#'and I'M supposed to help' with the unspoken whisper of 'and I'M supposed to help when I'M the reason you fucking died'

[elfcollector]

You can assume I’m generally aware there’s a war on, Commander!

[maskedbyghost]

when simon wakes up in a hospital, the last thing you expect is for him to grab your hand, pull you close, and say, “hey, there you are, love.” his voice is so soft, so sure, it leaves you speechless. you stare at him, half in shock, because this is ghost—simon riley, the one person who’s kept every feeling locked up.

“simon, do you… do you remember anything?” you ask, testing the waters.

he blinks, looking at you with confidence. “of course, i remember. you’re my wife.”

you freeze. his wife? this is new, and you’re not sure where he got the idea, but before you can correct him, johnny walks in, taking one look at the two of you and biting back a grin. he leans in, whispering to you, “maybe just… go with it for now, eh?” he’s got that teasing glint in his eye, and something tells you there’s no harm in humoring simon for a bit, if it can be helpful for his recovery.

so, you go along with it. and to your surprise, simon doesn’t act confused—in fact, he’s more open with you than he’s ever been. suddenly, he’s holding your hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world, always looking for you, keeping you close, calling you “love” or “darlin’” in front of everyone. he’s even got that soft smile every time you catch his eye, one that makes it hard to remember this isn’t real.

the team’s amused but supportive, playing along with the whole story. simon keeps asking you little things, like what your favorite meal is, or how you usually spend your days when he’s away, as if filling in gaps in a life he believes you share. you find yourself answering with things that feel so genuine, and the way he listens—focused, attentive—feels more intimate than anything you’ve shared before.

one day, you’re patching up a minor scrape on his hand, and he just watches you, eyes soft, like he’s memorizing every detail. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. it’s so genuine, so open, that for a second, you forget it’s all just part of his memory loss.

then, one night, he pulls you close, resting his forehead against yours, eyes serious. “do you ever think about us?” he asks softly, like he’s trying to get at something just out of reach. “how we’d be if things were… different?”

you’re not sure how to answer because there’s no script for this. “sometimes,” you admit, feeling a pang of something deep and unspoken. and for the first time, you’re almost grateful he can’t remember—because maybe, just maybe, it’s the only reason he’s letting himself be this vulnerable with you.

as the days pass, you start catching little glimpses, small things that make you wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. he catches you watching him once, and instead of asking why, he just gives you this little smile, one that feels like he’s in on the secret. and just when you’re starting to think this is all some kind of twisted dream, he pulls you aside.

“i know i’m supposed to remember,” he whispers, “but i don’t want this to end. not yet.”

it’s in that moment you realize the truth. he’s been aware all along—he’s been pretending just as much as you, holding on to this fragile, temporary illusion because, maybe, he needs it just as much as you do.

--------------------------------------------

hii!! i'm backkk!! send some requests plsss, byee <333

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving

[supernaturalfreewill]

You hadn't even noticed that your teeth had dented into your bottom lip unconsciously as you looked at Dean. The corners of your eyes were smiling at him too.

Sam was at the other end of the table, scrolling on his laptop. You and Dean were supposed to be tackling the research in the physical books, but you found yourself distracted.

There were plenty of unspoken things between you and Dean, and the look you were giving him was not helping. He cleared his throat and shut the book in front of him, leaning forward slightly on it. "Don't look at me like that," he said in a low voice. It was just loud enough for you to hear.

He watched a flicker of confusion pass over your face. "Like what?"

He shook his head, smiling a little, before his green eyes connected with yours again. "Like that," he said. "You're looking at me like—like you've got some ideas I wanna know about."

"Ideas? What ideas?" you replied, smiling more widely now.

"Oh, you know what ideas I'm talking about," he said in a gruff whisper. "Sounds to me like you're the one with the ideas..." Sam's voice broke the spell. "What the heck are you two whispering about over there? Did you find something?" "Huh? No," Dean said quickly. Maybe too quickly. Sam looked suspicious and perplexed and you had no option but to go back to staring unseeingly at the page in front of you.

Prompt: "Don't look at me like that."

[connorsui]

Safe Heaven

• Zayne x fem! reader

Genre/warnings: fluff, hints of angst (feelings of guilt), childbirth, comfort end , mild vurnability, feelings of helplessness, mentions of heart problems, slight mentions of anxiety and stress, we are not having a good time here..but that's okay!

Synopsis: zayne reassures you of his love as you cover from childbirth

Note: my lawwwdddd it's been such a long time without seeing any of you inside of my house..it feels so foreign ..breaks my heart into little pieces ..howeverrr this moment of silence didn't mean I was left with nothing inside of these neurons of mine-- ur beloved consui has thoughts ..and thoughts she must expel in the form of zayne 🩶

wc: 1.3K

“Every passing day…” you began, your voice almost a whisper, “I feel as though I am becoming more of a burden to you.”

The words hung in the stillness of the room as you lay upon the bed, your gaze fixed upon Zayne, who tenderly cradled the slumbering form of your newborn. The night had settled in with a serene quiet, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of the baby’s gentle feeding. Moonlight streamed through the curtains, bathing the room in a silvery glow that softened the edges of everything, lending an air of tranquility to the tender scene before you.

Zayne’s eyes flickered to yours, his brow furrowing ever so slightly in quiet confusion, as though he were searching for the meaning behind your words. “Mmh?” he murmured, his voice a soft note that seemed to vibrate through the still air.

"What do you mean?"

Your heart stirred beneath his gaze, and though you tried to muster a smile, it faltered, laden with the weight of the self-doubt that had quietly gnawed at you. You averted your eyes, feeling the warmth of a slight flush creeping upon your cheeks. “I mean… it has been two weeks since they released me, and I have done nothing to aid since I returned,” you continued, your voice growing softer, almost apologetic. “I cannot help but feel as though I'm—”

Before you could continue, Zayne’s hand, warm and gentle, reached toward your face. His fingertips grazed your cheek with a softness that seemed to still your very breath, his touch lingering just enough to still the torrent of your words. He guided your face to meet his, his expression tender and unwavering, his gaze soft with something unspoken. With a faint smile that reached the depths of his eyes, he whispered a quiet, soothing shush, the sound more comforting than any words you had ever heard.

“Dont say it..." he said gently, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Your only concern should be your own rest, your own recovery… and holding our child with me...” He paused as if steadying himself, his eyes shadowed by memories of a time he wished never to revisit. “You know...when they told me your heart wasn’t faring well during the birth… I can not explain it. It felt as though my very world was fracturing before me. All I could think—” his voice broke, but he steadied it with a soft, trembling breath— “was that I needed you to stay with me with our child in your arms... I suppose at that giving moment I just wanted to see you safe ..in one place..not having to stress over anything ... even now"

The words struck your heart, stirring a depth of emotion you hadn’t anticipated. You sat up, your gaze fixed on him, your breath caught between disbelief and sorrow as you absorbed his admission. Your eyes grew cloudy, softening with tears as you looked from Zayne’s face to the child resting peacefully in his arms, blissfully unaware of the turmoil their entrance into the world had caused.

A tear slipped down your cheek, followed by another, and you looked to your lap, your shoulders trembling. “Zayne, I'm - … I didn’t mean…” you began, but your voice faltered, words catching in your throat. You hadn’t meant to burden him, hadn’t meant to leave him with the fear that your heart might fail you. The mere thought that your own weakness had caused him such distress made you feel small, vulnerable—a helplessness you had seldom allowed yourself to feel.

But before you could stumble further, Zayne’s hand reached out, his fingers warm and reassuring as he placed them under your chin and lifted your face to his. “No,” he whispered, his voice as tender as the night itself. “Stop. Do not apologize for anything” he continued, his gaze so steady, so filled with love that it was nearly overwhelming. " I may worry for your health—and you know that I will— it comes straight from my heart. You are everything to me, and nothing will change that, not even fear."

In that moment, you felt the warmth of his hand, the strength of his embrace, drawing you closer to his chest, with your child nestled gently between you. His heart beat steadily beneath your ear, a reminder of his constancy, his unyielding devotion. You raised your face, your eyes shining as you met his gaze, and you leaned in, pressing a kiss to his lips that held every ounce of your gratitude, your love, your devotion—a silent promise that only he could understand.

When you drew back, you looked at him with all the tenderness in your heart. “You have given me more love than I ever thought possible,” you murmured, your voice a quiet reverence. “You have shown me, again and again, that I am cherished. I have no words to tell you how much that means… but I am yours, Zayne. Yours alone.”

A soft, awed smile touched his lips as he took in your words, and with gentle care, he rose, instructing you to lie back down. “Rest now,” he whispered, his tone one of loving insistence as he cradled your child close, “I’ll settle our son to sleep.” You watched as he moved to the crib, his steps tender, his every movement imbued with a quiet grace. You thought of all he had done for you in these recent days—how he had bathed you with gentle hands, had held you as you struggled to regain your strength, had prepared every meal and tended to every need without question or complaint.

And as you lay curled on the bed, a warmth settled within your chest, a happiness so profound it was almost a reverence. This man, who loved you so dearly, who had stood by you through every hardship, was yours, and you could wish for no greater gift.

When Zayne returned, slipping beneath the covers, you felt the bed dip beside you, and soon his arms encircled you once more, drawing you close until your cheek rested against his chest, where you could hear the steady thrum of his heart. His scent, warm and familiar, enveloped you, and you felt your cheeks grow warm beneath his touch.

Zayne leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his voice a murmur of quiet devotion. “I love you,” he whispered, the words laced with a depth that only the most profound affections could contain.

A long, comfortable silence fell between you, a silence filled with the unspoken promises of a love that could never be shaken. At last, you whispered back, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love you too.”

In that moment, wrapped in his embrace, you felt truly, indescribably at peace.

If zayne was my doctor I would find ways to get myself in the ER just to see him

[taurasiluvr]

I DON'T WANNA SEE YOU WITH ANYONE BUT ME / NOBODY GETS ME LIKE YOU / HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO LET YOU GO? / ONLY LIKE MYSELF WHEN I'M WITH YOU / NOBODY GETS ME, YOU DO──BELLINGHAM⁵

how you can help palestine

★ been thinking about fwb!jude, blame ev for the filth you're all about to read.

 ⠀ ── ⠀warnings ;; nsfw under the cut, minors dni. friends with benefits, smut with plot, p in v, unprotected sex, cheating (on r's bf), nothing too insane

 ⠀ ── ⠀rylin's notes ;; i am sooooo down bad for jude, he's my husband. also why do 80% of my fics have to do with cheating ummmm

 ⠀ ── ⠀word count ;; 5.5k

you didn't really know how this arrangement had began, all you knew was that it was very much due to jude's very evident commitment issues.

okay, maybe commitment issues were a stretch. you'd seen how he treated his friends and family with unwavering loyalty. but when it came to relationships, there was always a barrier, an unspoken rule that he couldn't let anyone get too close. or maybe he just didn't want to ─ you weren't too sure.

it all started innocently enough.

you and jude had been friends for a while, always hanging out with the same group, always finding yourselves paired off in conversations or at the same end of the couch during movie nights. there was a comfort in your friendship, a kind of ease that made everything feel natural and genuine.

one night, after a particularly intense game and a few too many drinks, you found yourselves alone in his apartment. the air was thick with a tension that had been building for months. one thing led to another, and suddenly you were waking up in his bed, sheets tangled around your legs and his arm draped over your waist.

the next morning, you both agreed it was a one-time thing, a slip-up that wouldn't happen again.

but it did. over and over, until it wasn't just an accident anymore. it became an unspoken arrangement, a way for both of you to satisfy needs without the complications of a real relationship.

you knew it wasn't ideal. you knew that every time you woke up in his bed, you were getting a little more attached, a little more hopeful that maybe he would see you as more than just a friend with benefits. but you also knew that jude had his walls up for a reason, and trying to tear them down could end up ruining everything.

so, you kept going. you played your role, took what you could get, and tried not to think about what it meant for the future.

because as long as you had him in some way, it was better than not having him at all.

seeing him with other women was the worst part of it all. now you knew you didn't really have any rational reason to be mad because he wasn't your boyfriend ─ he was just... well, it was complicated.

you hated the gut-wrenching feeling when you saw him talking to a beautiful girl at a party, his charming smile lighting up his face in a way that made your heart ache. tt was a reminder that while you had a piece of him, it wasn’t enough to keep him from seeking out others.

you tried to mask your feelings, laughing along with your friends and pretending not to notice when he slipped away with someone new. But inside, you were screaming. the rational part of you understood that you had no claim over him, no right to be jealous. yet, the emotional part couldn't help but feel a sting of betrayal every time.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

one night, it got to be too much. you saw him at a club, his arm around a girl's waist as he whispered something into her ear, making her giggle. your stomach churned, and before you knew it, you were outside, gulping in the cool night air to calm the nausea.

when you had come back inside, your initial hurt turned into bitterness. now you usually weren't so petty ─ but if jude was allowed to go and flirt with other people, why couldn't you?

you sat down at the bar, finding some solace with the alcohol you were drinking. you knew your bait had worked when you felt someone eyeing you in your peripheral, a small smile on your face.

"hello,"

he had a slight accent, his voice was gruff and sent a shiver down your spine. you turned to face him, taking in his rugged features and confident demeanor. he was attractive, no doubt, and the way he looked at you made you feel a flicker of excitement.

"hi," you replied, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside you.

he leaned against the bar, his gaze never leaving yours. "can i buy you a drink?"

you nodded, pushing aside the guilt that tugged at your conscience. "sure, why not?"

as you sipped the cocktail he ordered for you, you couldn't help but steal glances across the room, where jude was still engrossed in conversation with the girl. the sight fueled your determination to go through with this. if jude could have his fun, so could you.

"so, what brings you here tonight?" the man asked, his eyes glinting with interest.

you shrugged, taking another sip. "my friends told me i needed to get out, they say i've been stuck in the office for too long."

he chuckled, a low sound that made your skin tingle. "i get that. they're some good friends."

the conversation flowed easily, and you found yourself relaxing in his company. he was charming and attentive, qualities that made you feel desired in a way jude never fully did. but even as you laughed at his jokes and flirted back, a part of you remained painfully aware that this was all a distraction, a way to numb the hurt.

as the night wore on, he moved closer, his hand resting on your lower back. you allowed it, leaning into the touch, craving the comfort it provided. but just as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear, you caught sight of jude watching you from across the room, his expression unreadable.

your heart skipped a beat, a mix of triumph and regret flooding through you. you had his attention now, but at what cost? you broke away from jude's gaze, your attention fully on the man next to you.

however, before you knew it ─ you two were interrupted.

"y/n," jude's voice seemed steady but as you turned to face him, his expression nothing short of intense. his eyes bore into yours, a mixture of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

"jude," you replied, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. the man next to you shifted awkwardly, sensing the tension.

jude's jaw tightened as he glanced at the guy beside you, then back at you. "it's getting late, let's get outta here."

"that's funny, i was just about to ask her that." the man spoke, a hint of amusement in his voice before he cleared his throat, noting that his commentary was certainly not needed.

you blinked up at him, your lips curving into a sarcastic smile. "why don't you go ask the girl who's been keeping you busy all night?"

"that's what this is about?" jude let out a huff, his gaze boring into yours. "jealousy?"

"oh, you shouldn't be talking." you shot back, your voice tinged with bitterness. "you’ve been parading around with other women all night. don’t act like you’re innocent."

jude's eyes flashed with anger. "i wasn’t doing anything different than what we've been doing all along. you knew what this was from the start."

"yeah, i did," you snapped. "but it doesn't make it any easier to watch you with someone else."

the man next to you awkwardly excused himself, sensing the argument escalating. jude barely noticed as he took a step closer to you, his frustration palpable. "so, what? you decided to flirt with some random guy to get back at me? i don't like pettiness, you know that."

you crossed your arms, trying to hold your ground. "no, not everything is about you. maybe you just don't do it for me anymore, have you thought about that? you're not everyone's ideal man, jude."

jude stared back at you, trying to process what you just said. "oh really?" he let out a laugh but it was void of the usual amusement. were you really trying to come for his ego now?

"really," you responded, standing your ground.

"so i don't do it for you anymore, is that right?" jude glared back at you as he walked closer, his tall frame towering over you. "what's it, exactly? cause i know you're not coming for my bedroom skills."

"bingo," you answered with a smirk, grabbing the drink from the table as you took a sip. "you're exactly right."

he let out a soft chuckle as his gaze darkened. "really that guy could fuck you like i do? nobody could fuck you like i do."

you felt excitement in his words, knowing you were hitting him where it hurts. and you'd hoped it'll pay off at the end of the night. "you really think you're that good?"

"i know it,"

"cocky, jude. very cocky," you purred, stepping closer to him.

the heat between you was palpable, the air thick with unresolved tension. you could feel the intensity of his gaze as it roamed over your face, down your body, and back up to meet your eyes.

"confident," he corrected, his voice low and husky. "there's a difference."

you raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "is that right?"

he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke. "you know it is. and i'll can prove it to you."

a shiver ran down your spine at the closeness of his body, the warmth of his breath on your skin. you set your drink down and placed a hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your touch.

"prove it, then," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your own heart.

jude's eyes darkened further, a predatory gleam in them as he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his other hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. "i will, make you remember who fucks you the best."

you licked your lips, your breath hitching as his thumb traced your lower lip. "i'm counting on it,"

with a growl, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his hand tightening around your waist as he deepened the kiss. you melted into him, all the anger and frustration from earlier dissipating in the heat of the moment. his lips were demanding, his touch possessive, as if he was claiming you all over again.

your hands found his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more. jude responded by lifting you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the exit. the world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you and the electricity sparking between your bodies.

as he pushed open the door to his car and placed you inside, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something new. something real. but you knew that was wishful thinking.

jude climbed in after you as he started the car and drove toward his place. the journey was a blur of heated kisses and whispered promises, both of you unable to keep your hands off each other.

and by the time you reached his apartment, the anticipation was nearly unbearable. he carried you inside, kicking the door shut behind him before setting you down and pinning you against the wall, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your neck.

"still think that guy could compare to me?" he murmured against your skin, his hands roaming over your body.

you moaned softly, arching into his touch. "no," you admitted breathlessly.

he smiled against your neck, his hands finding the hem of your shirt and tugging it over your head. "good. cause you’re mine, and i’m going to show you just how much you mean to me."

he carried you toward the bed, placing you down gently before hovering over you, his eyes burning with desire. you could feel the tension in the air, the electricity between you crackling with intensity.

jude's hands moved with a possessive urgency, trailing over your skin as if he needed to memorize every inch of you. your breath hitched as he leaned in, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss.

his hands were deft and skilled, knowing exactly how to make you gasp and shiver under his touch. clothes were discarded in a frenzy, the need to feel each other skin-to-skin overwhelming, leaving you naked. when he finally pushed into you, it felt like coming home, a perfect fit that made you both moan in unison.

"all mine," he whispered against your lips, his thrusts steady and deep. "don't ever forget that."

you clung to him, nails digging into his back as you matched his rhythm, losing yourself in the sensation. the way he moved, the way he touched you, it was like he was trying to prove a point with every thrust. and maybe he was. maybe this was his way of showing you just how much you meant to him, how much he needed you.

he pulled your hips upward, sitting up as he fucked into you like a starved man. his grip on your hips was firm, almost bruising, as he pulled you closer, thrusting deeper with each movement.

the intensity of his gaze bore into you, a mix of lust and possessiveness that made your heart race. your body arched off the bed, meeting him halfway, every sensation amplified by the sheer need radiating between you.

"god, you're so perfect," he groaned, his hands sliding up your sides to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. the combination of pleasure and the raw intensity in his voice made you shiver, your body responding eagerly to his touch.

you were completely at his mercy, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through you, building higher and higher. his pace quickened, a desperate edge to his movements as if he couldn't get enough of you. you could feel the tension coiling in your core, your breaths coming in short gasps as you neared the edge.

"cum for me," he demanded, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine.

the command was all it took. your body tensed, the pleasure cresting in a powerful wave that crashed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless. jude's eyes darkened with satisfaction as he watched you, his own control slipping as he followed you over the edge, his release spilling into you with a groan.

for a moment, the room was filled with nothing but the sound of your mingled breaths, the aftermath of your shared intensity leaving you both spent and sated. jude collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, his hold gentle now, almost tender.

"mine," he murmured again, his lips brushing your temple. "always."

you nestled against him, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "always," you echoed, the word a promise and a reminder of the connection that bound you together, for better or worse.

after that night, sex was how you fixed every little dispute you had. sure it wasn't healthy but sure as hell worked, he made sure you forgot all about why you were angry in the first place. yeah, he was cocky but it was for a reason.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

you still yearned for more.

you knew that was wishful thinking, jude was too focused on his career to even think about girls. you were the only one that he kept and you didn't know why, but you couldn't deny that it made you feel special, even if it wasn't in the way you truly wanted.

you were his escape, his relief from the pressures of his demanding life, and while you cherished the moments you had together, you couldn't shake the longing for something deeper, something more meaningful.

you often found yourself lying awake at night, replaying your conversations and encounters, searching for any sign that he might feel the same way. but jude was a closed book, his intentions unclear. it was both frustrating and intoxicating, leaving you constantly on edge, hoping for more but never quite sure if it would ever come.

one evening, after another intense round of making up, you lay in his arms, the room quiet except for the sound of your mingled breaths. jude's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin, a touch of tenderness that made your heart ache.

"jude," you began hesitantly, unsure if you should voice the thoughts that had been plaguing you. "do you ever think about what this... what we could be if things were different?"

he stiffened slightly, his hand pausing its movements. "what do you mean?"

you took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "i mean, if you weren't so focused on football, do you think we could be more than just... this?"

jude was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, almost distant. "i don't know. my career is everything to me. it's what i've worked for my whole life."

"i get that," you said softly, turning to look at him. "but it doesn't mean you can't have something more, someone who supports you and is there for you."

he sighed, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of regret and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "if... if things were different, sure. but not right now, i don't have time for all that right now."

all that, he called it, as if your feelings and the possibility of a deeper relationship were just another burden on his already full plate. the sting of his words was sharp, but you tried to keep your voice steady.

"all that," you repeated, a bitter smile tugging at your lips.

jude's expression softened, his hand gently cupping your cheek. "y/n, it's not that i don't want it. it's just... i can't handle more than i already have. my career, the constant travel, the pressure — it's overwhelming."

you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes briefly before opening them again to meet his gaze. "i get it, it's okay."

having some of him is better than have none of him, you kept reminding yourself as he sighed in relief, closing his eyes as he drifted off to sleep. you lay there for a while, listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

the reality of your situation weighed heavily on you, the knowledge that you would always come second to his career. but in those quiet moments, it was hard to focus on the negative. there was something so peaceful about being in his arms, so right, that made it difficult to let go.

days turned into weeks, and the cycle continued. you took what you could get, savoring the good moments and enduring the difficult ones. your friends started to notice the change in you, the way your mood would swing based on your interactions with jude. they would offer concerned looks and ask if everything was okay, but you always brushed them off with a smile and a nonchalant "i'm fine."

deep down, you knew they were right to worry. the emotional toll of your arrangement with jude was starting to wear on you, and you were constantly on edge, wondering when the next blow would come. you tried to distract yourself with work and hobbies, but nothing seemed to fill the void that jude left when he wasn't around.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

THREE MONTHS LATER

 ⠀ ── ⠀

it's crazy how much could change within 3 months. after a while, you stopped talking to jude and he understood why ─ you were hurting and you needed time. you found a boyfriend and of course jude wasn't too happy about that, but he couldn't really do anything about it.

you met your boyfriend at a friend’s birthday party. he was charming, attentive, and most importantly, he was ready for a relationship. things moved quickly, and soon enough, you found yourself in a stable, happy relationship. he treated you with the care you had longed for, and for the first time in a while, you felt like you were moving forward.

it didn't stop you from missing jude. the excitement you got from the way his presence made your heart race, was something you couldn’t easily forget. despite your boyfriend's kindness and the stability he offered, there was a lingering sense of something unfulfilled, a part of you that still yearned for the intensity you once had with jude.

one evening, as you and your boyfriend were having dinner at your favorite restaurant, your phone buzzed with a message. you glanced at it, your heart skipping a beat when you saw jude's name.

jude: miss you.

you quickly turned your phone face down, trying to focus on the conversation with ben, but the message stayed with you, echoing in your mind. you couldn’t deny that a part of you missed him too, missed the thrill and the connection you shared.

 ⠀ ── ⠀

the euros had came and your friends had bought tickets to go see england in the quarterfinals versus switzerland, they eventually convinced you to come. the thought of seeing jude on the pitch, representing his country, filled you with a mix of excitement and nerves.

on the day of the match, the stadium was buzzing with energy. you and your friends found your seats, the sea of england fans creating a vibrant atmosphere. as the players took to the field, your eyes were immediately drawn to jude. he looked focused, determined, and undeniably handsome in his england kit.

the match was intense, with both teams fighting hard for a place in the semifinals. you cheered along with the crowd, your emotions swinging with every close call and near miss. seeing jude play with such passion and skill reminded you why you had fallen for him in the first place.

when the final whistle blew, signaling england's victory, the celebration in the stadium was electric. you watched as jude and his teammates hugged, their faces alight with joy. you couldn't take your eyes off him, feeling a deep sense of connection despite the physical distance between you.

after the match, your friends had gotten invited to the celebratory party due to their connections to the english players. you knew you'd eventually be seeing jude and you just had to trust yourself to not fall in his trap once again.

well, you were wrong.

your legs tightened around jude's waist as he pushed the door of his hotel room open, his lips never leaving yours. he closed the door with his foot, pushing you against it when it closed.

you moaned against his lips as his hands roamed over your body, his touch igniting a fire within you. his kisses were demanding, filled with a hunger that mirrored your own. you could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he held you close as if afraid you might slip away.

"jude," you breathed, your fingers tangling in his hair. "we shouldn’t be doing this."

"i know," he murmured against your skin, his lips trailing down your neck. "can’t help it. i need you, y/n. how can i celebrate without you?"

his words sent a shiver down your spine, and any resolve you had left melted away. you had tried to move on, to build a new life with your boyfriend, but being in jude's arms again felt like coming home.

"just this once," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours. "just this once," he agreed, though you both knew it was a lie.

with a growl, he captured your lips again, his hands gripping your hips as he carried you to the bed. he laid you down gently, his body pressing against yours as he deepened the kiss. you could feel the heat between you growing, the familiar ache of desire spreading through you.

"god, i’ve missed this," he groaned, his hands sliding under your shirt. "missed you."

"me too," you admitted, your breath hitching as his fingers brushed against your skin.

clothes were quickly discarded until you were in left in your bra and underwear, the urgency between you leaving little room for hesitation. jude's touch was both familiar and electrifying, every caress reminding you of the connection you had tried so hard to forget. he moved with a confidence that made your heart race, his hands and lips worshipping your body as if making up for lost time.

"mine," he murmured against your ear, his voice rough with emotion. "no one else can make you feel like this."

"yes," you gasped, arching into his touch. "i’m yours, jude. always."

his eyes darkened with possessiveness, a primal satisfaction evident in his gaze. "i’ll never let you go again," he promised, his lips crashing into yours with renewed fervor.

his hands found your hips as he pushed you into the mattress, you let out another moan at his roughness. something your boyfriend never managed to do, you were never satisfied with the sexual part of your relationship.

he began rubbing his finger against your clothed core, his ego skyrocketing at the wetness that was already soaking through your panties. "look at you," he murmured, his voice dripping with pride. "so wet for me."

you whimpered in response, your hips bucking against his hand. "jude, please," you begged, the need in your voice unmistakable.

"please what?" he teased, his fingers slipping under the fabric to stroke you directly. "tell me what you want, y/n."

"i want you," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation. "i need you inside me, jude. now."

"oh yeah?" his voice was hoarse as he gazed down at you, taking in your form. he stopped his movements as he licked his lips, "does he fuck you like i do? tell me."

jude was teasing and you hated it. you also loved it, loved the way he made you work for it.

"no," you admitted breathlessly, your hips moving in a desperate attempt to find some friction. "no one fucks me like you do, jude. only you."

a satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "that's what i thought," he murmured, his fingers resuming their torturous movements. "you're mine, y/n. always have been, always will be."

"please," you begged, your voice breaking with need. "i need you, jude. please."

"aw, poor baby. bet you haven't cum in a while, right? he looks like he doesn't know how to fuck, right?" jude mocked as he leaned in closer to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "he's a damn loser. let me show you how a real man fucks, yeah?"

"please," you repeated as you nodded, too lost in the pleasure to think clearly.

he chuckled softly, clearly relishing the power he held over you. "since you asked so nicely," he said, positioning himself at your entrance. with a single, powerful thrust, he filled you completely, drawing a loud moan from your lips.

the sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure so intense that it bordered on pain. jude moved with a possessiveness that left you breathless, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

his hands found your hips as he began fucking into you, your body arching to meet his every thrust. each movement was deliberate and intense, a reminder of the connection you shared and the passion that had never truly faded.

"god, you feel so good," he groaned, his grip tightening as he quickened his pace. "so tight, fuck. like you were made for me."

"yes," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as you clung to him. "only you, jude. no one else."

the words seemed to drive him wild, his thrusts becoming even more frantic as he pushed you both closer to the edge. the room was filled with the sounds of your bodies, each moan and gasp a testament to the intensity of the moment.

"can't get enough of you," he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. "i need you, y/n. always."

"always," you echoed, your own voice trembling with the force of your feelings. "i'm all yours, jude."

the coil of pleasure inside you tightened with each thrust, building to a crescendo that left you breathless and desperate for release. jude's movements became almost frenzied, his own need evident as he chased his climax.

"cum for me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "wanna feel you come around me."

the words sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the intensity of your orgasm. you cried out his name, the pleasure washing over you in waves that left you trembling and gasping for breath.

jude followed moments later, his own release hitting him with the force of a tidal wave. he buried himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he spilled into you, as if he was reclaiming all over again. for a long moment, you both lay there, tangled together and utterly spent.

finally, he shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you into his arms. you nestled against him, savoring the warmth and closeness. his fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, a tender gesture that made your heart ache with longing.

"break up with him," he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

"jude..." you moved your head so you could face him, a frown curving your lips. "it's not that easy,"

"you just cheated on him and all it took were a couple drinks." he replied nonchalantly, his voice tinged with annoyance. "obviously he doesn't fuck you well, cause you felt this the moment i touched you."

"it's not just about that," you protested, your voice a mixture of guilt and frustration. "he's a good guy. he treats me well, and i do care about him."

"but you don't love him," jude shot back, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. "not the way you love me."

the truth in his words stung, and you knew he was right. but breaking up with your boyfriend wasn't just about ending a relationship; it meant facing the reality of your feelings for jude and the complicated situation you found yourselves in.

"i don't want to hurt him," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"but you can't keep pretending." he spoke, his gaze never leaving yours. "look, i know... i was selfish."

was, as in past tense. you noted.

"i wasn't thinking about what you wanted and... i knew i wasn't fulfilling your emotional needs. i didn't know what i had til you left," jude continued, his voice sincere. "god, nobody does it like you. i've looked but nobody feels like you and it's deeper than just sex it's..."

he paused, feeling vulnerable as he sighed. where was he even going with this?

"it's everything," jude finally said, his voice softening. "it's the way you make me feel, the way you understand me without me having to say a word. it's the way you laugh, the way you support me, the way you just... get me."

you felt your heart swell at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making you believe every word. it was everything you had wanted to hear, but the reality of your situation made it hard to fully embrace it.

"jude, i need you to understand that this isn't just about you and me," you said gently, trying to convey the complexity of your feelings. "i do care about ben, and breaking up with him is going to hurt him. i can't just ignore that."

"i know," he replied, his hand cupping your cheek. "and i'm not asking you to ignore it. i'm asking you to be honest with yourself and with him. you deserve to be happy, and so does he. even if it means going through some pain first."

you sighed, knowing he was right. it was a difficult decision, but staying in a relationship where your heart wasn't fully invested was unfair to both you and ben.

"okay," you said softly, leaning into his touch. "i'll talk to him. but jude, i need you to promise me something."

"anything," he replied, his eyes full of determination.

"i need you to be all in," you said, your voice steady despite the emotion in your chest. "if we're going to do this, i need to know that you're committed, that this isn't just about the thrill or the sex. i need to know that you're ready for something real."

jude's eyes softened, and he nodded, his hand gently squeezing yours. "i promise, y/n. i'm all in. i want this to work, more than anything. and i'll do whatever it takes to make sure you know that."

with those words, a sense of resolve settled over you. it wouldn't be easy, and there would be challenges ahead, but for the first time, you felt like you were moving in the right direction.

as you lay back in his arms, feeling the warmth and security of his embrace, you knew that this was the beginning of a new chapter. one where you were finally choosing to follow your heart, no matter where it led.

if you enjoyed, any interaction is greatly appreciated!

with love, rylin 𝜗𝜚

[mingi-s-dimples]

Movie Night - Hongjoong

KINKTOBER DAY 12, REQ. BY anon

~"gentle sex+ praise w Hongjoong"

pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader

genre: 18+, filth, sweet

summary: watching movies with your lovely boyfriend takes a 180 turn... as he gets a little bit too excited mid-watching.

wc: 2k

warnings: first time sex, all lovey dovey, getting bricked up while watching a movie, consent is hot omfg, protected (yay!), fingering, foreplay, aftercare, completely consensual, praising, pet names, established relationship, for sure forgot something, completely unedited might edit later.

Author's Note: I believe this is the seeetest smut fic I've ever written? Nothing too intense, lovely chemistry and so on... I actually like it tbh. Anon, I hope it's up to your expectations and if not, I'm always going to receive feedback! Be it positive or negative ^^ my requests are open 🤗. Enjoy ,lovie !

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not represent the reality of the members in any way.

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of the television and the occasional pop from the bowl of freshly made popcorn. You and Hongjoong were curled up on the couch, legs tangled comfortably beneath a shared blanket. The room was dimly lit, casting a warm glow over the both of you as the movie played. It was supposed to be a relaxing evening—a movie marathon, your favorite snacks, and the comfort of his arm draped casually over your shoulder.

As the latest movie flickered across the screen, you glanced up at Hongjoong. His usual focus on the screen seemed slightly off tonight, his eyes darting to you more frequently. He was silent, but you could feel the shift in his energy. Your stomach fluttered, not entirely sure what had changed, but knowing something had.

At one point, you shifted to get more comfortable, your body brushing against his. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then you noticed the slight tension in his body. When you glanced down, you saw it—his reaction. Your face heated instantly, and you bit your lip, trying to suppress the sudden wave of embarrassment.

Hongjoong noticed your expression and followed your gaze. He tensed for a moment before giving a soft chuckle, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I—uh...sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen," he muttered, the faintest hint of a blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You cleared your throat, trying to laugh it off. "Well...I guess that’s one way to make movie night more interesting."

He smirked, leaning a little closer. "Maybe we could take a break from the movie, then? You know...if you're up for it."

The playful suggestion in his voice made your heart race even more, and despite your flustered state, you couldn’t help but feel a pull of excitement. You met his gaze, feeling a mix of shyness and anticipation.

"Maybe..." you whispered, giving him a teasing smile.

Hongjoong's gaze lingered on you, and the tension between you grew palpable, the air thick with unspoken words. He leaned in slowly, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket, fingers brushing softly against your skin. His touch sent a shiver through you, your breath catching as he closed the distance between your faces.

You felt his warm breath on your lips, your heart pounding in your chest as you searched his eyes for a sign of hesitation. But there was none—just quiet intent and a tenderness that made your chest tighten. You tilted your head slightly, eyes fluttering closed as you met him halfway. His lips touched yours gently at first, as if testing the waters, before deepening the kiss.

The movie played on in the background, forgotten, as you melted into the kiss. His hand slipped up to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly against your cheek as his lips moved in perfect rhythm with yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, but it carried a depth that sent warmth rushing through you.

You pulled away for a brief moment, catching your breath, only to have Hongjoong's forehead rest against yours. His voice was barely above a whisper, filled with an intimacy that made your skin tingle. "You okay?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "More than okay."

His free hand began to move, tracing along your arm and then down to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, the weight of his body grounding you in the moment. You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him in for another kiss, this one deeper and more urgent. The world around you seemed to blur as you both gave in to the building tension, the space between you dissolving as you held each other tight.

Hongjoong pulled back slightly, his breath uneven as he looked at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. He ran his thumb gently over your cheek, studying your expression, making sure you were still comfortable. "Can I...?" he started, his voice soft, almost hesitant. His eyes flicked down briefly before meeting yours again, the unspoken question hanging between you.

You felt your heart skip a beat, understanding what he was asking without him having to finish the sentence. You could see the care in his eyes, the way he was waiting for your response, giving you control of the moment. Your chest tightened with emotion, and after a deep breath, you gave him a slight nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "Yes."

His lips curved into a soft smile, filled with both relief and affection. He leaned in to kiss you again, slow and deliberate, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt. His fingers brushed your skin lightly as he began to lift the fabric, pausing for a moment, giving you a chance to stop him if you changed your mind. When you didn’t, he continued, pulling it over your head gently.

For a moment, Hongjoong just stared, his eyes wide and filled with awe as they roamed over you. His breath hitched slightly, and you could see the way his face softened, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "You’re... beautiful," he whispered, his voice full of sincerity. His hand moved slowly, tracing the curve of your shoulder, his touch light as if he were afraid of breaking the moment.

You blushed under his gaze, feeling exposed but not uncomfortable. There was something in the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever seen—that made your heart swell. "I've never seen anything like this," he admitted quietly, almost to himself. His eyes met yours again, filled with admiration. "You're perfect."

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. His praise felt genuine, heartfelt, and it only deepened the connection between you. Hongjoong leaned in to press another soft kiss to your lips before moving to kiss your collarbone, his touch reverent, as if every inch of you deserved the utmost care and attention.

His hands moved gently, exploring your skin with a mix of curiosity and adoration, but always with a quiet, unspoken question in his eyes, making sure you were comfortable with each step.

As soon as he got to the hem of your sweatpants, he looked up again and even before he got to ask you, you nodded and let him know that he can undress you. So with that he took your sweatpants off, leaving you in only your panties, no bra.

"Everything good..?" he shyly asked, gaze shifting onto your hard nipples, gulping at the sight.

"Y-yes.. please, Joong.." you pleaded, whining at him.

"Are you.. sure? It's kinda.. both of our first times..." he said, slightly panicking, but you reassured him that everything is okay by shutting him off with a longed kiss.

While still kissing you, he also took your panties off, then broke the kiss for a moment.

"You're perfect.. my love.." he told you, showering you with love. He took off his clothes and looked at you, eyes full of lust combined with affection.

As you were laying on your back on the laid-down couch, an extendible bed, he positioned himself to your entrance and stood like that for a moment. His hands went traveling, from your thighs to your waist and to your breasts, resting them around where he could, flustered. He went in for a kiss, tongues interlocking and deeply tasting you as his right hand went to your dripping folds, softly, almost scared-like touching you, to not make you uncomfortable. You squirmed under him, trying to get more friction from his fingers and as soon as you felt him insert two of them, you soflty moaned, the sound revrebrating through as you kissed him.

He deepened the kiss as his fingers began to move, slowly at first, teasingly. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, the tension in the air growing as his pace picked up, each stroke more deliberate, more eager. Your hips instinctively rocked against his hand, silently urging him on as your breaths became shallow, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you.

His lips trailed away from your mouth, planting soft kisses along your jawline, down to your neck. The sensation of his hot breath and the delicate pressure of his lips made you shiver. He could sense your need, your desire for more, and his hand responded in kind, fingers curling inside you, finding that sweet spot that made your back arch and a sharp gasp escape your lips.

For a brief moment, he paused to look at you, his eyes dark with desire, silently asking for permission to continue, to go further. You could feel the connection between you, the understanding that this was a shared moment of passion, of trust. With a soft, breathless nod, you gave him that silent affirmation, ready to lose yourself in the sensations he was stirring within you.

"I-mmh, I'm close, Joong-" you breathed out, legs trembling and your walls clenching on his fingers. The knot that formed in your belly was damn close to bursting, his fingers became steadier and faster, one of his hands traveling to your breasts and fondling with them. He leaned in for another kiss and as soon as he curled his fingers inside you a couple of times, you came down from your high, broken moans and whines escaping your throat.

"Good girl.. my love" he praised you, while the hand that was inside you just a moment ago went to his hard and aching cock, looking contently at you. He slowly got up and opened a drawer, taking a condom out of a small box. Your eyes widened at his care as he put it on and lined himself up to your entrance, his hands resting on your waist.

"Are you ready?" he shyly muffled.

"Y-yes" voice breathless and broken.

He slowly thrusted himself in you, giving you time to adjust to his size. He stood still for a moment, waiting for a sign from you, to which you softly moved under him, trying to get some friction. He took that as a sign and started fucking you more rapidly, but with all the care in the world. He lifted you up in his lap, as he embraced you. Your hands gathered around his shoulders, holding onto him dearly.

"I love you so much... y/n" Hongjoong stated.

"Me too, Joong.."

You were now in charge of the movements, being of top of him. And as you moved up and down, with a steady rythm, both your breaths got shallower and in a gasped manner. Hongjoong's hands were holding onto your waist and ass, trying so hard not to move you more than you wanted. But he was patient, never rushing you.

He muffled something you couldn’t quite figure out, but he soon found his words, "You feel so good... my love. You're so beautiful.. Goddamn, I'm so close-" and as you let yourself be fully filled by his lenghty cock, he finished and let out a string of muffled words, forehead now resting on your shoulder.

He decided to fuck you through his high which put you in the spot to be close to cumming again, which happened as soon as he bottomed out a few more times, hitting all your good spots, accompanied by his hands roaming your body.

You felt slightly overwhelmed, tears forming in your eyes from all the pleasure and pain of having sex for the first time with your lovely boyfriend.

He helped you off and lifted you up, carrying you to the bathtub. He slowly put you down and turned on the shower, getting in, too.

"Let's get you washed up.. my darling " he softly said and moved the shower head towards your body, hands soflty cleansing you.

"Thank you for all of this.. truly" you said, smiling.

"Thank.. you for trusting me, I should be saying" Hongjoong stated and leaned in for a forehead kiss, embracing you thightly while he let the water run and slowly fill the bathtub.

NETWORKS:

@blossomnet

@illusionnet

PERMANENT TAGLIST:

@mingleshine @musiclovingfairy @crazylittlebisexual @sanhwalvr @gong-fourz @arki-sha @artistic-rendition @hongjoongtime117 @cypher-03 @woolysium

[reidmarieprentiss]

Ghost of You

Summary: Instead of Maeve, you, Spencer's girlfriend, are shot while Spencer is watching. Except, like Emily, no one confirmed your death.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: angst, hurt, fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: death, guns, shooting, light smut (18+), grieving and mourning, lying and deceiving, loss, funeral, mistrust, illusions to vomiting, spencer getting drunk, happy ending

Word count: 14.3k

a/n: again ,, i'm sorry i don't know what's wrong with me ,, i live and breathe angst like i need it to survive

main masterlist

The room was oppressively silent, filled with the tense breaths of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit team members who were either physically present or listening intently over the comms. The stark white walls of the abandoned warehouse where you were held captive only amplified the gravity of the situation. 

Spencer Reid stood, his body rigid, his eyes locked on you—his partner, his love, tied down to a chair in the center of the room. His jaw was clenched, every muscle taut with barely contained fury and fear. Diane Turner, the woman responsible, paced before him with a demeanor that was chilling in its calmness.

“All you have to do is kiss me, Spencer. Just one kiss to prove you don’t love her, and she walks free,” Diane's voice was soft, almost coaxing, as she gestured nonchalantly with the handgun she held.

Spencer’s response was a strangled mix of defiance and desperation. “I can’t do that. I won’t.” His voice was firm, unwavering despite the tremor of fear that threatened to undermine his resolve.

Diane’s lips twisted into a cruel smirk as she turned her attention back to you. “Well, then I suppose we have a problem,” she said as she stepped closer, the gun now pointed directly at you.

The team listened and watched, helpless. Hotch’s hand hovered over his weapon, his mind racing through any possible solutions. JJ’s face was pale, her fingers gripping the edge of the tactical table. Rossi murmured a prayer under his breath, while Garcia, back at Quantico, had her hands clasped tightly, her eyes closed as she hoped for a miracle.

The moment stretched, a torturous eternity compressed into seconds. Then, Diane’s finger tightened on the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was deafening, a brutal punctuation that shattered the tense silence.

Your body slumped as the impact threw you backward, the chair skidding across the concrete floor. Spencer’s cry was guttural, filled with a raw pain that echoed through the room and the comms, reaching every member of the team.

As chaos erupted, with team members rushing into the warehouse, Hotch was the first to reach you. His experienced eyes quickly assessed the scene. Feeling the faint pulse beneath his fingers, he locked eyes with you as you barely managed to open yours.

“Let them think,” you whispered hoarsely, the effort to speak clearly costing you.

Understanding immediately, Hotch nodded subtly. As he called the medics over, he helped to obscure their view, ensuring that your whispered directive remained between the two of you. The medics, following his lead without question, prepared the stretcher and body bag with efficient, silent agreement to the unspoken plan.

As you were zipped up, hidden from view, the last thing you saw was Spencer, his face a mask of agony, being held back by Rossi, who whispered words meant to comfort but which couldn't touch the depth of Spencer's despair.

—

As the echoes of the gunshot faded, the stark reality of what had transpired settled heavily upon the entire BAU team. Inside the cramped FBI surveillance van parked discreetly a block away, the air was thick with grief and stifling silence. Each member of the team was caught in the throes of their own personal hell.

Emily Prentiss felt a crack in her usually impenetrable armor. Her hands, hidden from view, trembled slightly as she replayed the scene over in her mind, wishing there had been something more they could have done to prevent this tragic outcome. Rossi, who had seen too much loss in his years, wore a somber expression, his eyes dark with the weight of unspoken thoughts, perhaps reminiscing about losses past and the cruel repetitiveness of their job.

JJ, standing beside a silently crumbling Spencer, placed a gentle hand on his back, her touch light but filled with a world of empathy. Her eyes, usually so bright and confident, mirrored the horror and sadness that had momentarily overtaken her usual resilience. She knew all too well the pain of loss, yet knowing did nothing to soften the blow.

Penelope Garcia was a statue of despair; her colorful attire and vibrant demeanor dimmed by the shadow of your apparent demise. The screens before her that usually flickered with data and leads now only reminded her of the loss, the dreadful permanence of the moment your chair had fallen back, the moment that had seemingly snuffed out a light amongst them.

Derek Morgan, whose strength often served as a pillar for the team, stood rigid, his body tensed as if ready to spring into action, to undo what had been done. His jaw was set, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and profound sorrow. He felt a protective rage for the family he’d built here within the BAU, a family that had now been irrevocably scarred.

As the team returned to Quantico, each member was engulfed in their own silent reflection. The bullpen, usually abuzz with activity and light-hearted banter, was subdued, a somber shadow of its former self. Spencer's desk, a mess of papers and books, remained untouched, a stark reminder of the vibrancy of your relationship with him, now painfully absent.

In the days that followed, the team tried to navigate their grief while maintaining the facade of normalcy. Meetings were quieter, coffee breaks more solitary, and the weight of your absence was a constant, unspoken presence. Even as they delved into new cases, your memory lingered, a ghost in the machine, driving them forward but also holding them back, a reminder of the stakes at play in their line of work.

—

In the silence of the apartment he once shared with you, Spencer found himself enveloped in the echoes of a life that now felt like a distant memory. Each evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the loneliness settled around him like a dense fog, suffocating and cold. The apartment, once filled with the warmth of your presence, now served as a mausoleum of all the dreams and plans that would never come to fruition.

Spencer would wander through the rooms, his fingers trailing along the surfaces, half expecting to feel the electric touch of your hand in his. Your clothes still hung in the closet, and on particularly difficult nights, he found solace in the faint scent that lingered on your shirts. Pulling one out, he’d clutch it to his chest, sinking onto the bed as sobs wracked his body, the fabric dampening with his tears.

Books you had left on the nightstand, bookmarks still nestled between the pages where you had last stopped, became his new companions. He read every word you had read, traced the lines you might have touched, hoping to glean some part of your thoughts, your essence, from the text. It was a ritual that brought him a painful comfort, a way to feel close to you, to imagine that you were still there discussing the plot twists and character arcs with him.

Even your coffee habits became a part of his mourning. Spencer, who had always preferred tea, found himself brewing coffee each morning. He winced at the bitter taste, nothing like the soothing herbal blends he favored, but it was your taste, and that was what mattered. Each sip was a reminder of the mornings spent in shared silence, a newspaper between you and a mug in your hands, and he cherished these imagined moments as he sat alone at the kitchen table.

At work, Spencer's grief manifested in a quiet protectiveness over anything that had been yours. Your desk, an unassuming space cluttered with case files and trinkets, became sacred ground. He couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching your things, rearranging the chaos that was so distinctly you. When others offered to clean it or pack it up, he refused, his voice low but firm. It was a line he could not allow anyone to cross, not yet.

Despite the pull to isolate himself in the apartment surrounded by your belongings, Spencer knew he needed to be around people, around the living reminders of normalcy and duty. The BAU was a place of shared purpose, and being there, immersed in the work, allowed him moments of respite from his grief. Yet, even surrounded by his colleagues, the solitude he felt was profound, as if a vital part of him had been hollowed out, leaving him forever incomplete.

—

The arrangements for the funeral were meticulously crafted, cloaked in secrecy and necessity, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on Hotch as he orchestrated the somber affair. It was kept small, intimate, with only the BAU team in attendance. Hotch explained that your family was holding a separate, private celebration of life, a half-truth designed to protect the delicate fabric of the operation and to keep your true fate concealed.

Your family, forewarned by you of the possible outcomes of your dangerous gambit against a formidable foe, had been bracing for this day. You had instructed them with clear, calm precision: should news of your death reach them, they were to detach, to grieve privately and avoid any direct contact with your professional life. If Spencer—or any other team member—reached out, they were to embody the role of the bereaved, too shattered by grief to speak of you. This directive was to hold for three years, after which, if silence remained unbroken, they could assume you were truly gone.

At the funeral, the air was thick with a palpable sorrow, the team huddled together under the gray expanse of the sky, their expressions somber, eyes glistening. Spencer summoned a strength he didn't know he still possessed to deliver a eulogy that touched the very core of all who listened.

Standing before the small gathering, beside the casket that symbolically held you, Spencer's voice was steady, imbued with a deep melancholy. He spoke of your zest for life, your laughter that could light up a room, and your profound impact on his own life. He wove in lines from your favorite poets and authors, their words a tender tribute to your love for life, literature, and him.

"I’m glad I got to spend your life with me, even if I can’t spend mine with you," he concluded, his voice breaking slightly, the finality of the statement hanging heavy in the air.

—

In the small, cramped space of the Kansas precinct, the air hung heavy with the kind of solemnity that often accompanies a tragedy. Spencer was set up at a makeshift workstation, papers and photographs from the case splayed across the table in a meticulous arrangement, his focus as sharp as ever. But even the most disciplined mind couldn't fully shield itself from the emotional tremors of personal loss.

JJ noticed the victim's boyfriend first, his face etched with grief and confusion, a mirror to the very emotions Spencer had been wrestling with since your apparent death. Her instinct was protective, maternal almost; she stepped forward, intending to steer the man away, to spare Spencer the inevitable surge of his own raw, unresolved grief. But Spencer saw the boyfriend and saw a reflection of his own torment.

He stood up, his movements a bit too stiff, the mask of the professional profiler firmly in place but his eyes betraying a deep, abiding sorrow. "I can talk to him," Spencer offered quietly, his voice firm despite the tremble he couldn't quite suppress. JJ exchanged a worried glance with Hotch, who observed silently from the corner. They were hesitant, aware of Spencer's vulnerabilities but also of his uncanny ability to compartmentalize his pain.

Sitting across from the boyfriend, Spencer's empathy was palpable. His voice was gentle yet carried the weight of his own grief. "I—I lost my girlfriend too, she was... taken, in front of me. I'm so sorry for your loss," he shared, the words costing him more than he expected.

The man's response was choked, the kind of raw emotion that comes from this kind of grief. "I can’t even imagine—I feel like I can’t breathe every time I think about it."

Spencer nodded, his professional demeanor flickering. "I understand. But it's not your fault, you couldn't stop this man."

"What if I could though? I could have been there, I could have done something," the man insisted, his voice tinged with desperation and guilt.

That sentiment struck a chord too close to Spencer's own heartaches. He was there, he watched, unable to save you, powerless and shattered. His response was visceral, a burst of emotion too powerful to contain. "It’s not always that easy, okay? It’s not my fault!" His voice rose sharply, his hands slamming down on the table with a force that startled both himself and the man sitting opposite him.

Hotch, who had been watching the interaction with growing concern, recognized the signs of Spencer's unraveling. Without hesitation, he stepped in, his presence commanding and reassuring. He gently but firmly guided Spencer away, leading him out of the precinct as Spencer’s façade crumbled, revealing the raw, unfiltered pain beneath.

Outside, under the less scrutinous eyes of the public, Spencer sobbed, his body racked with the kind of sobs that shake the very foundation of a person. Hotch, strong and steady, offered his shoulder, a silent pillar of support in the storm of Spencer's grief.

As he held Spencer, Aaron felt a profound sense of guilt and responsibility. He knew the reasons behind your decision, understood them intellectually, but the emotional fallout, the raw pain Spencer displayed, was a stark reminder of the human costs of such decisions. In that moment, Hotch vowed silently to do whatever it took to support Spencer, to help him find a path through the thicket of his grief. 

—

Spencer took it upon himself to dig deeper into the remnants of your digital life. The walls of your shared apartment closed in around him, every corner filled with memories, every drawer a repository of a life paused mid-breath. He should have been resting, healing, using the time Hotch had given him to mourn and gather strength. Instead, he was driven by a relentless need to understand, to unearth the reasons behind the tragedy that had unraveled both his world and yours.

Sitting at the dining table cluttered with your personal effects—emails printed out, texts transcribed, voicemails played back into the empty room—Spencer's initial hesitation about invading your privacy had dissolved into a desperate need for answers. With each new piece of information, the narrative of your last days became clearer, and with it, his anger and guilt intensified.

Why didn't she tell me about the threats? Spencer's mind raced as he sifted through the digital breadcrumbs you'd left behind, each one a stark reminder of the danger you had faced alone. He felt betrayed, not by your love, but by your silence. The team was a family; they protected their own. The idea that you had borne this burden alone, without leaning on him, on them, gnawed at him relentlessly.

Then, among the tangle of threatening messages and cryptic warnings, one email stood out starkly. It was meticulously detailed, outlining a chilling ultimatum: your life for the safety of everyone else you cared about. His hands trembled as he read it, the implications of those words slicing through the fog of his grief. Had you planned to sacrifice yourself from the start? Was this why you had kept silent?

The realization hit him like a physical blow. His blood ran cold as the pieces fell into place. You hadn't just been taken from him; you had walked into the maw of danger with eyes wide open, hoping to shield him, to shield all of them from further harm.

But who were they? This shadowy group that had orchestrated such terror, that had driven you to such an unthinkable decision? The question echoed in the increasingly claustrophobic apartment, bouncing off the walls lined with books you’d both loved, past the pictures of happier times.

Spencer knew he couldn't do this alone, not anymore. Despite your choice to keep the threats from him, he realized that to honor your sacrifice, he needed the team. They were stronger together, and this was bigger than any one of them—bigger than his grief, his anger, his betrayal. It was about justice, not just for you, but for the sanctity of the life you had all built together.

Determined, Spencer gathered all the evidence, his resolve hardening. He would bring this to the team, to Hotch. They would find them. They would end this, once and for all. And perhaps, in doing so, he would find a way to forgive you, to forgive himself, and maybe find a path back from the precipice of his own consuming grief.

—

As the investigation intensified, the entire BAU team, honed by years of profiling complex criminal minds, began to uncover a series of subtle discrepancies and cryptic messages scattered across the case files and your personal communications. These inconsistencies didn't fit the expected pattern, weaving a complex web of suspicion that permeated the office atmosphere.

"Have you noticed these anomalies in the communication logs?" Spencer asked during one of their briefings, his eyes dark with both determination and unspoken grief.

"Yes, and these tips coming in—they don't add up," Emily replied, looking over the scattered papers and digital messages displayed on the screen.

Hotch watched the exchange closely, his mind racing with the implications of their findings. He was caught in a precarious balancing act—eager to dismantle the network behind the threats while protecting his team from the explosive truth about your staged death.

"We need to tread carefully," Hotch interjected, his voice steady but laced with caution. "This isn't just about following leads. We need to consider the broader implications."

Spencer, fueled by a relentless drive to seek justice for your loss, responded with a hint of frustration, "I know, but we can't just slow down. They're still out there, and who knows what they're planning next?"

Hotch paused, the weight of his secret knowledge pressing down on him. "Spencer, I understand your urgency, but we must ensure we're not walking into a trap. It's not just about finding them; it's about making sure we're ready for what comes next."

The team nodded, though Spencer's expression showed his internal struggle to balance his raw desire for justice with the strategic caution Hotch advised.

As they delved deeper, connecting the dots between the obscure threats, the mysterious inconsistencies in your case, and the shadowy group behind it all, Hotch's role became increasingly complex. He had to guide and sometimes redirect their efforts, always careful not to reveal too much too soon, especially to Spencer, whose emotional state remained fragile.

"We'll get them," Hotch assured the team, his voice firm yet heavy with the gravity of their task. "And we'll do it the right way, as a team, ready for all consequences."

The challenge loomed large, demanding everything they had to stay united and prepared for the potential revelations ahead. Hotch's leadership was crucial, walking the tightrope between maintaining secrecy and steering towards disclosure and resolution, all while safeguarding the team's integrity and emotional well-being.

—

As the seasons shifted to Fall, the relentless march of time brought both frustration and a forced return to routine for the BAU team. Despite the lack of significant breakthroughs in unraveling the conspiracy that had seemingly claimed your life, Spencer and the team remained vigilant, their resolve undiminished but tempered by the demands of their ongoing cases. The initial fervor had quieted into a persistent, underlying current of determination.

Unknown to the rest of the team, including Hotch, you were far from idle. In a twist laden with risk and secrecy, you had enlisted Emily Prentiss in a clandestine investigation. Emily, with her own history of deception for survival, was a perfect confidante and co-conspirator. Together, you delved into the shadows, tracking the elusive threads that connected your apparent demise to a larger, more sinister plot.

"We need to be careful," Emily cautioned during one of your late-night meetings in a nondescript safe house. "If the rest of the team finds out, especially Spencer, it could jeopardize everything."

"I know," you replied, your voice full of determination and regret. "But we can't let them continue to threaten the team. Spencer... he wouldn't understand, not yet."

Your efforts were meticulous and calculated, driven by the dual goals of protecting the team and dismantling the network that had forced you into hiding. The data you collected was encrypted and stored securely, only accessible to you and Emily. You traced financial transactions, monitored communications, and connected dots that were invisible to those not initiated into your secretive endeavor.

As the leaves began to fall and the chill of autumn set in, you and Emily had started to piece together a comprehensive picture of the criminal syndicate. It was broader and more complex than anyone had suspected, with tendrils reaching into unexpected places. The stakes were high, and the danger to the team was real and imminent.

"Once we have enough evidence, we'll bring it to Hotch," you decided, knowing that the moment of revelation was fast approaching. "We have to be thorough. This has to end, Emily."

Emily nodded, her expression grim but resolute. "We'll get them, and then you can finally go back home. To Spencer."

The thought of reuniting with Spencer and the team brought a bittersweet pang to your heart. You longed for the day you could return to the life you had been forced to leave behind, to reveal the truth and hopefully mend the fractures your disappearance had caused. But until that day, secrecy was your shield and patience your weapon.

—

On a brisk October morning, the Manhattan streets were bustling with the usual blend of haste and routine. Hidden beneath a wig, colored contacts, and a prosthetic nose, you moved with calculated caution, tailing a key member of the criminal network that had turned your life upside down. Despite the disguise, certain features—a constellation of moles, the unique curve of your jaw—remained tellingly distinctive to anyone who knew you well. You were acutely aware of the risks, especially since Hotch had mentioned that the BAU team was in the city for a case. Yet, the opportunity to close in on one of the circle's members was too critical to pass up.

Meanwhile, Spencer, his morning routine altered by a mundane decision to grab coffee, found himself halted mid-step. Across the crowded street, a familiar pattern of moles on the skin of a seemingly random passerby caught his eye. His heart raced, his mind refusing to accept the ghostly possibility. Shaken to his core, he didn't head to the precinct as planned but instead found himself running back to the hotel, driven by a surge of hope and confusion.

Bursting through the hotel corridor, Spencer reached Emily's door, pounding on it with a desperation that bordered on panic. Emily, alarmed by the urgency, quickly opened the door.

"Spencer? Are you okay?" she asked, her concern deepening as she took in his pale, distraught appearance.

"I saw Y/N," Spencer managed to get out, his voice trembling.

Emily's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing as she struggled to maintain the facade. "No, you didn't, Spencer. That's impossible," she insisted, her voice steady but her insides churning.

"No!" Spencer's voice rose, too loud for the early hour, his agitation palpable. "It was her, I saw her moles."

"Spencer... we buried her. You were there," Emily tried to anchor him back to reality, her words heavy with shared grief.

At her words, Spencer's composure shattered completely. Tears streamed down his face as the weight of his grief, mingled with the surreal hope of what he thought he'd seen, overwhelmed him. Emily, her heart breaking for him, pulled him into her room and embraced him tightly, trying to offer comfort.

Inside, Emily felt like she was teetering on a precipice, the deceit weighing heavily on her conscience. Holding Spencer as he sobbed, she felt the acute sting of guilt—like the worst person, dead or alive, for keeping such a monumental secret from someone who was more like a brother to her. 

—

In the dimly lit motel room, the tension was palpable as you recounted the latest development in your covert mission to Emily. The stark, functional space was a far cry from the comforts of home, echoing the stark reality of the path you had chosen.

"I got him, that's four down," you stated, your voice devoid of emotion, focusing solely on the task at hand. "Em, he's gone," you announced, your tone cold, almost detached, as if to shield yourself from the gravity of your actions.

"Gone? Like, gone gone?" Emily's voice was tinged with caution, her words measured, probing the depths of what 'gone' really meant in this clandestine war you were waging.

"Gone," you reaffirmed, the finality in your voice leaving no room for ambiguity.

"Phew, okay. Don't ever tell Hotch that," Emily sighed, a mix of relief and concern flickering across her face as she paced the cramped confines of the room. Her hands settled on her hips, a gesture that spoke of her inner turmoil. "How many does that leave?"

"Three. I’m so close I can taste it," you replied, a fierce determination lighting your eyes. The end was in sight, but with each step forward, the lines of morality blurred further.

"Y/N... I want them put away, gone, whatever, as much as you, but I need you to think about what you’re doing. Please, let us arrest them," Emily implored, her voice heavy with the responsibility of her role both as your confidante and as an FBI agent.

"I didn’t kill anyone, Emily," you snapped back, frustration and fatigue bleeding into your words. "He’s gone, he can’t hurt us anymore. He's not dead."

"I don’t even want to know," she murmured, her voice low, resigned to the complexities of the situation. Emily knew better than to press further; the less she knew about the specifics, the better she could maintain her role within the BAU and support you from a distance. "Okay, who’s next? What’s the next move?"

The conversation shifted back to strategy, both of you aware that each decision, each action taken, drew you deeper into a web from which there might be no untangling. The mission to dismantle the network that had terrorized your life and threatened your loved ones was nearing its critical phase, and with Emily's reluctant support, you prepared to face what came next, each step forward shadowed by the potential costs of the choices you were making.

—

In the bustling heart of the BAU, the sudden exclamation from Penelope Garcia broke through the usual hum of focused activity, drawing everyone's attention toward her tech-laden sanctuary. Her screens flickered with streams of data, her fingers danced across the keyboard, and her eyes were locked onto a particular piece of information that had just surfaced.

"Hotch! I got something," Penelope called out, her voice a mixture of excitement and urgency, beckoning the team leader to her side.

Hotch, his expression instantly shifting to one of focused concern, made his way quickly to Garcia's station, the rest of the team's eyes following him. They gathered around, curious and anxious about the potential breakthrough.

Penelope pointed to a specific line highlighted on her screen. "This right here, this was one of Diane's contacts," she explained, her voice steady despite the rapid pace of her discovery. "He was seen here in DC."

The revelation sent a ripple of alertness through the room. This contact could be a significant link in unraveling the network behind the threats and possibly lead them closer to understanding the full scope of the conspiracy that had ensnared you.

"Good work, Garcia," Hotch commended, his eyes scanning the information displayed. "Do we have any current visuals or known associates in the area?"

Penelope quickly typed away, pulling up additional data. "Working on it now, sir," she replied, her concentration absolute as she sifted through security feeds and intelligence reports.

As Garcia continued her search, Hotch turned to the rest of the team. "This could be a major lead. I want everyone on this—start pulling together all we know about Diane’s operations and any other contacts that might connect back to this one. Spencer, I need you to help Garcia with the profiling aspects. We need to anticipate their next moves."

—

The operation at the abandoned military building, initiated by Garcia's crucial lead, was intense and fraught with danger. The structure, looming and dilapidated, its windows boarded and the facade scarred by the elements, was a fitting hideout for the remnants of the criminal network that had caused so much turmoil.

Derek Morgan, with his characteristic blend of bravado and precision, took point as the team approached the shadowed entrance. With a powerful kick, he sent the door crashing open, splinters flying, as he bellowed, "FBI! Hands where we can see them!"

The interior was chaos incarnate. The suspects, caught by surprise but desperate, reacted violently. Gunfire erupted almost immediately, echoing off the hollow walls, as the team took cover. Commands were shouted, and the sound of scrambling feet mixed with the sharp reports of gunfire. Despite the chaos, the BAU team's training and resolve shone through. They moved with practiced efficiency, their actions coordinated under Hotch's calm directives.

It wasn’t long before the situation was under control, with each member of the crime circle detained, their plans for escape foiled by the team's decisive intervention. However, amidst the takedown, Spencer Reid's actions stood out. His usual composure was replaced by a raw, almost visceral intensity. Observing from a distance, Hotch saw Spencer deliver a fierce blow to one of the suspects who had tried to fight back. It was uncharacteristic, a clear sign of the deep-seated anger and pain that Spencer had been harboring.

Hotch understood the cathartic nature of Spencer's reaction; he knew the young agent needed to vent the pent-up emotions that had been simmering ever since your supposed death. It was a moment of human frailty, one that Hotch knew he would address later in a private conversation to ensure it didn’t spiral into something more destructive.

As the dust settled and the suspects were secured, Hotch’s mind turned to the daunting task ahead. The team was unaware of the full scope of what you and he had orchestrated. The truth about your survival, hidden under layers of deceit and protective maneuvers, was going to surface, and Hotch was acutely aware that the revelation would not be received lightly. The trust they had in him, and potentially in you, would be tested.

He contemplated the right moment and the right words to use, knowing that the bond of the team, the very cohesion that made them effective, could be jeopardized by the forthcoming disclosure. Forgiveness, he knew, was not guaranteed, but necessary for healing. 

—

As Hotch and Emily prepared to meet with Spencer, the weight of what they were about to disclose hung heavily in the air. Choosing a neutral location, they rented a separate room in the motel you’d been staying in to ensure privacy for the sensitive conversation.

Upon Spencer's arrival, his knock was met with a quick response. "Spencer, come in," Hotch greeted, his voice betraying none of the apprehension he felt.

As Spencer entered the room, his eyes immediately found Emily seated casually on the bed. His mind raced through a myriad of possibilities, his initial confusion giving way to a fleeting, inappropriate guess at their intentions. However, as Emily gestured for him to take a seat, it became clear that the gravity of the situation was far from what his fleeting thoughts had entertained.

"Spencer, this is hard, but we have something we need to tell you," Emily began, her tone serious, cutting through any lingering misconceptions.

Hotch took over, his expression somber. "I need you to know, Spencer, that everything we did was for the protection of the team and all of our loved ones. And at the request of Y/N."

The mention of your name caused a visible reaction in Spencer. He stiffened, his face paling slightly as the name he'd mourned in silence was spoken aloud. "What's going on?" he asked, his voice tight with a mix of hope and rising anger.

"Y/N...she’s—she’s alive," Emily stated bluntly, her words deliberate.

"That's not funny," Spencer snapped, standing up quickly, his chair clattering to the floor. The suggestion seemed cruel, a twisted joke at his expense.

"Reid, it's not a joke," Hotch intervened firmly, stepping forward to emphasize the truth of their words. "She never died that day in the warehouse. She went into hiding."

Spencer's reaction was immediate and fierce. "You're telling me this now? After how long—how long have you both known about this?" His voice rose, a sharp edge of betrayal slicing through the thickening tension in the room.

"Spencer, please understand, we—" Emily tried to interject, her face a mask of sympathy and regret.

"No, don't 'Spencer, please' me, Emily!" Spencer cut her off, his voice laced with sarcasm and hurt. "You both lied to me. To all of us. How could you possibly justify that?"

Hotch met Spencer's gaze steadily, recognizing the pain and anger boiling over in the younger man. "It was Y/N's decision, to protect everyone. We were respecting her wishes, Spencer."

"So, what, I'm just supposed to accept that? That you all decided my mental and emotional torture was worth the cause?" Spencer's voice was cold, his usually warm eyes now sharp and accusing.

"We thought we were doing the right thing, Reid," Hotch replied, his voice even but firm. "I know it's hard, but she did it thinking of you, of all of us."

Spencer shook his head, his emotions a whirlwind of anger, relief, and unresolved grief. "Hard doesn’t even begin to cover it, Hotch. Not even close."

The room fell silent, the heavy truth settling around them like a shroud. His eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw tensed visibly as he stood towering over the small coffee table separating him from Emily and Hotch. His voice was sharp, laced with a bitter edge that neither of them had often heard before.

"This is some kind of sick test, right?" Spencer snapped, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "You pull me in here, say something like that—"

"Spencer, please," Emily interjected, her voice steady but her eyes revealing the strain of the moment. "It's the truth. Y/N is alive. She's been in hiding. We couldn't tell you—"

"Couldn't tell me?" Spencer's laugh was hollow, humorless. "Or you chose not to tell me? Which one, Emily? Because last I checked, we're supposed to trust each other."

Hotch stood up, his presence a calming force in the room, though it did little to soothe Spencer's frayed nerves. "We did it to protect her and everyone else involved. It was Y/N's decision, and she specifically asked us to keep it from the team until it was absolutely safe. You of all people know the dangers that come with our line of work."

"That doesn't give you the right to lie to me, to us!" Spencer’s voice rose, a rare flash of anger crossing his normally composed demeanor. "To fake her death? Do you have any idea what that did to me? To all of us?"

"We understand it was hard, Spencer," Hotch said, his tone softening. "But we had no other choice. The threat was too great, and it still is. That's why we're telling you now—because we need you to understand and to help us finish this, the right way."

Spencer shook his head, his anger mingling with a resurgence of pain, the old wound torn open anew. "And you think just telling me this now makes it all okay? That it justifies everything?"

"It's not about justification," Emily added gently. "It's about trust, and yes, we're asking a lot of you. We're asking you to trust us now, after we've kept this from you. But we need you, Spencer. Y/N needs you."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Spencer's shoulders slumped slightly, the initial surge of anger giving way to a complex storm of relief, betrayal, and confusion. He sat back down slowly, his mind racing as he processed the enormity of what he'd just been told.

"I need to see her," Spencer said finally, his voice quiet but firm. "I need to hear this from her."

"And you will," Hotch assured him. “But right now, we just need to ensure it's completely safe—"

Hotch's assurance was cut short by Spencer's sharp retort, the anger and betrayal he felt boiling over. "No fucking buts," he seethed, each word dripping with venom.

"Spencer," Emily chided, taken aback not just by his tone but by the raw edge of his language.

"Emily," Spencer shot back mockingly, his patience frayed to its very ends. "Where is she? Take me now or accept my resignation from the BAU."

The room fell into a charged silence, Hotch and Emily exchanging a look that conveyed the gravity of Spencer's ultimatum. Hotch knew this was no idle threat; Spencer's entire demeanor screamed of a man pushed to his limits.

Understanding the stakes, Hotch pulled out his phone without breaking eye contact with Spencer. He quickly sent you a text, concise and to the point, indicating he was bringing Spencer to your location. Once the message was sent, he pocketed his phone and stood, gesturing toward the door with a nod.

"Come on then," Hotch said, his voice firm, as he led the way out of the room and down the breezeway.

The walk was tense, each step echoing hollowly in the corridor as Spencer followed, his mind racing with a tumult of emotions—anger, anticipation, confusion. What would he say? What would he do? The scenarios played out in his head in a relentless loop.

Finally, they arrived at your door. Hotch knocked, a formal, almost perfunctory sound against the heavy wood. Spencer held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest, a mixture of dread and desperate hope coursing through him.

The door swung open slowly, revealing you standing there, alive, a sight that was both immensely relieving and incredibly infuriating to Spencer. For a moment, he could only stare, taking in the reality of you—so familiar yet so distant after everything that had transpired.

The moment was fraught with tension, a silent standoff as emotions swirled palpably in the air. Spencer's relief at seeing you alive was overshadowed by a barrage of questions and accusations, his previous affections now tangled with a sense of betrayal.

“Hi, Spence.”

The moment you spoke, a simple greeting barely above a whisper, the atmosphere thickened palpably. Spencer's gaze was intense as he took in your appearance, noting every change that the months of separation and stress had etched into your features. The person before him was both deeply familiar and unsettlingly altered. You looked worn, shadows beneath your eyes, and a tension in your posture that spoke volumes about the ordeal you had endured.

The sight of you, so changed yet still unmistakably you, ignited a complex torrent of emotions in Spencer. The pain of your loss, the relief of your presence, and the sharp sting of betrayal all collided in a devastating rush.

"Fuck you," he spat, the words harsh, laced with hurt and anger. Without another word, he turned sharply, his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he stormed off, leaving the tension of the room to coil tighter in his wake.

Hotch, standing a few steps behind, remained silent, his expression grim. He understood the depth of Spencer's reaction, the relief and betrayal too potent to process in the heat of such a sudden reunion.

Emily, who had lingered by the doorway, gave you an apologetic look, her eyes conveying sympathy and concern. She knew the road to reconciliation, if it was even possible, would be long and fraught with emotional landmines.

As Spencer's retreating figure disappeared around the corner, the reality of the situation settled in. The revelation of your survival, meant to be a moment of shocking relief, had instead reopened wounds that had never fully healed.

—

Spencer's return to work was a study in silent turmoil. He moved through his days mechanically, engaging only when absolutely necessary and avoiding any unnecessary interaction, particularly with Hotch and Emily. The news of your survival and return had been a bombshell he was still struggling to process, and his feelings were a tangled mess of betrayal, anger, and an unwillingness to face the new reality that you were back, alive and in the same space as him.

When you officially returned to the BAU, the team's reactions were mixed. While betrayal hung heavy in the air, time and distance from the initial shock allowed some semblance of forgiveness to seep through the cracks of strained relationships. As you walked in, the emotions were palpable: hugs were exchanged, tears were shed, and in a moment of overwhelming emotion, Penelope, the heart of the team, slapped you, only to burst into tears and apologize profusely soon after. Despite the rocky reception, it was clear there was relief mingled with the hurt, a complex welcome back.

Observing your old desk, untouched and exactly as you left it, you couldn't help but express your surprise. "Wow, my desk hasn't been touched?" you remarked, a mix of nostalgia and sadness in your tone.

Derek chuckled sadly before responding, "Reid wouldn't let us move your things."

At Derek's words, Spencer, who had been passing by, couldn’t hold back his biting retort. "She was fucking dead, you can trash it all now for all I care," he spat venomously, his words laced with unresolved anger.

The harshness of his comment drew a heavy sigh from Hotch, who had been monitoring the team's dynamics closely. Knowing he needed to address Spencer's ongoing struggle, he called him into his office for a private conversation.

"Look, you don’t have to be okay with what happened, or forgive any of us," Hotch began, his voice steady yet empathetic, understanding the depth of Spencer's pain. "But you do have to be professional. We're a team, and we need to function as one, regardless of personal feelings."

Spencer, standing rigidly across from Hotch, his jaw set and his eyes cold, listened without responding. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions—anger at the deceit, sorrow for the past, and a grudging acknowledgement of Hotch’s words. 

—

Your first week back at the BAU was a tightrope walk of navigating old connections and mending frayed bonds. By the end of it, you realized a conversation with Spencer was inevitable and necessary. The tension had been palpable, and his avoidance was a clear sign of unresolved issues between you two. With a tentative breath, you approached him, your voice carrying a mix of hesitation and resolve.

"Spencer… hi, I just have a quick question," you started, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"What?" His response was curt, clipped with an edge that made you flinch slightly, though you weren't entirely surprised.

"Um, well all of my things are still at the apartment. I guess I was wondering if I could come get them? Or I could have movers do it, I—I found an apartment," you explained, the words tumbling out more quickly than you intended.

Spencer's reaction was immediate, his stomach twisting painfully at the implication of your words. "You’re—you’re not going to live with me anymore?"

"I didn’t—I didn’t think you would want me to," you replied softly, the hesistence evident in your voice.

"Of course I want you to, I mean, Jesus Christ, I don't know. Maybe you're right, maybe I don’t," Spencer confessed, his emotions raw and conflicted.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself for the conversation that needed to happen. "I think we need to talk about more than living arrangements…"

"No shit, Y/N." Spencer's reply was deadpan, his frustration boiling over. "You can come home tonight, for a bit."

"Okay, okay. Of course. I'll see you at, let's say 7?" you proposed, hoping to set a definite time for what would undoubtedly be a difficult discussion.

"Yeah," he agreed, albeit tersely.

As Spencer turned to walk away, not wanting to extend the conversation any longer than necessary, Emily, who had overheard the exchange, called out to him. "Reid!" She jogged to catch up to him at the elevators, but he ignored her initial call.

"Spencer," she tried again, her tone pleading, "please."

"What, Prentiss?" he snapped, his use of her last name marking a clear sign of his irritation and distancing.

"I just wanted to say I'm sorry, and—and I hope tonight goes well," Emily offered, her apology sincere, though it did little to soften Spencer's demeanor.

"Hey, maybe don’t fucking eavesdrop and focus on not being a shitty friend instead?" Spencer retorted sharply, his words cutting through the air like a knife. He didn't wait for her response, stepping into the elevator and disappearing from view, leaving Emily standing in the hallway, her expression one of regret and concern.

The elevator doors closed on Spencer, encapsulating him in his turmoil, a storm of anger, betrayal, and lingering affection swirling chaotically within him. Tonight’s conversation would be a turning point, one way or another.

—

At precisely seven in the evening, you stood outside the apartment that had once felt like a sanctuary, a place filled with love and shared secrets. Now, it held a different energy, charged with tension and unresolved conflicts. Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door, bracing yourself for the conversation ahead.

Spencer opened the door swiftly, his expression unreadable. He stepped aside to let you in, his movements precise, controlled. "Before you say it again, no, nothing has been touched," he stated right away, his tone a mixture of resignation and bitterness.

You nodded, taking in the familiar surroundings that now seemed somewhat foreign. "It looks nice, I missed being here," you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

"Yeah, well I missed you being alive, and now I miss when you didn't lie to me and fake your death!" Spencer retorted with mock enthusiasm, his words sharp, each one landing like a blow.

You couldn’t help but wince slightly at his tone, the raw edge in his voice a clear reflection of the pain he felt. "You got me there," you admitted with a sad chuckle, acknowledging his anger and the legitimacy of his feelings. "Can I explain why I did it?"

"You better," he responded tersely, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, his posture defensive yet expectant.

With a heavy sigh, you began to unravel the story, the words heavy with the weight of the decisions you had made. "When the threats started coming in, they weren't just directed at me—they were aimed at everyone I care about, including you. The people we were up against... they made it clear they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted. I couldn't risk your safety, or the team's."

You paused, the heaviness of the moment settling around you as you searched Spencer's face for any sign of softening, any hint that he might understand the depth of the desperation that had driven your actions. 

"They, um, they got to Sam,” you managed to say, your voice breaking into a sniffle. Sam had been your closest confidant, a spy much like Emily once was—a detail Spencer was unaware of, which fueled a fresh wave of anger within him. 

The revelation that there were still secrets kept from him, critical pieces of your life and decisions made without his knowledge, stirred a renewed turmoil in Spencer. His brow furrowed deeper, confusion and betrayal etching his features as he processed the new information.

You drew a deep breath, steadying yourself as you pieced together the narrative that had dictated your life for the past tumultuous months. "Sam was highly trained, I think they went for them first to show how serious they were. I knew if they started there, it wouldn’t be long before they got to my family, or you. And the thought of losing you was more than I could bear."

The words hung heavily in the air, laden with the gravity of the choices you had faced, each decision infused with a desperate instinct to protect.

"I thought by faking my death, by disappearing, it would draw their focus away from you, from everyone. It was supposed to be temporary, just until we could neutralize the threat," you explained further, your voice thick with emotion and regret. Each word was a plea for understanding, a bridge you hoped would span the chasm of hurt and betrayal that had opened between you and Spencer.

The room felt smaller, the air between you charged with tension and unspoken questions as you awaited his response, hoping for understanding, yet bracing for further backlash. 

"It was the hardest decision I've ever made," you continued, your voice faltering slightly. "Leaving you, lying to you... it went against everything I believed in. But I did it because I believed it was the only way to keep you safe. I thought I was protecting you, but I see now how much hurt it caused."

The room was thick with emotion, the air charged with the weight of revelations. Spencer pushed off from the wall, his movements slow as he approached you. The distance between you felt immense, filled with months of pain and separation.

Spencer's anger, simmering just beneath the surface, erupted as he struggled to reconcile your reasons with his own harrowing experience. 

"Let me get this straight…” he seethed, his words laced with a palpable bitterness. “You faked your death, let me believe I lost you because you couldn't stand the thought of losing me? That sounds a bit fucking selfish, now doesn't it?"

You tried to interject, to explain further, but Spencer was relentless, his pain turning his usual precise speech into a torrent of raw emotion. "Spen—"

“Why was watching you die supposed to be better for me?” he cut in sharply, not allowing you to get a word in edgewise.

“I—I,” you stuttered, floundering under the intensity of his gaze and the force of his anger.

“I—I, nothing. Because it wasn’t. I mourned, grieved, suffered. I watched. You. Die.” His words were punctuated, each sentence a hammer strike, his voice rising with each syllable, expressing the depth of his anguish.

Seeing Spencer in such raw, unguarded turmoil was a stark deviation from the composed, analytical person you knew. The pain etched across his features, the fury in his voice—it was all too much, a vivid portrayal of the deep scars your actions had left on him.

"I'm so sorry, bug," you murmured instinctively, using the affectionate nickname that had always been reserved for softer, happier times.

"Don't!" he exploded, his voice filling the space between you with a harsh, jarring intensity. His next word was softer, but no less intense, "don't," he repeated, the anger subsiding into a plea.

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, it slipped out," you quickly apologized, realizing too late the mistake of using such a personal term in such a fraught moment.

Spencer stepped back, putting physical distance between you as if the space could help shield him from the emotional barrage. His next question was quieter, vulnerable, "Did you think about me? At all?"

The simplicity of the question, asked with such genuine uncertainty, twisted at your heart. "Spencer... every single day," you responded, your voice thick with emotion. "The thought of getting back to you was the only thing keeping me going."

"Don't you dare say that to me," he snapped, turning his back to you abruptly, a clear signal of his overwhelming feelings of hurt and betrayal. His body language closed off any further attempts at consolation or explanation.

You stood there, helpless, watching his shoulders tense as he wrestled with the revelations and his own feelings. The divide between what you had intended with your actions and how they had devastated him was now painfully clear. This conversation, necessary as it was, had unearthed a torrent of pain and resentment that wouldn't easily be soothed.

"Where do we go from here?" you asked, your voice a mere whisper, almost drowned out by the gravity of the moment.

Spencer paused in his pacing, a physical manifestation of his inner unrest, and faced you. "I don't know, I'm really, really fucking mad at you," he admitted bluntly, his voice a raw edge of honesty that cut through the tense air.

You nodded, accepting his anger as just and warranted. "I know," you replied softly.

"I’m mad at Hotch and Emily too, and it’s your fault," Spencer continued, his frustration spreading outward, casting a wider net of blame.

"Don't be mad at them, please. They were just helping me," you tried to explain, hoping to shield your friends from his anger.

"And lying to me! God, Y/N, I buried you, I gave a eulogy!" His voice rose, the pain evident in his exclamation, each word underscored by a memory of grief.

Your heart ached anew, the sorrow palpable. "Oh, Spencer, that must have been so hard," you murmured, your voice tinged with genuine remorse.

"Were you there?" he suddenly asked, a sharp turn in the conversation that caught you off guard.

"What?" you were taken aback, not fully grasping his meaning at first.

He fixed his gaze on you again, intensifying. "Were you at the funeral? Hiding somewhere? Did you have to listen?" he demanded, his inquiry sharp, seeking uncomfortable truths.

"No... I wasn’t there," you responded quietly, the truth laying bare another layer of separation between what he had experienced and what you had chosen.

Without another word, Spencer turned abruptly and stormed off towards his office, leaving you frozen in place, rooted by fear and regret. Moments later, he returned, holding a piece of paper — his eulogy, written for a ghost. "Allow me to share," he spoke cruelly, the words dripping with bitterness.

He thrust the paper into your hands, his eyes not leaving yours, challenging, daring you to read the words he had prepared to say over what he believed was your final resting place. The paper trembled in your grip, each word a testament to his grief and the depth of his betrayal.

“I mourned someone who was alive, who had decided that faking her death was better than trusting the people who loved her,” Spencer simmered, his voice sharp as a blade. 

You looked down at the eulogy, the words blurring as tears welled up in your eyes. “Spencer, I...”

“No,” he cut you off sharply, stepping back. “You chose this path. You chose silence and deception. How am I supposed to move past that? How are any of us? You can at the very least read what I felt, I hope it hurts.”

The room felt suffocatingly small as the reality of what had been broken between you settled in. Spencer’s words were a clear signal of the chasm that had formed, a divide possibly too wide to bridge. He had shared his pain in the most tangible way, leaving you to grapple with the enormity of the hurt you had caused.

As he turned back to his office, leaving you standing there with the eulogy in hand, the silence that followed was a painful reminder of all that had been lost and the long, uncertain road ahead if there was ever to be reconciliation.

—

When Great Trees Fall

Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance, fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of

dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

—

Reading Spencer's eulogy, filled with such heartfelt pain and profound love, shattered the last defenses around your heart. It was as though all the sorrow you'd held at bay came crashing down, overwhelming you with a grief so intense it felt physical. His words, "I’m glad I got to spend your life with me, even if I can’t spend mine with you," echoed in your mind, each syllable a poignant reminder of what had been lost between you two. The emotional weight was nearly unbearable, leaving you feeling as if death, the one you had faked to protect him, was now clutching at your soul for real.

Once you managed to gather yourself, a semblance of composure clinging by a thread, you dragged your feet to Spencer's office. The door was open, and you paused at the frame, leaning heavily against it. When Spencer looked up and saw the raw anguish on your face, his heart constricted with conflicting emotions. On one hand, seeing you so broken stirred a vindictive satisfaction within him; on the other, it tore at him, hating to see the woman he loved in such profound despair.

"Did you read it all?" Spencer's voice was soft, cautious as he watched you struggle with your emotions.

You nodded, barely managing to keep the sobs at bay. Speaking was beyond your capability at that moment; even breathing felt like a chore.

Spencer observed you with a complexity of feelings churning inside him. "You loved Maya Angelou," he started, his voice trailing off a bit, "but you didn’t like that poem, it made you sad." 

You sniffled, wrapping your arms around yourself, a meager attempt to find some solace in the hold of your own embrace.

"Y/N…this isn’t forgiveness, but—" Spencer hesitated, his offer hanging in the air, "—do you need a hug?"

Your response was immediate and desperate, "Oh god, please," you sobbed out, rushing into his lap. The physical proximity to Spencer, once so normal and now so charged, brought a rush of comfort and more tears.

You curled into him, your arms around his shoulders, your face buried in his neck, and your body fitting into his lap as if molded to be there. Spencer, after a brief moment of hesitation, wrapped his arms around you as well. One hand gently stroked your hair while the other soothingly scratched your back. He couldn’t help but inhale deeply; you smelled different, tainted by the generic scents of motel life, yet underneath it all was your natural scent—a reminder of countless shared moments, grounding him even in the midst of turmoil.

In that embrace, a silent acknowledgment passed between you both. This wasn’t reconciliation, nor was it forgiveness, not yet. It was a moment of mutual need, a complex dance of grief, love, and countless unspoken words, each seeking solace in the simple presence of the other amidst the chaos of emotions unleashed by your return and the revelations that followed.

—

After the intensity of the emotions shared in that long, clinging hug, a tangible shift occurred between you and Spencer. As the wave of your sobs finally subsided, Spencer, with a gentle firmness, eased you from his lap. It was clear he needed some space, a moment to gather his own scattered emotions, and you understood immediately. The depth of what had transpired, the shared physical comfort, had been a momentary reprieve in the storm, not a resolution. With a heavy heart and tear-stained cheeks, you whispered a tearful goodbye, preparing to leave, feeling the ache of separation anew.

As you reached the door, Spencer's voice stopped you. It was hesitant, filled with a vulnerability you hadn't heard in a long time. "Don’t move into an apartment, I want to try," he said, his words tentative yet filled with a profound significance.

You turned around, gasping slightly at the implication of his words. There was hope there, a delicate thread of possibility that perhaps not all was lost between you two. His statement, simple yet heavy with meaning, suggested a willingness to mend the fractures, to rebuild from the debris of heartache and deception. You nodded, unable to form words, your heart swelling with a mix of relief and cautious optimism.

Feeling a sense of hope for the first time in over a year, you left Spencer’s apartment with a sense of hope. Spencer’s words echoed in your mind, a promise of potential reconciliation and healing. The journey ahead would undoubtedly be fraught with challenges, but the mere possibility of trying, of working through the layers of hurt and betrayal together, was a balm to your bruised heart.

—

The situation was precarious. The joy of knowing you were alive was shadowed by a chaos of emotions Spencer couldn't neatly categorize or understand, and in a moment of weakness, he turned to the one thing he had avoided for years—alcohol. The few bottles you had left behind became his solace for the evening, a poor substitute for dealing with the whirlwind inside him.

When his call came through in the middle of the night, your heart skipped a beat at the sound of the special ringtone you had set for him—a signal of the deep bond you still shared despite everything.

“Hello? Spencer? What's going on?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and concern.

“Y/N!! What's up?” Spencer's voice was unusually buoyant, slurred with the unmistakable tinge of inebriation.

“I'm sleeping, bug. Are you drunk?” your words were tinged with worry, not just for his state of intoxication but for the underlying turmoil that must have driven him to it.

“Bug,” he giggled, a sound so out of character that it tugged at your heartstrings. “Why do you call me that? Do I look like a bug? You look like an angel, you almost were an angel.”

The mix of humor and pain in his voice was disconcerting. “Spencer…” you began, trying to steer the conversation into calmer waters.

“Did you know I almost called my old dealer? I wanted to forget so bad, your death made me want to do drugs. Isn’t that crazy?” His tone was light, almost flippant, but the words struck a deep, alarming chord.

Hearing him so vulnerable and on the edge, you knew you had to act. “Spencer, bug, I'm going to come over, okay? Are you home?” you asked, already pulling on your clothes, preparing to head out.

Spencer laughed, a sound that was more unnerving than reassuring. “Duh, love!”

“I’ll be there in 15,” you assured him, your voice firm, trying to convey both your love and your resolve.

“Make sure you aren't wearing anything!” he called out just as you were about to hang up, his judgment clearly impaired.

Ignoring his inappropriate comment, you quickly gathered your things. The drive over was tense, your mind racing with worry about what state you'd find him in and how you could help steer him back from the brink. This was a Spencer you hadn't seen before—raw, unraveling, and dangerously close to old demons. 

—

As you stood outside Spencer's apartment, your concern heightened by the minute, you called out softly yet urgently, "Spencer! Open up, please!" It was late, and your voice was hushed to avoid waking the neighbors, but the silence from inside the apartment only fueled your worry.

When there was no response, you swiftly used your old key, the one you'd luckily thought to bring, anticipating a situation like this might arise. Pushing the door open, you stepped quickly inside, scanning the apartment for any sign of Spencer.

You found him in the bathroom, a heart-wrenching sight: curled over the toilet, visibly shaken and unwell. "Oh, baby," you murmured as you knelt beside him, "I'm here, do you need anything?"

"I need you," he sobbed through gags, his voice desperate and raw.

"I'm here, Spence. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere," you reassured him, rubbing his back gently as he heaved, trying to soothe him with your presence and touch.

Once the worst of his nausea had passed, you helped Spencer to his feet and supported him as you both made your way to the bedroom—what had once been your shared space. You carefully propped him up with pillows and fetched him a glass of water.

"Drink," you instructed gently, raising the glass to his lips. He complied, taking large gulps of water, his actions still a bit clumsy from intoxication. "How much did you drink?"

"Your wine," he mumbled, leaning forward to rest his head against your chest, seeking comfort in your closeness.

"How many bottles?" you pressed, trying to assess just how much alcohol he had consumed.

"Two," he admitted, his voice muffled against you.

"Oh, Spencer…why?" you asked softly, concern and sadness threading through your words.

"I miss you...but you're right here." His words were a poignant reflection of his struggle to reconcile the you he had lost with the you who was now before him. "It’s like...I can't put together the you that's sitting here," he continued, taking a deep, shuddering breath, "and the you I watched die. How did you not die?"

You began to scratch his hair gently, a familiar gesture that always soothed him. "Let's not talk about that right now," you suggested with a soft smile, wanting to keep the mood light and focused on his immediate comfort.

He huffed a bit childishly, the alcohol still loosening his inhibitions. "Okay. Can you get naked then?" he asked, half-serious.

"Spencer!" you laughed, both amused and a bit shocked by his bluntness.

"What? It’s been a long time, a guy's got needs," he retorted, his tone playful yet earnest, clearly still under the influence. Your laughter filled the room, a light moment amidst the heavy emotional backdrop. 

Spencer's playful inquiries, despite his inebriated state, lightened the mood, and you couldn't help but respond with warmth and amusement. His words, though tinted with alcohol's bluntness, reminded you of the intimacy that had once defined your relationship. 

"Okay big boy, how’s this, I’ll spend the night, and you can ask me in the morning?" you suggested softly, your smile attempting to bridge the gap between comfort and the promise of discussing things more seriously once he was sober.

"Mmm, I like it when you call me big boy... Are you going to sleep in our bed?" Spencer's voice held a hint of hope, his earlier flirtatiousness blending with a genuine desire for closeness.

"Yeah, Spence, I can," you affirmed, committing to staying close, to help anchor him through the night's emotional turbulence.

"Naked?" he ventured again, half-teasing, half-serious.

"Spencer!" you laughed even harder, shaking your head at his persistence. 

Your laughter, mixed with gentle chiding, reminded both of you of the deeper connection that still lingered, resilient despite the trials. As the night settled around you, the decision to stay seemed to offer a tentative step towards reconciliation, a quiet acknowledgment of the unresolved feelings and the potential for healing that lay ahead.

—

Spencer lay awake for a few moments before you stirred, soaking in the reality of having you beside him once again. The complexity of the past year's events seemed to blur at the edges as he focused on the simple, profound comfort of your presence. As he gently brushed your hair away from your face, he was struck by a wave of affection and longing that had been suppressed under layers of grief and anger.

When you murmured his name, his heart swelled. "Good morning, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and filled with emotion.

Snuggling closer to him, you found solace in the warmth of his chest, a familiar haven that felt both nostalgic and right. "Morning, you feel so good," you mumbled, the words muffled against his skin, conveying more than just physical comfort—they hinted at the deep emotional connection that neither time nor circumstances had been able to erase.

"Yeah?" he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, a soft rumble of contentment that you felt more than heard.

You nodded, pressing a little more firmly into him, affirming your shared comfort. "Best pillow in the world," you declared, your voice a sleepy murmur of contentment as you pressed a kiss above his heart. 

Your playful banter brought a lightheartedness that the room hadn't felt in a long time, lightening the weight of the past's shadows that had settled between you. Spencer’s heart lifted with every laugh and every teasing remark, feeling more like himself than he had in months.

“Thank you for coming over last night,” he said, his voice soft with genuine gratitude, feeling the echo of your kiss still warming his chest.

“Of course, bug. How are you feeling now?” you asked, your concern for his well-being shining through despite the jokes.

“Not great, definitely need some water, and a warm bath,” he admitted, rubbing his temples lightly.

“This isn’t another ploy to get me naked, is it?” you teased, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

Spencer tensed for a moment, a flush of embarrassment coloring his face. “Oh god, I did that, didn’t I?”

“You did, but it’s okay. I’d say we’re even, but I’ll let you tease me for two years,” you replied, your smile broadening as you looked up at him, inviting a lightness back into the moment.

He sighed, half in exasperation, half in amusement. “Three years and you’re taking the trash out for the next month,” he countered, trying to maintain a semblance of negotiation despite the smile tugging at his lips.

“What?” you sat up abruptly, feigning shock but quickly breaking into laughter.

Spencer laughed too, a sound so warm and genuine it filled the room with an ease that had been missing. “I told you I want to try, I meant it.”

“So, I can live here again?” you asked, the question loaded with more than just the inquiry about moving back in; it was about rebuilding, about truly coming home.

“Do you want to?” Spencer asked, his voice tinged with a nervous hope, his eyes searching yours for an affirmation.

You leaned forward and kissed him, a soft, meaningful gesture that spoke volumes. Your hands caressed his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. His hands responded instinctively, pulling you closer, securing you atop him in a gesture that reaffirmed his need for your presence.

“Is that a yes?” he murmured against your lips, his breath warm and inviting.

“Yes, now can we make up for lost time? I heard a man has needs,” you whispered back, your voice playful yet thick with emotion.

Spencer’s response was a low chuckle, his arms tightening around you as he rolled, reversing your positions with a gentle but firm maneuver that spoke of his longing and the desire to reclaim the time and intimacy lost. The morning light, the soft sheets, and the rediscovery of each other's touch warming the pit of your stomach.

“Is that a gun in your pajamas or are you just happy to see me?” you smirked, teasing him playfully.

“It’s the morning, but I’m happy to see you, all of me is,” Spencer replied with a low, seductive tone, leaning down to gently bite your lip in a playful yet intimate gesture.

You gasped, delighted by the escalation, and put your hands on Spencer’s ass, pulling him closer into you. Spencer's lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, his kisses light yet purposeful, tracing a path that sent shivers down your spine. 

"You know," he murmured against your skin, his hands deftly and gently lifting the bottom of your top to remove it fully, "I've thought about this, about you, about us, every day."

Your response was a breathless laugh, tinged with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you'd both been through. "And here I was thinking you might have forgotten me," you teased, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

Spencer chuckled, the sound warm and rich, vibrating against your skin. "Forget you? Impossible. And God, you’re just as beautiful as I remember." His hands continued their gentle exploration, reaffirming his familiarity with you as he groped your breasts, twisting your nipples between his fingers. Each touch was reverent, as if he was memorizing you all over again.

The air between you grew warmer as you twisted and groaned, the morning light casting dancing shadows across the room as you moved together. Spencer leaned down then taking your nipple between his teeth and tugging, just how you liked. Your back arched, pulling on his hair harder and making him groan. 

"Is this how you always greet people in the morning?" you whined, choking out the words as Spencer’s hands found the hem of your pants, pausing as if asking for permission without words.

"Only the ones I love," he replied seriously, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. With a slow nod from you, the fabric slipped away, forgotten on the floor.

As Spencer’s exploration continued, his fingers danced across the fabric of your underwear, tracing the edges with a gentleness that contrasted with the intensity in his eyes.

"You make it hard to stay mad at you," Spencer whispered, his voice low and husky with emotion. His fingertips brushed lightly over the delicate fabric, sending a shiver through your body. His touch was gentle as he familiarized himself with your core, as if rediscovering something precious that he thought he'd lost forever.

You responded with a soft moan, encouraging him with a slight arch of your back, pressing closer into his touch. "Maybe we should focus on making up for lost time instead of remembering," you suggested, your breath catching as his fingers pressed on your clit through the fabric with more confidence, his touch growing bolder.

Spencer smiled against your skin, his breath warm on your neck. "I like the way you think," he murmured, his hands gliding around to the small of your back, his fingers deftly and carefully making their way under the elastic. The slight tension of anticipation was palpable, your breaths mingling, quick and shallow.

As the last barriers of fabric were gently removed, you felt so vulnerable “Spence, bug, baby…can you please–,” you cut off with a moan as Spencer rubbed direct circles on your clit now. “Take off your pants, please. Want to see you.”

Spencer responded immediately to the soft urgency in your voice, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you both. There was a pause in his movements, a brief moment where his eyes locked onto yours the intensity of his gaze was a silent promise, reassuring and raw.

"Of course," he whispered back, his voice slightly rough with emotion. With a nod, he pulled back just enough to comply with your request. The sound of fabric sliding over skin mixed with the quiet breaths that filled the room. Soon, Spencer laid back on top of you, the last remnants of clothing discarded, his vulnerability matching yours.

The sight of him, bare and unguarded, reignited a familiar warmth that spread through your chest, an ache of longing and love that had been tempered by time and trials. As he returned to you, the space between you charged with anticipation, your hands reached out, tracing the lines and contours of his body that you had memorized long ago but felt like you were discovering all over again.

Spencer's hand resumed its place at your core, slipping a finger inside of you, his touch sending shivers across your skin. His movements were perfectly calculated, exactly what you needed, he knew how to play your body like an instrument. As he curled his long finger inside you, it brushed that sweet spot deep inside your walls, causing a deep whine to spill from your parted lips.

"Spencer!" His name was a plea, an acknowledgment, your voice carried through the quiet room, a mix of delight and affection. 

Moved by the desire to reciprocate the overwhelming sensations, you reached down, intent on giving Spencer the same pleasure he was giving you. But Spencer, aware of his own limits after such a long separation, gently caught your hand as you grabbed his cock under the sheets.

"Oh, my love, darling, no. It will be over too soon if you do that, it’s been too long," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly with need and restraint. The sincerity in his plea, the raw admission of his vulnerability, made you pause, a giggle escaping you despite the intensity of the moment.

"That’s kind of sweet—OH," your words cut off abruptly as Spencer added another finger, allowing his palm to catch on your clit as he increased the pace, pounding into you. “Fuck! Fuck, oh my God, Spencer!” You cried, arching further than you thought possible.

Spencer's movements became faster if possible, trying to bring you to orgasm, not knowing if he’d last long enough once he was inside you. 

"That's the spot, darling?" His voice was a low hum, filled with both satisfaction and anticipation as he sensed your approaching climax.

Unable to form coherent words, you simply nodded, the overwhelming sensations rendering you speechless. His chuckle was low and resonant, adding another layer of intimacy to the moment. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, a thrilling contrast to the warmth of your shared skin.

"Are you going to finish for me, love?" His words were both a question and a gentle command, spoken softly yet with an undeniable intensity that urged you closer to the edge.

His presence, so close and so attuned to your needs, enveloped you in a sense of complete trust and surrender. As you approached the brink, the world narrowed down to the here and now—the feel of Spencer, the sound of his voice, and the gushing of your core around his fingers.

“Fuck! I love you!” you screamed

Spencer slowed his motions, letting you calm down from your high. The intensity in his eyes softened as he processed your heartfelt declaration. The room was thick with emotion, tangible and raw.

"You love me?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper, vulnerability lacing his tone. It was clear he needed to hear your words again, to believe them fully in the context of everything that had happened.

"What?" You were still coming down from the intense high, your mind a bit hazy, but his question drew you back sharply to the moment.

"You said you love me, is that true? You mean it? Still?" His questions tumbled out, each one underscored by a yearning for reassurance.

"Spencer Walter Reid," you said, propping yourself up on your elbows to meet his gaze more directly. The use of his full name was both a playful and earnest touch. "I love you right now more than I loved you yesterday, and I'll love you more tomorrow than I do today."

His expression flickered with relief and lingering doubt. "What about a year ago?"

"I love you a year's worth more," you responded firmly, your voice steady and sure. 

The simplicity and depth of your words seemed to reach him, a visible relaxation in his posture as if a weight he'd been carrying was lessening. There was a long pause, a silent communication as you both lay there, the emotional distance narrowing as understanding and love filled the gaps.

Spencer's response was a tender whisper, "I love you too," filled with relief and affection. He leaned up to kiss you deeply, a kiss that spoke of reunions, healing, and promises. It was a moment of pure connection, a reaffirmation of everything you meant to each other.

Breaking the kiss, you looked into his eyes, the playful sparkle returning to your own. "Spence?"

"Yes, love?" His reply was soft, the term of endearment slipping out naturally, a sweet note in the quiet of the room.

"Can we have sex now?" You mumbled out shyly, with a silly smile.

"Yes, love," he laughed, the sound rich and joyful, dispelling any remaining tension. 

As Spencer leaned in to kiss you once again, the connection deepened with a palpable intimacy that seemed to resonate through the room. Each kiss was a deliberate exploration, his hands moved with a familiar reverence, tracing the contours of your body with a gentleness that spoke of profound love and respect.

The softness of your skin under his fingertips felt like the finest silk, each touch igniting sparks that seemed to travel through every nerve, awakening a hunger that had been suppressed by the pain and separation of the past months. Your responses to his touches, the soft moans and gentle sighs, encouraged him further, each sound a melody that he had longed to hear.

Your hands were not passive; they roamed across his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch, a silent dialogue of push and pull that drew you ever closer. The warmth of his body against yours felt like a balm, soothing away the remnants of any lingering pain, the physical closeness helping to heal the emotional scars.

As the pace of your heartbeats quickened, so did the rhythm of your movements together. Each motion was synchronized, a dance refined by years of intimacy and renewed in this moment of reunion. The emotional intensity of the connection made every touch, every kiss, feel more profound, filling the room with an energy that was as nourishing as it was exhilarating.

Lying there with Spencer, wrapped in his arms as the early morning light began to fill the room, you felt a peace that had been elusive for too long. It was as if each ray of sunlight was blessing your reunion, affirming the rightness of your being together. In these quiet moments, tangled in sheets and each other's arms, the world outside didn't matter. What mattered was the love that had survived the greatest test, emerging not just intact but stronger, a testament to both your resilience and the depth of your bond.

—

“What happened to all of my coffee?” You teased, turning around with the mostly empty canister in hand.

Spencer's response to your playful accusation about the coffee was met with an equally light-hearted rebuttal. "Okay first, it's stale," he quipped, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes in mock indignation, holding up the nearly empty canister. "Then why didn't you throw it out?" you challenged, enjoying the back-and-forth that felt so natural, so reminiscent of easier times.

"I could never throw anything of yours away," Spencer replied, his tone shifting to something more sincere, the levity fading into a genuine expression of his feelings.

"Spence, that is so sweet, baby," you said, walking over to him and cupping his cheek in your hand, touched by his sentimentality. "But I hope you threw away my lettuce, I know it wilted and I know you hate it."

He scoffed, a playful look returning to his eyes. "I do not hate lettuce, it just has no flavor!"

"You put it in salads and put dressings on it!" you countered, emphasizing the normal use of lettuce in a way that made him chuckle.

"Well, if you make it, I’ll eat it," he conceded, his tone softening as he looked at you, appreciating the lightness of your banter.

You leaned closer, your voice dropping to a more seductive whisper, trailing a nail down his chest suggestively. "As long as I can eat you," you teased, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer groaned and laughed simultaneously, a sound that was music to your ears. "I forgot how insatiable you are," he admitted, his eyes alight with amusement and something more—anticipation.

"Oh baby, you have no idea what's coming your way," you continued, your tone playful yet promising as you caught his nipple with your nail, eliciting a sharp gasp from him. "You didn't think you could get that haircut, put on this muscle, and I wouldn’t want to jump your bones?" 

—

Walking into work hand in hand with Spencer, you both presented a united front that hadn’t been seen in a long time. The sight was indeed refreshing and brought a hopeful buzz to the team, who had been through so much uncertainty regarding the two of you.

Derek leaned back in his chair as you passed by. “Pretty boy, you forgive little miss?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, a hint of his usual teasing tone laced with genuine curiosity about the status of your relationship.

Spencer, without missing a beat and squeezing your hand slightly, replied with false seriousness, “No, just leading her on,” his eyes twinkling with mischief as he played along with Derek’s banter.

“Oh perfect,” Emily laughed from her desk nearby, relief evident in her voice. She caught your eye, giving you a small, hopeful smile, her own guilt and desire for forgiveness palpable. Her comment, though light-hearted, carried an undercurrent of hope that Spencer’s playful demeanor might be a good sign for their own reconciliation.

Spencer's smirk grew wider at Emily's response, and he gave a playful nod, “Yeah, she doesnt know though, can you keep a secret?”

"I think you know I can," Emily had said, her laugh echoing.

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[dixons-sunshine]

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine*

Summary: While hanging out with Daryl, an old friend decided to pay you an unexpected visit. Not wanting to cut your visit short, Daryl offers to tag along to the supermarket. You agree, which lead to the funniest but best shopping experience of your life. And the hangout afterwards turned into a night you'd never forget.

Genre: Fluff, some angst (mentions of Daryl's dad and his scars—reader knows about his home life.)

Era: Pre outbreak

Warnings: Swearing, blood (from reader's period), mentions of abuse, mentions of Merle being an asshole to reader and Daryl, allusions to money problems (reader chooses the cheapest foods while in the store and lives in a trailer park), reader's mom is implied to be a single parent.

Word count: 4.6k (this got way longer than I expected)

A/n: Honestly my second favourite story I've written. It's not great, but I loved the concept very much and writing about Daryl before the apocalypse turned out to be so much fun! I definitely need to write more about pre-apocalypse Daryl.

Requests are open for any TWD requests if y'all wanna send any!

Part two

—

“I'm telling you, you're overreacting. How was I supposed to know that it was gonna go flying in your direction?”

“It wasn't even supposed to go flyin' like tha' in the first place. I've been tryin' to teach ya to fish fer months now, but yer hopeless. Stick to buyin' fish from the market fer yer safety and mine.”

You threw one of the pillows on the couch you were sitting on in his direction, trying to look offended but failing miserably due to the burst of laughter falling from your lips. Daryl easily caught the pillow and chuckled, a boyish grin on his face. He flopped down next to you on the couch, keeping the pillow on his lap as he watched you trying to calm your laughter.

“You're mean, you know that? I'm not hopeless, fishing is just hard,” you said with a smile, looking at him through your eyelashes.

The smile you wore and the sparkle in your eyes made Daryl's heart skip a beat. His mouth suddenly felt dry and he felt an overwhelming urge to close the distance between the two of you—and urge he's had for months now—but he refrained, his father's deprecating words about his 'nonexistent' worth echoing in the back of his mind.

Daryl shook the thoughts from his mind and focused back on you, your smile he loved so much still gracing your features. “Nah, it ain't tha' hard,” he replied, resting his arm on the back of the couch.

“Says the fish whisperer,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in mock anger, but the huge smile on your face ruined your facade.

Daryl couldn't help the amused laugh that escaped his mouth. “Fish whisperer?” he asked, a crooked smile on his face as he looked at you. “Tha's what yer callin' me?”

“Yeah, you're a fish whisperer. Every time I try to catch a fish, you lean down to the water and tell the fish to be difficult so that I can't catch them and you get the satisfaction of watching me fail. I've got you all figured out, Dixon,” you joked, a teasing grin on your face.

Daryl shook his head at your ‘accusation’ and chuckled. “Ya got me,” he responded. “Sorry ya had to find out like this. The fish and I jus' have this unspoken bond, ya know? They do whatever I tell 'em to.”

“I knew it,” you replied playfully, pointing an accusing finger at him. “Apologise right now.”

“'M sorry,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I'll talk to the fish and get them to go easier on ya.”

“Thank you,” you laughed in playful triumph.

“Yer welcome,” he replied with a shake of his head, the crooked smile still on his face. “Now are we gonna watch tha' movie ya promised or are we jus' gonna go back and forth over your lack of fishin' skills?”

“Yeah, I just gotta use the bathroom really quick. You can pick out a movie in the meantime,” you acknowledged, getting up from the couch once you saw Daryl nod.

You headed into the bathroom of your small trailer home and closed the door, heading towards the toilet to tend to your business. However, as soon as you sat down, you saw blotches of blood on the inside of your underwear. You groaned inwardly at the horrible timing of your period's arrival and reached for the box of tampons you kept located near the toilet. However, as soon as you opened the box, you audibly groaned at the sight of only one tampon remaining. You didn't have any pads either due to your mom having used the last one a week prior, so you'd have to make a run to the store.

You finished your business, grabbing a fresh pair of underwear from the laundry basket you had yet to take back to your room as well as a pair of pants, before going back out to Daryl. He patiently waited for you on the couch, the movie he picked out paused and waiting to be watched. He fiddled with the remote in his hands before looking up at you when he heard your approaching footsteps. He gave you a small smile before frowning, instantly noticing the ashamed look on your face.

“Wha's wrong?” he questioned, getting up from the couch and taking a step towards you.

“Nothing! It's nothing, I just...” you trailed off, unsure how to go about telling Daryl about why you needed to cut the visit short.

“Ya jus' wha'?” he asked anxiously, unnerved by your sudden awkwardness. You were never nervous around him, so the sudden awkwardness baffled him.

“I have to go into town. I need something urgently and it can't really wait. I'm sorry,” you apologized sincerely, your tone holding sadness at the prospect of the visit you had to cut short.

Daryl's heart sank at your words. He enjoyed hanging out with you and really didn't want to go home yet. He was sure his dad wasn't passed out from drinking yet and he didn't want to accidentally set him off into another rage and deeply pay the price for it, so he wanted to wait it out here with you. But now he most likely wouldn't be able to.

“Wha' do ya need?” he asked, nervously chewing on his bottom lip.

You hesitated for a moment. You liked Daryl, and not just platonically, either. Despite his rough exterior, he was undeniably sweet, kind, caring, affectionate and so much more. He knew how to make you laugh even if he preferred to be serious most of the time and he always treated you with the utmost respect. But you also knew that both his brother and his father were misogynistic pricks. They didn't know the first thing about women and feminine needs, so they definitely didn't teach Daryl about any of that. You didn't want Daryl to look at you differently or be grossed out by you because of your period. You wouldn't be able to handle that.

“Hey, ya alrigh'?” Daryl asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. His eyebrows were furrowed in a deep frown, his eyes flickering between your eyes in concern.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I'm fine. I just zoned out for a second.”

“Ya didn't answer my question from before. Wha' do ya need in town?” he repeated his question.

You swallowed nervously before sighing. “I'm on my period,” you whispered, heat creeping up to your face. “And I'm out of tampons.”

Realisation struck Daryl like a ton of bricks. “Oh,” he mumbled, awkwardly fiddling with his hands.

In all honesty, Daryl wasn't weirded out by you saying that, but he didn't know how to go about the information you gave him. He only had the tiniest grain of knowledge about women's periods—thanks to the many women his dad brought home—but he knew that freaking out about it wasn't the way to go. You were one of the most important people in the world to him, and by god he would do anything to ensure that you knew that you could go to him whenever you needed anything, even for something like you needing period products.

“Ya want me to give ya a ride to the store?” he asked, completely taking you by surprise.

“No, I don't want to trouble you. I'll just walk,” you declined his offer, nervously hugging yourself in an attempt to appear nonchalant and simultaneously ward off the pain that would soon stab through your lower abdomen.

“I ain't lettin' ya walk, especially this close to dark. God knows what trouble is waitin' if ya set foot outside this trailer park alone. Tha' new motorcycle gang likes to hang 'round here and I dun' want them to get any ideas with ya,” Daryl replied steadfastly, his mind already set on escorting you to the store.

You smiled at Daryl's worry towards you. It was rare to see his softer side, but when you did, you always cherished it. Daryl Dixon truly was unlike any man you've ever met.

“Fine,” you relented, your voice adapting the playful tone from earlier. “You can drive me, but just so you know, I'm taking advantage of your hospitality. I need to buy some groceries anyways, but I never got around to it because it would be too much to carry if I walked.”

Daryl's lips twitched up into a half smile and nodded. “Alrigh',” he agreed. “But yer buyin' me a Coke fer my valiant efforts of simply drivin' ya to the store.”

“Deal,” you laughed lightly, unaware of the effect it had on Daryl. His heart quickened at the sweet sound of your melodic laughter and he had to duck his head to hide the blush that formed on his face.

“Let's go.” He motioned for you to follow him and you obliged after grabbing the grocery list, following him out of your trailer and over to his neighbouring trailer. The two of you quietly made your way over to his beat down truck, a vehicle he was 'graciously' being lent by his older brother. Or as Daryl once told you, Merle simply dropped it off one day after getting his motorcycle and just seemed to forget about its existence. So now the truck unofficially belonged to the younger Dixon brother.

You opened the passenger side of the vehicle and got in, closing the door behind you. Daryl got into the driver's side and started the truck, his eyes glancing around at the wrappers and few empty cigarette boxes that littered the floor. “Sorry 'bout the mess.”

“It's fine,” you reassured him. “It certainly doesn't look worse than my trailer when my mom and I have been too lazy to clean up.”

Daryl quietly nodded and started the drive to the store, pulling out of the trailer park. The drive was mostly spent in silence until about five minutes in when a bunch of motorcycles whirled past the truck in the opposite direction. Daryl visibly stiffened after one particular motorcycle drove past and you frowned, placing your hand on his arm to try and ease his tension. At the unexpected action, Daryl tensed slightly but soon relaxed under your tender touch.

“Who was it? The guy on the motorcycle? You seem to know him,” you questioned, earning a disgruntled sigh in response.

“'S my brother,” he responded after a moment's hesitation. “He's back in town fer a while but I dun' know why. He hasn't bothered to come see me.”

“Merle's back?” you asked, trying to keep the distaste out of your voice, but failing miserably, causing a small smile to fall on Daryl's face.

It was no secret to Daryl that you despised his brother. The few limited interactions you had with the man were enough to fuel your distaste. Merle either made sexual passes at you, insulted you or questioned your intentions with Daryl. When you didn't fall for his advances or insults, he'd take a jab at your friendship with his younger brother, claiming that Daryl was "pussy whipped" and that you were taking advantage of him. Daryl always immediately shut him down, but that never stopped Merle. Each time it took walking back into your trailer to get the man to shut up.

“Yeah,” Daryl confirmed, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “I think he joined tha' new motorcycle gang. He's a stupid son of a bitch, my brother. Never learns his lesson, but wha' can I do? He ain't ever gonna listen to me.”

“He's a grown man. He'll hopefully learn from his mistakes,” you started, knowing your words probably weren't much comfort for him right now. “If you want, I can punch some sense into him. I've been wanting to punch him for a while now.”

That seemed to lighten Daryl's mood a bit. His lips twitched into a half smile. “Nah, but thanks fer the kind offer. I'll let ya know if I ever need ya to punch him fer me.”

“Please do. I'll practice and everything,” you joked, playfully punching the air in front of you for added effect, eliciting a small chuckle from him.

“Alrigh', Bruce Lee, we're here,” he laughed quietly, parking the car outside the store.

The two of you got out of the truck and moved to the store. Once inside, Daryl grabbed a shopping cart and leaned his arms on the handle bar, looking at you expectantly. “Where to first, boss lady?”

You giggled and took the grocery list from the back pocket of your jeans, unfolding the paper and starting your list. “We'll come back to the period things later. Let's get the necessities out of the way first.”

Daryl pushed the cart as he followed behind you, walking into one of the grocery aisles. “Tampons ain't a necessity?” he asked, curiously watching you search for the cheapest pasta before adding it to the cart.

You shrugged and walked on, hearing the squeaks from the wheels on the cart following closely behind. “It is, but not before food. I can always improvise or ask one of the neighbour ladies for it, but I don't want to ask for food.”

Daryl nodded, although you couldn't see him. “Yeah, tha's understandable,” he said, his eyes scanning over the products in the aisle.

You continued grabbing things on your list, adding them to the cart. You even grabbed two bags of chips and the Coke you promised Daryl, as well as a drink for yourself. After that, you made your way over to the feminine hygiene section and started looking over the various different choices, searching for your preferred items.

“Wha' the fuck?” you heard Daryl whisper behind you, prompting you to turn around and look at him. You giggled at the sight in front of you; Daryl holding a pack of pads whilst his eyes trailed over the different period products, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“What?” you asked with a giggle, gaining Daryl's attention.

“Why the hell do y'all need so many different things fer yer pussy blood?” he asked bluntly, eliciting an amused laugh from you.

“First of all, don't call it pussy blood. That's disgusting. Second of all, it's all about preference. Some women prefer pads, others prefer tampons and other things. And not everyone is the same. Some women have heavier flows and some women need bigger tampons and pads than others,” you explained, amused at the deep frown Daryl wore.

Daryl nodded slowly. “Alrigh',” he started. “But still, it's a lot. Tampons, pads... And wha' the hell is a fuckin' diva cup? Y'all use tha' to make tea fer yer pussies or somethin'?”

“No,” you responded, laughing lightly at the confused man. “I don't know how a diva cup works because I've never used one, but it's for our periods. Like I said, preference. Some women prefer diva cups over pads and tampons.”

Daryl shook his head slightly and turned away from the shelves, focusing his eyes back on you. “Well, ya got whatever pads or tampons ya prefer? Or do ya use somethin' else that wasn't named in yer explanation?”

You rolled your eyes and smiled, amused. You grabbed a box of tampons, as well as a box of pads, and added them to the cart. “No, I use pads and tampons, don't worry.”

“Why would I worry?” Daryl asked, pushing the cart as the two of you walked over to pay for the groceries.

“I just meant that you didn't have to worry about there being any more "period product" surprises. I don't think you would've been able to handle it if I told you there was more,” you explained.

“Well... 'S there?” he asked hesitantly, chewing on his lower lip.

“Yeah.”

You walked ahead to the checkout aisle, leaving Daryl baffled behind you. He sped up to catch up to you, and together you started unloading the items.

“This was more than I bargained fer when I offered to come to the store with ya,” Daryl said, handing off items to be scanned.

“I said I would walk,” you replied nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders. “Would've spared you the headache you got from looking at all those different brands and stuff.”

“Nah, I'd take the headache over somethin' happenin' to ya. Walkin' alone ain't safe,” he retorted, giving you a stern look.

“I would've been fine.”

“Maybe, but I wouldn't risk it. Still ain't gonna risk it.”

“Ah, young love,” the lady working at the cash register interrupted, startling both you and Daryl. “You two lovebirds are absolutely adorable.”

Daryl ducked his head in embarrassment, a blush spreading across his face. You could feel your own face flush with heat as well.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, handing the owed amount over to the cashier before moving over to grab a few bags.

Daryl followed your lead and grabbed most of the bags. Together the two of you walked out of the store and over to his truck. You placed the bags in the back of the truck before getting into the passenger side, Daryl getting into the driver's side. He silently started up the vehicle and pulled out of the parking lot, starting the drive back to the trailer park.

“Thank you, by the way,” you said after a few minutes of silence, shifting Daryl's attention to you.

“Fer wha'?” he asked in confusion, shifting his eyes from the road to you and then back again.

“The ride. And for making me laugh. It was nice.”

“My confusion was amusin' to ya?” he asked with a small smile, glancing over to you.

“No, but the things you said were. Especially the thing about the diva cup. Comedy gold right there,” you said with a smile, gaining a quiet chuckle in return.

“Glad I could make ya laugh,” he replied, before a look of realisation crossed his face. “Wait, ain't ya supposed to be in pain? From wha' I know, period's are supposed to hurt.”

At his words, realisation dawned on you. You could suddenly feel a dull ache in your lower abdomen, a telltale sign of a greater pain awaiting you in a few hours. You just hoped that you had some ibuprofen left back at home.

“I'm fine for now,” you reassured him. “The pain's manageable.”

Daryl nodded. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, save for the rumble of the engine and the wind coming through the open windows. You stared outside at the rising moon, the stars starting to light up the approaching night sky. The trailer park soon came into view and Daryl pulled up to your trailer instead of his, putting the vehicle into park. However, instead of getting out, Daryl tensed up as he stared ahead at his trailer.

You followed his line of sight and saw what he was looking at; his father leading a woman into the trailer. His father shut the door behind him, effectively cutting off your line of sight. You turned to Daryl and saw his jaw clenched in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as his mind seemed to be in another place. You doubted that Daryl even remembered you were still in the truck with him.

“You can stay over if you want,” you said quietly, snapping Daryl from his wandering thoughts. “My mom's working the night shift down at the bar. I've got the trailer to myself tonight and I wouldn't mind having some company.”

Daryl hesitated for a moment. “Ya sure? I can go home. Doubt the old man would notice me slippin' in anyway.”

You nodded your head at him. “I'm sure. Come on.”

Daryl followed you from the truck and into your trailer, carrying most of the bags so that you could unlock the door. Once you were inside and he placed the bags down, he silently admired you as you grabbed a bowl to pour the bought chips into.

Daryl appreciated the fact that you never pried. He had told you once about his father and what he did to him because you'd accidentally caught sight of one of the scars on his back. However, instead of pity, you offered him comfort and understanding, telling him that you were there if he ever needed to talk to someone or needed an escape. You never brought up his home life or his scars, and only ever talked about it if he initiated the sensitive conversation first, which was rare. Because of that, Daryl was convinced that you were an angel in human form. You understood him in a way nobody did, and he would forever be grateful for the chance he got to know you.

You could feel Daryl's intense gaze on you and you could feel your face heat up. Daring to be confident for a moment, you glanced up and locked eyes with him. “See something you like?”

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed in agreement, completely capturing you off guard. You inhaled sharply and tried to slow your racing heart.

Daryl inwardly cursed himself. He hadn't meant to let that slip, but he had gotten so lost in his thoughts and admiration of you that he acted before properly thinking. He blushed for what felt like the thousandth time that day and ducked his head, finding the floor very interesting all of a sudden.

“Well,” you started after clearing your throat, grabbing the bowl of chips and the drinks you bought for you both and walking the short distance into the living room, Daryl hot on your tail. “I'm glad you enjoyed the view. It's my "I desperately need to wash my hair" look.”

Daryl chuckled but said nothing. He got comfortable on the couch, sitting beside you as you handed him the Coke you promised him. “Thanks,” he said, nudging his nose up at you in a nod. “How's yer stomach?”

“Surprisingly okay. I guess the pain decided to give me a break for now. I probably won't be so lucky tomorrow, though,” you responded.

You grabbed the remote and hit play on the movie that Daryl had picked out earlier before you went into town, the opening sequence playing loudly. However, about ten minutes into the movie, Daryl took the remote from you and paused it again, confusing you.

“Can I ask ya somethin'?” he asked unexpectedly, his face conveying how nervous he was.

“Of course,” you replied without hesitation, shifting on the couch until your body completely faced him.

“I dun'... I dun' really know how to ask ya this, and I really hope this won't ruin anythin' between us, but I need to know if ya feel the same,” Daryl nervously said, fiddling with his hands in his lap.

“Daryl, what-”

“Nah, let me finish, please. 'S jus'... Yer so perfect to me, y'know tha'? Yer so kind, so carin', so affectionate. Yer basically a ray of sunshine. Yer the complete opposite of me, and ya could spend yer time with someone who deserves ya, but ya choose to hang out with me. Even though 'm damaged goods and I ain't gonna be nothin' more than a dumb, redneck scum, ya always treat me like 'm this fine piece of priceless art or somethin', and I dun' get why. Yer-”

The sudden pressure of your lips against his instantly shut him up. His eyes widened for a moment before he closed them, his hands instinctively going to rest on your waist. The kiss was slow and hesitant, but loving and sweet at the same time. It was perfect and neither of you wanted it to end, but you soon pulled away, looking into Daryl's ocean coloured eyes.

“You're not damaged goods and you're not a dumb, redneck scum. Don't ever say that about yourself again, you hear me?” you told him quietly, your hands gently resting on his cheeks. After he nodded, you continued. “Where's all of this coming from? I'm not complaining at all, but it's kind of unexpected.”

“I've felt this way fer a while now,” he explained, taking one of your hands off of his face and playing with your fingers. “I never said anythin' because I didn't want to scare ya off, but after tha' lady called us 'lovebirds' and ya offered to let me stay over without question after ya saw my expression earlier... I dun' know, I guess I jus' needed to let ya know how I felt. Didn't know if ya'd feel the same, though.”

You smiled at him and leaned forward to press another kiss to his lips, this one more firm and sure than the first one. “I do feel the same,” you confirmed after you pulled away. “I just never thought you'd like me.”

“Guess we both wasted time not sayin' anythin' 'til now, huh?” he asked, giving you a boyish smile.

“Definitely,” you nodded in agreement, a huge smile on your face.

“I guess we have to thank yer time of the month fer this happenin',” Daryl said. “If it didn't start and we didn't go to the store, tha' lady never would've called us 'lovebirds' and we never would've seen my father and tha' woman enterin' the trailer, so ya wouldn't have asked me to stay over. I probably would've gone home by now if we didn't have to go to the store and probably would've never gotten the balls to say anythin'.”

“I never thought I would be this grateful for my period, but I am now,” you said, leaning your forehead against his.

Daryl closed the remaining gap between the two of you, the two of you descending into a slow, hungry kiss. You brought your arms around his neck and his arms encircled around your waist, bringing you closer into his arms. As the two of you got lost in the moment, you didn't hear the trailer door opening, too caught up in each other to hear anything else. However, the clearing of someone's throat startled you, the two of you practically jumping apart.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” your mom asked with a raised eyebrow, her hands on her hips as she looked over the two of you.

You looked over at Daryl, your face flaming with heat at being caught by your mom. Daryl's eyes widened as fear crossed his face, his breathing heavy from your previous actions. You turned your attention back to your mom and sighed.

“Mom, don't freak out. I promise I can explain.”

©dixons-sunshine 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified, adapted or translated to any other site or platform without evidence of my given consent.

[pyro-les]

To save a life - Rio Vidal X goddess of life reader

880 words - warnings: none

Based of this request

taglist: @thecavalrywife @hannah-0730 @believe-in-magic13 @jenniferjareauwife @wandasreallover @thesharkwhalewhoohooooo @acutenobody

Yin and yang, light and dark, life and death; they had many names but all of them lead to the same two people. Since the dawn of time they have had the two most important jobs, they brought life and death, maintaining the circle of life. They brought the beginning and end respectively, so similar yet so different, but as people have always said, opposites attract.

They understood each others jobs, respected their decisions and knew that the other would always be right in when they said it was someone's time. However there was one time they disagreed, both stood at the edge of a lake, watching from afar the cries of pain both emotional and physical of the witch known so famously as the witch killer. And that is why they recognised her, Rio and Y/N had been there everytime she took life, being drawn there as a part of their jobs.

But for once she was pleading for a life to be saved instead of taking one. The witch called out to anyone listening not to take him, that he hadn't even got a chance to live yet, it couldn't be his time already. And so they stood there, life and death both of their powers subconsciously fighting for control of the child. They had no choice in the matter, not usually anyway, the fates were not chosen by them, it was just nature. They could lend a hand in the process of their respective powers but ultimately it was not their choice and yet as she stood there watching the grieving mother Rio felt guilt.

"Please, don't take him. Please!" She continues to scream. Rio and Y/N started to walk closer, they wanted to help, they really did.

Looking up with tears still streaming down her face Agatha watched the duo walk closer. She hadn't seen them before but as they grew closer they became more clear and she started to realise who they were, she had heard legends of them. She didn't say much more, her eyes pleading enough, she just whispered a final weak "please".

With a breath Y/N finally spoke up "All I can offer is time.". Agatha looked at her with a small smile relief written all over her face while Rio looked at her with confusion and worry.

"Sweetheart, you know you're not allowed to. We can't break the rules." Rio spoke in a hushed tone, she seemed almost upset to say so.

At this Agatha started to worry again, she wasn't supposed to hear that but she did. "No, no, please! I'm begging please, let him live."

"She's been through enough." Y/N said to Rio, her voice was filled with pity. "It's the least we can do, the only thing we can do."

Rio sighed, she didn't want to break the rules, she didn't know what would happen if they did. But if her lover was going to break the rules than so would she, she would try and hold off her power for along as she could. She had to admit she didn't want to have to take the child, she was saving everyone pain this way, or atleast holding it off for awhile.

"Fine, I'll try to delay it as long as I can, but it won't be forever." She may have seemed disgruntled but she was glad she was helping, just apprehensive.

Y/N looked at her with a smile, she knew Rio would do it for her, just this once. "Thank you." She spoke quietly, mirroring Agathas much more loud, repetitive one.

They stayed there awhile longer, waiting for the child to be born, they had helped a bit already but they couldn't do much until they were here. They didn't have to wait long though, soon enough they watched as the witch held her child close, she was so so glad he was there, she couldn't let him go.

Y/N walked the few steps closer to the witch, an unspoken question in her eye as she slowly puts her hand out as Agatha nods gently. She slowly brings her hand to the baby's chest, closing her eyes as her hand begins to glow, a subtle pink hue bleeding into the child, the very essence of life seeping into his soul. She could feel his heart beat grow more and more steady, a stark contrast from the dull, slow pulse it had been mere moments ago. The small amount of her power left inside of him would protect him for a few years atleast, she could only do this once, she had already bent the rules enough. So she gave him as much as he could handle, as much time as she could.

She pulled her hand away after a few minutes knowing any more power would be too much for his tiny body. Y/N opened her eyes slowly and looked up to the witch, she looked much more calm now, relieved. "Thank you." She spoke gratefully, no amount of words could truly convey how grateful she was but they understood anyway.

Their job here was done, they had saved a life, one that was never supposed to exist in the first place. They had broken the rules but it was worth it.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Petals Of Love ~ HJS

WORD COUNT: 2.9K

GENRE: Non idol, college au, established friendships, unrequited love, jisung blind to his feelings, reader almost dying, mentions of coughing and blood, hanahaki disease [Hanahaki disease is a fictional medical condition often depicted in anime, manga, and fan fiction. It's characterized by the symptoms of coughing up flower petals or blossoms due to unrequited love. ]

PAIRING: Jisung X Fem!Reader

⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - April 2024

⤜MASTERLIST

In the bustling city of Seoul, cherry blossoms painted the streets pink, and everywhere you went petals fell down and showered those around them creating a beautiful scene, but you hated it. 

You had once loved the flowers but now they simply reminded you of the one person you could never have, the one person that was killing you slowly on the inside and didn't even know it. Your best friend. Jisung.

You'd always loved him but you hadn't realised the depth of your feelings until recently. It had started subtly, with you admiring his infectious laugh or his giant smile. The way he stored food in his cheeks or his passion for music. Everything about him drew him in. He even had a remarkable ability to see the best in people and bring joy to those around him mostly you.

"Dear? Is there something I can do for you?" A voice brought you out of your daydream as you slowly turned around to face an elderly woman who was staring at you. You took in her appearance, silver hair that cascaded down her back in gentle waves and she was dressed in a headscarf adorned with cherry blossoms. You'd been reading about her all week long, she was supposed to be the best herbalist in all of Seoul and you figured she'd be able to find a way to help you.

"I...I need your help," You stuttered, your voice barely above a whisper, and your hands were trembling.

"I have this... this illness. It's called Hanahaki. I'm in love with my best friend, Jisung, but... but he doesn't feel the same way. I'm coughing up petals, and I don't know what to do." Tears sprang to your eyes as you finally admitted it out loud to someone else. Ever since you'd started coughing up the petals you'd done everything you could to hide it, not wanting anyone to see you. 

The herbalist listened attentively, her expression softening as she heard your plight. With a gentle touch, she reached out to comfort you.

"I'm sorry, my dear," the herbalist sighed, her voice heavy with regret. 

"But there is little I can do for you. Hanahaki is a curse born of unrequited love, and its remedy lies not in herbs or potions, but in the depths of your heart." Your heart sank at the herbalist's words, your hopes dashed against the harsh reality of your situation. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the gravity of your predicament. 

"But... but there must be something!" You pleaded, desperation lacing your voice. 

"I can't just let this disease consume me. Jisung... he means everything to me. I can't lose him." The herbalist's gaze softened, her eyes reflecting your anguish.

"My dear child," she murmured, her voice gentle yet firm. 

"Sometimes, the greatest remedies come not from external sources, but from within ourselves. Only by confronting your feelings and expressing them honestly can you hope to find peace, whether it be in love returned or in letting go." With those words, the herbalist offered you a comforting embrace, a silent reassurance that you were not alone in your struggle.

"Confess your love and hope for reciprocation or face the consequences of a love unspoken." She told you softly as she rubbed the small of your back, the weight of everything pressing down on you as you began your walk back to your shared apartment with Jisung. 

No matter how much you adored Jisung there was always someone else for him, someone he liked more than you. The thought of it made your throat close up until you coughed a little, petals falling into your hands, the beautiful pink in stark contrast to the blood red that covered them. 

As you stepped into the apartment, you were instantly greeted by the scent of your home and Jisung running around excitedly, his energy infectious as it always was. The thoughts and problems of your day melted away instantly as he grinned in your direction,

"You're back!" He exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.

"I have some exciting news!" Curiosity piqued you set your bag down on the floor and walked toward him,

"What's the news?" You smiled.

"I met someone, her name is Emi and she's incredible! You have to meet her!" Your heart skipped a beat, a pang of longing shooting through you as you processed his words. It honestly felt as though it was going to be anyone but you at this point and your chest tightened, your throat burning as you felt the flowers making their way up making it feel as though you were going to choke. Forcing a smile onto your face you nodded,

"T...That's wonderful, I can't wait to meet her," You lied, doing your best to mask the ache in your chest as you spoke. It would be a while before you'd ever have to face her, Jisung was always slow when it came to relationships and never wanted to rush anything. 

"Great! Chan is hosting a party tonight and she'll be there! I can't wait for you to meet her," Your smile faltered as you stared at him, this was faster than any of the past relationships he'd had. 

"Tonight? But-" You didn't even have time to come up with some kind of excuse not to come. 

"It'll be fun, I heard Lix is going to be there." He wiggled his eyebrows at you, he'd been trying to set you up with his friends for a while not catching that you weren't into them but rather him.

"Sounds good," You lied through your teeth, you could think of a million different places you wanted to be rather than at a party where you would watch him with someone else, hell being one of those places. 

"You're the best, this is going to be so much fun!" He told you, embracing you in a tight hug as you squeezed your eyes shut, enjoying the fleeting moment of being so close to him while it lasted. 

"Why not me," You whispered to yourself as he walked away from you, going to plan an outfit for the night and you coughed into your hand throwing away the petals into the bin.

The party pulsated with energy, its atmosphere electric with excitement and anticipation. Held in Chan's college house adorned with twinkling fairy lights and draped with cascading cherry blossom garlands, it resembled a scene straight out of a fairy tale. The sight of the garlands felt as though they were torturing you though, as if they were there to remind you of your unrequited love.

The air was alive with the sound of laughter and animated conversations, mingling with the rhythmic beat of music that reverberated through the room.

"This is exciting, right?" Jisung asked from beside you, the two of you went to almost all of Chan's parties and this one certainly felt more extravagant than the others that you'd been to in the past.

"Yeah it's nice," You whispered, letting your eyes linger on him for a second enjoying the way his eyes were lighting up at the sight of the party. 

"Might be his best party yet," Jisung chuckled, nudging you softly as you nodded at him but you were in complete awe of him not to agree with everything he was saying. You forced a smile on your face, your heart pounding as you followed Jisung through the throng of partygoers. You tried to focus on the lively atmosphere, the music to try and drown out the whispers of doubt in your mind. 

"Hey! Yn! Jisung!" Felix waves at you both and you smile, hugging him softly and relaxing as he whispers in your ear,

"Missed you little one," The two of you were close with one another, not in a romantic way but still close nonetheless.

"Have you seen Emi anywhere?" The mention of her name had you choking up as you stared at Felix, 

"She was with Chan last I saw her." Without a second thought, Jisung left you and Felix alone, your eyes staring off after your best friend as you swallowed the nervous lump in your throat. 

"She's the girl of the week then?" Felix teased softly, it was no secret that Jisung fell in love with a new girl faster than anyone else but it was something you found endearing about him. 

"I guess so," You mumbled, reaching for a cup from a nearby tray and downing it instantly trying to forget everything that was going to happen tonight.

The two of you fell into casual conversation, catching up with one another as you walked through the party, your eyes finding Jisung instantly as you noticed just how close he was to Emi. Their hands linked with one another as you stared at him a sharp pang of pain shot through your chest, causing you to gasp for breath and clutch onto Felix.

A delicate petal, stained with blood fluttered from your lips, a cruel reminder of the curse that plagued your heart. Felix's eyes widened in shock as he stared at you,

"You okay?" He asked, his voice laced with worry as he pulled you to the side, trying to get you out of the crowded party. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment as you tried to compose yourself,

"I-I'm fine," You stammered, your voice trembling a little.

"It's nothing." You lied, but Felix's eyes remained fixed on you, his eyes filled with understanding as he realised what was happening.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" He asked as you stared at him, your breath caught in your throat as you nodded silently, unable to find the words to express the depth of your emotions.

"You can't tell him," You begged, your hands clutching onto Felix's forearms as petals began to fall from your lips faster than before, more blood coating them with each falling petal.

"Yn, it'll kill you if he doesn't know." Something you already knew but even if you told him and he rejected you, you were going to die, you were fighting it as much as you possibly could.

"It'll kill me faster if he knows and rejects me," You croaked out, tears streaming down your cheeks as you shook your head. You'd thought about confessing a million times before, you'd written songs, letters, and poems but nothing was ever going to work because you knew he would never love you back.

"But-"

"There's nothing I can do Lix, either way I die." You mumbled, wiping the corners of your lips to remove the blood from them, sighing a little as you shrugged your shoulders.

"How do you know he doesn't love you?" You scoffed a little and shook your head, there was no way Jisung returned the feelings you had for him,

"He would have said something." You mumbled a little, looking down at the floor as Felix stared at you,

"Like you have to him?" He had you there but you just shook your head, 

"I'm going to get some fresh air, keep him distracted...I don't want to meet Emi," You admitted as Felix nodded, always having your back no matter what.

The moon cast a gentle glow upon the garden, its silvery light dancing among the cherry blossoms like ethereal spirits. You stood at the threshold, your heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unrequited love. Each step felt like a burden, and your chest constricted with the pain of the Hanahaki disease.

With each laboured breath, you coughed, delicate petals stained with blood escaping your lips like crimson tears. The air was thick with the scent of cherry blossoms, their sweet fragrance mingling with the coppery tang of blood—a haunting reminder of the curse that plagued your heart.

As you stumbled forward, your vision blurred with tears, and the world around you seemed to spin, a dizzying whirlwind of colours and sensations. Your strength waned with each passing moment, your body growing weaker with every faltering step.

But still, you pressed on, driven by a desperate longing to be alone with your thoughts, to find solace amidst the tranquil beauty of the garden. Each petal that fell from your lips was a silent plea, a silent prayer for forgiveness and understanding. Darkness began to cloud your vision as you leaned up against a tree, trying to catch as much breath as you could but it was as though there was a filter to your lungs, stopping any viable air coming through.

In that moment of quiet surrender, you finally found peace—a fleeting glimpse of serenity amidst the chaos of your suffering. And as the night stretched on, the garden whispered its mournful lament, a solemn witness to the beauty of love unspoken and the tragedy of a life cut short.

"Have you seen Yn? I figured we'd go home together," Jisung said as he joined Felix in the kitchen but he shook his head,

"She was going for air the last I saw her," He admitted, he hadn't seen you for at least an hour now and he figured you'd gone home. Jisung smiled weakly and began to make his way through the people, his date with Emi couldn't have gone worse, it turned out she had a crush on Chan instead of Jisung and all he wanted was to go home and watch bad movies with you.

"Yn?!" He called out to the party, sighing a little at the thought of you going home alone. The two of you always went home together, dates or not. As he walked through the party, a hushed whisper reached his ears, a rumour that someone had been found unconscious in the garden. Panic built inside of him as he dashed toward the garden, his heart pounding with fear.

As he burst through to the garden his worst fears came true, you were lying on the floor surrounded by cherry Blossoms as people simply stared at you in awe. You were frail on the floor, a halo of petals surrounding you like a mournful shroud.

"Yn!" He cried out, his voice trembling with anguish as he rushed to your side, his hands trembling as he brushed bloodied petals from your chest. Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze clouded with pain as you struggled to breathe,

"Yn," He whispered, his voice choked on emotion. Tears welled in Jisung's eyes as he took in the sight of your frail form, the severity of the situation finally sinking in.

"Oh, Yn," Jisungwhispered, her voice choked with emotion, the thought of all of this happening to you.

"What happened? Why didn't you tell me?" He pleaded with you, the sound of distant sirens blasting through the air, your response was a weak cough, a delicate petal stained with blood escaping your lips—a silent testament to the depth of your suffering. 

Realization dawned upon Jisung like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the darkness of his ignorance. He'd been blind to your silent struggle, oblivious to the agony hidden beneath your friend's smiles and laughter.

"I'm so sorry," He murmured, his voice trembling with regret as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

"I didn't know... I didn't realize..." With each passing moment, your strength waned, your breaths growing shallower as the petals threatened to suffocate your fragile lungs. 

"I wrote a letter and threw it away, 'cause god just knows that I'll never say I think about you every day...I-I know you'll never see me that way." You coughed out before everything faded to black, Jisung's hands shaking you as he begged you to come back to him. 

"Yn...Yn, can you hear me?" The voice was gentle yet urgent, pulling you back from the brink of oblivion. With a faint groan, you stirred, your eyes fluttering open as you squinted a little.

"Jisung?" You mumbled, your voice hoarse from how dry your throat was. 

"You're in the hospital, you collapsed," Jisung whispered, his hands griping yours with trembling hands, you stared at him and took in his appearance, it looked like he'd barely slept and his eyes were bloodshot.

"What...What happened?" You thought for sure you would have died right then and there, it had been the only reason you'd admitted your feelings to him.

"You were coughing up blood...petals...Yn, why didn't you just tell me?" He squeezed your hand and you shook your head, looking back on it, it all seemed silly not to tell him the truth.

"I was scared I was going to lose you," You admit as you slowly sat up in the bed,

"And I nearly lost you," He choked, kissing your hand softly as you watched him,

"How am I-"

"Alive? After you passed out...I finally realised I love you, I always have and I just cried into your chest," He laughed nervously and wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

I've loved you for as long as I can remember. I just didn't know how to tell you." He admitted as you stared at him in complete shock,

"You saved my life," You whispered as you swallowed and for the first time in forever it didn't hurt, it felt pain-free as you finally didn't feel the urge to cough anymore.

"I love you, Jisung." You whimpered a little./

"I love you too, Yn," He whispers, leaning down and kissing you softly as you wrap your arms around the back of his neck bringing him closer to you.

In that moment, amidst the sterile walls of the hospital room, you felt a weight lift from your chest—a burden lifted by the power of love and the courage to speak your truth. And as Jisung leaned in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, you knew that this was exactly where you belonged—in the arms of the man you loved, your heart finally at peace.

@chiisaiblog @sw33tnight @kaitieskidmore97 @laylasbunbunny @stayconnecteed @saymyspringrain @toplinehyunjin @katnisspeetaprim @acciocriativity @just-aelia @choisoorin @straykids5star @midnightfrog625 @beccaskz @scarletemeterio @halesandy @junhannies @gothic4under4lord @lixie-phoria @soulphoenix1618 @aerastus @jin-from-the-block @lensfilm @elizaschuyler18 @piratequeen-impact @kpopsstuffs @chaeyoungs @delulu18 @xyahrinx @katsukis1wife @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan @blairscott @4-chan-inpadella @niktwazny303 @moonlight-the-writer @armystay89 @hadassahchan @yxngbxkkie @myyouthdonut @extrhotjne @ca11me3mily @elissasimp @piercedddriver

[anakinstwinklebunny]

DOCTOR!ANAKIN HEADCANONS 🩺

TW: at some point it contains mentions of body worshipping, blow job..just in general pretty filthy sexual content so, if you're uncomfortable with the warning, please do not read for your own safety and comfort 💓

Doctor!Anakin who was your doctor in the beginning but already caught your interest. He wasn't like other doctors here, in this clinic. He was actually polite, patient, made actually funny and, most important, no inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood. Plus, he was dead handsome and that alone brought your heart to race like crazy

Doctor!Anakin who surprisingly to you, liked you in a way doctor doesn't like his patients, rather like a lover does. He tried to make different jokes while you were visiting his office to somehow bring himself closer to you. Of course, as much as he wanted to ask you out, he wouldn't do it while he was at work, it'd be unprofessional

Doctor!Anakin who, when you started dating, became your private doctor 24/7

Doctor!Anakin who often gave you the contacts to the best doctors in town which happened to be his close friends

Doctor!Anakin who's absolutely protective over you and always cares about your health. That's why he often suggested to go with you for tests. Since, for example, he knew that you hate blood tests and get very anxious and emotional during it. But it's not like he's all the time filling your mind with testing yourself. He just very gently and calmly asks if you want to go with him (since he tries to test himself regularly) take tests and if you agree, he's more than happy to really be there for you during some of them (he knows how anxious and scared you can be)

Doctor!Anakin who did an operation on you when you had to have one;

Fun fact this was supposed to be a collab with beautiful @kingdomhate to which we agreed to do months ago so @kingdomhate , I'm waiting for you 🙄

As a doctor, Anakin had navigated the intricacies of countless surgeries with precision and unwavering focus. His hands were steady, his mind sharp. But today was different. Today, it was you on the surgical table. Despite the calm facade he maintained, a deep, unspoken worry gnawed at him.

Your eyes, wide with a mix of curiosity and fear, followed the syringe as he prepared it, the clear liquid shimmering ominously inside. "What’s that?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, laced with anxiety.

Anakin’s heart ached at the sight of your uncertainty. He met your gaze with eyes full of warmth, a soft frown creasing his brow as he gently explained. "It’s just the anesthesia, sweetheart. It’s going to help you drift off to sleep, and when you wake up, everything will be over. You won’t feel a thing, I promise."

You nodded, your trust in him unwavering, though the apprehension still lingered in your eyes. "Okay," you murmured, a slight quiver in your voice.

Anakin’s smile was tender, a small attempt to comfort you as his fingers brushed delicately against your cheek, tracing the familiar contours of your face. "We’re going to start now. Are you ready to let go and get some rest?" he asked, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves.

You managed a faint smile, trying to muster some lightness in the midst of your fear. "I guess I could use some more sleep," you replied, your tone soft but still tinged with anxiety.

A quiet chuckle escaped him, a sound filled with love and reassurance. As he carefully administered the anesthesia, his touch was as gentle as a whisper. "That’s my brave girl," he murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby. "Just relax and let the world fade away. I’ll be here, right by your side."

As Anakin made his way to your room, fatigue weighed heavily on his shoulders. The operation had been long and demanding, every second requiring his full concentration. But despite the exhaustion tugging at him, a deep sense of relief washed over him knowing that the surgery was a success. The thought of seeing you again filled him with renewed energy.

When he entered the room and saw you lying in bed, a soft smile touched his lips. He moved closer, his eyes warm and filled with affection as they took in your drowsy form. "How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost a whisper.

You didn’t respond immediately, your eyes hazy and unfocused from the lingering effects of the anesthesia. Instead, you gazed up at him as though you were seeing an apparition, a gentle, almost dreamlike expression on your face.

A quiet, affectionate chuckle escaped Anakin as he noticed the dazed look in your eyes. You were undeniably under the influence of the drugs, and the sight of you like this was both endearing and amusing.

"You're so high right now," he teased, a fond smile playing on his lips as he watched you struggle to focus on his face.

With a clumsy movement, you lifted your hand and poked at the fabric of his smock, your touch light and uncoordinated. "You’re... fine-looking," you mumbled, your voice slow and slurred, as though the words themselves were drifting on a cloud.

Anakin couldn’t help but laugh, the sound deep and rich, filling the room with warmth. There was something so utterly charming about your drugged-up state, and the way you were trying to compliment him despite it all. He raised an eyebrow, still grinning as he leaned a little closer. "Just fine-looking?" he teased back, his tone playful, his eyes sparkling with humor.

Anakin leaned in closer, his gaze softening as he took in every detail of your face. Now just inches away, he could see the delicate curve of your lips, the gentle rise and fall of your breath, and the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you struggled to focus on him.

"You're absolutely gorgeous though" he murmured, his voice low and tender as his eyes traced over your features, lingering on every part of your face like a painter admiring his masterpiece.

You gasped softly, a rosy blush creeping up your cheeks as his words sank in. Your eyes widened in surprise, and you whispered in awe, "That cute guy likes me..."

Anakin’s laughter was warm and full of affection, his heart melting at how sweetly the drugs were affecting you. Your reaction was innocent and utterly charming, like something out of a dream.

"Yes," he replied, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity, "that cute guy really, really likes you." He knew exactly who you were talking about, and the thought made his chest swell with love.

Without a second thought, he leaned in even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment as if to seal the words he had just spoken.

Your eyes widened again, the surprise and delight in them unmistakable. "That cute guy is kissing me!" you exclaimed, your voice rising with excitement, almost as if you couldn’t believe it was real.

Anakin smiled against your skin, pulling back just enough to meet your wide-eyed gaze. "And he’s never going to stop," he whispered, his eyes full of adoration as he looked at you, his heart full to bursting with love.

Doctor!Anakin who can’t help but give you medical advice, even for the smallest things. If you so much as sneeze, he’s ready with remedies, and if you’re hurt, he’ll drop everything to take care for you

Doctor!Anakin who finds solace in your presence. After particularly tough days, he seeks you out to decompress, finding comfort in your embrace and sharing the emotional burden of his job. He’s not afraid to show his vulnerable side with you, whether it’s admitting how hard a day was and etc

Doctor!Anakin whose bedside manner are impeccable (especially when you're sick). He’s attentive, gentle, and goes above and beyond to ensure your comfort

Doctor!Anakin who's favorite show was 'doctor house'

Doctor!Anakin who, even with hectic schedule, tries to prioritize your time and you alone. When he finishes work, he finishes work. It's time for you both. Yes, sometimes he has emergencies but mostly he tries to not pick up his phone when he's with you

Doctor!Anakin who's a coffee addict. He’s practically fueled by coffee, and you often tease him about his excessive consumption. Despite this, you always make sure there’s a fresh pot waiting for him at home after a long shift. Sometimes, you’ll surprise him at work with his favorite coffee order, just to brighten his day.

Doctor!Anakin who is a highly dedicated doctor, often working long shifts that leave him exhausted. He’s passionate about helping people, but it sometimes takes a toll on his mental and physical health. You’re the one who gently reminds him to take breaks, eat properly, and get enough sleep, even if it means dragging him away from the hospital when he forgets to put himself and his wellbeing first

Doctor!Anakin whose relationship with you is the one thing that softens his rough edges. Around you, he lets down his guard, showing a more vulnerable and affectionate side. Just being close to you, whether it’s lying in bed together in silence or holding your hand, helps him cope with the weight of his work.

Doctor!Anakin who knows how important it is to keep the romance alive, so even if it’s something simple like a homemade dinner or a late-night walk, he puts in the effort to make you feel special.

Doctor!Anakin who finds cooking therapeutic after a long day. You often come home to the smell of something delicious on the stove, with Anakin in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, and a content look on his face. He doesn't even know how hot he looks there

Doctor!Anakin who will send you quick texts during breaks—just to check in, see how your day is going, or tell you he loves you. It’s his way of staying connected, even when he can’t be there physically

Doctor!Anakin whose mornings are usually chaotic, especially when he’s on an early shift. You’ve developed a routine where you both navigate the morning rush together—he makes the coffee, you pack his lunch, and you share a quick breakfast before he heads out the door. Or sometimes, more often, when you're too lazy to do that, Anakin just wakes you up gently before leaving for work with small kisses and soft whispers

Doctor!Anakin who is such a worshipper of your body;

Anakin's lips trail over your skin with a reverence that borders a worship. Each kiss is slow, deliberate, as if he's memorizing the taste and texture of every inch of you "so soft..so beautiful.." he kept murmuring between gentle kisses.

He started with your collarbone, the kisses lingering on your delicate line, his breath warm against your skin. His large, overworked and hands gently cradle your sides, pulling you closer as his mouth moves lower, brushing over the curve of your breasts. "Gonna tell you everyday how beautiful you are so it'd stick to that little pretty head of yours"

His touch is precised, tender. His overworked yet skilled hands seem to know your body better than you do. He knows where to touch, how to touch.

He makes you responsive. breathless. loved.

His kisses are unhurried, simply savouring your lovely body in one go. His lips pressed against your stomach, to which your breath hitched and your fingers tugged at his short hair, as much as they could

Doctor!Anakin who doesn't mind some love making in shower

Doctor!Anakin who loves plants. He literally most of the time goes with you to local green marketplace, filled to the brim with different flowers, herbs or plants

Doctor!Anakin who easily gets bold in bed. So, he's a dom but rather a soft dom. And he always makes sure that not only he finishes but you especially, even before him

Doctor!Anakin who really doesn't mind you changing before him;

Anakin glanced over at you as you muttered a curse under your breath, mentioning your need to go to the bathroom. He could see the hesitation in your eyes, the way you were being a bit shy about it, and he couldn’t help but find it endearing. To him, your embarrassment was entirely unnecessary—he had seen you at your most vulnerable, more times than he could count, and it only deepened his affection for you.

"Just do it here," he said casually, his attention still mostly on the TV screen, though his tone was laced with genuine care.

"But—" you started, your voice trailing off as the embarrassment took over.

Anakin shifted his gaze back to you, his eyes locking onto yours with a reassuring warmth. He could see the flush of your cheeks, the slight uncertainty in your expression.

"Babe," he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips, "I literally performed surgery on you. Trust me, seeing you change is the least of my concerns."

You bit your lip, still feeling a bit self-conscious. "Did it gross you out tho?" you mumbled with slightly pinky cheeks

He chuckled warmly at your question with a head shake "No, not at all. I’m a doctor—things like that don’t gross me out," he reassured you, his voice gentle yet amused. "Besides," he added with a playful glint in his eyes, "I see you naked almost daily. There’s nothing you could do that would make me think any less of you."

Doctor!Anakin who sometimes send you flowers to your workplace without much occasion

Doctor!Anakin who definitely knows how to finger you and make you a gasping mess

Doctor!Anakin who does not mind making you cry (during some love making of course). It just gives him the possibility to haunt you with 'crybaby' nickname

Doctor!Anakin who sometimes isn't there to satisfy your needs and you have to something else;

It was common for anakin to leave for some serious medics meeting in (or out of) town that lasted days. Each time, you felt yourself missing his strong arms around you, his warm body in bed, his soft words yet what you especially missed was those sleepless nights where nothing was more important for him than making you his all over again

So, without him near, you couldn't help but find something to satisfy your primal hunger and what was better than Anakin's pillow?

It felt embarrassing..it felt wrong..yet so good at the same time. With your imagination running wild, you humped on the soft material. Recreating the images of his beautiful face gazing as you ride him, you actually cursed the medical company that managed to took him away from you. Even for those three days

Your actions only brought moans and gasps from your parted lips. It's all you could hear and with your eyes closed, you haven't even acknowledged who appeared in the room

When Anakin took steps through the stairs up to your shared bedroom, the light betrayal and shock spun around his body to sank to his skin. At first he was sure he caught you cheating but that would be impossible - he thought - because his sweet girl would not let any other man touch her, right?

But when he quietly got inside the room, ready to caught you in the act, he was not prepared to see you riding his pillow, moaning out his name like a prayer

his expression was rather puzzled and he still tried to fully understand what's just happening when your eyes met. The embarrassed blush crept on your cheeks and tied your lips.

So that's how embarrassment feels like

“Don’t mind me, please, continue.” his words brought your embarrassment mix with confusion

But when you didn't do as he said, suddenly too shy and embarrassed, on the brink of tears for being found out, he lose his restraint and made his way to you. Taking the soaked pillow out from between your legs, he pushed your face down to the bed and made sure your hips stay in the air. “I didn’t expect my kind, sweet patient to be so dirty.” his eyes took a good look at your sex with a tired yet somehow pleased smile, “You should have told your doctor to help and wait for him to appear” the sound of unbuttoned belt rang in your ear. This was happening all so quickly. You haven't even had a chance to say anything, just submitting to him but still feeling so.. humiliated, awkward “And since I stopped you from helping yourself, I’ll take the responsibility to help you Miss y/l/n"

Doctor!Anakin who you sometimes surprised in his office during his lunch break and things can go wild..;

As you suck on him, his body arches off the chair, a low moan escaping his throat. His large hand tangling in your hair as he loses himself in the sensation of your mouth on his cock "That's it... oh fuck..." His hips start to move rhythmically, seeking more of you as his moans fill the air "just like that... suck on it baby..." He pants "Oh fuck... don't you dare stop.. didn't know I have such little warm throat to bruise.. shit--"

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @fuckmyskywalker @slutforfinnickodair

(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)

[annafoxxx7]

Oops...

[Josh Futturman x Female Reader]

POV: You and Josh are bffs, but a seemingly normal visit to his house takes an unexpected turn...

Warnings: Masturbation, pnv, mommy kink (????), idk just like pure smut (plus Josh being a needy, whimpering bottom 😜) ((sorry guys I had writers block so this is like the worst thing I’ve ever written))

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You and Josh have been friends for years. Your houses are next door to each other so you hang out every day. One of you will walk over to the others house after school and spend the rest of the evening there. Even on weekends you'd hang out all day. So your decision to walk over this one Saturday wasn't out of the ordinary.

You show up to his house and let yourself in with the copy of his key that he gave you. You call out his name, only he doesn't respond. He was supposed to be home alone all day. Suddenly, you hear a strange noise coming from his room.

He must be playing a video game or something. You whisper to yourself, walking towards his bedroom

As you lean into his room you see that his eyes are closed. His hand is moving fast, his pants are at his ankles.

“Fuck... y/n-” He moaned.

You froze. Was he thinking about... you????

Holy fuck. Shit... SHIT!

You start to back out of the doorway and try not to make any noise, but end up bumping into the door. He looks up at you in shock.

“Y/n… Jesus… I thought you had plans today what are you doing here… God damn… Did you have to barge in here like this?” Josh grumbles, covering himself.

"Well... I had my key copy and I just thought I'd come say hi. I'm so sorry I-"

"Let me know next time don't just-"

Just say it just say it just say it

"Do you want me to help you? You know... finish?"

Josh’s jaw dropped. “You… Are you for real?”

You had been friends for so long, but there had always been something there. Some kind of unspoken tension pulling you together.

"Yeah... if you want"

He swallowed his pride. “I mean… yeah- yes, please.”

You walk over to him pulling off your jeans and leaving them on the floor, your shirt is next. You straddle him on his chair and he quickly removes your bra, massaging your bare breasts. He kisses your chest and neck. He keeps looking up into your eyes, like he's pleading without saying a word.

The only thing separating your heat from him is the thin layer of your underwear. You grind on his lap, making him moan.

"Please... fuck. Just let me... inside," he whimpers.

"Ok, ok."

You take off your underwear throwing them on the floor and slowly lower yourself down onto his throbbing cock. You both moan as he sinks into you. He begins to thrust into you helplessly, hitting your g-spot with ease. Your clit rubbing against his pelvis as you ride him. It doesn't take long before he's a whimpering mess underneath you.

"Fuck... mommy. Please-"

Woah. You had been called mommy before a few times but this was different. Hearing him say it so helplessly felt different. It felt great. HE felt great. Who would have thought Josh of all people would make you feel so good?

"You're doing so good, baby, keep going. Almost there."

He pushes into you with ease, your bodies fitting together like a puzzle. His big dick pushing up into your cervix as he grabs your waist to keep you steady.

He whimpers and moans, so close to finishing. All it takes a few more sloppy thrusts to put you both over the edge. You clench around him and he twitches inside of you. His cum spilling out of you as you ride out your climaxes.

Breathlessly, Josh says, "Shit... well that was unexpected. I guess now we have to have a whole 'what are we' talk and try not to ruin our friendship and stuff so you know, thanks for that."

You smirk at him. "Oops"

[srslyblvck]

ashes to ashes, kaz brekker

pairing: kaz brekker x inferni!reader

synopsis: you lose your powers, in an accident. you distance yourself from the crows, so kaz comes to confront you.

warning: hurt, comfort, angst.

word count: 1.3k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ THE FLICKERING FLAMES HAD always been a comfort, a reminder of the power that surged through your veins. The control over fire was more than a talent; it was your identity, your weapon, your shield. But now, staring at your trembling hands, you saw nothing but the stark absence of what once defined you.

Kaz Brekker's lair was as cold as the man himself, a labyrinth of shadows and secrets. You found solace in the corners of the Crow Club, avoiding the pitying glances of the Dregs. Losing your abilities had turned you into something you despised—a liability.

Days had turned into weeks since the accident. A heist gone wrong, a trap set by an enemy too clever and too cruel. The poison they used had severed your connection to your Grisha powers, leaving you as ordinary as the common folk you once scorned.

You felt like a shadow of your former self, a specter haunting the halls of the Crow Club. The looks of pity from the other members of the Dregs were almost unbearable, and the whispers behind your back cut deeper than any blade.

One evening, after another day of feeling utterly useless, you found yourself sitting alone in the dimly lit room Kaz had given you. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on you like a physical force. You couldn't escape the gnawing feeling that you were a burden, a weak link in the chain.

A knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. Before you could respond, the door opened and Kaz stepped inside. His presence was imposing, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you.

"We need to talk," he said, his voice devoid of the usual edge.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your trembling hands. "About what?"

Kaz closed the door behind him, leaning on his cane. "About you. About what's been going on."

You looked away, unable to meet his piercing gaze. "There's nothing to talk about."

Kaz's eyes narrowed. "Don't lie to me. You've been distant, avoiding everyone. You're not yourself."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. "Not myself? Of course I'm not myself. I'm nothing without my powers."

Kaz took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "Is that what you really think?"

You stood up, anger and frustration boiling over. "What else am I supposed to think, Kaz? I was useful. I had a purpose. Now I'm just...I'm nothing. A liability."

Kaz's eyes flashed with something you couldn't quite place. "You're not a liability."

"Yes, I am!" you shouted, your voice breaking. "I can't fight, I can't defend myself, I can't do anything! I'm useless to the team, useless to you."

Kaz's eyes, dark and calculating, bore into yours. "Feeling sorry for yourself won't change anything."

You clenched your fists, the nails digging into your palms. "Easy for you to say. You haven't lost what makes you...you."

Kaz's face remained impassive, a mask of calm authority. He limped closer, each step deliberate, measured. "You're more than just your powers," he said, his voice steady.

"Am I?" You turned away, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't feel like it."

Kaz was silent for a moment, the air thick with unspoken words. "You think hiding away is going to help you feel better? You think isolating yourself will change what's happened?"

His words cut through the fog of your despair. Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, pushes you to face the harsh reality. It was almost unthinkable. You turned back to him, searching his face for any sign of insincerity, but found none.

"How do you expect me to face everyone?" you asked, your voice barely audible. "How do I keep going like this?"

Kaz's jaw tightened, his expression unwavering. "You find a way. You adapt. You survive. Hiding doesn't solve anything."

The simplicity of his words stung, but they also resonated. You had always admired Kaz's resilience, his ability to turn every disadvantage into an opportunity. If anyone knew how to rebuild from ashes, it was him.

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, the vulnerability in your voice unfamiliar and uncomfortable.

Kaz's expression remained cold, a mask of indifference. "You can. You're still you, with or without your powers. Your mind, your courage, your loyalty—those are what make you valuable."

A lump formed in your throat, and you struggled to speak past it. "It doesn't feel that way. I feel...lost."

Kaz took another step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You're not lost. You're just finding a new path. And you don't have to do it alone."

His words were a lifeline, grounding you in a way you hadn't felt since the accident. Kaz, in his own way, was offering you more than just comfort; he was offering you hope.

"You saved my life many times," Kaz said quietly. "And most of the time, it wasn't because of your powers."

You looked up, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Do you remember Pekka Rollins' ambush?" Kaz's voice was steady, but there was an edge of intensity. "You got me out before they closed in. You had no time to use your powers, just your quick thinking and courage."

Your mind flashed back to that day, the chaos, the desperation. "That was different. I was still useful then."

"And the Ice Court?" Kaz continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "You navigated us through that labyrinth. No fire, just your wits."

"Anyone could have done that," you muttered.

Kaz's voice grew firmer. "What about the Heartrender at the Little Palace? When we had to kidnap the Sun Summoner? You shielded me from her attack, with no time to conjure a flame. You saved my life."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "But that was then, Kaz. Now, I can't even—"

Kaz cut you off. "Your value isn't just in your powers. It's in your loyalty, your intelligence, your determination—those are things that can't be taken away."

You sank back onto the bed, burying your face in your hands. "It doesn't feel that way."

Kaz moved closer, his cane tapping lightly against the floor. "Feelings can be deceiving. You need to see yourself the way I see you."

You looked up, meeting his gaze. "And how do you see me, Kaz?"

He held your gaze, his voice unwavering. "I see someone who's strong, even when they don't feel like it. Someone who's valuable, even without their powers. Someone who has the potential to adapt and overcome."

The intensity of his words struck a chord deep within you. For the first time since the accident, you felt a glimmer of hope.

"But what if I can't?" you whispered. "What if I can't adapt?"

Kaz's eyes never left yours. "Then I'll help you. We'll find a way, together."

The sincerity in his voice was undeniable. Despite his cold exterior, Kaz Brekker was offering you something you desperately needed—belief in yourself.

"Why do you care so much?" you asked, your voice barely audible.

Kaz's expression hardened slightly, but his eyes remained steady. "Because you're one of us. And we take care of our own."

The simplicity of his words brought fresh tears to your eyes, but this time, they were tears of gratitude. Kaz wasn't known for his kindness, but in his own way, he was showing you that you mattered.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Kaz nodded, his demeanor as composed as ever. "Don't thank me yet. We still have a lot of work to do."

You managed a small smile, the first in what felt like an eternity. "I guess we do."

Kaz turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Remember, you're not alone. We'll figure this out."

As he closed the door behind him, you took a deep breath, the weight on your chest feeling just a little lighter. Kaz was right—you weren't alone. And with his support, maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to rise from the ashes.

[illumnis]

finish line. — you and alhaitham are not friends, far from it. you're not exactly lovers either; so why does he decide to take ten steps back and settle for aquaintances?

pairing: alhaitham x gn!reader

warnings: kinda toxic? idk to each and their own, he's just really emotionally ignorant, mentions of non-sexual nudity, angst, unedited

note: look what i'm back with (i am so sorry this is bad,,, i haven't written in AGES), also happy summer i am officially not a highschooler anymore!

alhaitham is efficient. he decides what is considered more work than necessary and greatly succeeds with the basic necessities. this also means that alhaitham has every intention to finish what he starts and only starts what he knows he can finish.

alhaitham also holds your hand so you can fall asleep at night despite the nightmares that plague your imagination, but he leaves before you can wake up. alhaitham helps you scrub away the finely ground sand off of your sweaty body after a research project done on the dunes residing in the sumerian desert, even allowing you to do the same to him, but he always rejects your offer to cook him dinner afterwards in celebration of the grueling excursion. alhaitham whispers how you're devastatingly beautiful as he washes your hair without care if you hear him or not, but he can't bring himself to help you dry it.

for once in his life, alhaitham has started something he can't bring himself to finish.

he wonders why you're bitter all of a sudden. how you can't bring yourself to look at him in the eyes anymore, how you walk a step behind him instead of a linked pace, how you don't let him touch your hair anymore, how you don't invite him over or ask if you can tag along on his journeys to the desert.

you're avoiding him and he blames his irritation on the fact that friends aren't supposed to brush each other off.

you're not entirely sure when the two of you started treading the line between acceptable and having alhaitham push you away, but the unspoken agreement was that this was all it was going to be. you're not like alhaitham. often times, you walk the world on your terms, which must be why you now found yourself on the opposing side of the agreement.

who can blame you? he's seen you, flesh and bone. under your clothes and to your heart. he's seen you, your rampant imagination, both the good and the bad parts. he's seen you most vulnerable, stating that even this side of you is worth adoring.

the waiting game was a exhausting one, even before, you knew he'd be the last person to bring your... situation with him up; which is why you settle for slowly stretching the strings of your relationship until they snap, and you never have to look back.

or that was at least the idea until you were crying behind the akademiya over an offhanded comment that your least favourite professor had made about you. he was there, somehow he always is, and he was holding you. his warmth was the same as it had been since you had last invited him over, which only made you cry more. had your absence not frosted his heart over at least a little?

by the time you're done crying, you are no longer in his arms and he looks at you with a mixture of hurt and comfort. something vengeful in you is satisfied that you have given him a taste of how he leaves you.

"i'll always be here when you need me, yn, regardless of if you choose to stop being acquainted with me or not."

somehow, his reassuring words do the opposite and the vengeful spirit in you grows.

"then why can't you let me need you all the time? what's stopping you from letting us rely on each other? it's not like you act like we don't already."

this seals his lips and a subtle frown paints itself over his them and something inside you aches. you have always prided yourself in being able to bring the most emotion out of him that anyone has in years. now, you are stuck with pitiful expressions; frowns nonetheless.

it's a heavy silence that takes over the atmosphere before you've decided that whether you hear his answer or not, you'll still hear your glass heart shatter. so you move to get up.

"i can't take the risk. not yet." it flows out of his mouth so naturally. almost like he's been waiting for your confrontation.

"risk? what risk, alhaitham? look at what you've started, you've already taken it," you're fuming, a new level of self-loathing filling your being at the idea of you being so naive to believe that someone who can't even call you a friend could be full of love, "either finish what you've started, or destroy it before you lose yourself in it."

alhaitham's silence elicits a scoff from your lips and you're grateful you had shaken yourself out of his touch earlier, or else you'd find yourself back at square one; forgiving him and asking once more if he'd let you make him dinner hoping his answer would be different.

you'll help him out one last time, you guess. walking away as he doesn’t spare you a glance, stuck in the position that was meant to comfort you, only for it to end whatever mess he had started.

navi. mlist.

[kimvante2013]

『𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬』 변우석

summary: The feelings between you and your best friend are far from over.

Genre: best friends to lovers,little bit of angst,Byeon Woo Seok x fem!reader,drabble

author notes: After months I came back, today I bring you a drabble about the love of my life, also because I saw "Lovely runner" and I liked it a lot so I got a little inspiration from there, well I hope you enjoy this and later I will bring more about Sun Jae and Woo seok since I don't see many people writing about them, take care and good night :)

Word count: 1089k

The soft ping of my phone broke the quiet hum of my apartment. A message from Woo-seok.

“Hey y/n, do you want to come to my house later? I need to write some lines for my new drama, “Lovely Runner”. You know, the usual, being my personal script coach and all that stuff.”

I smiled, imagining Woo-seok's signature goofy smile. It was almost endearing how he never seemed to take his acting career seriously, even though he was on the verge of becoming a major star. He was still the same goofy, clumsy boy he'd known in high school, the one who always made me laugh.

“Sure, I'll be there in an hour. "What time are you free?" I replied and let the tea sit while he prepared it for me.

An hour later, I found myself outside Woo-seok's elegant apartment building, the imposing structure a stark contrast to the cozy, modest apartment we used to share as roommates in college.

He greeted me with a wide, welcoming smile and a playful push, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the hallway. "You're late," he teased, pushing me inside.

"Traffic," I lied, my cheeks heating up under his gaze. Despite knowing him for years, my heart still pounded when he looked at me like that. He always had this way of making me feel seen, like I was the only person in the room.

His apartment was a testament to his success, modern and elegant, with a wide view of the city skyline. But I still felt at home, filled with the familiar warmth of his presence.

"Let's go to my room," he said, leading me to a well-lit space filled with scripts, props, and a comfortable chair.

"Okay, so this scene is where I first meet my love interest, played by the beautiful, talented, and incredibly charming Ryu Sun-jae," Woo-seok began, his voice dropping to a playful whisper.

I couldn't help but laugh. He was very dramatic, even when he talked about his own work. But his enthusiasm was infectious and I found myself immersed in the story. He ran through the lines, his voice shifting seamlessly between playful banter and sincere emotion.

He was good, really good. He poured his heart and soul into every word, into every gesture, making me forget that he was just watching a friend rehearse.

And this is where I'm supposed to make a grand entrance, you know, like a knight in shining armor. "But I think he's too exaggerated," he muttered, pulling a crumpled script from the table.

"No, I think he's perfect," I said, surprised by my own conviction. "He is your character, it is what makes him unique."

Woo-seok looked at me with a flash of surprise in his eyes. 'Actually? So you think?

"Yes," I nodded, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on me. There was an unspoken connection between us, a bond forged over years of shared laughter, dreams, and late-night chats.

'What do you think he should do here?' He asked, pointing to a particularly difficult line.

'Hmm, maybe try it with a little more vulnerability?' I suggested, my voice softening as I realized how closely I was studying his face.

He nodded, frowning in concentration. He walked the line again, this time with a raw emotion that resonated deeply within me.

"Wow," I sighed, genuinely impressed. 'That's perfect. You captured the uncertainty, the fear, the longing for acceptance. It is brilliant.'

Woo-seok's smile was brighter than the city lights outside. 'You're the best, Y/n. You always know how to make me feel better about my work.

We continued rehearsing until the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room. As we worked, it felt like we were falling back into the comfortable rhythm of our old college days, time blurring into a cozy, shared memory.

"I think I'm a little hungry," Woo-seok said, breaking the silence. 'How about we order some food?'

"Sounds good to me," I agreed, feeling a warmth spread through me.

While we waited for our food, we sat on the floor and flipped through old photo albums. Laughter filled the room as we recalled silly moments from our past, each image a window into our shared history.

The delivery boy arrived, bringing with him the aroma of spicy noodles and sizzling dumplings. We ate in comfortable silence, enjoying the food and the company.

Later, while we were cleaning, Woo-seok turned to me and his eyes met mine. 'You know, Y/n, I'm so lucky to have you in my life. You have always been there for me, through thick and thin.

I smiled, my heart swelled with warmth. 'Me too, Woo-seok. You are my best friend and I will always be there for you.

He reached out and took my hand, his touch sending a shiver down my spine. "I know," he said, his voice low and sincere. "And I'm grateful for that."

For a moment, we stood there, hands clasped and the silence filled with unexpressed emotions. The city outside glowed like a distant dream, but all he could see was Woo-seok, his eyes containing a depth that he knew he couldn't ignore forever.

“I should probably head home,” I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded and his gaze stopped on my face. "Yeah, I guess you should."

I pulled away, my heart aching with a mix of longing and apprehension.

"I'll see you around, Woo-seok," I said, forcing a smile.

"Yes, definitely," he replied, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment.

When I left his apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed between us. The line between friendship and something more had blurred, and I wasn't sure I was ready to cross it.

I had always valued our friendship and the thought of risking it for something uncertain made me sick to my stomach. But the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the way he made me feel so seen had awakened a longing inside me that I couldn't ignore.

The lights of the city blur as I walked, my mind replaying the events of the night. I knew I needed time to process everything, to discover my feelings. But one thing was certain: the bond between Woo-seok and I was deeper than simple friendship, and I knew, with a certainty that made my heart ache, that our story was far from over.

[lvis44]

Sweet Escape - The Wedding Pt.1 // LH44

Lewis Hamilton x Y/N

Warnings: Language, Alcohol Consumption, its really just a whole lot of fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+

Summary: Paradise is supposed to be fun and relaxing... a Sweet Escape, but when unspoken feelings and jealousy rise to the surface, everything can be turned upside down in the blink of an eye.

Notes: The beginning of the long awaited wedding! I have decided I will be releasing this in chunks, I cannot guarantee when each one will be coming but it will all be in the universe soon enough. I love you all and appreciate those of you have been kind and patient, I'm still here y'all I promise. Once again I cannot follow the same tense while writing and this has not been fully edited.

I am not a professional writer and all of this is a work of fiction and is strictly for fun. Enjoy! xxx

Previous Sections: Prologue - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Epilogue

What if I come and stay until 11:55?” His voice is whiny and desperate, making you laugh.

“Lewis, you have to go before Charlotte and Miles come and drag you.” You tell your pouting fiancé, still laughing at him.

You’re standing outside the fancy restaurant rented for your rehearsal dinner, snow falling around you as people start to clear out. Lewis had been attached to your hip for the last few days, his adoration for you only growing as you two approached your wedding day, The day that you had perfectly planned together.

“Wanna sleep next to you though.” Lewis says quietly, a cheeky smirk on his face as he pulls you against him, his hand traveling down to your bum.

“Lew! My parents are right there.” You whisper shout, grabbing his forearm to move it up to your lower back.

He just laughed, shaking his head before pressing himself against you even firmer, “Seriously, can we stay together just a little while longer? Promise I’ll leave before midnight.”

You could tell his intentions weren’t to sleep and you knew you would be hard pressed to kick him out later in the evening. You’re not a particularly traditional person but you were holding to sleeping apart the night before the wedding, much to his dismay. His mother had been the one to bring it up during wedding planning and while Lewis thought it was a horrible concept you were more than happy to go along, it made her happy and it made everything feel even more real. Two suites had been rented for the night at different hotels, mostly to keep Lewis from sneaking into your bed in the middle of the night.

“Bruv, if you don’t let go of her and come get in the damn car, I will remove you myself.” Miles’ voice boomed from behind you, saving you from having to turn your fiancé down yet again.

You couldn’t help but laugh, knowing Miles and Charlotte were tightly wound, the stress getting to them both as if it was their own wedding. You could see that Lewis was finally accepting defeat, rolling his eyes but nodding to Miles, motioning that he would be there in a second.

“It’s fucking crazy that the next time I see you will be at the altar.” Lewis whispers, looking giddy yet anxious.

“Gonna be Mrs. Hamilton tomorrow!” Your voice was quiet as you tried to hold back your squeal of excitement.

You were beyond elated to be marrying your best friend. When he proposed he had made it very clear that you could be engaged as long as you wanted, that nothing needed to be rushed. Only two years later you were here, ready to marry the love of your life in less than twenty four hours.

“Son, I think Miles is going to explode if we don’t all get going.” You hear Anthony laugh from nearby, evidently amused by the frantic state that Miles was in.

“Okay, okay.” Lewis just laughs, glancing at Miles who was now pacing outside of the black town car.

“I love you, get some sleep, need you in tip top shape tomorrow.” You say to Lewis, leaning up to place a family friendly kiss to his lips as you pat his chest

“Yes ma’am, I love you too.” Lewis mumbles against your lips.

Lewis stares at you for a moment, love pouring out of his dark brown eyes before squeezing your waist once more and walking off toward Miles who looks about ready to shove Lewis into the trunk if it means they’ll leave any quicker. Having said your goodbyes to everyone earlier, you make your way over toward Charlotte where she’s waiting by your own matching town car.

“You look much calmer than Miles was.” You laugh as she makes a ridiculous display of opening the door for you.

“Well thankfully I’m in charge of the much easier spouse,” She giggles, following you into the car, “I knew you’d stick to your guns and send him on his way. Miles on the other hand has about ten different plans of ways to just about lock Lewis in his room, pretty sure a straight jacket is on the table.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing Lewis will more than likely continue to complain throughout the night. You would be lying if you said you truly didn’t want to be next to him for the night, you always sleep better in his arms, but you know one night away from each other won’t kill either of you, you’ve done it countless times before. It’s been rather adorable to you how clingy Lewis had gotten over the past few weeks, it was rather unlike him but you weren’t going to fight it. You know it’s something he does sometimes when he needs to ground himself, and right now his emotions are at an all time high. There had been a few snafus with decorations and such in the weeks leading up to now, each one seemed to wind him that much tighter, the perfectionist in him struggling.

When you arrived in the suite you were exhausted and ready for your pajamas but knew there was no way you were ready to go to sleep just yet. Your mom was waiting for you in the suite when you arrived, already opening a bottle of wine and urging you and Charlotte to come sit with her, a much needed moment of decompression. You’ve been busy all day; last minute preparations, the wedding rehearsal, the rehearsal dinner with all of both of your families. You were drained yet still so full of adrenaline. Being around Lewis all day had helped immensely, always so in tune with each others moods and needs, more than once he had rescued you from a conversation that felt like it had just gone on too long. It also helped that he was bubbling with excitement and energy, even after so long you frequently questioned where he got it, the level rarely faltering.

It wasn’t long before Charlotte was excusing herself to go get ready for bed, leaving you alone with your mom.

“This is all still so crazy to me.” Your moms voice is quiet and kind.

“Which part?” You laugh, taking a sip of your wine.

“All of it!” You mom says, gesturing into the air, “The fact that my baby is getting married, that her wedding is in a castle, that she’s marrying a man that we watched and admired racing for years, the fact that he’s the love of her life, just all of it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at your moms little rant, because it was true, so much of it felt surreal but everything was perfect.

“I wouldn’t trade any of it for the world.” You tell her softly, sincerely, taking a moment to think back on everything that has happened over the last three years.

Growing up, Sundays were reserved for F1, you and your mom massive Hamilton fans from the very beginning of his career. When you had told her that you had met him she freaked out nearly as much as you originally had, fangirling in a way you had never thought possible. Your dad thought it was impressive too, making a comment about you never leaving the city to come home and visit them now that you were hanging out with celebrities. When you told your parents that you were dating, your mom was incredibly happy for you but never let her admiration of Lewis get in the way of her daughter's well being, she made sure to check in with you frequently, always worried that his distance and status may be taking a toll on you. Your father on the other hand was less than pleased when he first learned about your relationship, preconceived notions about Lewis’ personal life and persona taking over, less than pleased with the age difference between the two of you. It took a while, but Lewis was able to win him over and you’ve never been more grateful for anything, you were desperate for all the people you loved to get along.

Now you had a fiancé who spoke with your father without you needing to be around, a mother who had befriended Lewis’ mother and stepmother and adored him, and were mere hours away from becoming his wife. Life truly does come at you fast.

“You’re ready?” Your mom asked, breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

“I truly don’t think I’ve ever been so ready for something. I’m nervous of course but there’s no one else that I would rather be with for the rest of my life. I’m sure of that.” Your voice was confident as you spoke, meaning every word.

“I’m so glad you found someone so good for you hun, he truly is a dream. Hell, I wish I had met someone like him when I was your age,” Your mom laughed, sending you a wink, “don’t tell your dad I said that.”

“Secrets safe with me,” You giggled back, “but I don’t think there’s another one of him.”

“Not that I’ve ever seen.” Your mom shrugged, the soft smile never leaving her face.

You can’t help but giggle at the conversation you're having with your mother. You’ve never been one to be sappy but the emotions boiling inside of you leading up to your big day are sending you over the edge, truly letting all the cliche thoughts you have about Lewis come to the forefront.

“You, my dear, need to get to bed. You have a long day ahead of you and need to be well rested for your night.” Your mom winked making you groan through a laugh.

“Mom!” You buried your head in your hands.

You and your mom have always been open with each other about every aspect of your life but you didn’t need to hear her joke about you consummating your marriage.

“But truly, you should try to get some sleep.” She laughed at your embarrassment, trying and failing to come off seriously.

“You’re right, I’ll try.” You say, rolling your eyes as you finish off the last of the wine in your glass