, canon-typical violence (not much but just adding to cover all the bases), loosely based on end game and infinity war (as in ignore my mistakes lmaooo), if i failed to mention any warnings PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

wc: 2.6k

a/n: dude idk why i've had an urge to write such heart wrenching angst lately. i'm actually in a decent place rn. i tried to cut this fic down bc originally it was SOOOO long i felt like a lot of it was just filler and i feel like shorter fics of mine tend to do better... ANYWHO! this does have a happy/hopeful ending so no worries! also picturing this beefcake for this story is AGHHHHHHH!

you never thought two lines on a stick could ever break your heart the way they did.

tears clouded your vision as you gripped the counter, trying not to crumble or succumb to your grief.

6 weeks ago, the avengers lost. everything.

half of the world, gone in a moment.

in one moment, your world collapsed. seeing bucky fade to dust right in front of you...

sobs wracked through your body as you crumbled to the ground.

this was supposed to be a happy moment. there should be tears of joy, not sobs of sorrow. your heart should feel full of love, not like there's a super-soldier sized hole in it.

"y/n," nat's voice rang outside the door, giving you a moment to yourself.

"just-," you tried to level your breathing before she opened the door, knowing but not understanding the grief you were feeling.

she wrapped her arms around your body, tucking your head into her neck as she gently rubbed your back soothingly. steve leaned against the bathroom door, glancing on the counter to see what they had all expected.

a positive pregnancy test.

you were having bucky's baby.

without bucky.

you gripped his dog tags that you had been wearing since the funeral. they were the only thing that could truly ground you.

they brought back happy memories of cuddling in bed, the cool metal shocking your skin for only a moment before realizing that it was only bucky and smiling at the memory.

god, it hadn't even been two months.

how were you supposed to do this alone?

"we're here for you," steve's voice called from the doorway, as if he could hear your thoughts. "you'll never be alone. not in this... not ever." he shook his head, his brows furrowed in a serious, straight line.

eventually, your sobs subsided. you stood with nat from your seat on the ground, wiping your own eyes mustering up a pathetic smile before she left you and steve to work out your grief together.

"we didn't even know it was possible," you shrugged. "it's like he sent me them..." you placed your hand on an invisible bump before facing steve, his teary eyes reminding you that he had lost his best friend, too. "he sent us this baby."

you reached your hand out for steve to hold. he took it gratefully and pulled you into his arms, hugging you tight and letting only a few tears slip his waterline before pulling back.

"if you'll let me, i want to be there for you for everything," his chin wobbled. "buck would kick my ass if i let you go through this alone." a genuine laugh left your lips for the first time in nearly two months.

"i would be so grateful for that," you nodded as you let go of his arms. "part of me still can't believe that it's real. it's like part of me still expects him to walk into the compound from a long mission or something..." you shook your head. "i know that sounds so stupid."

"it's not," he shook his head with a smile. "it's what i wish was true, maybe it's your subconscious trying to preserve your mind?"

"maybe," you shrugged before continuing, "i should probably talk to tony and bruce, huh?"

-

you knew you were around eight weeks along.

according to the doctors' tony had enlisted, however, you were already 12 weeks along, which was impossible.

bucky had been gone on a mission at that time... but it's whatever. you got to hear the heartbeat. steve went with you, too. you both bawled together. you kept three copies of the ultrasound and he kept two.

banner had already offered to do some testing on the dna of the baby, noting that the serum would likely affect the pregnancy (as it probably already has).

you had talked to tony about retiring from the whole superhero gig for the time being. you needed to mourn and prepare for a new life simultaneously. tony had promised to provide anything you needed at the drop of a hat, and he sure as hell delivered.

within no time, your pregnancy was being measured at 20 weeks while only being pregnant for 12. banner was concerned for your body's ability to keep up with the rapid rate of growth of the baby. he had you on a strict, hefty diet with two different prenatal vitamins in attempt to help your nutrition.

in spite of your best efforts, you were always exhausted and in pain. but you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. this was bucky's baby. you didn't care how much pain you went through when you had half of him growing inside of you.

you couldn't walk for long without feeling like passing out, which banner chalked up to low iron. steve had grown progressively more worried for you and the baby the longer the pregnancy went on.

as a result, he had moved into the spare room that was in your and bucky's house. truly, it just made it easier for him to help you finish up the nursery anyway.

he was very handy about it all, painting, building furniture from scratch, the whole deal.

"i've been thinking... and if it's a girl, i want to name her evangeline james barnes," you informed steve as you ate the steak he had been making for the past few weeks of your pregnancy, as ordered by dr. banner. that with carrots, broccoli, potatoes, and for dessert strawberries, blueberries and raspberries over ice cream. "and if it's a boy, cyrus james barnes. evangeline means good news, and cyrus means sun."

steve placed his hand over yours, "i think buck would've loved them." he smiled warmly as you downed the food in a few minutes.

you had begun showing soon after you found out you were pregnant, but now, it felt like it was impossible to hide. nat had been wonderful about helping you keep up with the changes your body was going through, getting you new maternity clothes every week.

she even made sure to get you every single craving that wasn't in accordance to banner's hefty diet. not that he didn't want you to eat more, he thought it was best you did! but he also wanted to make sure that with all that you did eat, your body got as many nutrients as possible.

just to be safe, he kept you on other vitamin supplements anyway.

you couldn't help but imagine what bucky would say or do about everything now.

he would hold your body closely, pressing firm kisses to your bump every chance he could get while whispering some sickly sweet sayings to your unborn child, words that would melt the winter soldier's cold exterior.

he would whisper words of encouragement any moment you felt worried about your abilities to be a mom. he would say how beautiful you were, in spite of being bloated in places you didn't know could bloat.

he would be wonderful, and in your mind, he was still alive and vibrant. well, as vibrant as bucky ever was, at least.

truthfully, that's the only way you were able to keep going on like this. steve was wonderful, but you couldn't help but want the love of your life by your side as you tried to navigate this new chapter.

in a couple more weeks, you were projected to be at 32 weeks. bruce and tony were talking with your doctors about the safety of inducing so early, both for you and the baby.

oh, and you wanted the gender to be a surprise.

and within the week, you were having your baby.

steve and nat were by your side during the birth, whispering encouraging words and compliments of your strength.

"i need him!" you screamed in pain as you held one of each of their hands, sobbing in agony. "i need james! i need my bucky! i can't do this alone, i can't-i can't!"

"you can," nat reminded you. "this baby needs you," she held your face to look at hers. "bucky is a part of this baby." you swore you could see tears in her eyes before turning to face steve.

"remember what you told me when you found out you were pregnant?" he didn't bother wiping the tears from his face. "bucky sent you-sent us this baby. he knows you can do it." you sniffled before nodding at your two best friends, pushing with one last scream and a second later, you had...

"cyrus james barnes," the nurse called to you. "it's a boy, congratulations mom."

-

the next few years went by quicker than you could've ever imagined.

crawling, first words, first steps...

you missed bucky. not a day passed where you didn't miss him.

but, having cy helped a lot. he looked just like his father. dark brown hair, icy blue eyes, a cute little nose... not to mention his father's stubbornness.

you made sure he knew who his father was. you took him to the museum often, showing him the statue of his father and his background in the world war, him saving the world so much. you told him how you fell in love with him.

how you fell for the quiet man before ever really talking to him. how you were partners on a long-term, undercover mission and that's where your love ignited from the sparks.

not that cy understood any of what you told him. you just felt it was important to know that his parents loved him, and each other dearly.

you never took off his dog tags, either.

steve was a huge help the whole time. he kept working for the avengers, so he was gone often, but he provided a good male role model for cyrus. after all, he was his uncle steve. he already taught him how to throw a ball, albeit a little softball, but it counts!

you made sure to document everything that went on in yours and cyrus's life.

banner had said that cyrus was growing at an exceeding rate, but nothing to be concerned about. in fact, cyrus was turning five in almost half a year, meaning the anniversary of bucky's death, or disappearance or whatever you called it, was coming up.

then, you got a call from tony and banner.

it all happened so quickly, from testing to planning to the execution. pepper watched cyrus for you while you went back with steve, scott, and tony to get the tesseract.

of course, the men being men had to come upon a few hiccups, but eventually, after going as far back as the 70s, you brought back the tesseract.

the only thing is that nat never came back...

next thing you know, bruce is snapping his fingers and clint is getting a call from his supposedly deceased wife. your eyes fill with tears, hands searching in your pockets for your phone to see if you've gotten anything yet.

is it possible he wasn't brought back? he was the first to... disintegrate. die. maybe that meant something in the eyes of the stones?

then, you felt a buzz in your hand.

although, you didn't have any time to try to grasp what that meant, because more aliens came to earth.

shocker.

after yet another war, one that you weren't even prepared for, after losing more people, again. after losing tony...

but amidst the chaos of the aftermath of the fight, with screams of joy and shock and grief surrounding you, tears streaming down your face, your eyes met the blue ones you only saw in your son.

he slowly walked towards you as the tears sped up. you didn't even realize when your feet began running towards him.

when his arms wrapped around your waist, you finally felt the home you thought you had come to terms with never feeling again. your arms wrapped around his neck, your face buried in his shoulder as you breathed in the scent of gunmetal that had overtaken him in the battle.

"oh my god," you cried into the leather of his jacket. he lifted you off the ground, your legs wrapping around his waist as you felt his smile on your cheek. "i can't believe you're really here."

"i'm here, doll," his hands cradled your head so tenderly. "i'm not ever leaving again. never."

you pulled back before your eyes widened in realization. "you've gotta meet someone, jamie."

his brows furrowed in confusion, just smiling and nodding along with whatever you said.

within the next few hours, simply being held by bucky before steve stole him away with a hug, you finally brought him home.

"so, steve moved in," you started as you pulled your car into the driveway, turning to see bucky looking at you with an incredulous look. "you'll see why." you reached to hold his hand before he brought yours to his lips, pressing a kiss there.

you told him to wait in the car as you went inside to relieve the babysitter for cyrus. after giving him some cash, he went outside, knocking on your car window to let bucky know he should make his way inside.

upon entering, he saw you sitting on the floor with a little boy with striking blue eyes that seemed so familiar to him. his nose, too. his lips though, they were all yours. he had a slight grin plastered on his lips, one that matched yours to a t.

"daddy?" suddenly, it all clicked.

his heart, his mind, his fucking soul, everything made sense now. the pain, hydra, the mind washing, the torture.

meeting you. falling in love. dying?

his son.

he started walking closer to bucky before the steady walk turned into a run. bucky knelt down, wrapping the boy in his arms, cradling his tiny frame in his arms protectively. his son.

"cyrus james barnes," you said with a teary smile on your face. bucky, without breaking the hug with his son, looked up at you with a smile that matched yours. "cyrus means 'sun', and i thought it was fitting. he brought me so much light and hope after you..." you choked up before he stood up with cy in his arms, walking towards you before wrapping you in the big, family hug.

"i love you so much, both of you."

[cozage]

Coza!! Congrats on your 2K followers. 🥳🎉🥂

I like your smuts and I’m having a hard time choosing what scenarios to request!! I’m so excited for this event you have no idea. May I request for the Option 1? Reaction of Luffy+ Sanji+ Zoro+ Law+ Eustass Kid + Killer to you reading smuts/hentai please? Thank you!!

A/N: Hi :) I wasn't able to do everyone, but I did a few! Minors…OUT! go on! Get! Scram! Also I won’t lie Zoro’s is based loosely off of the funniest comic I’ve seen in my life that stays living rent free in my head Characters: gn reader x Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Law Cw: smut and suggestive, NO MINORS ALLOWED ON THIS POST PLS GO AWAY Total word count: 900

Scandalous Reading

Luffy

Luffy’s head rested on your shoulder, his eyes lazily skimming the page that you were reading. 

“Woah!” Luffy grabbed the book out of your hand and put it up to his face to get a better view of the words. “I didn’t even know this was possible!”

“Luffy!” You reached for the book, but he held it just out of your reach, still reading. 

“I didn’t even think about trying-”

“Luffy! Give it back!”

His wide eyes peered over the pages, but he refused to hand it back to you. “Do you like this stuff?”

“I mean-I don’t-I just-” Your face turned beet red at the implication. “It’s just written really well!”

He gave you a mischievous grin and took off back toward his room, book in tow. “Come on!” he called. “I want to see if it really can work this way!”

Oh, you were in for a rough night.

Sanji

“My love, did you-” Sanji stopped, his eyes fixated on the book cover you were reading.

“Sanji?” you prompted, trying to get his attention.

“I know that author,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “Where do I know that-”

“You probably don’t!” You slammed your book shut and shoved it behind your back. “What did you need?”

“Oh! Right! Would you like gelato or ice cream?”

“Surprise me!” you said, trying to get his mind off the book. “I’m sure whatever you make will be amazing!”

Sanji was in the kitchen when he finally placed it, and he almost collapsed from the realization of what he had caught you reading.

He brought you out the finest gelato he had ever made and set it down next to you. “So, my love,” he said, trying not to sound too excited. “How is your book?”

“It’s good,” you said. You set it down to grab your gelato, and Sanji lunged for it. 

He skimmed the pages, confirming his suspicion, and tried his hardest not to pass out from the filth his eyes found. “You’re reading book porn!” he whispered sharply. “You always get on me for staring at-”

“That’s not the same,” you hissed. “These aren’t real people! It’s different!”

“It is not!”

“What am I supposed to do!?” you snapped back, glaring at him. “You’re busy in the kitchen, I have to entertain myself somehow during the day!”

Oh, that was a bad way of wording things, because the second the words were out, Sanji’s eyes lit up. “Are you telling me you want to do something like this? Because I would love nothing more than to treat you like the royalty I know you are.”

Zoro

“What are you reading?” Zoro asked, looking at your book cover. 

“A book.” You tilted the book slightly to shield him from seeing any of the words.

“What’s it about?” He seemed strangely interested in the cover. “Swordmaking?”

Oh right, there was a sword on the front cover of the book. No wonder he was so interested in it. 

“It’s called Swords and Snakes. It’s a book about…royalty, love, and betrayal.”

He scrunched his face in disgust and went back to resting his eyes. “Not really my kind of book.”

You grinned. "No, I don't think it is." You set your book down and stood up. “Do you want anything? I’m going to go get a snack.”

“Riceballs.”

You nodded and went to the kitchen to grab food. What you hadn’t been expecting was returning to Zoro staring wide-eyed at the page you had dog-earred. 

He looked up at you in amusement, smirking at your anxious body language. “You weren’t joking about love and betrayal.”

“That’s mine!”

“More like love-making and betrayal,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know they wrote books like this. I didn’t know you would read books like this.”

“Well to be fair-” you snatched the book from his hands. “I didn’t know you could read at all!”

“Don’t be too bratty now,” he teased. “Or I’ll give you the same treatment that knight gave the princess.”

Law

You had only left your book laying on the bedside table for a minute while you ran to the bathroom. But damn that Trafalgar Law, he was so nosey. 

“Quite the fantasy world you read about,” he hummed as you walked back into the room.

“What do you-” your words died in your throat, seeing him flip through the pages. “Oh, that.” You gave a nervous laugh, striding back over to your bed. 

“Yes, this.” He slapped the book shut, peering up at you with such a predatory and lustful look that you almost took a step backward. 

“I just picked it up at the last bookstore we went to,” you lied. “I don’t even know what it’s about.”

“Right,” he said, clearly not believing you. 

He handed the book back to you, and you quickly grabbed it. “Thanks,” you whispered, unable to meet his eyes. 

“Sure.” He stood to take his leave, heading back to the lab. He stopped on his way out, leaning in to whisper in your ear. 

“If you ever want to make it a reality, all you have to do is ask.”

[jointherebellion215]

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood. 

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.” 

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid. 

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

[chaosandmarigolds]

(Loosely based on real events translated into something funny and yes, in real life my English is crappy and really broken even tho I’ve been speaking it for years)

Polish Reader: you murder my family

Konig: wrong?? I do no such thing??

Reader: bullshit! I hear in your voice you are are one of them

Konig: Austrian!! I am from Austria!

Reader: nooo you are German

Konig: I speak German does not mean I am German!

Reader:

Konig:

Reader: mówisz po polsku?

Konig: tak. sprichst du deutsch?

Reader: Da.

Reader: Also die Russen, was macht ihr-

Konig: nienawidzę ich

Soap: what the fuck are they saying

Simon: they’re remembering their days in the USSR

(Ps I know very little German, veeeery little sorry if spelling or the grammar is wrong)

[bloom-into-blue]

𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕖 𝕌𝕡 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝔹𝕖𝕒𝕥

summary: your girlfriend's performing tonight with her band, and you're more than excited to see zoya in action! what kind of action you'll actually get, however, is something else entirely.

contents: drummer!zoya x fem!reader, established relationship, reader wears a skirt and makeup, fing.ering, some light degradation, some spanking (all of these reader receiving), cunn.ilingus (zoya receiving), a hint of body worship (zoya receiving).

word count: 3.3k

author's note: zoya being a drummer in official material just made things easier because funny story, this is based very loosely on real events. i was at a battle of bands once and met a really hot drummer, complimented her playing and she hugged me. i later got shoved into a wall when a metal band began playing and the front of the crowd became a mosh pit.

you feel so out of place here.

zoya’s band is performing tonight at a bar, and obviously, any self-respecting girlfriend would go to their girlfriend's concert, right? it's only natural! you've even gone as far as to make a banner in dark cloth with bai yi’s, eleven’s, serpent’s and zoya's names spray-painted on it, though anyone can tell there's favoritism when zoya's name is bigger than the others and there's messy hearts around it. whatever, you're happy to show support for the band, but you're also very much devoted to your pookie (that absolutely loathes being called pookie, hence why you do it).

…all that said though, you're still by yourself in the crowd in a place you're not used to, dressed in a relatively short skirt and a blouse that leaves your shoulders exposed. it was supposed to be something to tease zoya, get her to smirk and say, “oh, you just couldn't wait ‘til we got back home?”

now though, there's a breeze that makes you shiver and you're attracting less desirable attention. now there's less excitement and more desire for zoya to just whisk you away. all this skin you're showing is meant for zoya and zoya alone!

it seems like whatever god is out there is rather merciful though, because suddenly there's a hand that grips your wrist and pulls you away. at first you turn around in shock, already on edge, before you recognize your girlfriend's tall form and her silky, silver hair. just like that, you're smiling eagerly while you let zoya guide you to the backstage section only musicians are allowed.

the second you're behind the stage, zoya's glaring at you with furrowed brows. “c'mon princess, you should've texted me. it's obvious from miles away that you're uncomfortable,” she scolds while still gripping onto your wrist, her touch a bit more gentle now that it's just the two of you.

“s-sorry, i didn't know if you'd be able to answer,” you try to explain, suddenly feeling sheepish before her.

despite still being somewhat worried about you though, zoya sighs softly before a bright grin rises to her face, and suddenly her hands dart behind your thighs and she lifts you up like you weight nothing, which prompts you to let out a shocked little squeal. “z-zoya!” you exclaim, clearly flustered.

“what? i'm just happy to see my girl here, cheering for me!” she counters eagerly, and suddenly you're reminded of why you spent so much time working on that banner and wanted to remain in the crowd: so zoya could see it and see that cocky yet thrilled expression of hers.

the way she smiles is too much for you, and with a fond grin, you lean down while she's still lifting you up with those strong hands, then kiss zoya's lips so tenderly you'd think she's made of porcelain. of course, zoya's happy to kiss back, though she keeps it chaste because god knows she won't be letting you go if you deepen the kiss even a tiny bit.

“gonna be cheering for me in the crowd?” zoya whispers against your lips and you just know her lipstick left marks over your own. “or do you wanna stay near the stage? we can be even closer that way.”

“won't you get in trouble for sneaking me backstage though?”

“eh, who cares. i'm not letting my girl stay where she doesn't wanna.” as she speaks, one of her thumbs gently strokes the spot where your thigh meets your ass, and while normally that would drive you crazy, all it does is melt your heart.

“hm… if you're sure, babe. i'd rather stay near the stage.”

“consider it done.”

you kiss her on the cheek, both to show her your appreciation and to leave a mark of your own on zoya. “you're a darling.”

behind the two of you the unmistakable noise of bai yi fake gagging can be heard while eleven tells her off with a little laugh, meanwhile serpent signals that their band is up now. zoya pouts at being called away, though she goes right back to grinning at you with that usual, wolfish smirk of hers. she gives your ass a gentle pat, something that makes your cheeks burn, then sets you back down down and adjusts her own clothes.

“wish me luck, doll.”

as she leaves, you throw her a kiss silently, then smile brightly when she catches it and kisses her hand in response, walking backwards so her blue eyes stay glued to yours until she's properly on stage.

gah, you love her to bits.

“now, this group's a bit of a newer integration, but you may have heard of ‘em, so give it up for… path to nowhere!” the announcer shouts into a microphone before handing it to serpent, and the crowd goes wild while she sets it up on a stand.

instead of wasting any time, all that sounds is zoya slamming her drumsticks together as she shouts, “one, two, three, four!”

the crowd's already lively and raring even though less than a minute has gone by, aided by the punk sound of your girlfriend's band, to the point where they're already moshing with serpent’s voice as their background, and suddenly you're glad zoya read your comfort levels and pulled you to a more secluded area where you can hear them play just fine. it allows your focus to go entirely towards your girlfriend.

specifically, you can see the way zoya's jacket doesn't quite cover her tattoed shoulders and biceps, how she's already somewhat transpired as she grins from how excited everyone is. each hit she gives her drums resounds and vibrates across the place, you can quite literally feel the beat through your entire body as it reaches your heart, and yet it's still little compared to the way it throbs every time zoya glances your way between each roll against her snare drum.

she sends a wink your way once the first song is over, and you happily lift the banner for her to see, something that makes zoya laugh upon seeing her name dwarf the others. you're the only one who knows why zoya's laughing.

it's nice, the little things like that between you and your girlfriend.

before you know it, zoya's band is done and the next band is up, though you keep the handmade banner held up high when zoya and the others meet you back beside the stage.

you hear bai yi asking if they blew your mind, eleven thanking you for the banner, serpent eagerly running to hug you as thanks for the support.

they're all a bit too late for you to process them though, because zoya's arms are wrapped around your form in a tight embrace and obviously, ever the loving girlfriend, you wrap your arms around her all the same. she's warm, a tad sweaty and her breathing’s a bit labored from getting too into her playing, and you still find zoya to be the hottest woman to ever step foot on this planet. hell, her panting might be turning you on.

she surprises you by leaning in and whispering into your ear, “let's get out of here already, yeah? i don't have to stay here anymore and honestly, i need to fucking ravage you.”

your eyes immediately go wide and you pull away to stare at her like a deer in the headlights, yet zoya's smirking at you and staring right back like she didn't just threaten you with a good time, as surprised as you were. “got all worked up?” you whisper with a little smile, letting your hands rest on the slight curve of her hip while hers are far more adventurous.

“of course i fuckin’ did. did you forget what you're wearing or somethin’?” zoya grumbles back, and for a moment you had, you had genuinely forgotten you wanted to get a rise out of her with this short skirt that barely even reaches the middle of your thigh. still, her hands moving to hold your hips are a wonderful reminder of one of your main goals tonight.

“what about the rest of the bands though? i even made this-”

“come to my place and hang it above my bed.”

you find it hard to object to zoya's solid argument.

amongst the band’s objections and curious questions, zoya simply leads you away and out of the bar, the two of you giggling like you're drunk despite having drunk no alcohol at all, simply because zoya makes you feel giddy and she enjoys teasing you about it.

the two of you call an uber to go to zoya's apartment, but the second you're inside, your girlfriend decides she's done holding back. the second she's done giving her direction and without a care or worry, zoya crashes her lips into yours and her hands travel down your thighs to dig her fingers into the flesh there. you let out a muffled gasp against her eager mouth, happy to part your lips so zoya can push her tongue inside and claim you like she obviously wants to. her hands go further under your skirt now, groping at the round flesh of your ass, and zoya just about growls against your lips. you don't realize it, but this woman's been thinking about pulling you into a corner and pushing at least two fingers inside you the second she saw you in the crowd of that bar.

the car door presses against your back uncomfortably though, distracting you from zoya's eager hands, and so it's a blessing when the uber driver awkwardly announces that you've arrived at your destination.

zoya simply shoves some cash at him and barks for him to keep the change before eagerly unlocking the door behind you and lifting you like she had done before, something that once more prompts a shocked gasp out of you. she carries you while leaving hungry, almost clumsy kisses across your neck and jawline, to the point where you have to be on the lookout to avoid bumping into anything while zoya leaves her lipstick all across your shoulders.

the heat of the moment doesn't die down when you finally reach the door to zoya's apartment, where she finally lets you down to reluctantly open it as fast as humanly possible. in the blink of an eye, you drag her into the apartment and she matches your energy, instantly closing the door behind you and pushing you against the hard surface.

“you think you're so clever,” she grunts before pausing to nibble and suck right onto your pulse point and leaving a dark hickey there. “thought i’d pounce you the second i saw you.”

you would've been right, but she's never going to say that part out loud.

“you're mine, doll. if anyone's gonna see all this skin, they better know i'm the one that's got you covered in marks.”

“i-i’m all yours,” is all you can whine under your breath, already feeling like your mind is entirely blank even though all zoya's done is kiss and grope you. it's just that easy for her to turn your body into her plaything.

“atta girl. all mine,” zoya praises with a smug smirk before she pulls off her jacket and unbuckles her belt a second later. your eyes brighten up like you're seeing a christmas present, and it's almost second nature to fall onto your knees before your girlfriend, something that makes her chuckle. “eager, aren't you? that's a good slut.”

you don't answer zoya aloud, but instead lean forward to press sloppy kisses over her abs, and the sigh she lets out when she takes in the sight makes you clench your thighs. you continue to press your lips against her taut skin, covering her in messy lipstick marks while making your way down her navel. a silent glance upward, a request for permission to continue, and zoya bites her lip while tangling her fingers across your hair. “show me what that tongue can do,” she doesn't say, but commands.

eager, you pull her pants and boxers down until her cunt is exposed, because you know she likes fucking you while clothed, and you dive to drive your tongue between her drenched lips like a starved man. “fuck, that's it,” you hear her grunt while giving her clit a few licks for good measure, then press your mouth against the edge of her entrance, collecting all the slick zoya's making just because of you, and that thought alone drives you crazy.

you don't get to bask in that thought for long though.

zoya's grip on your hair tightens a second later, and you whimper before leaving your tongue flat, knowing that's just a warning before she's rutting against your tongue and guiding you by your hair into whatever side she so desires. “good god, such a pretty mouth,” she grumbles between labored breaths, and you're more than happy to let her use your tongue to her heart's content. her clit keeps brushing against you, bringing out grunts and groans out of zoya like she's losing her grip on reality. between the way she looks down at you like she owns you, eyes clouded from the pleasure, makes you clench your thighs while your cunt squeezes around nothing.

“gonna cum soon. you better be a good little whore and take it all,” she grunts while still riding your mouth, pushing down against her entrance. you moan against her and push your tongue inside while nosing her clit to try and make her reach her peak. obviously, you're more than happy to comply with her request.

the second zoya creams into your mouth, it's hard to not let out a pleased moan, for you love the way she tastes against you. she trembles above you with a loud groan, her grip tight and borderline desperate on your hair, though that simply makes you moan louder into her drenched folds.

when she's done though, her grip loosens, and you see the softness in her gaze when those lovely blue eyes look down at you. “good girl,” she whispers while gently stroking your hair with a shaky hand.

you pull away from her, smiling brightly at zoya. “i live to serve,” you murmur softly, something that brings a chuckle out of her.

“alright now, i'm pretty sure i've got a promise to keep,” zoya says before taking you by the wrists and pushing your front against the nearest wall, her chest pressed against your back as she holds you there.

“z-zoya,” you gasp out, only to let out a breathless sigh when your girlfriend's hands start to travel across your body in ways she couldn't allow before. one of zoya's hands goes up your blouse and under your bra to toy with your breast and pinch the nipple, something that brings little moans out of you, much to her delight. the other hand meanwhile lifts your skirt from behind and two of her fingers instantly start brushing against your clothed cunt, the fabric already ruined from how turned on you are from eating her out.

“all this for me?” zoya rasps into your ear and smirks to herself when all you let out in response is a needy whine. between her hand playing with your tits and the fingers that don't quite go inside you, she's making every fiber of your being ache to just let her claim you already.

suddenly though, the hand playing with your chest darts away, and before you can ask zoya what’s wrong, she brings it down onto your ass cheek with a loud smack. instantly, you cry out at the sensation, caught off-guard… though you arch your back a bit a mere moment later, allowing zoya full access to your body.

“you don't get to tease me, dressing up like this for one of my shows,” she scolds before giving your ass another smack; the skin is already turning red. “you've got no idea what it was like, seeing you like this and having to hold back just ‘cause i've got a show.”

“i-i’m sorry-” you begin with a shaky voice, only for your words to morph into a sharp moan as she smacks your other ass cheek with the hand that was teasing your drenched in your own slick.

“i'll make you understand what will happen if you dress like this again.”

christ, this just makes you want to do it again as soon as possible.

zoya then pulls your soaked underwear out of the way until your panties fall to your ankles, and without waiting for a single instant, pushes three whole fingers into you while still sporting that smug smirk of hers, which only widens at the loud moan she drags out of you. “just like that, yeah. keep making noises like that while i'm the one that fucks you.”

you obey without complaints, something she makes not just easy but inevitable. zoya's fingers fill you up as she pumps into you at an already unbearable pace. the way she pants and growls into your ear only makes you clench around her fingers more, which makes her chuckle lowly against you and in return your cunt flutters around her, trapping you in an endless cycle. her fingers move in and out, already accustomed to your walls like it's her second nature, and it only takes her a moment before her fingers curl up against your g-spot and ram into it like she's trying to bully it.

“zoya, fuck, p-please,” you gasp between wanton moans, focusing on the way her body presses against yours while her fingers go in and out of you.

zoya laughs, though the sound is eclipsed by the wet noises coming from below and the moans coming from above. “please what, babe? c'mon, you're a big girl, so use your words.”

it's hard to speak at all right now, but somehow you manage. “c-close. please lemme cum,” you plead, then squeeze your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure she makes you drown in.

“just like that, yeah. that's my slut,” she says as her free hand darts to your front and starts rubbing your clit with two fingers. instantly, your eyes go wide and the volume of your moans grows, feeling breathless under the assault of her fingers that fuck you from all possible angles. you can't think, you can barely even see beyond the stars she brings to your vision, yet zoya remains relentless as she fingers you.

the only warning you give her is a sharp gasp before you cry out and let your head fall forward, a sudden stream of cum shooting out from between your legs that coats her hands and some of her floor as well.

“goddamn,” you hear her whisper in shock, awe and even pride, though it's almost impossible to think through your orgasm. she helps you ride your high while slowing the pace of her fingers, until she finally stops and slowly pulls away to hold you from behind in a tender hug.

“you were beautiful there, babe,” she whispers, gently pushing your hair away to leave gentle kisses at the back of your neck. this woman behaves like a beast more often than not, but zoya still treats you like fragile porcelain when she's done making you see white. it's something that only makes you love her more and more.

with tired breaths, you smile back and close your eyes, enjoying the way her lips feel against you. “you were awesome too,” you praise, “both here… and on the stage.”

the soft laugh she lets out against your skin makes goosebumps rise where she breathes. “damn right i was. i gotta be cool onstage when i know my girlfriend's watching.”

the next morning, when you wake up in your girlfriend's bed with your head tucked comfortably under her chin and soft snores coming from zoya, a glance upwards makes a wide grin rise to your face.

the banner you made for her and the rest of the band hangs there, above the bed, proudly.

[flor4de4amor]

may we please PLEASE PLEASE please get more aviator!abby???? she’s so yummy & i need her so bad..

welll if you wannttttt ofcccc!! this is totallyyy not based off of today’s events. if only i had abby around </3

click for palestine | don’t buy tlou | read b4 engaging

the toilet is broken and it's been ruining your fucking day. the stupid handle is too loose and you're determined to fix it yourself. it's far too embarrassing to ask the other wives on base to use their toilet. word spreads far too fast. everyone's gonna think abby doesn't care for you. and that is far from true! she cares about you so much, you think you're gonna suffocate in her love.

which is part of the reason you wanna fix this stupid waste of space in your bathroom. abby takes care of you everyday, and she works hard and long all day. it wouldn't be fair for her to come home to a broken toilet. (sometimes she sits there doing buisness, while playing wordle, and keeping conversation with you as you shower. you'd hate to break routine.) but you've been knelt over twisting screws, fiddling with pliers, and banging your head against the wall for the past few hours. for a matter of fact, youtube is not helpful! in fact, when abby gets home, you're informing her of a the anderson housewide youtube ban. stupid fucking site. waste of space on the web. killed away at your day with useless hacks anyway.

you're so caught up on cursing at the tablet, your cat pawing at your toes, the stupid fucking toilet, and don't forget swearing the wind, that you don't hear abby's heavy footsteps. you normally greet her at the door with plenty of love. whenever you're not waiting for her, it normally means trouble. means that she better make your stiff couch, real comfortable tonight. and no, she cannot steal any souvenirs from your normally shared bed. she must make do with some throw pillows and a teensy tiny blanket.

you think that you've almost got the issue sorted out when she catches you redhanded. her arms snake around your waist from behind causing you to drop your tools and squeal. your cat screeching at the commotion. abby clicks her tongue at the grey streaked animal. bane of her existence. you thrash in her arms for a minute, until she kisses your cheeks and you're able to inhale her scent. "relax pretty, it's just me."

you huff, and turn around facing her sweet face. "you're an asshole." you don't mean it. but, she's just made you almost shit your pants while your toilet is totally broken. fair reaction, if you may say so yourself.

"you don't mean that," she smiles. her thumb goes to wipe sweat off your forehead. "what's going on here that you're wielding serious machinery?" she eyes the discarded plier and screwdriver.

you slide up to the sink, settling your spine against the cool faucet. your cat following in suite, jumping up into your lap, effortlessly. you coax, him, in your laps, scratching behind his ears, while speaking to your wife. "toilet's fucking broken." you groan, "i've spent all day trying to fix it." abby eyes the loud video playing in the counter of the bathroom corner. she goes to shut off the tablet, sensing your agitation.

"why didn't you call me? or a plumber?" her hands rub your thighs gently, trying to soothe you.

"despite what the haters say," you laugh softly to yourself, "i can do things."

she looks you up and down with a look of doubt in her eye, "i know you can." she plants a sweet kiss on your lips to reassure you before planting the real stuff. she pulls away stroking your cheek, "just not this type of stuff."

you roll your eyes and scoff. "ok well, a girl can try."

she smiles, "yeah lets, not anymore." she smiles and leans away slightly, eyeing the damage you've done to the commode. you pinch her bicep for her sly comment. she grunt in a pained response. her hands grip your wrist, not too tight, she'd never hurt you. "listen here girly," she threatens emptily, before releasing your wrist. her fingers tickle at your sides with carefree joy.

"is it fixable?" you ask. you feel awful.

that cocky smile of hers finds its way to her dopey face. "for the average joe? meh," she shrugs her shoulders. "for me?" she boasts, "definitely fixable, pretty. don't worry." she plants another kiss on you. when she pulls away, abby wipes her hands on the sides of her uniform khakis. she kneels to the base of the toilet, and assess the damage closer. "i think i found the problem baby."

"what is it?" you stroke the feline in your lap.

"you've been using all the wrong tools hon," she remarks offhanded while digging around blindly for her toolbar that's got her initials monogrammed onto the front.

"you're a tool," you say under your breathe.

"heard that!" abby says from down below. she chuckles softly, but doesn't let you hear.

"love you baby!" you reply back, a smile fixed to your lips.

"suck it, anderson," she grunts back while tightening a bolt or something. whatever the hell she was doing down there.

"maybe later," you laugh sweetly.

"sounds good to me," abby replies rather quick.

"shut up and fix the toilet anderson!" you say in a fit of giggles.

"yes ma'am," your cornball of a wife replies, while making a complicated task look easy. she's impossible to hate, and so easy to love.

[driftwithme]

I love that Guillermo del Toro didn't want Pacific Rim to be all about the military, so he ended up giving the PPDC ranks based on cowboy imagery: ranger, marshall, etc.

It makes me think about some of the most beloved characters by the narrative are the ones who rebel agonist the military way of doing stuff: characters like Newt and Raleigh for example. Because well, characters like Mako and Hermann are rebellious but only due the influence of Newt and Raleigh -- and characters like Herc and Chuck seem to be rebellious in parallel to Raleigh too, like some contagious virtue on the loose.

It's palpable in two of their most famous lines on the movie: when Newton talks about how fortune favors the brave and when Raleigh tells Mako that in real life you make decisions and you have to learn to keep living with the consequences. Everyone around them looks down at them at some point for being what they'd call reckless, but Raleigh and Newt are aware of the risks, they are not kids. Which is funny because in contrast, they even do that to each other: the perception of the other as a fool of some sort.

And yet, without Newt and Raleigh tendency of disobeying, they'd all be dead and gone.

Without Raleigh insitance on having Mako as his co-pilot and his demand to get G. Danger deployed, the Double Event would had been the catastrophe that ended their last run to the Breach before it started. Without Newt's crazy plan of drifting with a kaiju, they would had perish due the lack or information.

Twice Raleigh piloted solo and twice Newt drifted with a kaiju. In one of those ocassion they had to give a part of themselves that they would never get back (a part of Newt's sanity, Yancy's life). After the first time, both emphasize to Pentecost that they can't do it again. They can, technically, but now they've done it once and it hurt.

Still they do it and it saves the world.

The man who was good for nothing except to hold his own on a fight and the guy who was destined to love fictitious monsters in every universe except that one. In any other world or timeline, Newtom and Raleigh would have been the losers. They were still somehow the losers on Pacrim, a has-been pilot turnes into a builder and a scientist perceive as another sick kaiju groupie. They weren't disciplined like the others yet they were a bit obsessive, they were the sort of ambitious that makes people doubt, stubborn and arrogant in their convictions, totally unapologetic in knowing themselves.

Sure, they have to pay the price in double, but at the end of the day, they are champs of fortune: they do the impossible and survive to tell their stories, breaking every rule and winning the faith of those around them.

[ofstoriesandstardust]

steady love (j.h.s.)

a/n: loosely based on real events... thanks to @cottagecorifor indulging me

summary: You think someone is following you home, so naturally, you call Jake.

second star to the right (and straight on 'til morning)

warnings: reader thinks someone is following her but is never in any real danger, swearing, unedited

word count: 1.1k

“There now, steady love, so few come and don’t go/will you, won’t you, be the one i’ll always know?”

You swallow as you glance behind you, the shadowy figure still maintaining a good distance behind you. You clutch your pepper spray together, before fishing your phone out of your jacket pocket. 

The cold San Diego air nips at your fingers as curse silently, dialing Jake’s number and pressing the phone up to your ear. He answers on the third ring even though you’ve already started chewing on your lip. 

You can hear music in the background and Natasha’s laughter in the background. He must be having dinner with Javy and Nat, something you feel a momentary twinge of guilt for interrupting. 

“Hey sweetheart, how’s it going?” He says, a smile clear in his voice. 

“Jake-” You say, twisting back around to see if the man behind you had gotten any closer. You can’t be sure but you think he is. “Hey, I think I’m being followed, can you please just stay on the phone with me until I get to my apartment?�� 

There’s a skidding of a chair in the background as his voice turns hard. “Where are you right now? Are you in your car or did you take the bus?”

You swallow. “I’m walking back from the bus stop. I’m like a block from the intersection of Rosewood and Melvin. I’m not far from my apartment building at all.” 

You think you hear keys jingling in the background with the sound of a front door opening. There’s a few seconds of silence that feel like minutes as you hear Jake get in his truck and start the engine. “Okay sweetheart, I want you to try and make it to the intersection. You can try and lose him at the crosswalk.” 

“I don’t even know if this guy is following me.” You mutter, suddenly feeling slightly stupid. 

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re alone and it’s dark and you don’t feel safe.” 

You eye the nearing intersection with nerves growing in your stomach. It’s more well-lit than the rest of the road but you also have nowhere to go if this guy really did want to hurt you. 

“I should’ve called Bradley and have him meet me halfway. Hey Jake- I’m gonna call you once I get back to my apartment, I’m gonna call Bradley.” 

“You’re high if you think I’m letting you get off the phone right now, sweetheart.” Jake’s voice is firm, hard and cold, and you swallow the sting of the fact that Jake is mad at you. 

“Jake, really, I think I’m being overdramatic, it’s fine-” 

“I texted Bradshaw when I left my house, he’s going to meet you at the intersection. Do not hang up the phone until you’re with him, do you understand me?” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay I see him. I’m at the light now.” 

“Great. I want you to tell me if you want pepperoni pizza if he’s still behind you, cheese for no.” 

You glance next to you as you press the button for the crosswalk, unable to keep in the startled gasp at the fact that the man was right behind you. 

“Sweetheart?” 

You swallow as the man gives you a curious glance before pressing the button for the opposite crosswalk. The light goes green and he begins his walk away from you. 

“Hey, sweetheart, can you hear me? Are you there?” 

There's a desperate note in his voice as you swallow again, eyes flickering across the street as you see Bradley’s broad figure come into the light. 

“Yeah, I’m- I’m fine Jake. He was just right behind me but he’s gone now.” 

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. Hey, I’m crossing the street now, I see Bradley, I’ll call you in like ten minutes.”

“I’d really prefer you stay on the phone with me.” 

“He wasn’t even following me Jake, he was just some man going for a walk.” You snap, walking across the street to where Bradley is waiting. “I’ll call you when I get back to my place.”  

You hang up the phone as you jog the last few steps up to Bradley, finally letting yourself breathe. His eyes skim over you before the area around you. 

“Are you good? Do we need to take a few laps around the block?” 

You shake your head as the two of you begin to walk back to your building. “Fine. The guy wasn’t even following me, I just think he got off at my stop.” 

“You don’t usually come this way.” Bradley comments as the two of you walk. 

“Yeah.” You let out a huffed laugh. “A car drove into the side of the bus as it was letting me off.”  

Bradley’s eyes grow wide. “Are you being serious?” 

“Yep. Pretty sure that guy was on the bus and just managed to get a headstart to the next stop on everyone. Dude’s a fucking fast-walker.” 

“Sorry.” Bradley says, waving a hand. “The car hit your bus?”

-

You’re settled on Bradley’s couch, recounting the story to Bob and Mickey and Bradley’s girlfriend Jordan, a slice of pizza in your hand when Jake opens the front door rather abruptly. You barely have time to hand the plate off to Bob before Jake is pulling you off the couch and into his arms. 

“Jake-” 

“What the fuck, dude. Do you know how scary it was to get that call?” 

Jake briefly pulls back, eyes scanning over you, before he wraps you in another tight hug. You swallow as his hand comes to rest on the back of your head.

The two of you stand there for what is starting to feel like an embarrassing amount of time when you hear Jake whisper, “I just got you. I can’t lose you yet.” 

The words are so quiet you almost don’t think he even realizes he said them out loud. Guilt prickles at you again. 

“Are you mad at me?” 

“Mad at you?” 

He still won’t let you go but you can picture how big and wide his eyes are. 

“Well, I know you always hate it when I take the bus but I can’t be asking you for rides every time I have to leave the house just because I don’t want to spend money on gas-” 

“Sweetheart, yes I would prefer it if you stop taking the bus. But, you- you can’t be responsible for some sleazeball following you home.” 

“Well, he wasn’t really following me. I just sort of panicked.” You say sheepishly.

“Watching your bus get hit by a car will make you all kinds of shaken up.” Bradley comments, grin clear in his voice. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jake says, glancing at Bradley before looking back at you. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

[kayleighwinchester]

Praise

(( Another Jensen-a-Thon drabble for @artyandink's lovely event! This one is separate from the previous two - more coming for those later! This is based loosely off of real events - no, Graay, I still haven't forgiven you for not telling me I did a good job healing Trial of the Crusader that night. ))

You're a grown adult.

You're a grown adult, and a damn good hunter. You shouldn't need validation to remind you of that. You don't need validation. 

At least, you don't think you do.

It had started off innocently enough. You’d hunted with the Winchesters for years - practically every job they took, unless Dean royally pissed you off, which happened, at most, once or twice a year – and after every job, without fail, Dean would loop you in a one-armed hug, pull you close to his side, and press a kiss to your temple, offering a quick, but utterly genuine, ‘good job’ – or, if he was feeling particularly proud (or particularly frisky), ‘good girl’. It didn’t matter how well the job actually went - hell, he’d said it a few times when everything had gone completely off the rails. He'd said it when you were all bruised and bloody and hurting and half-dead and nothing felt okay, much less good.

When it came down to it, though, you don’t need his praise to know that you were doing your job well.

It wasn’t on purpose, you knew that much. That last job - a nest of vamps down in Tucson - had gone entirely sideways, and you were sure that giving you any sort of praise was the farthest thing from Dean's mind. Sam had almost died, you were pretty sure Dean had at least three or four broken ribs… Still, you didn't feel right, getting into the car in the silence that followed, broken only by occasional grumbles, groans, and hisses of pain.

You couldn't place why, exactly, the silence bothered you, but it was grating on your nerves, making you feel more irritable than you could remember being in a long time. Even Sam could feel the tension in the car building on the way back to the motel, and it wasn’t long before Dean picked up on it as well. The eldest Winchester cleared his throat, glancing your way. “Wanna go get a few drinks once we get cleaned up? I could really use a beer.” He offered, eyes darting from you to Sam, as if begging his brother to back him up. You offered a shrug in response. “Or we could stop at that diner ‘cross the street from the motel. Got a sign sayin’ they make their pie fresh every day.” He tried again, simply earning himself another shrug from you, and a confused glance from Sam.

It finally made sense when Sam spoke up – clearly trying to smooth things over, trying to put you in a better mood, offering, “You did a great job back there, Y/N.” It worked, at least a little – you could at least force yourself to smile at him, even if it didn’t feel entirely genuine. 

Dean’s eyes cut to you, and as he caught your smile, the gears started turning – you saw several expressions cross his face in quick succession: confusion; realization; annoyance; exasperation. “That's what this is about?” He demanded. “You're throwin' a whole fit ‘cause I didn't tell you that you did good today?”

“I’m not throwing a fit.” You offered halfheartedly.

You weren’t expecting Dean to pull the car over on the gravel shoulder, casting Sam a stare – the younger Winchester stared back for a moment, before Dean raised his eyebrows. “Backseat.” He ordered, pointing. Sam looked baffled – and you were sure you did as well.

Dean was barely fighting a smile, even despite his clear exhaustion. “C’mon, Sweetheart.” He waved toward the front seat, motioning for you to switch with Sam. You hesitated a moment, looking to Sam – he still looked just as confused as you were – before you obediently left the backseat, trading places with Sam. Dean was already leaning forward to pull his box of cassettes up onto the seat between you. 

You settled into the passenger seat, your backpack between your feet, taking in the amused grin that lit up Dean’s face, growing with every passing moment, looking out of place among the blood, dirt, and bruises there.

He glanced up at you, taking in the confusion still painted onto your face. “Since ‘m apparently breakin’ rules,” He drawled out, his stare a bit more pointed at the words – it had never been a rule, and you all knew it – “what’s one more, huh?” There, shoved between two cassettes - Metallica and Mötley Crüe – was the iPod adapter Sam had bought (the one you were quite sure Dean had thrown out the window the moment he’d seen it). “Just try not to make my ears bleed too bad, huh?” 

As you dug through your backpack for your iPod, Dean leaned down, his face close to yours, his lips against your ear, his voice low enough that Sam wouldn’t hear.

“‘N when we get back to the motel, I’ll tell Sammy to take a hike, ‘n I’ll tell you what a good girl you are as many times as you want.”

[periprose]

Heyyy I’m literally playing through ps4 Spider-Man again 🤣!

I was wondering if I could request a ps4 fic, maybe Peter and reader have been dating for a while, and she gets hurt during the explosion and he can’t find her but she’s with may at feast with like a broken arm or something?? (She knows he’s Spider-Man) 👀🫶🏼

hey lol thanks for requesting! I'm on the first playthrough of the game myself. Basically this is set during the explosion at the election event in the game, and Peter and you are there to proudly watch Officer Davis accept his award.

/

"Hey." Peter comes up from behind you on the sidewalk, fixing wrinkles in his civilian clothes. He must've just changed.

"Hey, Parker." You nudge him. "Ready to go watch Osborn smooch up to the well-meaning audience of Manhattan?"

"Well, ready as I'll ever be." Peter takes your hand. "I'm really just there to watch Davis get his well-deserving award, y'know. Hey, didn't I tell you to stop calling me Parker?"

"Meh, you love it." You joke. "You'll always be Parker to me, even if you are my boyfriend now. It's our thing."

Peter shakes his head, but you know based on his little smile- he loves that you have a little thing just for him.

Together, you walk to the intersection in front of City Hall, where many people crowd around, waiting for Mayor Osborn and whatever speech he's about to give today. They're all dressed in Osborn themed merchandise, cheering and clapping.

You can't believe this many people care about Osborn's so-called promises to the city- you and Peter are really hoping he won't be re-elected this term after all- but people are clapping for him, and you sigh knowing that your cost of living is about to go up.

"Hey. Wipe that frown off your face. We're here to be supportive." Peter whispers from next to you in the crowd, and you nod.

"Where's Davis? Is that him?" You whisper back, pointing to an older black man up on the stage.

"Yup. You wouldn't believe it, he was so helpful in Hell's Kitchen. Dude whipped out his gun and had my back like we've been best buds for years." Peter smiles. "There's not many out there doing it like him."

"He sounds like a real treasure. I'm glad you have someone on your side." You squeeze Peter's hand, and continue to look up towards the stage in mild excitement.

You don't really care for Osborn's speech- Peter laughs about his promise to open up technology for NYC when you both know that's reserved for the elite- but you both grin when Davis, looking nervous as ever, walks up the stage to receive his award.

"It is my privilege to present Officer Jefferson Davis with the Department Medal of Honour." Osborn hangs a medal around Davis' neck, and you and Peter clap.

"I'm so glad this is all over. The gang war, I think." Peter whispers to you, and you raise your eyebrows.

"Really? Does this mean you'll finally be a little safer?" You ask, but Peter frowns a little.

"Well, there's some loose ends still to be tied up, but-"

"Loose ends?" You give him a wary glance. "Like what?"

"Like whatever 'Consolidated Shipping' is. It doesn't make sense." Peter sighs, watching concern grow on your face. "It's not right, but I'll figure it out."

Davis says a few words- he thanks his wife and his son, Miles, who you can see is sitting up at the front of the stage.

"Aw, cute kid." You remark to Peter, and he nods, gaining a slightly sheepish smile.

"Officer Davis did say I remind him of his son. I'll take it as a compliment." Peter jokes, and you snicker, calling him even more of a baby.

Behind you, Sable guards are talking on their walkie talkies about "keeping eyes on Osborn," which to you sounds as if they perceive a threat. You turn back to tell Peter, when he suddenly flinches.

"Peter-?"

He grabs his head, panicking- you watch as his pupils dilate, and he's clearly in some kind of shock.

"Everything feels off-" Peter flinches again, and you know he's having a Spider-Sense meltdown. There must be multiple things happening at once- even worse, you're not sure what he's supposed to do in this situation. He's not suited up, and he risks revealing his identity if he does anything.

Either way, Peter runs behind you. He shoves people out of the way, trying to get to the back of the event, behind the audience, but he's not fast enough. There are men arriving out of cars- corrupted men, turning that strange grey-blue-transparent hue that confirms their connection with Martin Li.

Peter runs- he dashes- but you see him flinch again, cowering under such threatening energy. He turns to the stage in horror, and you gasp in shock.

There's another corrupted on stage, covered in explosive devices.

An explosion goes off behind you, to the right of you, than another massive one on stage- the ground shakes beneath you, and you're too in shock to move.

"Get down!" Peter shoves you back, attempting to push you out of the way, just as another two explosions cause the earth under you to rattle, and you lose your footing and fall back on the pavement. You twist your arm unnaturally and hit your head.

You black out, the last thing you see being massive blue-black explosions in the sky.

/

Peter wakes to floating ash in the sky.

He coughs- there's a sharp pain in his right side, and a slight ache at the top of his hairline- he touches his forehead and pulls his fingers away to see brown-red, dry blood.

It doesn't matter. He'll heal faster than most, anyways- he needs to locate you.

He gets up, seizes a little due to the pain- and to his alarm, you're nowhere in his near sight. He walks around seeing Sable guards help people off the streets- although Peter really thinks they're poking and prodding and shoving them away, so they can clean up the mess around here.

He hopes you haven't been taken away by Sable guards.

Peter rushes to the nearest clinic- but there's too many people crowding around there with their injuries, and the receptionist at the emergency room tells him there's no one by your name here.

He begins to panic. You're not responding to his calls, either. Peter doesn't want to believe the worst could've happened to you, but he does hear people talking on the streets about the casualties. Apparently at least 10 people have been found dead so far- Peter starts swearing under his breath.

He decides to head to FEAST- he's not sure if you'll be there, but it's better to ask Aunt May or some of the volunteers if you've been seen. FEAST also operates as an emergency medical clinic, too, even with limited supplies, and it's with this small amount of hope that Peter travels there.

Pushing through the doors, the front desk woman- Amanda- she's startled by how intensely Peter asks about you.

"I don't know, Peter." She points to the main auditorium, where many homeless and injured people are currently being attended to. "It's kind of an open house back here- you're going to have to look through the crowds."

Peter sighs. "Thanks, Amanda."

It takes him about fifteen minutes to do a full, quick walkthrough. The entire time, his heartbeat thumps faster as he realizes- he's not seeing you anywhere. There's nobody wearing your trademark scarf, your usual dark blue jeans- nobody with your fastidious expression, where you always seem to take in the entire world before speaking- nobody to relieve the steady ache in his heart.

Peter walks into the room full of medical supplies, expecting to see Aunt May- and while May is there, busy with another volunteer, the first thing he sees is you, with your hair all disheveled and messy, bruises on your cheek and a cut under your lip, and your arm wrapped in a cast and a sling.

But you have a soft, comforting smile. You're kneeling down to help a little girl- she can't be older than five- and you're placing a bandage on her knee. And the little girl squeals, hugging you after you say "It's all better now."

Peter would agree with that.

You look up, arms still embraced around the little girl- Rina is her name- to see Peter, looking wistful, sad, a clear lump in his throat. His eyes are watery.

"Peter?" You watch as he comes forward.

"I thought you were- I thought..." He wipes his eyes. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"Well, Little Rina over here needed a little bit of medical attention." You kindly tap her shoulder and she nods up at Peter, smiling. "She tripped and fell and no one was paying attention to her knee, so I decided to help her."

"That's..." Peter trails off, wondering how you could be so selfless when your own face was looking a bit worse for wear. "That's sweet of you to do. How do you feel, kiddo?"

He kneels towards her, and she grins really big. "Better!"

"Alright, high five then." Peter high fives her, and she dashes off afterwards, most likely looking for the parent she came with.

"Why didn't you respond to my calls?" Peter asks you as soon as you turn back to him. "I thought... I thought the worst had happened-"

"Peter, please. Stop with the wounded ego." May calls him out, listening from the sidelines. "What's important is that she's safe and in one piece- that's more than enough to feel grateful about."

Peter looks down, ashamed. He knows May is right, and he has to swallow his pride for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Peter." You grasp his hand, and he looks back at you, jaw tight as he listens. "I didn't mean to not answer your calls- my phone got shattered. And I didn't know where to find you after I woke up- I was already being taken away by Sable guards to 'safety' and then I decided my best chance to find you was over here."

"Oh." Peter feels kind of dumb, but he also feels glad you think of FEAST as a spot to find him. "I should've kept you safe."

"Don't. Don't make yourself crazy with what you could've done." You plead with him, and he sighs but shakes his head. "My arm will heal with time. I guess I landed on it weirdly and broke it."

Peter winces. "Well, you can always ask me for help if it bothers you. I'm there for you."

He traces your lip, where the cut under is still a red-brown, harsh hue in comparison to the pink of your bottom lip, and May takes this as her cue to leave.

Peter snorts. "I wish you had my-"

"Super healing? Yeah, I wish that too." You laugh. "Were you lucky enough to not get hit, or did you just heal on the way here?"

Peter's reaching for a facial bandage and some rubbing alcohol. "The latter."

"Ugh, lucky bastard." You smile up at him, cringing only slightly as Peter rubs away the blood from your wound. "I'm just glad that means I don't have to worry too much about you."

"You still do." Peter remarks, placing the bandage on your face. "But that just means you love me."

And, being ever so thankful that you're safely back in his arms, Peter places a soft kiss on your forehead, and then a slightly-less-soft one on your mouth, hoping it doesn't hurt you, but happy that you kiss him back anyways.

[oneforthemunny]

a teeny tiny modern!eddie blurb i had rattling around my noggin. loosely based on real events (my ex is a pos and modern!eddie is an angel lol), but made me giggle when i thought about it. kinda smutty but nothing graphic more-so just alluded to. enjoy <3

“Hey, pretty girl.” Eddie grinned, half-lidded hazy eyes lighting up when you walked through the door. 

“Hi,” You mumbled, hip bumping the door to push it closed, shoulders heavy after the exhaustion of the day. 

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie chirped, flicking his mic up on his headset, pulling it off his messy curls. “Sell lots?” 

You snorted lightly, purse sliding off your shoulder onto the coffee table. “Oh, yeah. Dealt with ten year olds wanting foundation matches all day.” 

“Ten?” Eddie frowned. “Can ten year olds even wear makeup?” 

“Apparently they can. And they’re very particular.” You rolled your eyes, rubbing out the growing knot in your shoulder that was beginning to ache. “Did you empty the dishes?” 

“Yep.” Eddie nodded. “Loaded them up for you too, baby. Got you another one of those candles you like. Your stash was runnin’ low.” He smiled proudly. 

Your lips twitched, trying to fight back your own flustered grin. It did make your heart flutter, Eddie always did. “Thank you.” You muttered instead. “I’ve gotta get out of these clothes, and I’ll-” You started to lean over the couch, lips hovering over Eddie’s, his parting lightly to fit yours before you stopped. Halted by a familiar smell. 

“What- What’s that smell?” You sniffed, turning in the air before your nose found the source. “Are you- Why do you smell like that?” 

“Shit, is it bad?” Eddie tugged at his t-shirt, nose pressing towards the underarms of his shirt. “I took a shower today, but then I had to meet up with some people. I didn’t think it was bad-” 

“-No, it’s not that.” You snapped, eyes narrowing down at him. “Why do you smell like Bum-Bum Cream?” 

Eddie paused, blinking at you. “Bum-Bum?” He repeated, brows lifting. “Is this a joke? Like Up-Dog-” 

“-Eddie,” You huffed. “Don’t fuck with me right now. What? Did you have another bitch here?” Your teeth gritted, gaze flickering in seething fury around the apartment for anything- any sign of infidelity. 

“What?” Eddie gaped, turning to look at you. “No, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that-” 

“-Then why do you smell like that?” You screeched, throwing an arm out at him. 

“Smell like what?” Eddie countered, voice raising in defense. 

“The most recognizable smell in the world? You couldn’t tell your bitch not to wear that-” You smacked the door to your shared bedroom open, halting in the doorway. 

“I didn’t fuck anyone!” Eddie followed, throwing his hands up. “Why do you always start this shit? I’ve never-” 

Your eyes narrowed, stomping towards the bedside table. There, on Eddie’s side, amongst the phone chargers and empty carts sat a box of tissues next to the familiar yellow tub of cream. Half screwed on, greasy on the lid- recently used. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You huffed, snatching the jar, grimacing at the slick, greasy substance still left on the lid. Pivoting, you turned to Eddie, hoisting the jar towards him. 

Eddie blinked. “What?” 

“This is what I’m smelling.” You snapped. “This is Bum-Bum Cream. My Bum-Bum Cream.” You jabbed a manicured nail onto the logo. 

“Oh,” Eddie quipped. “Yeah, I did use that.” 

“Used it?” You growled. “You used my fucking expensive lotion to jack off?” 

Eddie’s cheeks tinged with pink embarrassment, eyes wide and round like a child caught, still with some mischief that made your skin crawl with irritation. “Well,” He started. 

“Well?” You gawked at him. “Eddie, this is- You can’t use this!” You unscrewed the lid, mouth falling open at the large scoop that was now missing from the middle. “Are you- Do you know how expensive this is?” 

“No.” Eddie admitted, swallowing a smile. “I just thought it was lotion-” 

“-You have lotion!” You snapped. “You have your Nivea or whatever-” 

“-I ran out!” 

“So you use this? My lotion? My expensive lotion?” You growl. “How- How does this not burn your dick off? It’s a fucking fragranced lotion.” 

Eddie shrugged, lips curling in a shit eating grin. “It felt kinda nice, actually.” 

Your nose curled in disgust. “You’re fucking sick, and you’re buying me a new one.” 

“Fine.” Eddie’s hands slid down your arms gently. “I’ll buy you a new one. I swear. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t use that one.” 

“Don’t use any of my lotions to jack off.” You glared at him. “And put it back when you’re done.” You shove the lotion back at him. 

“Alright, alright, hey- look at me, baby, please?” Eddie cooed, lips still curled with a smile you wanted to smack off his face, nerves rattled with annoyance. You glared at him, shoving your work jeans down with a huff, not missing the way Eddie’s eyes lingered. 

“I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean to. I’ll buy you a new one. We can go right now if you want.” He muttered sweetly, his soft tone making your heart swell. 

“No, it’s fine.” You huff, rolling your eyes, pulling your top off. “We can go later. Just don’t do it again.” 

“I won’t.” Eddie lifted his hands playfully. He waited a second, turning the yellow tub around in his hands. “It is good stuff though. Can see why you like it so much-” He dodged your balled up shirt you flung at him with a loud cackle, scampering to the bathroom to put it back on the counter.

also this is the lotion / sol de janerio's bum bum cream referenced lol. a very canon event i fear. hope you enjoyed!

[mjolnirswriststrap]

SCARED

Neighbor!Bucky Barnes X F!Reader

Word Count: 2,519 ⭐️Masterlist⭐️

Summary: I loosely based this off of a real life event of mine, so if things don’t make sense, ask God 🤣🤣

Warnings: Agegap, neighbor!bucky, adultery, 18+ not quite smut but I don’t want childen reading anything I write 🤷🏻‍♀️ suggestive or not.

Spending the summer with your aunt wasnt something you planned for when school ended. It meant church every Sunday, and Wednesday night. It meant no wifi and being stranded in a strange town on the border of Georgia and Alabama.

You’d never been to Georgia and the possibility of driving to Florida to go to the beach was enough to convince you 5 weeks wasn’t that long. The 10 hour drive there lasted longer than the summer escape.

The first few weeks were exactly what you expected. Church, shopping, eating your aunts famous fried chicken livers, talking on the porch late into the night. On the third Sunday, after church, she informs you that you’re taking a trip to Alabama. Her grandson is coming to spend the week. You both needed to go pick him up from her daughter.

It took 4 hours to get there, napping made it feel like 30 minutes. Your aunt pulled up to a trailer park, and you scan your surroundings. You were even further in the middle of nowhere, then what you were at your aunts house. You always wanted to know the way out. But here, a 2 mile dirt road separates you from the highway you turned off of. You take notice of the neighbors, one had a pool out front, some older ladies floating on pool noodles waved at your aunt, they must know her. The neighbors on the other side of your cousins house weren’t so inviting.

You saw a toddler sitting in the dirt crying. Watching up at his parents flinging spit in each others faces. You avert your gaze when the man flicks his eyes over to you. You know men like that, they’re terrifying and unpredictable. He could walk over to you and start on you just for glancing in his direction. Your aunt ushers you into her daughters house, not wanting you to see the altercation.

You hadn’t seen your cousin since you were a little girl. Now she has a little boy. It was weird. Your family was so large, it was impossible to keep up with everyone. You had many cousins you hadn’t seen since Christmas of ‘06. After a ham sandwich and barbecue chips you were ready to leave, it was more boring here, and your cousin even had cable. You aunt must’ve noticed your boredom, offering a swim in her friends pool out front.

“But I didn’t bring a bathing suit?” You say grinning, knowing you’d go naked if it meant you could swim. “Just wear your bra and I’ll go ask the neighbor if she has some shorts that will fit you.” Your aunt says, swinging open the screen door. You nod your head, quickly braiding your hair to keep it out of your face. You almost lose your spot, twisting knots into your hair when the blonde woman from next door walks in, smiling. “Hey, your aunt said you needed some shorts?”.

You hop up from the couch. “Yes, thank you, I don’t know if we’re even close to the same size but what can it hurt to try?” You give her a soft smile. She looked like a wounded animal. She was way too nice to be getting yelled at like that. You wonder what set him off. But you know better than to ask. “Tanya, your kids crying.” You both look behind her to the open door. The dark haired man was standing there, looking thoroughly disgusted. When his eyes find you again, you have nowhere to hide. “Your aunt says you guys are staying the night.” He informs you, walking away. You furrow your eyebrows, why wouldn’t your aunt tell you that herself?

“She did, James needs a ride into town tomorrow and your aunt couldn’t say no.” She gives you a tight lipped smile. She knows a young girl would rather be spending her summer somewhere else. Once you squeezed into the shorts, you bolted to the pool, with a quick introduction to Sherry and Barb, sisters who owned the park. They were nice, asked you questions and treated you like family. Your aunt must really know them, you had no clue how.

Tanya and your aunt walked across the grass and climbed into the pool. Tanya tightly held onto a bottle of Budweiser, letting you know the night was already starting. You dunk your head, wanting to wash away the sweat from your forehead. When you resurface you see James stomping towards the pool, his shirt missing and motor oil smeared on his chest. “Drinking beer but not watching your kid I wish I could be surprised.” That’s when you notice a little boy in his hands, floaties tightly wrapped around his arms and body. He snatched the brown bottle from her hands, tossing the boy into the pool. “I got shit to do.” He walked away, finishing the beer and throwing the empty bottle to the ground.

After two more hours in the pool, your cousin came out looking for your aunt, leaving you alone with the Tanya and the baby. “Are you happy?” You finally ask, only because you’re truly alone with her. Her eyes well with tears, she shakes her head no. You move across the pool grabbing the boy you’d become acquainted with. You pulled yourself out of the water, not bothering to dry off, but you wrapped the boy in a towel. The sun was setting and it wasn’t warm enough for him to be out here wet. “I’ll be right back.” You give her a firm nod, carrying him in the direction of her house. She just watched helplessly as you turn the corner out of site.

Your heart started beating faster as you walked up to the trailer, knocking on the door. You try to think of what to say as you wait for him to open the door. You hear cursing from the other side before it’s swung open. He stands there for a minute, holding the door open before you realize he’s inviting you in. You step up, still holding onto the toddler. You don’t move from the doormat, afraid of tracking water through the house. “You can lay him down on the couch.” He says, pointing toward the corner of the room. You nod, padding your feet across the cold linoleum. You didn’t even notice the boy fell asleep in your arms, swimming always tuckers out kids. You straighten your back when you feel water droplets sliding down the inside of your thigh, pooling water at your feet.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t even dry off before bringing him.” You look at the ground, wondering how you could fix the wet footprints that painted his floor. “I’m not.” He says but you barely catch it. “Huh?” You ask.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s just water honey.” You look up at him, not believing his sincerity. His blue eyes are piercing into yours. “Okay, well I better get back to the pool.” He watches you as you walk out of the door, he doesn’t make room for you to slip past him, causing you to turn your body towards him, he smelled good, you don’t know how. He was covered in black dirt from under the car, and sweat. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt and his tanned skin was so smooth, save for the happy trail growing up his stomach.

He was a lot older than you, more than 15 years, you’d guess. But you couldn’t tell standing this close to him. Your brain forces you out of the door. If you stood there in the tension for a second longer you don’t know what stupid thing would come out of your mouth. When you got back to the pool everyone had rejoined Tanya, even your aunt and cousin were drinking. You escape to your cousins house, changing back into your leggings and putting on your t-shirt. You check on your baby cousin, he’s sleeping in his room, not a worry in the world. You take the chance to spend a minute alone and turn on the tv.

You don’t even care to change the channel, SpongeBob played, lulling you to sleep. You’re awoken by your aunt, handing you the neighbor boy. “Will you watch him for a minute?” You just nod, and she’s out of the house. You peak through the curtain to see blue lights out front. Why are the cops here? You rock the boy to sleep, laying him down beside your cousin in his bed. When you walk outside everyone’s gone. The cops, your aunt, the neighbors. “What the hell.” You say out loud. You go knock on Sherrys door, hoping your aunt was there. But no one answered. Walking across the grass field someone caught your attention. It’s James, yelling at his trailer. “You don’t love me anyways, bitch.” He throws another beer bottle, this one smashes against the siding of the house. “I should’ve never fucked you and let you have my kid.” You stop in your tracks when he turns around, obviously drunk. “Hey.” He says, slowly walking towards you. “Are you okay?” You ask naïve as ever.

“I’m a good person, right?” He asks. You don’t know what to say, not wanting to tip him off that you were shitting your pants right now.

“Yes, you seem like a really good dad.” You’re trying to deescalate. “I am.” His voice is a little louder than it should be. “I don’t doubt it.” You’re still standing in the same spot, too afraid to move. “You’re nice.” He says, smiling widely. You give him one back, he hadn’t done anything to you yet, you weren’t going to give him a reason to.

It was no secret that you were nervous. Your breathing was fast and your eyes kept darting past him. “You don’t have to be scared. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He throws his hands in the air. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He says, stepping closer to you again. “Everyone hurts me. Treats me like I’m not worth anything.” He lets his head hang, and you start to feel guilt building inside of you, this man just needed someone to lean on. “I’m not worthless, right?” He looks up at you with tears in his eyes. You know he’s drunk, but this pain was real.

“You’re worth more than you know.” It was cliche, but a true blanket statement, no one knows their true worth. “Thank you.” He says, wiping his eyes. “I just need someone to hold me for once.” You felt that, you knew exactly what he meant. “Wanna hug?” You offer, knowing that sometimes that’s all people need, church the last three weeks had taught you that. Sometimes a smile and a handshake is all the human contact people get all week.

He just looks at you, expecting you to close the gap between you. So you do, you walk towards him, fear in the form of sweat, still dripping from you. You give him a warm smile as you lay your head on his chest, wrapping your arms around his middle. His hands quickly found your hips, pulling you even closer to him. He squeezed you tightly, and you swear you hear him smell your hair. You try to pull away after an awkward silence falls over the two of you, but he won’t let you go.

“I’m sorry you’re going through stuff man, I am.” You say, patting his shoulder to tell him to let go. You feel his body go rigid against yours so you think he’s crying again. Drunk tears are never ending. “It’s okay.” You wrap your arms around him again, rubbing up and down his bare back. You try to pull away again, this time saying something “Don’t want Tanya to come out here and catch you hugging a stranger, probably best we let go now.”

His silence was a thousand words. Then he spoke, “You can’t do that.” He says lowly. You pull away and try to look at his face. “What are you talking about?” You ask, fear filling you again. He looks into your eyes, letting one of his hands slide down to the curve of your ass. You instantly put your hands on his chest and try to push him away. “You can’t be sweet to me and expect me not to like it.” His voice was different now, desperate. He presses his face into your neck, sloppily kissing up to your jaw.

Your heart is beating out of your chest now, and you stop fighting, not wanting to anger him. “You don’t want to cheat on your wife, you’re just drunk.” You try to break through to him. “You don’t know me.” He says, pulling you towards the back yard. “No I don’t, but you seem like a good man, don’t let a drunken mistake ruin what you’ve built for yourself.” You keep trying to persuade him.

“I wasn’t drunk earlier, when I watched you bend over in my living room, dripping wet. I wanted you then, just didn’t say anything.” He says, pressing you against your cousins house. He breathes in your face, and you smell more than beer on his breath, whiskey was pungently invading your nose. “So what? You like me or something?” You ask, confused on where this was going.

“Something like that.” He says, pressing his lips to yours. You’re shocked, you thought you were gonna be able to talk your way out of it. “This isn’t right.” You stop the kiss, nodding towards his trailer. You look between his eyes and try to find some common sense. “Then why does it feel right?” He grabs your hand, forcing you to cup the hard mass in his pants.

You gasp, you’d never felt one before, your virginity not up for debate, you’d never even had a boyfriend. “See, you like it too.” It’s like he’s trying to convince you. You look between him and the houses, searching for a witness. When you couldn’t find a soul, you stop fighting all together. He feels your body relax and takes it as permission to pull your leggings down. “Hey!” You say, but you guess it was too loud for his liking because he covers your mouth with his hand, looking you dead in the eye while his fingers push past your panties and dip inside of you. “You like being scared little girl?” He pulls his hand away from you, licking his fingers and tasting you.

Him reading you like a book was also a turn on. You stay silent, telling him everything he needs to know. He twist your body, pressing your face into the plastic. “Maybe you like it rough too, huh?” He slaps your bare ass, rubbing the raised red welt to soothe it.

You whimper, you’re going to let him have his way with you. If this was the only eventful thing that happens this summer, then what the hell. Tanya wasn’t happy and neither was he, who were you to interfere with destiny?