#I ended up with too many small moments so adding them all together!

[reidmarieprentiss]

Say Don't Go

Summary: You are given the opportunity of a lifetime, Spencer urges you to take it. Even if it means leaving him behind.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, typical BAU crime, mentions of drugging/kidnapping/robbery, brief alcohol consumption by reader and friends, clubs, break up(?), talks of marriage, forced choices/decisions, happy ending !

Word count: 15k

a/n: so what if this pulls inspiration from the train scene in glee... SO WHAT ... and so what if i named a character after kurt

main masterlist

December 2008 – Present

"You’ve been with so many women you don’t remember their names?" Spencer asked, laughing at Derek.

"Are you surprised?" Emily snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"This has never happened to me before," Derek defended, sounding genuinely incredulous.

"It’s never happened to me before either," Spencer chimed in, grinning as he started toward the conference room.

"It can’t happen to you—you have an eidetic memory," Emily teased, her smirk unmistakable.

"Plus, you only have one name to remember," Derek added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ha ha," Spencer replied, forcing a laugh, though the words cut deeper than he let on. Derek wasn’t wrong.  

He only had one name to remember. One that mattered above all the others.  

But Spencer had messed it up. He had let you get on that train. He had let you walk away.

Spencer's regrets weren't always loud or obvious; they often whispered to him in the quiet moments of his everyday life, weaving their way into his thoughts like unwelcome visitors he couldn’t shake.

It was in the mornings, when he brewed a pot of coffee in his lonely apartment, and his hand hovered over the second mug he used to pour for you. He’d catch himself mid-motion, the pang of realization that you weren’t there cutting through him like a knife. He’d take his coffee black, staring at the empty chair across from him, and wonder if you were having your morning cup too—if you still took it with two sugars and a splash of cream.

At work, it was the little things that brought you to mind. A joke Derek would make, or the way Emily tilted her head while teasing him, reminded Spencer of how you used to laugh with him, soft and genuine. He could still hear your voice in the back of his mind, offering your take on a case or pointing out something he’d missed. Those moments were the hardest—because they reminded him of how much better everything had been when you were there to share it with him.

And then there were the books. Spencer couldn’t walk into his favorite bookstore without being overwhelmed by the memory of browsing the aisles with you, debating over which novel to pick for your next "couples read." Now, those shelves felt empty, even when they were fully stocked. He’d run his fingers over the spines, pausing at titles he knew you would’ve loved, but he never brought himself to buy them. What was the point if you weren’t there to read them with him?

Evenings were the worst. After a long day at the BAU, when he returned to his dim apartment, the silence was deafening. He’d sit at his desk, pulling out old case files to distract himself, but his eyes would always drift to the small keepsake box he kept on the shelf. Inside were the remnants of your time together—a movie ticket stub, a pressed flower from a date, a Polaroid of you laughing at something he’d said. He’d told himself he’d put it away to move on, but instead, it became a shrine to his mistakes, one he visited more often than he’d like to admit.

And then there were the nights when the ache became unbearable, when he’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of you boarding that train. He could still hear the sound of the wheels on the tracks, still see the tear-streaked expression on your face when you looked at him through the window. Those nights, he’d wonder what he’d say to you if he had another chance—what he’d do differently if he could go back. 

The regret wasn’t just a feeling; it was a constant presence in his life. It was the realization that, in trying to give you what he thought you needed, he’d taken away the one thing he needed most: you.

—

June 2008

“Spencer?” you asked cautiously, looking over at your boyfriend as his car came to a stop in front of the train station.  

You could see him take a deep, trembling breath, the shakiness audible even as he tried to steady himself.  

When he turned to face you, his eyes were already brimming with tears, spilling over before he could even speak.  

“You said we were going to dinner,” you reminded him, your throat tightening as dread began to settle in your chest. You were trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, clinging to the hope that you were wrong.  

Spencer cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop his voice from breaking as he said, “No.” He shook his head, and the weight of his next words seemed to crush him as he continued, “You’re going to New York.”  

“What?” Your voice shot up as you stared at him in disbelief, as if he had grown another head. “What do you mean? I turned Aubrey down.”  

“I know,” Spencer sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I can’t let you throw your dreams away for me.”  

“My dreams?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger and heartbreak. “Spencer, you are my dream. I love you!”  

“I love you too,” he choked out through his tears, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”  

“But—” you tried, your hands reaching for his as if grounding him could change his mind.  

“No, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “I—I called Aubrey. She still wants you. I told her you accepted the position. That you’re coming.”  

“Why?” you cried, the single word breaking into a sob. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, desperate for an answer that would make this make sense.  

Spencer’s lips quivered, and he looked away, unable to face the devastation in your eyes. "Because you deserve to have everything you’ve ever wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat.  

"But I already have everything I want!" you shouted, your hands gripping the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "You’re all I need, Spencer. You’re it for me!"  

He let out a shuddering breath, his tears falling freely now as his hands reached up to cover yours. For a moment, you thought he might give in, that he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his expression resolute despite the anguish etched into every line of his face.  

"You’ll resent me one day," he said, his voice cracking. "You’ll look back and wonder what you could’ve done, what you could’ve been if you hadn’t stayed for me. I can’t live with that. I can’t live knowing I held you back."  

"That’s not fair!" you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of your sobs. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! I chose you, Spencer. I chose us!"  

"I know," he whispered, his hands tightening over yours as if trying to memorize the feeling. "And that’s why I have to do this. Because I love you too much to let you give up your future for me."  

"My future is with you!" you insisted, but he was already pulling your hands away from his face, gently but firmly.  

"I called Aubrey," he repeated, his voice hollow. "She’ll be waiting for you at the station in New York. Your ticket is already bought. Your bags… they’re in the trunk."  

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You… you packed my things?"  

Spencer nodded, his expression breaking entirely under the weight of your hurt. "I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t."  

"You had no right!" you shouted, shoving at his chest. "No right, Spencer!"  

He took it, letting you pound against him until your strength gave out, until your sobs consumed you, leaving you trembling and broken in his arms. "I’m sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’m so sorry."  

But he wasn’t sorry enough to stop you from going.  

As the train whistle sounded in the distance, Spencer gently pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You have to go," he said softly, his voice thick with tears. "The train won’t wait."  

"I hate you," you whispered, the words cutting him deeper than anything else ever could.  

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible as he let his hands drop to his lap. "But one day… I hope you’ll understand."  

He opened the car door for you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, staring at him with tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with the weight of everything unsaid.  

Finally, you whispered, "Goodbye, Spencer," your voice trembling as you stepped out of the car.  

He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything as he watched you walk away, each step feeling like a dagger to his heart.  

And when the train finally began to pull out of the station, Spencer felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him like a freight train. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the train. "No," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky and panicked. "What have I done?"  

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran alongside the train, desperate, tears streaming down his face. He called your name, his voice breaking, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him through the thick glass and the noise of the train.  

Inside the train car, you were curled into the seat, staring blankly out the window, your face streaked with tears. You weren’t expecting to see him. But then, there he was—running alongside the train, his expression frantic, his lips forming words you couldn’t quite hear.  

Your heart shattered all over again. The sight of him, so desperate, so raw, made it even harder to leave. Your hand instinctively pressed against the cold glass, a futile attempt to reach for him.  

Spencer’s legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running, the distance between him and the train growing with every passing second. His vision blurred from the tears, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.  

But you… you couldn’t bear to watch. Your tears fell harder as you pulled your hand away from the window and turned your head, unable to keep looking at him. You had to look away, even though it felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.  

Spencer stumbled, slowing as the train picked up speed, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, watching helplessly as the train—and you—disappeared into the horizon.  

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one, the words echoing into the empty night.  

You were gone. And Spencer knew, deep down, that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.  

—

September 2008

You loved your new life. How could you not? You had everything you had once dreamed of—your new position as second in command to the CEO of your favorite designer brand was everything you’d worked so hard for. The thrill of overseeing campaigns, approving designs, and brushing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry was exhilarating.  

You’d settled into your new routine as well as anyone could when starting fresh in a bustling city like New York. Moving in with Aubrey Wilkes, the CEO herself, was daunting at first, but she made it easier. Her mentorship was invaluable, and her sharp wit and genuine kindness turned her into a friend as much as a boss.  

Your days were filled with meetings in glass-walled boardrooms, late nights spent poring over designs and strategies, and the occasional glamorous event that kept your calendar full. You had the life you always said you wanted.  

And yet...  

Every single day, Spencer found his way into your thoughts.  

It wasn’t always obvious at first. Maybe it was a book you saw in a shop window that reminded you of one of his recommendations, or a classical piece playing softly in a café that you knew he loved. Sometimes it was the sound of someone’s laugh that carried the same rhythm as his, or the sight of a man at the train station holding a bouquet of daisies like the ones he used to bring you.  

Other times, it was the silence that brought him back. At the end of a long day, when you’d kick off your heels and collapse onto your couch, you’d find yourself wishing you could tell him about your wins and your struggles. You’d wonder how he’d react to the stories you had to tell, imagining his soft smile or the way his hands would flutter nervously when he was excited for you.  

There were nights when it hit harder—when the city lights felt too bright and the penthouse apartment too cold. On those nights, you’d curl up in bed and stare out at the skyline, wondering if Spencer ever thought about you, too. If he regretted what he’d done. If he missed you as much as you missed him.

Because no matter how perfect your new life seemed on paper, a part of you still felt like it was missing. And that part had a name. Spencer Reid.

—

February 2007

It was a crisp evening as the warm glow of the restaurant's candles reflected off the polished surfaces, casting a cozy light over the two of you. Spencer had chosen this place because it was where you first met, a sentimental touch to the holiday of love that made your heart swell. The quiet buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses provided a soothing backdrop as you both enjoyed your meal, the comfort of each other's presence making the night feel perfect.

You were mid-laugh at something Spencer had said when a woman approached your table, her eyes wide with admiration. "I’m so sorry to bother you," she began, her voice apologetic but earnest. "But that is the most fabulous dress I have ever seen. Can I ask where you got it?"  

Caught off guard, you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced down at the material that clung to your body in all the right places. You smoothed your hand over the fabric, feeling both flattered and shy under the woman’s praise.  

Spencer, noticing your blush, smirked proudly from across the table. His hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch grounded you, reminding you that he was there, always your biggest supporter.  

"I–um," you stammered, your voice soft as you tried to find the words. "I made it."  

The woman’s face lit up with genuine astonishment. "You made it?" she repeated, her tone filled with awe. "That’s incredible. You have such talent."  

Spencer’s smirk deepened into a full-blown grin as he interjected, his voice laced with pride. "She’s amazing, isn’t she? I keep telling her she could make a career out of this, but she’s too modest to listen."  

"Spencer," you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes at him as your blush deepened.  

The woman smiled warmly at the exchange, clearly charmed by the both of you. "Well, if you ever decide to give your talents to the world, give me a call." With a quick admiring glance at your dress one last time, she handed you a business card before turning to rejoin her party, leaving you and Spencer alone once again.  

You stared at the card in your hand, the golden lettering catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights. Your heart nearly stopped as you read the name printed at the top—Aubrey Wilkes.  

Your favorite designer.  

The logo you’d admired countless times on magazine covers and in shop windows felt surreal in your grasp. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the opportunity this might represent sinking in.  

Spencer noticed the stunned look on your face and tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone soft yet concerned.  

You slowly turned the card toward him, your hand trembling slightly. "It’s… her," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer leaned closer, his eyes scanning the card before widening in recognition. His lips curled into a delighted smile, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Aubrey Wilkes?" he exclaimed, excitement evident in his tone. "Y/N, do you know what this means?"  

"I…" you began, but words failed you. It felt too big, too unexpected to process.  

"It means you’re amazing," Spencer continued, his voice steady as he reached across the table to take your free hand. "And now someone else sees it too."  

You looked back at Spencer, who was still holding your hand, his thumb now tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "I told you people would notice," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "You’re incredible, and you should let the world see it."  

Your eyes softened as you gazed at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered.  

"Always," he replied, his expression filled with a quiet devotion that made your heart flutter.  

The moment lingered between you, the restaurant and its patrons fading into the background as the two of you shared a look that said more than words ever could.

—

April 2007

"Spencer, I’m not going," you sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your chest as you leaned back in your chair. His persistence, while well-meaning, was starting to wear on you.  

"Y/N," he began, his tone both patient and pleading, "this isn’t just some casual opportunity. This is Aubrey Wilkes. She gave you her card. She wants to see what you can do. Do you even know how rare that is?"  

You folded your arms across your chest, avoiding his gaze. "I know exactly how rare it is, Spencer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to New York."  

Spencer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if physically holding himself back from pressing harder. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration but also genuine concern. "Is it fear? Because I know you, Y/N. You can do this. You’re more than talented enough."  

"It’s not fear," you shot back, though your voice faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared at the floor, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair. "It’s… it’s everything else. I have a life here. I have a job. I have you."  

Spencer’s heart clenched at your words. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. "I know, and I love our life together," he said earnestly. "But I don’t want you to look back in ten years and wonder ‘what if.’ I don’t want you to resent me for holding you back from something you were meant to do."  

You flinched at his words, your head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think I’d ever resent you? Spencer, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the one who’s always supported me, encouraged me to believe in myself when no one else did."  

"And I’m still doing that," he countered gently. "That’s why I’m pushing this. I can’t stand the thought of you letting this slip away because you’re scared to leave me behind."  

"It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t want to lose us. What if I go, and everything falls apart?"  

Spencer reached for your hands, cradling them between his. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your knuckles as he looked at you with all the tenderness in the world. "You won’t lose me, Y/N," he promised, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I’ll be here, cheering you on, no matter where you are. I’d rather see you chasing your dreams, even if it’s from a distance, than staying here and giving up on them for me."  

Your tears spilled over, and you shook your head, torn between love for him and the fear of what leaving might mean. "I just don’t know, Spencer," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  

"I do," he said softly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "I know how much you’re capable of, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. And I love you too much to let that happen."  

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling between you like an immovable wall. You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill again. “I’m just—I’m not going. Leave it alone,” you said firmly, your voice quieter than you intended but laced with finality.  

Spencer hesitated, his hand still outstretched as if reaching for you might close the growing distance between you. “Y/N,” he murmured softly, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.  

“Can we be done with this, please?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but resolute. You didn’t want to cry again, didn’t want to feel like you were fighting with the one person who always understood you.  

Spencer stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue further. But then he closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

The word hung between you, filled with unspoken emotions—disappointment, worry, and love all tangled together. Spencer looked down at the table, fiddling with his napkin as if it held answers he couldn’t find in your eyes.  

You turned your gaze away, your chest tightening as silence settled over the room. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came with comfort—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of you was saying.  

And though you had put an end to the conversation, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a crack in something you weren’t sure how to fix.  

—

August 2007

"Who was that?" Spencer asked as you walked back inside from the patio, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. He had noticed the look on your face as you ended the call—something between apprehension and surprise.  

You glanced down at your phone, the screen still lit with the call log. "Aubrey," you said hesitantly, tucking the device into your pocket.  

Spencer tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Aubrey Wilkes?"  

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone cautious as you avoided his gaze. "She… uh, she got my number. I don’t know how, but she did." You let out a nervous laugh, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.  

Spencer’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and concern. "And?" he prompted, sensing there was more to the story.  

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "She asked me to consider coming. Said there’s a spot opening next year—her number two is supposed to leave for another job in Milan."  

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching your face as he processed the news. "That’s… huge," he said slowly, his voice laced with both excitement and hesitation.  

"I know," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s… it’s everything I dreamed about. She said she’d hold the spot for me if I wanted it."  

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze softening as he tried to read the emotions flickering across your face. "What did you say?"  

"I didn’t say anything," you admitted, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "I told her I needed time to think about it."  

He nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a moment to respond. "And… are you thinking about it?"  

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don’t know," you said quietly. "I told you I wasn’t going. But now… it’s like she’s dangling everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me, and I don’t know if I can ignore it anymore."  

Spencer’s heart ached at your words, but he forced a gentle smile as he said, “You shouldn’t ignore it.”  

You sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a storm cloud. "It’s just too much to think about right now," you murmured, walking over to where he sat. Without hesitation, you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm wrapped protectively around you. The warmth of his embrace was like a balm, soothing the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.  

"Will you read to me?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.  

“Of course, my love,” he replied without hesitation, his tone tender. He reached for the book he had been reading earlier, adjusting slightly so you could be more comfortable.  

As his calm, steady voice filled the room, weaving through the story’s narrative, you felt your nerves begin to settle. The cadence of his words acted like a lullaby, each one wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Spencer kept reading, even when he noticed your body growing heavier against his, your breathing slowing to a steady rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.  

He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you. You were wearing a sweater you had designed and crafted yourself, the intricate stitching a testament to your talent and creativity. In your peaceful state, with your lips slightly parted and your lashes resting against your cheeks, you looked serene.  

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched you, a flood of emotions washing over him. He felt an overwhelming admiration for you—for your strength, your brilliance, your passion. But beneath that admiration was a deep-seated fear.  

He didn’t want you to give up this massive opportunity, the one you had dreamed of for so long, the one that could change your life. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he was the reason you were hesitating.  

The thought that he might be holding you back, even unintentionally, was almost unbearable. He wanted to be the one who supported you, who cheered you on, who encouraged you to take risks and chase your dreams. But as he held you in his arms, he wondered if his love for you was making it harder for you to leave.  

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered into the quiet room, “I just want you to be happy.”  

He knew that when the time came, he would have to push you, no matter how much it hurt. Because loving you meant wanting the best for you—even if it meant letting you go.  

—

March 2008

You and Spencer were strolling through the mall, casually browsing the stores as you searched for the perfect gift for your grandmother’s upcoming birthday. The two of you laughed together as you passed by store windows, debating what she might like—a scarf, a brooch, maybe a fancy tea set.  

But then your steps slowed, your attention caught by something glinting behind a clear glass case. It was almost subconscious, your feet carrying you toward it before you even realized what had drawn you in.  

"Rings?" Spencer asked, his voice soft and amused as he came to stand beside you. His eyes flicked to the sparkling display before landing on your face, a tender smile curling on his lips.  

"Do you ever think about getting married?" you asked suddenly, your gaze still fixed on the rings, their polished surfaces reflecting the light.  

The question caught Spencer off guard. He blinked, his smile faltering for just a second before it returned, gentler this time. "Of course," he said softly, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable. "Do… do you?"  

You finally tore your eyes away from the display, turning to face him with a grin. Your heart swelled at the look on his face—so earnest, so full of quiet hope.  

"Yes," you admitted, your smile widening as you decided to tease him just a little. "Preferably to a tall, nerdy doctor. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers."  

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his lips pulling into a bashful smile as he looked down at you. "I think you might be in luck," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful humor.  

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head and feigning surprise.  

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes glimmering with affection. "I hear there’s one who’s absolutely crazy about you."  

Your laughter bubbled up, filling the air between you as you leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both stood there, the sparkling rings forgotten as you focused entirely on each other.  

In that moment, with his arm around you and the warmth of his love so evident, you couldn’t help but imagine a future where one of those rings might be yours—and that future felt a lot closer than you’d ever thought possible.  

—

May 2008  

“Aubrey,” you sighed into the phone, keeping your voice low as you closed the bedroom door behind you. Spencer had finally fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning, his fever making rest nearly impossible. The last thing you wanted was to wake him now. “I told you I can’t.”  

Unbeknownst to you, the sound of the door clicking shut had stirred Spencer. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he realized you weren’t lying beside him anymore. He sat up slightly, his head still heavy with fatigue, and strained to hear your voice coming from somewhere outside the room.  

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the moment he heard Aubrey’s name fall from your lips, his chest tightened, and his focus sharpened.  

“No… no… it’s not that…” Your voice wavered, and Spencer could picture you chewing your thumb nervously—something you always did when you were stressed. “I can’t leave. My whole life is in Virginia… well, no… he told me to go… yes, I know—”  

Spencer’s breath hitched, his heart clenching at your words.  

“I love him, I love my life with him,” you continued, and Spencer felt his chest ache in equal parts relief and guilt. “Obviously… I’m sure it would work, but—” You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “My answer is still no. I’m sorry.”  

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed what he’d just heard. He could feel the weight of your words pressing against his chest, a reminder of the sacrifice you were making. He knew he was the reason you were staying. You were giving up your dream for him, and as much as he loved you for it, he couldn’t let it happen.  

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Spencer quickly laid back down, shutting his eyes tight like a child pretending to sleep past their bedtime. He tried to even out his breathing, though his heart raced beneath the covers.  

You slipped back into the bedroom quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow as you moved toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, you nestled into his side, resting your head on his chest. Your lips pressed a tender kiss over his heart, and you whispered, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”  

Spencer’s chest swelled at your words, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as he fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him.  

As your breathing steadied and you drifted off to sleep, Spencer lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the echo of your words—“I love him… he told me to go.”  

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his mind was filled with plans. He had to get you to New York. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him, he had to make sure you followed your dreams—even if it meant losing you in the process.  

—

December 2008 – Present

"Reid, are you paying attention?" Hotch’s firm yet concerned tone cut through the fog in Spencer’s mind, snapping him out of his reverie.  

Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting Hotch’s piercing gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, his voice steady though his heart wasn’t.  

"Good. Let’s keep it that way," Hotch grumbled, clearly not in the mood for distractions.  

The team was seated around the conference table in the BAU’s jet, discussing the details of their latest case. They were headed to New York, where several women had been drugged and abducted from exclusive nightclubs in the Upper East Side. The unsub’s profile was slowly taking shape, but for Spencer, focusing on the details was harder than usual.  

Even hearing the name New York was like a dagger twisting in his side. It brought with it a flood of memories he had tried and failed to suppress—memories of you.  

He could picture the night you had finally told Aubrey no, the way your voice trembled with conviction when you said you were staying in Virginia. And yet, here he was, sitting on a jet bound for the very city where you were supposed to be building your dream.  

Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. This is my job. Focus on the case. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to look at the crime scene photos spread across the table.  

But as the jet began its descent into the city, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the window. The glittering skyline of New York City came into view, and his chest tightened. He wondered, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like now. Would you be walking those streets right now, thriving in a world that had always been meant for you?  

"Reid, thoughts?" JJ’s voice broke through his spiral, and Spencer quickly blinked, realizing the team was looking at him expectantly.  

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "The unsub likely uses a combination of charm and familiarity to gain the victims’ trust. Based on the timeline, he’s calculated and methodical, which suggests he’s not working impulsively. He might be using the same clubs regularly to scope out his targets."  

JJ nodded, taking notes as Morgan chimed in with his own observations. Hotch seemed satisfied that Spencer was back on track, but Spencer could still feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.  

As the jet landed and the team prepared to disembark, Spencer grabbed his bag and fell into step behind the others. He reminded himself that the job came first, that the women out there needed them to be focused and sharp.  

But as they exited the airport and the cold New York air hit his face, Spencer couldn’t help but feel the ghost of what could have been following close behind.  

As the team settled into the precinct, the familiar buzz of activity filled the air—phones ringing, officers shuffling papers, and the hum of conversation about the case. Spencer sat at a desk, his eyes scanning over a map as he worked on the geographical profile. On the surface, he looked focused, but internally, he was at war with himself.  

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The sharp lines on the map blurred as his thoughts drifted.  

Which building do you live in? The question looped through his mind like a broken record. He knew you had moved to the Upper East Side with Aubrey when you first came to New York. But that had been months ago—almost a year, actually. Maybe you didn’t live with her anymore. Maybe you had your own place now.  

And then, more troubling thoughts crept in. Are you being safe? His chest tightened at the idea of you walking these streets, the same streets where women were being drugged and taken.  

Spencer’s eyes darted back to the photos of the nightclubs spread across the desk. He knew it was unlikely you frequented places like these. You’d never been one for the nightlife, always shying away from loud music and crowded spaces. He remembered how you used to fidget at gatherings, instinctively seeking out quieter corners where you could breathe.  

But the thought of you even being near these places, of someone seeing you, targeting you—it made his stomach churn.  

God, I hope you’re safe, Spencer thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake the image of you from his mind.  

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present.  

Spencer blinked, his hands tightening around the edges of the map. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calmer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to piece together the unsub’s movements.”  

Morgan studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Alright, well, let me know if you need a second pair of eyes.”  

Spencer nodded, returning his gaze to the map. But even as he tried to refocus, his mind kept drifting back to you. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t even been able to convince himself to reach out.  

And yet, here he was, in your city, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you were thinking about him too.  

After spending the day checking out the crime scenes and canvasing the surrounding areas, the team returned to the precinct to deliver their initial profile to the local police. Spencer sat near the back of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to keep his focus on the case.  

Emily stood at the front, presenting the profile with her usual confidence. "We believe the unsub is targeting wealthy women," she explained, her tone even but firm. "Women who appear successful and independent—CEO’s, CFO’s, designers, singers, dancers, actors, chefs, etcetera. He sees them as trophies, not just victims. He uses their wealth and status to justify robbing them, taking their IDs, and eventually breaking into their homes after he’s done with them. This is about control and power, and his choice of victims reflects that."  

Spencer’s stomach churned as he listened, each word cutting deeper into his already frayed nerves. His mind was no longer on the women they were profiling; it was back on you.  

Every victim they described could have been you. Successful, talented, determined—everything about you fit the profile. You had climbed to the top of your field, a name that carried weight and admiration. You were exactly the kind of woman this unsub sought to dominate, to tear down.  

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the board where photos of the victims were pinned. Each face reminded him of you in some way—the confident smiles, the elegant postures, the undeniable strength that radiated from their pictures.  

He tried to push the thoughts away, to remind himself that you were likely far from this mess, probably tucked away in a luxurious apartment or a designer studio, far removed from the chaos he was immersed in.  

But the fear gnawed at him anyway. What if you weren’t safe? What if you were walking these streets late at night, lost in thought or distracted, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby?  

Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the moment, but Spencer barely registered what was being said. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts and the eerie similarities between you and the women they were trying to protect.  

The briefing ended, and the room began to clear out, officers heading back to their tasks. Spencer stayed seated, staring blankly at the photos on the board. His chest felt tight, his mind racing with all the possibilities he didn’t want to consider.  

"Reid?" JJ’s voice broke through the haze, her expression soft as she approached him. "What’s up with you? Is something wrong?”

He blinked, forcing himself to shake his head. "No," he lied, his voice flat. "Everything is fine."  

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close. Every instinct in him screamed to find you, to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that this case wasn’t just about catching an unsub—it was about protecting you from a danger he couldn’t control.  

—

You were getting ready with Aubrey and the rest of your group, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement. It was Blake’s 27th birthday, and they had chosen to celebrate with a night out at the clubs.  

The leopard-print dress you wore hugged your frame perfectly, its bold design a gift from Aubrey herself. As you zipped up your deep burgundy leather boots, the rich color catching the light, you couldn’t help but glance at your reflection. The outfit was striking—you felt sexy and confident.  

“Shots!” Kurt’s voice boomed from the living room, drawing laughter and cheers from the group. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as you finished adjusting your boots.  

“You ready to go, superstar?” Aubrey teased, leaning in the doorway with a knowing smile. She looked impeccable, as always, her outfit radiating confidence and style.  

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, standing and smoothing out your dress.  

“Good,” Aubrey said, linking her arm with yours. “Because tonight, we’re leaving all the stress and work drama behind. It’s Blake’s night, and you, my dear, are going to have fun.”  

You laughed, letting her guide you toward the rest of the group. As the music played loudly in the background and someone handed you a shot glass, you tried to push away the unease creeping in. This wasn’t your scene, but for Blake—and with your friends by your side—you’d make the best of it.  

What’s the harm of one night out on the town?

Aubrey, with her effortless charm and impressive connections, had managed to get your group into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. As you approached the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as you passed the long line of people waiting to get in.  

The bouncer gave your group a once-over before glancing at his clipboard, where your names were already on the list. He nodded to the hostess, who gestured for you to follow her inside. You exchanged amused glances with Aubrey, her confident smirk making it clear she was in her element.  

The energy of the club hit you immediately—a pulsing rhythm of music, vibrant lights reflecting off chandeliers and mirrored disco balls, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.  

You were quickly led to a private VIP lounge area, tucked away yet with a perfect view of the dance floor. The sleek leather seating, soft glow of ambient lighting, and low table with a bottle of premium alcohol chilling on ice made it clear this was luxury at its finest.  

As you settled in with the group, Aubrey leaned over with a grin. "Not bad, huh?"  

"Not bad at all," you admitted, finally starting to feel the buzz of excitement that the rest of the group had radiated all night.  

Kurt popped the cork on the bottle with a celebratory cheer, pouring out drinks as Blake laughed and raised their glass. "To the best birthday ever!" Blake called out, their joy infectious as everyone clinked their glasses together.  

You took a sip, letting the fizzy warmth spread through you, and glanced out at the dance floor, watching the kaleidoscope of lights play over the crowd. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax, leaning into the moment. Tonight wasn’t about anything else—it was about celebrating Blake, being with friends, and maybe, just maybe, finding some joy in the chaos.  

It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the excitement of the night wore on, that you noticed something was wrong. Analise hadn’t returned from the bathroom in a very long time. At first, you didn’t think much of it—maybe she’d gotten caught up chatting with someone or had taken a phone call. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, unease began to settle in.  

You mentioned it to Aubrey, and soon, the rest of your group was involved, searching the crowded club for her. You checked every possible place she could be—the bathroom, the dance floor, the bar. You even tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.  

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as you decided to check with door security. Maybe she’d decided to leave early and hadn’t told anyone. But when you explained the situation, the response you got made your heart drop.  

“She left about 40 minutes ago,” the bouncer informed you, his tone matter-of-fact. “She was with a man.”  

Your blood ran cold. Analise was a married lesbian woman with children. There was no way she would leave with a man.  

“That’s impossible,” you said, your voice shaking. “She wouldn’t… she would never do that.”  

The bouncer frowned, his expression darkening as he realized the weight of your words. Aubrey, ever composed, stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “We need to check the security footage. Now.”  

The staff moved quickly, pulling up the tapes as your group crowded around, watching with bated breath. And there it was—clear as day. Analise stumbling out of the bathroom, visibly dazed, as a man wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the exit. You could see her trying to resist, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, but she was no match for him.  

Your stomach churned as the man led her out of the club. It was clear she’d been drugged and coerced.  

“We’re calling the police,” one of the security staff said, already reaching for his radio.  

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. The authorities arrived swiftly, questioning the staff and reviewing the footage. Your group, shaken and worried sick, was told to wait outside. When the police finally addressed you, it was to inform you that they needed to take statements from everyone who had been with Analise that night.  

Before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of a police car, the flashing lights reflecting off the club’s exterior as it faded into the distance. Aubrey sat beside you, her normally composed demeanor fractured by worry. The rest of your group was being transported in other cars, but you all shared the same fear: What if it’s too late?  

As the car sped toward the station, you stared out the window, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Analise’s face, her laugh, her stories about her wife and kids—it all played in your mind like a reel you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was your fault, that somehow you should have noticed sooner, should have done something.  

Aubrey reached over, squeezing your hand tightly. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.  

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. All you could do now was hope the authorities could act quickly enough. Analise’s life could depend on it.  

Your group was led into a quiet room, far from the noise and chaos of the precinct. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and the tension in the air was palpable as you waited, all of you exchanging worried glances. One by one, your friends were called out by law enforcement to give their accounts of the night’s events.  

You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart sank when one of the officers mentioned that the Behavioral Analysis Unit was on the case. The BAU, you thought, your stomach twisting into knots. That could only mean one thing—Spencer.  

Your mind raced. Please, let him be out in the field. Let him be anywhere but here, you silently begged. The idea of seeing him again, especially under these circumstances, felt overwhelming.  

But then a petite, pretty blonde woman entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to your spiraling nerves. She scanned the list in her hands before looking up and saying your name with a polite smile.  

You hesitated but stood up, smoothing your dress as you followed her down the hallway. She led you to a small interrogation room, where the walls seemed to close in just a little too tightly.  

“Have a seat,” the woman said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. She handed you a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.  

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, clutching the cup between your hands as if it were a lifeline.  

The woman gave you a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warm and steady. “My name is Jennifer Jareau,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “I’m an agent with the BAU, and I just have a few questions for you. You’re not in any trouble; we’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.”  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her posture open and non-threatening. “I know tonight was difficult, but anything you can tell us might help us find your friend and bring her home safely.”  

You took a deep breath, letting her words settle over you. As much as you were afraid of what this moment represented, you knew you had to focus on Analise. You began recounting the evening, walking her through everything you could remember—how Analise had gone to the bathroom, how long she’d been gone, and how your group had discovered she had left the club with a man.  

JJ listened intently, taking notes but never breaking eye contact. Her steady presence made it easier to keep talking, even as your voice faltered at times.  

When you finished, she nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve been really helpful. Thank you for being so detailed—it makes a big difference.”  

You offered a small, shaky smile. “I just want her to be okay.”  

“We’re going to do everything we can,” JJ said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.  

You nodded again, but as she stood to leave, a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Spencer really is here? What if he walks through that door next? You weren’t sure you were ready for that moment. Not now. Not like this.  

—

When the call came in about a new abduction, Spencer held his breath, his stomach tightening as a familiar sense of dread crept in. For a brief, harrowing moment, he waited to hear your name. But it wasn’t.  

“Analise Bordeaux,” Penelope said over the phone, her tone efficient but tinged with urgency. “She’s a top-rated journalist for the New York Times. Married, with two kids. Her wife also reported her missing earlier tonight after she didn’t return home at a previously agreed time.”  

Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but the relief was fleeting. Another brilliant, accomplished woman was in danger, and the unsub’s pattern was becoming even clearer.  

“Morgan, Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the tense moment, bringing everyone back to focus. “I want the two of you to head to the club. Talk to the staff, review the footage, and see if anyone remembers anything unusual.”  

“Got it,” Morgan replied, already grabbing his jacket.  

Spencer nodded, silently falling into step with his partner. The ride to the club was quiet, the weight of the case settling heavily between them. Spencer’s mind wandered, as it often did in moments like this, and despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to you. Were you okay? Were you being safe in this massive, chaotic city? The idea of something happening to you gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake.  

When they arrived at the club, the music still pulsed faintly in the background as staff cleaned up after the night’s events. The bouncer and several employees were waiting for them, and Derek immediately took the lead, flashing his badge and asking for access to the security footage.  

Spencer scanned the room as they worked, his sharp eyes noting every detail. The club was upscale, the kind of place that catered to high-profile clients, which fit the unsub’s victimology perfectly. He and Derek pored over the footage, watching as Analise stumbled out of the bathroom, her movements sluggish and disoriented. The man who had escorted her out didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, but Spencer’s mind was already analyzing every subtle detail—the way he scanned the room, the calculated calmness in his movements.  

“This guy fits in with the crowd,” Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.  

Spencer nodded. “He knows exactly how to stay under the radar. He’s blending in, using the chaos of the club to his advantage.”  

After questioning staff and gathering everything they could from the scene, the two men left the club and headed back to the precinct. The weight of what they’d seen hung heavily in the air between them, but Spencer was unusually quiet.  

“You good, pretty boy?” Derek finally asked, glancing over at him.  

“Yeah,” Spencer lied, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… thinking.”  

Derek didn’t push, but Spencer could feel his partner’s eyes on him. 

When Derek and Spencer arrived back at the precinct, they headed straight to the makeshift conference area where the rest of the team was gathered. The atmosphere was tense but focused, with everyone comparing notes and piecing together the puzzle of Analise’s abduction.  

JJ was finishing up her report on the interviews she had conducted with Analise’s friends. She held a notepad in her hand, skimming through her findings as she updated the team.  

“We have a list of people Analise spent the evening with,” JJ said, holding up the notepad. “Her coworkers and a few close friends all confirmed she wasn’t acting like herself before she went to the bathroom. Said she was dazed, disoriented in the footage—classic signs of being drugged. One of them even mentioned they tried calling her, but her phone’s off now.”  

As JJ spoke, Spencer’s gaze landed on the notepad in her hand. Something about it nagged at him—a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.  

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing to the list of names.  

JJ didn’t hesitate, handing the notepad over with a slight frown of curiosity. “Sure,” she said. “What are you thinking?”  

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the list quickly, his brain processing each name at lightning speed. And then he saw it.  

Your name.  

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the notepad tightened as if he needed to steady himself.  

You’re here.  

“What is it, Reid?” JJ asked, her voice breaking through the sudden rush of emotions.  

Spencer forced himself to look up, his expression carefully neutral. “Um,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I just… wanted to see if anyone stood out.”  

He handed the notepad back to JJ, his hand trembling slightly. He hoped she didn’t notice, but Morgan, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes at him.  

Spencer’s mind raced. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t spoken to you since the night he let you go. And now, here you were, tangled up in a case involving dangerous predators and a missing woman. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest.  

“You recognize anyone?” JJ asked, her tone casual as she flipped back through the list.  

“No,” Spencer lied once more, his voice steadier this time.  

But inside, he felt like he was falling apart. Because no matter how much he tried to focus on the case, on the unsub, on finding Analise, one thought overpowered everything else: You were here.  

“What do you think, Hotch?” Rossi started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Should we let them go?” He gestured vaguely, referring to your group still waiting in the designated room.  

“No,” Spencer said quickly, speaking up out of turn. His voice was firmer than he’d intended, and everyone turned to look at him with raised brows.  

“They’re safer here,” Spencer continued, his tone more measured now. “The unsub might have seen them. If they were with Analise all night, they could’ve been noticed, even targeted.”  

“Reid’s right,” Hotch said, nodding as he turned back to Rossi. “We’ll keep them here until we have more information. JJ, did any of them mention recognizing the unsub from the footage? Or if Analise recently changed anything in her routine that might have drawn attention?”  

JJ gently took her notepad back from Spencer, giving him another curious glance before flipping through her notes. “Uh… yes,” she said, stopping on a specific page. “One of them—Y/N Y/L—mentioned that Analise had just gotten a promotion at work. They went out to celebrate at a new restaurant last Thursday.”  

Spencer stiffened at the mention of your name, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.  

“Alright,” Hotch said decisively. “Let’s bring Y/N back into the interrogation room. She might have seen this man at the restaurant and didn’t realize it.”  

“I’ll go get her,” JJ offered, already rising from her seat and heading toward the door.  

“I’ll come too,” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.  

Everyone turned to look at him again, surprise flashing across their faces.  

“May—maybe a second set of ears,” Spencer stammered, quickly trying to justify his outburst. “Um, a new perspective might help.”  

Hotch studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Spencer’s motives. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. Go with her.”  

JJ gave Spencer a questioning look but said nothing, motioning for him to follow her. As they walked down the hallway toward the room where you and your friends were waiting, Spencer felt his chest tighten with every step.  

He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. And now, he was seconds away from coming face-to-face with the person he’d never stopped thinking about.  

—

You were just starting to lose your patience, shifting in your seat and glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, when the door opened again. The same woman from before, Jennifer, stepped inside with her calm and professional demeanor.  

“Y/N?” she said with a polite smile. “Can we see you again?”  

Your friends exchanged questioning glances, murmuring words of encouragement as you stood. “Good luck,” one of them whispered as you followed JJ out of the room and down the hallway.  

You tried to steady yourself, reminding yourself this was all routine. Just more questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as you stepped into the cold interrogation room again, the air felt different—charged, heavy.  

And then you saw him.  

Sitting in the chair across from the table, Spencer.  

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room that had felt icy before now felt like it was a thousand degrees hotter. You froze for a moment, your mind racing to make sense of the sight in front of you. He looked the same, yet different. His hair was slightly longer, his face a little more tired, but those eyes—the same deep, thoughtful eyes you’d once adored—were unmistakable.  

Spencer’s head snapped up as you entered, and for a second, he looked just as startled as you felt. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.  

“Y/N,” JJ said gently, breaking the heavy silence. She gestured toward the chair across from Spencer. “Have a seat.”  

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move as you crossed the room and sat down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, shock, or something else entirely.  

Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You blinked, your throat dry as you nodded again. “Hello, agent,” you replied, equally quiet.  

JJ glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, but she quickly masked it. “Y/N, we just have a few follow-up questions,” she said, sitting down beside Spencer and pulling out her notepad.  

But it didn’t matter what she said. The only thing you could focus on was Spencer, sitting right there in front of you, as if the years between you had suddenly disappeared.  

The questions started simply enough—where had you and your group gone to dinner? How many people were there? Did anyone stand out or seem to take special interest in you?  

“There was one person,” you said after a moment of thought, tilting your head slightly as you tried to recall the details. “He was a busboy, I believe. But he kept coming by our table to check on us.”  

Spencer, who had been taking notes alongside JJ, immediately perked up at that. “He wasn’t your server?” he asked, his voice calm but focused.  

You shook your head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “No, our server was a woman. She was very attentive, but this guy—he kept showing up. At first, we thought he was just really good at his job, but it started to feel… I don’t know, a little strange.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. “Strange how? Did he say anything to you, or was it more about his behavior?”  

“It was mostly his behavior,” you replied, frowning as you tried to piece together the memory. “He’d clear away plates that didn’t really need to be cleared yet, or refill water glasses that were barely half-empty. And every time he came by, he’d linger for just a second too long. It was subtle, but… noticeable.”  

Spencer exchanged a quick glance with JJ before asking, “Can you describe him? Anything about his appearance that stood out?”  

You nodded, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focused on the image in your mind. “He was average height, maybe a little shorter than you,” you glanced at Spencer. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. He had this kind of… intense way of looking at people, like he was trying to figure them out.”  

Spencer scribbled furiously in his notebook, his pen moving so fast it almost blurred. “Do you remember if he wore anything unusual? Jewelry, a watch, anything like that?”  

You paused, biting your lip as you thought. “I… I think he had a tattoo on his wrist,” you said finally. “It was hard to see because of the uniform, but when he reached over to clear a plate, I noticed it. It looked like… a triangle, or something geometric.”  

“That’s good,” JJ said with a nod, giving you an encouraging smile. “That’s really helpful, Y/N.”  

But your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was still scribbling notes with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unsaid passed between you.  

“Anything else you remember, no matter how small?” he asked softly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something deeper—something that felt almost personal.  

You shook your head slightly. “No, I think that’s it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…” You trailed off, a shiver running down your spine at the realization of how close your group may have been to danger.  

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable as he set his pen down. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

JJ stood, glancing at her notes before giving you another reassuring smile. “We’ll follow up with the restaurant and see if anyone knows him. You’ve been really helpful, Y/N.”  

You nodded, rising from your chair, but your eyes lingered on Spencer for just a moment longer before you turned to leave the room. And as you walked back to your friends, you couldn’t help but feel like this encounter had stirred up more than just memories of the night—it had brought something long-buried between you and Spencer back to the surface.  

Before you could reach the room where your friends were waiting, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. The unexpected touch made you stop, turning instinctively.  

There he was—Spencer, standing just behind you, his face filled with an urgency that took your breath away. He looked like he was holding back a storm, his words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.  

“Can I see you before I leave?” he asked, his voice low but rushed, as if afraid you might say no.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind scrambling to process the request. And before you even realized it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips almost automatically.  

Relief flashed across Spencer’s face, but he didn’t linger. He simply gave you a small, grateful nod before turning back toward the team. You stood there for a second, trying to collect yourself, before heading back into the room with your friends.  

As soon as you sat down next to Aubrey, she leaned in, her sharp eyes scanning your face. “Was that Spencer?” she asked in a hushed whisper, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.  

You nodded again, unable to bring yourself to speak.  

“Are you okay?” Aubrey pressed, her hand resting lightly on your arm.  

This time, you shook your head. The motion was small, but it felt monumental, like admitting the weight of everything that had just happened. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, the sharp pressure a weak attempt to distract yourself from the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.  

Aubrey frowned, her expression softening as she studied you. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

You shook your head again, swallowing hard as you tried to push the overwhelming feelings down. “Not yet,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Aubrey nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But I’m here when you’re ready.”  

You gave her a faint smile, grateful for her understanding. But as you sat there, surrounded by your friends and the low hum of their conversations, your mind was elsewhere—focused on Spencer, and the inevitable conversation that now loomed on the horizon.  

—

Luckily, your information turned out to be exactly what the team needed. With Penelope’s tech skills and the restaurant staff’s confirmation, they were able to identify the unsub and locate Analise.  

The relief was almost overwhelming when the news came in: Analise was found unharmed, aside from the lingering effects of the drugs and the red marks on her wrists where she’d been bound. The man hadn’t had the chance to carry out his full plan—robbing her or doing worse—thanks to the swift intervention of the police and FBI.  

By the time everything was resolved, the authorities had cleared you and your friends to leave that same night. The long hours of tension melted away as you gathered your things, and your group began heading toward the precinct exit.  

You stuck close to Aubrey, practically glued to her side as you wrapped an arm around her waist. Her presence grounded you, the warmth and familiarity of her reassuring after everything you’d been through.  

“Finally,” Aubrey murmured as the two of you reached the doors, her tone light but laced with exhaustion.  

You nodded, tightening your hold on her as you pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air. But as you stepped outside, your eyes darted around instinctively, searching for a glimpse of Spencer.  

And there he was, standing just a short distance away, speaking with Morgan and Hotch. His back was to you, but even from where you stood, you could feel the weight of the moment.  

You immediately turned your head, your arm tightening around Aubrey as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk Spencer catching sight of you—or worse, calling out to you.  

Aubrey glanced down at you as the two of you walked quickly toward the car. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite her own obvious fatigue.  

“Yeah,” you whispered, though your grip on her waist betrayed your nerves.  

As you slid into the car, your heart still raced. The thought of seeing Spencer again—even after everything—left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a tiny, nagging part of you that wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let yourself stop.  

But for now, you were content to let an officer drive you home, the city lights blurring outside the window as you leaned against the seat, trying to process the night’s events—and the man who still had the power to shake you to your core.  

The incessant ringing of your phone jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the fog of your restless sleep. You groaned, squinting against the morning light as you reached for your phone on the nightstand.  

Your heart skipped a beat when you glanced at the screen. No name was displayed, just a number. But it was a number you could never forget, no matter how hard you’d tried.  

You had deleted Spencer’s contact months ago, telling yourself it was for the best, a necessary step in moving on. But his number was burned into your memory, a string of digits that you could recite as easily as your own name.  

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the answer button. The ringtone seemed louder, more insistent, as if demanding a decision.  

Your chest tightened, and a million thoughts ran through your mind. Why is he calling? What does he want? Can I even handle hearing his voice right now?  

But before you could overthink it any further, your thumb moved almost of its own accord, pressing the button and bringing the phone to your ear.  

“Hello?” you said softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your heart race, and then you heard it—a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.  

“Y/N,” Spencer said, his tone cautious, almost tentative. “I… I’m sorry to call so early. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”  

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “What’s going on, Spencer?” you asked, your tone carefully neutral.  

He hesitated, and you could practically hear him piecing his words together. “I just… I couldn’t leave New York without talking to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after last night. Not after seeing you again.”  

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.  

“I know this isn’t fair,” Spencer continued, his words tumbling out now, “but… can we talk? Just the two of us? Please?”  

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the headboard as you exhaled slowly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if you were ready to reopen wounds you’d worked so hard to heal. But the sound of his voice, the raw emotion in it, made it impossible to say no.  

“Okay,” you said quietly. “When?”  

“Now?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope and hesitation. “I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere—whatever you’re comfortable with.”  

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, your mind still racing. “There’s a café a couple of blocks from me,” you said finally, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”  

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I’ll see you soon.”  

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand. Part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the part that had never really let Spencer go—knew this was a conversation that was long overdue.  

—

November 2004

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice spoke from behind you, polite but a little unsure.  

You turned around, confused, to find a lanky man with slicked-back hair and glasses standing there, looking at you expectantly. He wore an awkward smile, his hands fidgeting slightly as he shifted on his feet.  

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to place him.  

“If it’s no bother, we would really appreciate the check. We were just called into work,” he explained sheepishly, gesturing to a man sitting at the table behind him, who was watching the interaction with an amused grin.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Um,” you started, your tone hesitant, “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”  

The man sitting across from him burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Nice going, Reid.”  

The one who had spoken—Reid, apparently—turned bright red, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I just—your outfit—it looks just like the uniforms the waitstaff are wearing!”  

You frowned, glancing down at your clothes—a crisp white blouse tucked into sleek black slacks. Then it clicked, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Oh, wow,” you said, grinning at him. “That’s… actually kind of funny. I designed the uniforms, so I guess I subconsciously dressed accordingly.”  

Reid blinked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “You designed them?” he asked, his embarrassment giving way to genuine curiosity.  

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, glancing around the restaurant. “I work for the owner—well, freelance. They hired me to design uniforms that were professional but stylish.”  

“That’s… really impressive,” Reid said, his tone sincere as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re—um, they’re very nice. Clearly convincing,” he added, his cheeks still pink.  

The man at his table laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she’s nice, kid. That could’ve gone way worse.”  

You smiled, brushing off the comment. “No harm done,” you said, waving a hand. Then, looking back at Reid, you added, “Just maybe double-check next time before you assume.”  

“Noted,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “And again, I’m really sorry.”  

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head at the interaction. Little did you know, it was the beginning of something much bigger than a misunderstanding over a uniform.  

—

December 2008 – Present  

You sat at the small table in the café, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth with one hand while biting your thumb with the other. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine creating a soothing background. Still, your nerves were anything but calm.  

You hadn’t seen Spencer yet, but you felt his presence looming, the anticipation making your chest feel tight. Your mind raced with a million thoughts—what he would say, what you should say, how this meeting would go after all the time that had passed.  

“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice interrupted, laced with a soft, teasing tone. “You don’t happen to work here, do you?”  

Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in surprise, only for the tension in your chest to loosen when you saw him. Spencer stood there, looking both nervous and amused, his hands tucked awkwardly into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly tousled from the cold, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the café lights.  

You couldn’t help it—amusement took over as you remembered the very first time he had said those words to you. “Seriously?” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re going to lead with that?”  

Spencer shrugged, his lips curving into a sheepish grin. “I figured it worked the first time,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes flickered to yours.  

Your heart stuttered at the look he gave you, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in 2005, standing in that restaurant, completely oblivious to what the future held.  

You shook your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Sit down, Reid,” you said, your tone light, though your voice still carried the weight of everything unsaid.  

Spencer moved carefully, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile moment between you. He slid into the chair, his hands resting on the table, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve.  

“You remembered,” you said after a beat, unable to stop yourself.  

“Of course I did,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember everything about you.”  

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”  

Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”  

And just like that, the conversation you’d both been avoiding for years finally began.  

Spencer folded his hands on the table, his long fingers twitching slightly as though unsure of where to begin. He glanced down at the tablecloth before looking back up at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out right away.  

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve never been one to struggle for words,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.  

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His voice was soft, almost tentative.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—weighted with years of unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and all the things neither of you had said when you had the chance.  

Spencer finally spoke, his voice low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go.”  

Your heart clenched at his words, the directness of them catching you off guard. You opened your mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for too long.  

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I thought I was giving you the chance to live the life you deserved, to follow your dreams without me holding you back. But all I did was hurt you. And…” He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. “I hurt myself too.”  

You blinked, stunned by the raw honesty in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to dive in so quickly, to say the things you’d spent so long wondering if he even felt.  

“Spencer,” you began, your voice wavering slightly, “you didn’t just hurt me. You made a decision for both of us without even asking how I felt. You thought you were protecting me, but you didn’t give me a choice.”  

He flinched slightly at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I know I handled it all wrong. I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head, and every time, I wish I’d done it differently. I wish I’d just… trusted you.”  

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his words stirring something deep within you. “You think I didn’t want to go? That I didn’t think about what it could’ve meant for my career? I stayed because I loved you, Spencer. You were my dream. Not New York. Not Aubrey. You.”  

Spencer’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “And I threw it away,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t throw it away. You made a choice. We both did. And we have to live with that.”  

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it—that he would drop it and let you both walk away again.  

But then he looked up, and his eyes were filled with something fierce, something determined. “I don’t want to live with it,” he said firmly. “Not anymore. Not if there’s even the smallest chance I can fix this—fix us.”  

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung between you. You wanted to say something, to respond, but you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak.  

So instead, you just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. And in that moment, Spencer Reid, the man who rarely hesitated to explain every detail, every fact, every statistic, did something unexpected.  

He waited too.  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope, for any clue as to how you might respond. You could see the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the desperation for you to believe him, to give him a chance.

“Spencer,” you began softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Fix us? There is no us anymore. You made that abundantly clear when you kicked me out of my home.”

Your words were sharp, cutting through the fragile hope that had been lingering in the air. Spencer flinched as if you’d physically struck him, his face falling with the weight of your statement. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words.

“I didn’t—” he started, but then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I thought—”  

“You thought you knew what was best for me,” you interrupted, your tone more firm now as the hurt you’d buried for so long began to surface. “You didn’t even ask me how I felt. You made a decision for both of us and expected me to just accept it. And when I didn’t? When I tried to fight for us? You pushed me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Spencer said quickly, his voice cracking. “You still matter. I—I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”  

“Protecting me?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You weren’t protecting me, Spencer. You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d resent you, so instead, you pushed me out of your life completely. And guess what? It hurt just as much—maybe even more.”  

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was afraid. I was terrified. Not just of you resenting me, but of… of failing you. Of not being enough. I convinced myself that letting you go was the selfless thing to do, but all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

You looked at him, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. Part of you wanted to lash out, to make him feel a fraction of the pain you’d carried for so long. But another part of you—a part you didn’t want to admit existed—still ached for him, still felt the pull of the man you’d once loved so deeply.  

“You can’t just come back now and expect to fix everything,” you said, your voice softer but no less firm. “It’s not that simple.”  

“I know,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading. “I know it’s not. But I had to try. I couldn’t leave New York without telling you how I feel, without letting you know that I’m sorry—for everything.”  

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “And what happens after this, Spencer? What are you expecting? That I’ll just forget everything and we’ll go back to how things were?”  

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking as he added, “I just needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”  

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes—it was all too much.  

But so was the weight of everything that had happened, the scars that hadn’t fully healed.  

“I never stopped loving you either,” you said finally, your voice trembling again. The admission felt heavy, like a weight you had been carrying for far too long, now released.  

“Really?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to believe it.  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Well, it’s only been half a year, Spencer. I thought I was going to marry you. That doesn’t just go away.”  

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, it doesn’t.”  

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the quiet of the café wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the raw, unspoken emotions lingering between you.  

Then, Spencer shifted in his seat, his hands fumbling around in his bag as if he were searching for something. You watched him curiously, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally pulled out a small box.  

“What is that?” you choked out, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer held the box in his hand, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at you. “I bought this the day we went to the mall,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “When you asked me if I ever thought about marriage.” He paused, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box as if grounding himself. “When you went into the lingerie store, I went back and bought the ring you were staring at.”  

Your breath hitched, your mind racing. “How did you know?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.  

“I’m a profiler,” he said with a small, almost shy smile. “I know—knew you so well. It wasn’t hard to see which one caught your eye.”  

“It’s—the ring is in there right now?” you asked, your voice trembling.  

Spencer nodded, his expression cautious but hopeful. “Do you want to see it?” he asked tentatively, his fingers tightening slightly around the box.  

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you nodded, unable to find the words to say anything else.  

Spencer opened the box, turning it toward you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.  

The ring was simple yet elegant—exactly the kind of style you’d always admired. A delicate band of platinum, with a perfectly cut diamond set in the center, surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled as if they held their own light.  

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your eyes never leaving the ring.  

Spencer’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he rushed out, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.  

“Yes,” you said again, louder this time, your gaze shifting from the ring to meet his wide, questioning eyes.  

“Yes… what?” Spencer asked, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.  

You took a shaky breath, your emotions swelling and threatening to overflow. “I’ll marry you,” you said firmly, the words filling the space between you like a beacon.  

Spencer froze, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. For a moment, he looked like he might cry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hand tightened around the small box.  

“You will?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of awe and disbelief.  

“Yes,” you said again, nodding for emphasis. “I love you, Spencer. I never stopped. And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like I don’t.”  

Spencer’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his grip warm and steady despite his obvious emotion. “I—I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping him.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your voice soft but certain. “Just… ask me.”  

Spencer blinked, his lips curving into the smallest, most genuine smile you’d seen in years. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slid out of his chair and knelt on one knee, still holding the box open.  

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”  

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes.”  

Spencer slid the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking as he did so, and when he stood, you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, holding you tightly as you both laughed and cried, the weight of years of pain and longing finally lifting.  

In that small café, with the world around you fading into the background, the two of you found your way back to each other—against all odds, against all fears. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.  

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 

[sainz100]

some more Daniel moments from the 2024 Azerbaijan GP

[crossbackpoke-check]

Fixed point (mathematics) // The History of Perspective // "Point of Disappearance", Dennis Held // How the Hughes hockey family stays grounded // Fixed Point Photography-- // "Portrait of A.", Tung-Hui Hu // Mic'd Up | Hughes NHL 25 cover shoot // "Burnt Norton", T.S. Eliot // "Circuitry", Janine Joseph // Bruce Bennett // Nick Wass // from obedience [maybe one day, during a point in time], kari edwards // Bill Rapai // "Errand Upon Which We Came", Stephanie Strickland // Benchmark (surveying)

art kid luke hughes

[bethsvrse]

★ WHISPER CHALLENGE ★

PAIRING Hugh Jackman x actress!reader

WARNINGS little spicy at the end but other then that it’s just fluff

The lights brighten, the band strikes up a tune, and the studio audience is buzzing with excitement. Jimmy Fallon’s voice cuts through the noise with his signature infectious energy.

“Welcome back, everyone!” Jimmy Fallon’s voice booms over the studio, pulling the crowd’s attention back to the stage. “Tonight, we have a very special guest with us! She’s an incredible actress, a producer, a writer, and she just so happens to be starring in the new film Little Light. Please give it up for Y/N Jackman!”

You step onto the stage, beaming as the audience erupts into cheers and applause. You wave, offering them that warm, genuine smile you’ve perfected over the years. Settling into the guest chair, you take a moment to appreciate the atmosphere—there’s something so alive about being on Jimmy’s show.

Jimmy beams at you, leaning forward in his chair, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “I have to say, Y/N, it’s great to have you back. You’re always such a fun guest, and now you’re starring in Little Light — which I’ve heard so many incredible things about. It’s a powerful story.”

You nod, crossing one leg over the other as you settle in. “Yes, uh Little Light is really close to my heart. It’s about a mother who experiences a miscarriage and finds an unexpected connection with her neighbor’s granddaughter, who’s staying with her grandmother for the summer.”

Jimmy nods, looking thoughtful. “That sounds like such a moving story, I’m so excited to watch it. And—if I’m not mistaken—you’re starring in the movie alongside your own daughter, River?”

A smile crosses your face, a mix of pride and affection filling your voice. “Yes, that’s right. River plays the granddaughter in the film, and she’s absolutely phenomenal. I mean, I’m biased, obviously, but she blew me away on set. She’s 16 now and really coming into her own as an actress. She’s got such natural talent, and working with her… it’s been such an incredible experience.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and Jimmy grins, his eyes widening in that playful way he has. “Sixteen?! She’s already acting with her mum—how cool is that?”

“Yeah, sixteen going on thirty, I swear,” you joke, shaking your head with a smile. “But, to be honest, it hasn’t been easy. With her rising career, my work, Hugh’s work, we’re constantly on the move. It’s hard to balance everything sometimes. And right now, she’s back at the hotel, actually. She wasn’t feeling too great, so she’s watching this on TV, probably critiquing every word I say.” You chuckle and wave at the camera. “Hey, sweetie! Get well soon, I love you.” You added with a small kiss to the camera.

Jimmy leans forward conspiratorially. “So, does she give you notes after interviews like this?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you reply, grinning. “She’ll text me after every appearance like, ‘Mum, why did you say that?’ or ‘You looked a bit awkward there.’ She’s brutally honest. But I love it.”

Jimmy laughs along with you before shifting in his chair. “You know, something else I heard… and you can tell me if this is true… you haven’t seen Hugh in almost a year?”

“Sadly, that is correct,” you say with a wistful sigh. “With Little Light being an Australian movie, we filmed it there—which, don’t get me wrong, was absolutely amazing to be back home—but it meant that River and I were always across the world. We’d typically be filming in America, so a 10-hour flight was manageable to visit Hugh. But an 18-hour one? Neither of us could do it with filming so it’s been tough. FaceTime has been our best friend at the moment,” you joked with a small laugh, trying to lighten the tension in the room that Jimmy could definitely feel, not so much the audience though.

Jimmy looks genuinely sympathetic. “That’s gotta be so hard, especially after all this time together. But you two… you’ve been through a lot, and you always seem to make it work.”

You nod appreciatively. “We do. We’ve been married for a long time now, and we’ve gotten pretty good at the long-distance thing. But it’s never easy. The reunions, though… those are always something special.”

After some more laughs and talking about the movie, it’s time for the commercial break. You sip some water, chatting briefly with Jimmy off-camera, as the stagehands move around preparing for the next segment.

As the cameras roll back on, Jimmy is already in game mode. “Alright, Y/N! You know we love to play games here, so I figured we’d try something a little fun,” he says, holding up a pair of headphones.

You laugh softly, already anticipating whatever wild challenge is coming. “Oh boy, what have you got in store for me, Jimmy?”

“We’re gonna play the ‘Whisper Challenge!’” he announces, holding up the headphones for the audience to see. “I’m going to wear these headphones and try to guess what you’re saying while I listen to loud music, then it’ll be your turn. Sound good?”

You nod, leaning back in your chair with a playful glint in your eyes. “Sounds great!“

Jimmy slips on his headphones and gives you a thumbs-up. The music starts blasting in his ears, and you mouth the phrase silently, moving your lips in exaggerated fashion.

Jimmy squints at you, clearly baffled. “Uh… Salad dressing?” he guesses.

The audience erupts into laughter as you shake your head, mouthing the phrase again.

“Santa’s resting?” Jimmy tries again, causing another round of laughter.

You give him one more exaggerated mouth of the phrase. “Shopping center?” He said confused, “I’m so bad at this,” he said, much more loudly then he meant form the music coming from his head phones.

You repeated the words once more, putting on as much emphasis as you could and you watched as Jimmy’s face lit up. “Little Light! Little Light!” He said excitedly before taking off his headphones, “it was little light right?” He asked almost worried.

You let out a small laugh with a nod, “yes, yes it was little light.”

“Whew! I was worried I’d never get that one. I wasn’t even close as well, Santa’s resting? Where did I get that,” Jimmy chuckles, slipping off his headphones and shaking his head in amusement. “Alright, your turn!”

He hands you the headphones, and as you place them over your ears, you give him a grin. The loud music blasts into your ears almost immediately, and you can't help but laugh to yourself—this was definitely River’s favorite song. She’d been playing it nonstop in the car, at home… pretty much everywhere.

Jimmy raises his voice slightly to speak over the music, “What’s playing?”

You respond without thinking, still adjusting the headphones so they were no longer on your ears. “What? Oh shit—wait, are we playing yet?! Sorry for swearing! My bad!” you blurt out, the apology spilling out before you even register Jimmy laughing across from you.

“No, no! You’re good!” Jimmy reassures you, still chuckling. “I asked you what song was playing.” He repeated

“It’s murder on the dance floor,” you answered, “River absolutely loves this song.” You added, flashing him a sheepish grin before putting the headphones back on. The game begins, and as Jimmy starts mouthing words, you do your best to concentrate, squinting as if that might help you somehow decipher the movements of his lips.

“your husband is behind you.” He said, emphasing the word.

You tilt your head, not quite catching what he said. “The tour is behind me? What?” You shrug, honestly still a little distracted by the music.

The audience suddenly bursts into loud cheers, and you notice the energy in the room shift. Your brow furrows in confusion as you glance back at Jimmy, who’s now practically glowing with excitement. He repeats himself slowly, exaggerating every word, “YOUR HUSBAND… IS BEHIND YOU.”

Before you can even process what he’s saying, you feel a pair of hands gently land on your shoulders. You jump slightly, your headphones slipping off as you whirl around—only to see Hugh standing right there, grinning down at you.

Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open in shock. Without thinking, you spin in your chair, shifting to kneel on the cushion so you can throw your arms around him. The audience erupts into applause and cheers as you hug him tightly, not even caring that you’re half-perched on the chair. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second, savoring the moment of finally having him close after so long apart.

Hugh chuckles softly, his voice warm and full of affection. “Missed me?”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, still in disbelief. “You have no idea,” you whisper, your smile so big it almost hurts. “Oh my god.”

Jimmy laughs, clapping his hands together as the audience’s cheers grow louder. "Hugh Jackman, everybody!" he calls out, standing up and joining in the applause.

Hugh gives a small wave to the audience before turning his attention back to you. You’re still in shock, hands covering your mouth as you try to comprehend what just happened. The cameras catch every second of your raw, genuine reaction, and it’s clear to everyone that this moment means everything to you.

Jimmy, ever the showman, grins and says, “I think we just had the best Whisper Challenge moment in history right here!”

You laugh, watching as Hugh comes to sit next to you. “I did not expect that. You sneaky bastard,” you joke, playfully swatting his arm.

Hugh chuckles, his arm resting behind you. “I figured I’d surprise you, and when Jimmy reached out to me about it, I thought, ‘Why not?’ It’s been way too long.”

Jimmy leans forward, loving every second of this wholesome interaction. “So, Hugh, how did you manage to keep this a secret from Y/N?”

“Oh, it wasn’t easy,” Hugh admits, smirking. “I had to avoid every FaceTime call for the last few days so I wouldn’t slip up. But it was worth it.”

You shake your head, still smiling, feeling your heart swell with happiness. “I can’t believe you pulled this off.”

Hugh chuckles, taking your hand in his. “It was just too good of an opportunity to pass up.”

Jimmy sits back down, looking at Hugh with newfound enthusiasm. “Alright, Hugh, now that you’re here, I’ve gotta ask—how excited are you to see Little Light?”

Hugh’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m thrilled! I’ve seen some early footage, and it’s incredible. I tried to get Y/N to show me more but she won’t budge.”

You laugh, looking over at him lovingly, “just because your my husband doesn’t mean you get special treatment.” You teased

“I showed you unreleased Deadpool and Wolverine footage!” Hugh defended with a smile.

“You wanted to! You said you desperately needed someone to talk to about it because Ryan was annoying you.” You replied

“I did not say that. Stop putting words in my mouth,” he says with a small shake of his head but still having a smile on his face.

“I’m not putting words in your mouth! If anything River is because she told me that’s what you said on the phone!” You said, Hugh letting out a laugh, muttering of course she did under his breath.

“Speaking of River, what do you think about her acting career? I mean, she’s following in her parents’ footsteps in a big way.” Jimmy asked with a smile

Hugh’s face softens with pride as he talks about his daughter. “I’m incredibly proud of her. She’s got so much talent and dedication. Watching her grow and develop her craft has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. She’s worked so hard, and seeing her succeed is just amazing. We have to get all of us in a film together.” He added with a soft laugh.

“I’m sure she’s jumping up and down in the hotel room because she gets to see her dad again.” Jimmy smiles.

“I can actually call her,” Hugh mentions casually as he brings out his phone.

“Oh my god, yes.” Jimmy nodded, leaning in as it rang.

“You can get mad at her for being sick,” you told Jimmy with a smirk.

The phone rings a few more times before River picks up, her voice immediately full of energy. “Oh my god,I can’t believe you’re here!” She explained happily. “I wish I was there. Why the hell did I have to be sick today of all days.” She sighed, “I do have to say that if you don’t come straight to the hotel after the interview I will genuinely never speak to you again.”

Hugh laughs softly, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "You heard that, right? No pressure or anything." He looks at you and Jimmy with a grin.

"She’s got you wrapped around her little finger, doesn’t she?" Jimmy teases, leaning forward as if he’s sharing a secret.

You nod, chiming in with a smirk, “Completely. He doesn’t stand a chance.”

River’s voice comes through the speaker, playfully annoyed. “Mum, don’t gang up on him! I’m sick, remember?”

“Oh trust me, I know,” you say, feigning seriousness. “I’m the one who had to watch The Office with you for the past two days.”

Hugh chuckles, shaking his head. “You love it, admit it.”

“I do, I do, I got to baby her again so it was great,” you confess with a laugh, before addressing River again. “Alright, sweetie, we’ll come straight to the hotel after this, I promise.”

“You’d better,” River replies, her tone softening. “Love you both. Get through the rest of the interview, then come hang out with your sick daughter.”

“Love you too,” Hugh says before hanging up the call, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He leans back in his chair, looking content. “She’s always keeping us on our toes.”

Jimmy smiles warmly, looking between the two of you. “I’ve gotta say, you three are the definition of family goals. I love it.”

You glance at Hugh, sharing a knowing look before turning back to Jimmy. “We’re pretty lucky, that’s for sure.”

“Well, I think that’s a perfect note to wrap things up. Y/N, Hugh, thank you both so much for being here. It’s been an absolute pleasure. And Hugh, it’s always great to have you. Don’t forget, everyone—go see Little Light in cinemas August 14th, and mark your calendars for Deadpool and Wolverine on July 26th!” Jimmy says with a large smile.

The interview wraps with a warm round of applause, and as soon as the cameras stop rolling, you and Hugh exchange quick smiles with Jimmy before stepping off the stage. The lights dim, and the lively hum of the audience fades into the background as you make your way toward the backstage area. Hugh’s arm wraps around your waist, drawing you closer as you navigate the narrow hallway.

As soon as you’re inside the dressing room, the tension hits like a wave. Hugh’s hand doesn’t leave your side, fingers brushing your waist like he’s scared you’ll slip away again. The door barely clicks shut before his lips crash into yours—no hesitation, no holding back, just pure need after a year of waiting.

You melt into him immediately, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging in as if you need to make sure he’s solid, that this isn’t just another dream of him that you’ll wake up from alone. The kiss deepens, hot and urgent, months of distance and longing pouring into it. The way he holds you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, makes your heart skip.

Your back hits the door with a thud, and you can’t help but smile into the kiss, breathless but teasing as you mumble against his lips, “You know... someone might hear us.”

His lips curve into a grin, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, forehead resting against yours, his eyes dark with hunger. His hands slide down your body, fingers tightening at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. “Let them,” he breathes, voice low, almost a growl. “I don’t give a damn. I’ve waited a whole fucking year for this. For you. Let the whole world hear.”

Your laugh comes out soft, shaky, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s trying to keep pace with his. You let your hands wander down his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. “I missed you too,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. Then you pull him back into a kiss—this one slower, more deliberate, but still burning with the intensity that’s been building for far too long.

Every touch, every brush of his lips against yours, feels like it’s pulling you deeper into him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself give in. His hands explore, tracing your sides, your back, reacquainting themselves with every inch of you. You respond in kind, your hands sliding beneath his shirt, fingers mapping the familiar lines of his torso, rediscovering every scar, every dip and ridge of muscle.

The kiss breaks only when you’re both gasping for air, but even then, neither of you pulls away. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing, and for a moment, the world fades away. It’s just the two of you, the rest of the universe outside that door forgotten.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight as if he can’t believe you’re really here. “I thought about you every day,” he admits, his voice barely a whisper, rough with emotion. “I couldn’t stop. I tried. But nothing... nothing feels right without you.”

Your heart clenches at his words, and you pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cupping his face. “I know,” you whisper back, your voice soft but steady. “Me too.”

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. It’s not just about need anymore—it’s about the connection, about being with the one person who feels like home. You don’t need to speak; the way his hands hold you, the way his lips move against yours, says it all.

Looks like River might need to hold off a bit longer before she gets to see her dad again.

[r0ttenhearts]

wasted on you |||

idol scaramouche x reader

part Ii

“ohmygosh, have you heard 4nemo’s new single?

“it’s sooo good (y/n!) you have to listen to it.”

“who’s your favorite one? mine would have to be scaramouche.”

your smile would always falter at the mention of his name. not like your friends ever knew you were acquaintanced with the idol group. “i don’t really like idol stuff, it’s not my thing.” you would always brush them off, refusing to take one of their earbuds to listen to the songs they wanted to show you.

hearing scaramouche’s voice again wouldn’t help you, not when you’ve gotten this far. not when you’ve moved on from him.

with college exams over and the end of your final year coming to a close you found yourself with nothing but time. with time came too many thoughts that would tumble around in your mind. too many what if’s and what could have been’s had plagued your mind since leaving scaramouche there backstage.

leaving him was so difficult, but being without him felt harder. you couldn’t help but sigh, now sitting alone in your room as the memories came back to you.

memories of splitting popsicles with him, after rehearsal drinks with his friends, smoking in a field together one of the rare times he was free from his filled schedule.

sometimes you couldn’t help but miss it. but then came the.. not so pleasant memories. the tears, the sore throat after screaming at each other, the way he’d always leave after an argument.

“please, scara! i just want you here with me. just this once. it’s been three years. give me this at least, please. i haven’t seen you in so long.”

remembering your own pleads to him never failed to make your heart ache. it still felt as if there was something unresolved, even after giving him his engagement ring back.

“i don’t wanna fucking see you (y/n)! id rather spend time with my friends doing something i enjoy than wasting my time with you.”

here comes the waterworks. tears would prick in the corners of your eyes when you remembered his tone that day. that angry look on his face.. he never looked so bothered before. it scared you so much that you still remembered it now, two years later.

it was strange seeing him on billboards and ads all across town and even on your own phone. in contrast to the angry glare he held for you, but an indifferent look to the public. would he still look at you that way? or would he look at you the same way he would everyone else?

curiosity got the best of you as you tapped on your phone, looking up his profile on instagram. there he was, looking the same as ever. maybe a little thinner but he still looked as beautiful as the day you left him.

a small smile graced your lips for a moment before it fell, seeing how much fun he had been having with his friends. you still kept in contact with kazuha, but never bothered to ask about him. you both knew it wouldn’t be good for you, so it was an unspoken rule.

“at least he’s doing well..” you mumbled to yourself before shutting off your phone. groaning internally, you knew this was a problem you had to deal with. this constant turmoil inside your head.

you decided you’d put an end to this. once and for all. you thought up a plan before texting kazuha, telling him what you wanted to resolve. despite his gentle warnings you wouldn’t listen. you just had to get through to him! make him understand your reasoning.

eventually kazuha gave in, and now you were standing in the pit to one of their concerts. it made you feel queasy remembering the last time you attended one. with your head hung low you waited for the group to start, they were opening for another up and coming idol group. it almost made you smile seeing scaramouche walk on stage with that glittery white outfit. the same glare on his features as before. he didn’t change, did he?

that sentiment making anxiety well up inside of you. you didn’t know how he would take it. seeing you again after so long. but you didn’t want him to know you were there to begin with, so you hid away from view, angled at a way that you could still watch them perform.

watching them now reminded you of one of the first concerts you ever went to of theirs, thanks to scaramouche getting tickets for you. that feeling of bubbling excitement and anxiousness when they were still so early in their career. you used to genuinely hope that they would make it, and they did!

his singing was stronger than it used to be, voice full of emotions as his eyes were fixated on the mic. a part of you missed this. coming to his shows, watching him give his all to the crowd of people that came just to see him and his friends.

as the group left the stage you sent a text to kazuha, walking away from the crowd and to the meeting spot he had told you about. it wasn’t like you didn’t already know where they were going, they always went to the same bar after every performance.

pushing open the grimy doors to the bar, you could see his back as you walked in. scaramouche was sitting at a table with his friends, drink in hand already as you walked up to them. you pulled out a seat next to scaramouche, crossing your arms over your chest as the guys looked at you excitedly, scaramouche not sharing the same sentiment.

“hey guys, long time no see.” heizou laughed loudly, patting scaramouche on his shoulder as they left the table. now it was just you and scaramouche.

he held this look of shock on his face, like he’d seen a ghost. his mouth slightly opening and closing, almost like a fish.

“hey.” you said softly, putting your hand on his arm. “are you real?” he asked you, now looking directly at you rather than trying not to meeting your gaze.

“of course i am, what do you mean by that? have you been dreaming about me too?” you ask, half joking but half serious as he had been plaguing your dreams for the past few months.

“don’t say things like that (y/n)..” he spoke quietly, taking a sip of his beer. you nod silently, watching him take a sip of his drink.

“i know, this is kind of weird. especially since i’m the one that left you but, it’s been haunting me. and i just want to talk.” you admit to him, looking down at your hands. suddenly your nails seemed much more interesting than to look at him.

“yeah, i think we’re due for that.” he said before sliding his drink over, taking your hands in his without warning. “look, (y/n). i know that back then i wasn’t great to you, far from it actually. i’ve thought about what you said to me that night ever since. i’m not asking for your forgiveness, nor am i asking you to get back together with me. but i just want you to know that i’m sorry. i regret wasting us, wasting what we had. i do love being an idol, but it doesn’t give me the same satisfaction as i got when i was with you.”

you nodded silently at his words, looping your arms around his neck as you hugged him. the words you had longed to hear were now finally being said. “that’s all i wanted.” you spoke quietly in his ear, your voice cracking with tears. “i just wanted that from you scara.”

you wiped your tears away as you pulled back, taking one of his hands in both of yours. “i want to be in your life again, not as lovers, not yet. but as friends. i’ve missed you all this time.” scaramouche nodded, taking his free hand and placing it on top of yours. “i can work with that.”

what you both didn’t see were the rest of the boys from 4nemo watching the scene unfold from the bar window. heizou’s loud cheering being shushed by xiao as both of your heads whipped to the window, red covering your faces in embarrassment.

taglist: @lemons4u @foxkunwoof @s-h-i-r-o-8-1 @felixilations @kaxukaxu @angelofdarkness2 @trxshhsstufftatsumimiko @ycugtf @nervouseaglelover @whorerificstuff @samarill

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part III) | frater imperator x reader

(part I) (part II)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | your first trip together ends on a sour note as some of your suppressed concerns about your relationship begin to show, but a delayed wedding reception might turn it all around.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 6.7k (fucking hell)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | jealousy/insecurity, MORE heathers references for some reason???, alcohol consumption/slight intoxication, nothing too bad but I swear the slowburn is almost... burnt, or whatever just bear with me

The next day of your visit to Brussels was mostly boring meetings; you almost wanted to ask him why you both had to travel all this way to do the same things you always did, but ultimately you did understand the value of this trip even if it wasn’t especially exciting.  And though you weren’t really capable of assisting with any of the business side of things, you figured out after a while that you were mainly here just to be here— because it would be weird if you weren’t.  Because it would be, for lack of a better word, suspicious if a newly-married couple were traveling separately.

So, you were here, sitting beside him as he and the clergy of the local church discussed various important topics— mission work, ministry, how best to spread the message of Satan and bring in the age of the antichrist… you know, the usual.

His hand rested on your leg again— maybe a little higher than before?  You weren't certain, but it made you smile to yourself as you tuned out the boring conversation going on around you.

You glanced down at the leather-covered hand by your knee, his fingers moving slightly; the silver grucifix embossed on the back shined in this light.  Absent-mindedly, you traced it with one finger, not even noticing that it made him look over at you— not even really appreciating that his hand was still under there, and could probably feel you drawing shapes over his skin.

“Frater,” a clergyman interjected sternly, “do you have a response?”

You'd both totally zoned out, and were quickly brought back to reality; Copia jolted in his chair and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter.  Worst of all, he took his hand off your leg to clasp them both together in his lap.  “I-I’m sorry?” he coughed.  “I fear I lost my train of thought, could you repeat the question?”

“Don’t ask Frater Imperator so many complex things so early in the morning,” Comis scolded his fellow cardinal, “he didn’t get much sleep last night— non?”

He wore a lopsided grin as he playfully elbowed Copia in the side, who nervously reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, well— eh— I just lost focus for a moment, is all…”

“Sure,” Comis agreed sarcastically.  “Maybe we should take a break, anyhow.  Give us all a chance to stretch our legs.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed quickly, mainly just jumping on any chance to get out of this stuffy room and personal conversation.

The meeting room had a sort of lobby outside— or maybe it would be called a parlour?  A sitting room?  You weren’t really sure, but it was fancy; there was tea and little cakes and things, the whole place was so detail-oriented like that.

Copia was busy making small talk with some clergymen and women, while you were nursing a cup of lemon-water just to have something to do with your hands.

You heard someone coming up the stairs but didn’t think much of it at first.  “Sister Imperator,” a Sister greeted you— though you didn’t really process it until she reached out and touched your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Consortia,” you added once you realized she was addressing you.  “Sister Imperator Consortia.  Sister Imperator was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh, yes— I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered gently.

You realized they were under the assumption that you knew her much better— maybe you would’ve if you’d been dating Copia before marrying him like, you know, most people do.  Instead of trying to explain, you just accepted her sympathies with a nod; it was a loss, after all, just not as personal as she might’ve imagined.

“I thought you might want to visit our convent,” she suggested.

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, nervously glancing over your shoulder at Copia as he sipped on a glass of water, “I—”

“He’ll be just fine,” she promised, leaning into you and lowering her voice.  “He knows meetings like the back of his hand.”

And he’ll probably fare better without me touching the back of his hand…

Nodding in agreement, you slipped out of the sitting room and followed her.

The woman introduced herself as Sister Nomina and guided you through the winding halls— Cardinal Comis had shown you the wing that housed the convent the night before on his tour, so you knew where it was, but you hadn’t been inside yet.  

“We keep a garden,” Sister Nomina explained, “and we have some outreach programs— an orphanage, a literacy program.  But nothing compared to what your church is doing!”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I suppose our reputation precedes us…”

“It must be very exhilarating, being in the Church of Ghost,” she presumed with a wide smile. 

“Well, I wish I could take more credit for all the work that's been done,” you 

The two of you arrived at the convent; visually it was similar to the one you'd been living in up until recently, but the inhabitants were quite different.  For one, they dressed a bit differently, and seemed to be more lenient with uniform (Sister Imperator would've never let that fly back home…).  And for another thing, they were much more excited to see you than anybody in your convent would've been on any given day. 

Actually, a group of nuns flocking to you excited reminded you of that day of the fateful clergy meeting— it felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Ladies, Sister Imperator Consortia from Linkoping,” Nomina introduced you to the group of women surrounding you, before reversing to introducing all of them to you.  “Sisters Mila, Lascivia, Camille, Perita, and Triette.”

“Lovely to meet you all,” you nodded, smiling warmly. 

“Give her some room, ladies, please!“ Nomina scolded gently, shooing them back with her hands until they took a few steps away from you. Admittedly, you appreciated the extra breathing room.

“Everybody's been looking forward to your visit immensely,” Nomina justified. “I hope you don't mind answering a few of their questions.”

“Of course not!”

Sister Camille piped up quickly: “As Sister Imperator Consortia, what responsibilities do you have?”

“W-well, I'm not qualified to serve on the clergy,” you explained, “because I wasn't nominated by the clergy— I was nominated, well, by my husband. So, mainly my job is to support him…”

“Did you grow up in the church?” Sister Perita asked politely.

“Well, yes and no,” you replied.  “I wasn’t raised a Satanist, so not in the traditional sense— but I ran away to join the church when I was still just a teenager… ever since then, up until rather recently, I was living in convents much like this one.”

That seemed to surprise Sister Triette.  “You really were another Sister of Sin, just like us?” she observed.

It wasn’t until then that you realized they didn't just find you interesting, but that they looked up to you— a role model of sorts, a Sister like them who was perceived as achieving some kind of greatness; it was sweet, even if you felt their admiration was misplaced.  “Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“Did you work closely with the Papa?” Sister Mila asked.

“No, my role mostly involved stewardship, administration, occasional gardening—”

That seemed to confuse them.  “So, then, how'd you fall in love?” Sister Perita wondered.

Your eyes widened; maybe you should've seen some of these questions coming and had answers prepared, but you were completely caught off-guard in that moment.  “O-oh, um, it's not a very interesting story…”

“No no, please!  We've all been dying to know since we heard you two were coming!” Camille insisted.

The Sisters leaned in excitedly in anticipation; you hadn't realized the news of your marriage had so much impact.  Then again, Copia was technically a celebrity— you just weren't used to his popularity outside of your own church.  “You're not all just trying to get pointers to seducing clergy so you can get a promotion, right?” you wondered with a frown.

“No!  We just want to hear how you two met,” Perita explained, “and how you realized you loved each other— and how he proposed!”

They all clapped and giggled excitedly, but all you could manage was a nervous grin.  The real story was definitely not going to satisfy them; you felt guilty imagining disappointing them with some clinical explanation of it all.  “W-well, how we met is sort of… obvious, I guess.  We met in Mass, when he was the Papa— he served me communion.  I didn't know him as a cardinal, I hadn't moved to his church yet, but he… well, I was pretty intimidated by him.  You can't blame me— it's the Papa, after all…”

Up until then, you had told the truth— but you started, for lack of a better term, winging it at that point.

“The first time we spoke— it was an unexpected thing, you see.  We bumped into each other, literally; I wasn't paying attention and he was rushing to get to a clergy meeting— I helped him pick up some books he’d dropped.” 

Clichéd?  Absolutely, but you felt like that was ultimately what they wanted to here: a too-good-to-be-true story about how an ordinary Sister was swept off her feet by such an important man.  Why the Papa would be running around carrying a stack of books is an absurd question for another day…

“We got to talking… we had more in common than we expected.  We bonded over—” you fought back a smirk as you figured out an easy lie— “slushies, actually. He said that traveling with the band meant hardly ever being in the same place, but that there was almost always a convenience store with slushies wherever he was. They became a comfort, I suppose.”

You decided not to go on and say that the two of you had played strip croquet together… probably too obvious of a reference.

“We were just friends for some time, but eventually we started to grow real feelings for each other,” you concluded simply.

They broke out into a collective aww; “What's he like?  You know, when he's not in front of so many people.”

“Um… he's not that different, I guess,” you mumbled, “maybe not as dramatic.  But he's so sensitive, too, and gentle…”

“I’ve always thought he would be that way,” Sister Lascivia agreed, “but intense, too, you know— like, dominating.”

You choked on your own throat for a second.  Why were you thinking about him at all?  “U-um, what makes you say that?” you wondered.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a grin, “he just seems that way.”

“Y-you mean, on stage?” you pressed, but the line of questioning shifted suddenly when Sister Perita interrupted.

“And the proposal?  It must have been some fantastic gesture!” she assumed.  “Only fitting for a rockstar, right?”

“You’d think, but he doesn't really act like that… he's so humble.  Actually, it was very intimate,” you decided.  “He knows I can get a little overwhelmed with those big crowds, so instead we went out in a— um, little rowboat onto the lake nearby our church, right around sunset, and watched the stars come out… he played a little guitar for me, just to be nice because he knows I love how he plays— and then under the full moon, he told me that, uh…”

Why was your heart racing?  Why could you picture it so clearly in your mind, as if you weren’t just making it all up as you went along?

“That meeting me had made his heart whole,” you concluded.  “That he couldn't go on unless he knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… and he showed me the ring and— and, you know, all that.  Of course, I said yes right away.”

“Oh wow,” Sister Mila cooed— she looked as close to having heart-shaped irises as you’d ever seen anyone in real life.

But of course, another had to chime in as well: “And you don't get jealous, knowing how popular he is?  Plenty of people would kill for your spot, you know.”

You willed your eye not to twitch.  “He's, um… he's never given me any reason to be jealous,”   He's loyal, he always has been, even when we were just dating.  B-but we didn't date very long before we married…”

You realized you couldn’t retroactively ascribe some kind of fidelity to him— after all, he’d been a rockstar (as Perita had put it) on tour… 

And he’d been to this church before.  Your heart almost stopped as the sick thought entered your mind that he could’ve, potentially, hooked up with any of the people in this room; certainly Sister Lascivia would’ve probably jumped him if she got the chance, but she was far from the only candidate.  Come on, he was Papa fucking Emeritus the fucking IV, he had his pick of the litter if he so desired.

You knew it shouldn’t make any difference to you, you knew it was none of your business and you had no right to worry about it— but just the idea of him with one of them— with anyone—

“I guess he married you so quickly because he loves you so much,” Sister Nomina smiled.

You smiled back, even if you felt like you were still trying to keep bile down.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“And now you’re married to the head of the clergy; it’s like a fairytale or something!” Sister Mila beamed, clutching her hands together.

What kind of fairytales is this girl reading? “It all really has nothing to do with his status— Frater, Papa, Cardinal, he could be a janitor for all I care,” you assured her.  “I married him because he's the most patient, talented, generous man—”

You noticed the way many of them seemed to straighten up suddenly, the way Sister Perita’s eyes widened, and you spun over your shoulder to see Copia sauntering up behind you.  He had a good poker face, but there was an obvious smugness to it.  “What’s that they say?  Speak of the devil?” he mused as he leaned against the doorway.

“Oh, hello… dear,” you blurted out— seems you’d used up all your creativity on that fake meet-cute and proposal, didn’t have any left for a good term of endearment.  

“You’re not telling stories again, are you?” he asked, approaching you slowly, the slightest swagger in his step.

“Everyone’s very curious about you,” you explained.

“No, I don’t think so,” he denied, “they already know about me— they’re curious about us.”

Us sounded so nice when he said it like that.  He touched your shoulder for a moment, sliding his hand down to clasp at your upper arm.  Paradoxically, he acted more confident with an audience; you couldn’t tell if this was for your benefit, or theirs.

“Don’t go running off without me, hm?” he scolded sweetly.

“Yes, Frater,” you answered politely, wondering afterwards if it was too formal.

It didn’t seem to deter him: he brought his hand to your chin and held it delicately, keeping your head tilted up towards him.  “I worry when I lose sight of you,” he explained.  “We have to get ready for Mass soon, will you meet me at the chancel before the service begins?”

“Of course,” you agreed, smiling a little as he looked down at you so… lovingly?  Could that be the word?

You wondered if he would kiss you right then— you hadn’t kissed in public since your first kiss, and you thought you wanted to keep it that way… but wouldn’t it be a little fun, to show him off just a bit in front of these ladies?  Wouldn’t it be the best way to rub it in that he chose you?

Instead he only stroked your jaw with his thumb for a second, before letting go of you and stepping back.  He gave only one moment of attention to the women around you— with a quick bow of greeting and a polite “Sisters” — before spinning on his heel and departing.

You pressed your lips together and kept your eyes on the door even after he was gone; there was a heavy silence until the echoes of his steps down the hall faded.  Then they all broke into the squealy, girlish reactions you were expecting.

“Great Belial below!” “He’s so sensual!” “You can tell he’s completely enamoured with you!”

“O-oh, enamoured?” you repeated sheepishly.  “I don’t know, he’s just— like that…”

But your face warmed and you had to reach up to partially cover it with your hand— you didn’t want them to see your growing smile, in case someone asked why you were so giddy over a small interaction with your own husband.  

You departed from the convent not too long after that, knowing you didn’t have much time before Mass began and wanting to give yourself time to navigate to the chapel.  A walk through the church alone would’ve been a nice opportunity to clear your head, if your head was actually capable of clearing— but no, instead it was swirling with memories.  Memories all the way back as that first time he served you the body and blood, when he’d apparently taken an interest in you which eventually lead to this; memories as recent as the way he’d touched you just before.

Did it still make you feel a little nauseous knowing Sister Lascivia— and likely tens of thousands of other people— were somewhere out there thinking about how dominating he must be?  Yes, but you also felt a little proud of yourself… because that’s all they had, their thoughts.  You actually had a shot at finding out for yourself.

If you ever found the nerve, that is; regardless, you tried to push that thought process aside and actually listen to the priest as he officiated Mass that evening.  Of course, you really weren’t able to do that until being mentioned by name got your attention.

“And we have some visitors this Mass!” the priest announced.  “Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia—they’ve come all the way from the church of Ghost in Sweden!  Give them a warm welcome, will you?”

As the congregation applauded, Copia stood up; you followed suit quickly, getting a good look at the sea of people in pews all looking at you both.  You hadn’t seen a crowd like this since your wedding.  

Your smile was genuine but flustered when Copia placed his decorated hand on your shoulder; it already made your heart tremble when he did it in front of a few Sisters of Sin, this was on a whole new level.  He guided you a little closer to him, tucking you into his side, and you looked out over the massive crowd before glancing at the glove on your shoulder— namely, the wedding ring on it.

Then you looked at his face, at how polite and distinguished he looked standing before all these people.  “What do I do?” you asked your husband in a whisper.

“Hm?” he pressed, only briefly glancing at you.

“With all this attention,” you clarified, “what am I meant to do?”

“Just smile,” he encouraged.  “All they want is to see you.  Just give them a smile, maybe a little wave if you’re feeling generous.”

He was a showman, he knew what he was doing— you tried to copy him, with moderate success.  It was comforting, somehow, to see him in his element.  Unfortunately, how comfortable he was here only served as kindling for the flame of insecurity in the back of your mind.  Because he’s him, and you’re just… you.

And there in that sea of congregation members were plenty of those people you’d had mentioned to you before: the ones who would kill to have your spot.

~

“You should be proud of yourself,” he grinned as he took his seat across from you on the jet once again— it felt like so much had happened since the last time you were here.  “You shouldn’t be so adverse to social engagements, you’re a natural.”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed a bit, “but I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.  You made it easier for me.”

“They love you already, darling,” he promised, and the casual affectionate name made you smile even more, though you tried to hide it from him.  “So does everyone back at our church— anyone who knows you would, really.”

Your heart swelled, but you just hummed and looked away in lieu of responding.  

Of course, as soon as your heart was happy, your brain had to pop in and ruin it: that smile on Sister Lascivia’s face, the way she was so clearly picturing your husband in some kind of compromising way.  And the horrible, sick idea that maybe she didn’t have to just imagine it.

Copia was already prepared for a quiet flight— he had his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, his chin resting on one of his hands as he read.  You looked at him for a moment, appreciating how calm he seemed to always be; sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same man with that rockstar reputation, but you knew it was too naive to assume just because he could be quiet that he must not have lived to the fullest in his time as the Papa.

You managed to distract yourself by watching out the window as the jet took off, but once you were high enough to break through the clouds, the view was basically just white light and was not nearly interesting enough to keep your mind occupied.

It shouldn’t have even mattered!  So what if he was a bit more intimately acquainted with someone you’d met on that trip?  It didn’t make any difference now.  Yet, it was all you could think of, and even knowing it would only bring you pain, you compared yourself to her— she was quite pretty, after all, even with that habit covering up most of her.  Maybe she was more his type… maybe she was exactly his type.

By that point you’d basically convinced yourself it was true, without any evidence at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but for some reason you couldn’t seem to hold back the words forming there.  “Do you know any of the Sisters there?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself.  “I-I mean, did you know any of them before today...”

“Eh… no, I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve been to the church before,” you recalled, “you know Comis.”

“Well, yes, he’s their main ambassador— Sisters come and go, you know.”

You nodded, and he looked back down at his book.  You let the moment rest for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.  “It’s just that—”

He sighed a little and shut his book.

“They seemed to be so fascinated by you,” you explained.  “I think you had quite a few fans there.”

“Fans?  You mean, the band?” he raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.  “Then that’s not me, is it?  I just sang for a while— I’m interchangeable, by design.”

“But still— you were, are, so popular.”

“Eh… if you say so…”

“Come on,” you tilted your head, a bit of frustration leaking into your tone, “don’t be like that— you know what you’re doing.”

He looked a little confused, if not almost hurt by the implied accusation of deceitfulness.  “What are you asking me about?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Your eyes widened when you heard yourself say it— you really couldn’t believe you’d just word-vomited it out like that.  He seemed a little shocked, too, but much more amused than anything.  You didn’t like it at all, the way he smiled; it made you feel even more stupid for asking it, for thinking it even.

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, “I shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have started this conversation while we’re trapped together for four hours, for one thing— “it’s not my place.  Forget I asked, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now now,” he cooed, “if it concerns you, then it matters.”

He was teasing you— dangling it in front of you.  “It doesn’t concern me,” you assured, “in every sense of the word— it’s none of my concern.”

“You look concerned.”

“Yes, but… that's my problem, not yours.”

He sighed, looking at you as if he were a little disappointed for some reason.  “Do you remember our vows, tesoro?”

You swallowed thickly.  Not really, I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced blackout.  “Uh…” you stalled.

“We agreed to care for each other, to share our hearts forever,” he reminded you.  “That means that if something upsets you, then it upsets me.  Even if you think it's silly— and from what I can tell, it's not.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes.  “It's silly to ask a famous musician if he slept with any fans— of course you did.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but surely not with the frequency you're imagining.  And not with anyone in Brussels, if that's any comfort.”

You crossed your arms over yourself self-consciously, looking out the window even though the cloudy scenery hadn't changed much.

“Of course I've had lovers before— you have too, I know.  I hope we won't hold that against each other.”

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.  “Obviously I never expected, or even wanted, either of us to be virginal or something, Satan forbid.  And there's nothing wrong with you meeting women on the road, either… it's just… is it wrong that thinking about it makes me kind of want to strangle someone?”

He laughed; “No,” he assured, “I don't think so.”

Unfortunately, he was right— that talking about it made you feel a little better.  

“Is it wrong that I think you're especially sexy when you're jealous?”

Your throat caught and you looked away from him quickly, holding your face in your hand as an excuse to cover it, but he obviously noticed the way you crossed your legs tightly.  His eyes raked over you, you could feel it somehow even when you were refusing to actually look back at him.

“I don’t think you have much right to be so shy, after asking me such personal questions,” he purred.  

“I-I’m not being shy,” you denied in a mumble, “I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“I hope it doesn’t offend you—”

“No!  No,” you assured quickly, letting go of your heated face to look down into your lap.  “You’re being sweet, thank you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he insisted.  “Let’s always tell each other that, alright?  Just the truth.”

You nodded in agreement, finding the strength to meet his gaze again; the look in his eyes was just like the one he’d had when he found you in the convent.  It must not have been just for show, then… 

“Promise you’ll get some rest while we fly,” he sighed, “we won’t be landing until the late evening and we have quite a day ahead tomorrow.”

You only remembered it right then: your wedding reception.  As if you hadn’t had enough excitement for a lifetime in this week already.

~

It was a unique reception in a number of ways, probably too many to count.  First of all, most receptions happen right after the wedding, of course— but late night Masses left little time for that.  Secondly, receptions usually have speeches and sentimental things for the families of the betrothed; while Copia’s family of phantasms were in attendance, they didn’t have much to say, and what could they say?  They didn’t even know you.  So, instead, your reception was much more of the good stuff: dancing, eating, drinking, and good old-fashioned partying.

And then there was, you know, the demonic statues and sacrifices.  But that, to you, wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

You were seated at the head table with him, watching the crowd in all their merriment, feeling an odd sense of pride— of responsibility for all this joy.  It wasn’t like you’d planned this, it was a gift from the clergy who had done the work of putting it together, but technically you were half of what was being celebrated.

Maybe it was just appreciation for home, after your trip to Brussels.  It was always nice to see familiar faces filled with joy.

He leaned in closer to you so you could hear him over the music as he spoke, and you felt his breath on your shoulder.  “I'm sorry we didn't have time for this sooner,” he said.

“Oh!  I wouldn't have known what to do if we'd done it any sooner,” you admitted with a laugh.  Not that you especially knew what to do now— but you at least, by now, knew how to fake knowing what to do.

“And I’m sorry we couldn’t do something a little more traditional,” he added.

“Traditional?” you repeated with a laugh.

“What’s that American thing, where they feed each other the wedding cake?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe we should have done that… I’ve always thought it looked sweet.”

You had no idea he had any opinions about things like that; it was endearing to imagine he ended up watching wedding videos at some point and wanted something like that for himself.  “Well, we can still do that another time,” you offered, “when there aren’t so many people watching.”

Again, you didn’t quite put together how that sounded until he cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened at bit; of course it sounded suggestive when you phrased it like that, how could you have not seen that coming?!

Before you could correct yourself, though— or decide if you actually did need to correct anything— the ghouls on the chancel began playing a familiar song.

It didn’t sound the same, of course, with another singer filling in, but you could so easily hear Copia’s voice in those words:  You'll soon be hearing the chime, close to midnight…

He stood up suddenly, and you looked up at him.  “May I have this dance, cara mia?” he asked with an extended hand.

You took it with a smile; “I think one of the privileges of marriage is that you don't have to ask me that.”

Guiding you to the dancefloor, it felt like one of those movie scenes with the way the crowd parted for you on their own.  Was there a spotlight on you or was that just your imagination?

One of the few things you'd known about him before marrying him was that he was quite a dancer— what you hadn't known until now was how much you enjoyed dancing.  He made it easy, guiding you through the moves so well that people would probably think you had more experience than you did.

You had every right to be nervous, and you were, but for the first time it felt sort of… good?  Surely the alcohol in your system was aiding you, but it wasn’t just that.  Your heart was racing but you didn’t feel the urge to run and hide; he was smiling at you, he was pulling you closer, and for just a few moments you were suddenly fearless.

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night

He spun and dipped you, making you laugh with exhilaration.  When he pulled you back up, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away… so determined, yet romantic and vulnerable.  A look you felt like only he could pull off.

If the song’s lyrics were some sort of manifestation, then it was working: you were totally bewitched by him.  It was just the two of you and the music playing, it was just his hands holding and guiding you, it was just this perfect moment that you could hardly believe was happening to you.  Weren’t you just an ordinary Sister this time two weeks ago?

You knew when the song was nearly over, and when he spun you one more time and pulled you into him, your hand came up to the side of his face, your leg lifted to slightly straddle his side… your eyes drifted down to his lips.

Just one more split-second and you would’ve kissed him.  Not just any kiss, you would’ve kissed him like you never had before— like nobody ever had before.  

But the crowd of people around you instead began to proudly clap and cheer, and it tore you out of the moment; honestly, you’d sort of forgotten you were surrounded by all the guests.  You looked away from Copia and smiled at the people who had watched you dance, hardly even noticing that he never stopped looking at you.

It went by too quickly— not just the song but the whole night.  All too soon, you were back in your room; ears still ringing, heart still thumping, and (less enjoyably) feet still a little bit sore from dancing in new shoes despite having changed into your night clothes and comfy socks already.

As Copia walked to his side of the bed in his own signature embroidered pyjamas, you fell back on the bed limply, laying your arms out wide and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh— a happy sigh of course, a does this night really have to end? sigh.  “That was wonderful,” you announced with a beaming smile.  “I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, but it was perfect.”

“I hoped you would,” Copia agreed.  “You've seemed so tense— I'm not sure I ever saw you looking so relaxed, and joyful… you look so beautiful that way.”

“Y-you don't have to flatter me,” you mumbled, pulling your arms back in towards yourself as tilted your head back to look at him— upside down, but still at him.

“Of course, I never would,” he assured, laying down carefully on the bed beside you.  “It's just the truth.  I bet everyone was as taken with you as I was… but only I got to dance with you.”

You smiled a little more softly, admiring how sweet he could be— a side of him you felt privileged to see so close.  You wanted to say something, but you really had no idea how to respond to a statement like that, or even how to just take the compliment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

“O-of course,” you answered, “you can tell me anything.”

“I-I'm a little embarrassed,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I… I've seen Heathers.”

You tilted your head, laughing in confusion.

“I don't know why I lied to you before,” he shook his head, “I know it quite well— I saw it in theaters when it was released!  I just— I thought— I'm not sure.  I guess I liked you explaining it to me.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked down at the bed under you sheepishly, as if your finger tracing the pattern on the quilt was fascinating all of a sudden.

“I wanted to give you an excuse to talk to me,” he added.

“You… you could've just… talked,” you told him quietly.  “It wasn't like I would've ignored you.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “but the moment never felt right.”

“How does the moment feel now?” you asked shyly.

“Oh, tesoro, everything about tonight feels perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat; everything?

You wondered, of course, if he would try something again; it was hard not to imagine that, since this was such a similar set of circumstances to that very first night.  But it felt so different, too— it felt less terrifying, for one thing, and less confusing.

But instead of letting yourself wonder about that for too long— afraid he’d somehow see it on your face, and know what you were picturing— you sat up a little bit and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I asked why you chose me already,” you began, “but I never asked the bigger question, did I?  That is, why you got married at all.”

He sighed shortly before he answered.  “My mother, she asked me to get married.  At first, I thought it was just the will of the clergy.  I understand now it was much more than that.”

“She wanted you to be happy,” you assumed.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, looking to the side.  “She knew I didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Your heart twisted a little; “I figure the Papa himself never has to be alone,” you mumbled through a sheepish smile.  “You could take anyone to bed you wanted, a new companion every night.”

He chuckled a little.  “I think you know that's not what I mean— I learned better than anyone that being by oneself and being alone are different things,” he explained.  “Even if I did find the time and energy for a thousand lovers, I would've still been lonely without a real partner… something to call my own.  But I never had the time— or, I told myself that, to justify why I didn't have anyone.”

You understood that better than he could know— better than you wanted to realize.

“My parents loved each other, but spent most of their lives apart,” he explained.  “I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to have something beautiful and let it go to waste.”

He looked at you right then, and it seemed like it meant something but you wouldn't let yourself imagine what.

“Could I kiss you again?” he asked softly.  It sort of completely caught you off-guard, not what he said but the way he said it: the unsureness in his voice, the slight flush on his face.

You didn't answer with words, you simply reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, where it was turning silver— another reminder of how long he'd been alone. 

You moved your hand in to cradle his face, leaning closer.

There was something shockingly comfortable about it, like you'd known each other for years.  You had grown to care for him, you couldn't deny that, but you surprised even yourself by how you pulled him closer as he kissed you.

It brought back memories of your wedding night, of course, and you couldn't decide if it felt like just yesterday or months ago.  All that fear and anxiety you'd been nearly crushed by then— it was only a distant memory, to the point that it was almost hard to believe you were the same person who had felt all that.

In some ways, you weren't.

His hand gently rested on your side, before carefully moving around to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.  Why did that feel so perfect?  His head tilted a little more, his kiss deepened a little more, you sighed a little heavier. 

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes; you saw something new and totally indescribable in them.

If he kisses me again, I won't be able to say no to him, you realized.

He only smiled at you gently, his fingers brushing over your cheek.  “Goodnight, darling,” he offered quietly.

You were still in shock just a bit as he kissed your temple softly, before pulling back and turning to face away from you as he climbed under the covers.  Blinking quickly, you wondered if you would've asked him not to stop if he'd given you a chance.

Slowly laying down yourself, you faced towards him and sighed a little as you looked at the back of him.

You stared at him for so long that night, watching him sleep, willing yourself to just reach over and wake him; to run your fingers through his hair until he stirred and turned to face you.  And then you wouldn’t have to say anything, you could just kiss him and he’d understand.  All you had to do was lift your hand and touch him… then his arms would be around you, his lips would be on you, his weight would press you into the bed…

You fell asleep before you ever found the nerve.  But that’s not to say you fell asleep quickly; no, not at all.

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Just like how botw had small details telling us the probable ‘canonical’ route Link took (aka Zora, Rito, Goron, and then Gerudo), totk has something similar. I’m sure all players noticed that the newspapers will feature one region that is meant to direct Link to go aid the people there. First is Rito, next is Goron, third is Zora, and last is Gerudo. BUT! They also added something else.

Zelda’s role in the story. Namely, her interactions with Tulin, Yunobo, King Dorephan, and Riju. Annnnnnddd Link’s reactions to her!

Tulin’s interaction with her is one meant to confuse players: Zelda was in the past, but Tulin saw her? So she’s here in the present and we’re chasing after her. Sounds a lot like Skyward Sword, okay (which was released on the switch last year, so anyone who didn’t play it back in 2012 had another chance to). It confuses Link, but spurs him to become a journalist ? Cool, I’m here for it. I did journalism for 4 years, I’m sure Link can do it too!

Then, for Yunobo, he actively speaks to Zelda, we see her figure, and Link will actively gasp whenever we see her. He has a genuine reaction to her presence, because he’s surprised, but then we see pink gloom glow in the mask that Zelda have Yunobo and it makes him freak out land turn against Link. That’s when we start to put together that maybe Zelda is being controlled? Or she’s NOT Zelda, just as Yunobo begins to theorize but can’t quite wrap his head around it.

Next, we have King Dorephan who is actually attacked by Zelda and is injured to the point that he decides to hide from his people as to not create more chaos in this time. He chooses to give Zelda the benefit of the doubt here— he could have easily had his people turn against Hyrule and all Hylians because of Zelda’s actions. But he doesn’t! Because it simply doesn’t make sense. And by the end of the quest, Sidon comes to the conclusion that the Zelda in the past and the Zelda in the present are NOT the same.

And we see that thought truly stick with Link in a cutscene in Gerudo. After defending Kara Kara Bazaar, Zelda appears and Riju calls out for her. There is no gasp from Link like with Yunobo’s story, instead he watches Zelda with a slightly narrowed gaze and does not stop watching where she was last seen until Riju directly addresses him. They actively show the players that Link is suspicious, but he is still so very dedicated.

And it happens again, in the center of the light triangle. Zelda appears and Link begins to walk toward her, but there is no intake of breath, no shock at seeing her… instead he slowly walks until Riju calls out for him.

After Link finishes each phenomenon, going to Lookout Landing gives the players a clue in how Link is reacting. Specifically, if you speak to Buliara before going to see Purah, she says something along the lines of “Purah is up on the top deck, but don’t miss a wrung in your haste to get up there.”

Link is expected to rush. Because everyone is muttering about a figure that MIGHT be Zelda. At the castle. Right. Then. And. There.

Link GASPS when he first looks into the scope— Purah doesn’t even say it’s Zelda, not before Link sees for himself. It’s seeing her, clear as day, and even if Link KNOWS it’s not her… there’s still that seed of doubt that lives in his mind. And then at the castle, Link does twist and turn whenever he hears Zelda. He rushes after her every. Single. Time. She disappears. Despite that he knows it isn’t her, he can’t give up. He can’t. It’s quite literally not in his DNA. He sees it through; he needs to make sure it isn’t her. And it’s all a trap, one he walks right into, because he just HAS to see that it isn’t her.

And if you want to say “but Ash… this is just a recap of the storyline in the present.. not small details” let us just remember that Link’s driving motivation in this game is to find Zelda and bring her home. So many people just ignore these little moments or miss them completely.

And I’ll be damned if I don’t talk about link’s gasps or his twists and turns or his micro expressions that tell us so much about how he is feeling.

[sorcerous-caress]

Heyyy!! Could I request the companions taking care of a new baby + a toddler while their partner recovers?

Taking care of the kids while you recover

[Fluff, marriage, raising kids, nb!reader]

[Astarion, Wyll, Gale]

I'm not feeling the best rn so I did just three, i hope you enjoy anon.

Astarion

Seeing that this is your second baby together, he feels less out of his element now. He is more confident in his ability to care for this little bundle of joy with pointy ears cradled in his arms.

He almost doesn't recognise his own self these days. When did his sharp edges grow so soft? When did he become so tender, and when did his eyes become so round and happy?

When you proposed to him that day in the underdark, when you presented him with a modest ring that made him go speechless. He has seen many more glamorous ones, much more expensive ones, but somehow, this simple band with the most precious gem completely took his breath away.

That's how he ended here on this cozy couch with a silver haired toddler running around enthusiastically. Astarion calls them over to gently wipe some crumbs from their face, looking at their innocent adoring eyes.

They had your eyes, he couldn't help but squeeze their adorable cheeks and give them a kiss on the forehead like any dotting father would.

Him, a doting parent? That idea would've made him choke with laughter some years ago.

The ring glimers on his finger as he holds the newborn baby closer to his chest, humming a soothing melody in elvish for his second child. The first stared at him from the side with a pout.

His child was so obvious with their emotions that Astarion couldn't help but chuckle, "Jealously isn't a good look darling, come here." With that, he had another kid cuddling up to him and demanding a lullaby too.

Astarion obliged, relieved that his presence seemed enough for his children at the moment while you were recovering. Part of him was anxious about what if they only wanted you? What if they weren't as attached to him as he thought?

He was never happier to be proven wrong in his life.

Wyll

The sun shines brightly through the thin white curtains in the kitchen. Wyll is mixing together a baby formula on the counter, measuring the right amount on the spoon as he scoops away the extra powder from the top.

Adding the powder into the baby bottle, he gently shakes the warm bottle. The sound of light footsteps approach him in a failed attempt of stealth as a toy wooden sword is pressed against the back of his legs.

"Surrender!" A high voice calls from behind him, his very own kid with determination in their eyes as they press the dull edge of the sword more against Wyll's pants.

"Oh noble hero, may I know what crime am i being accused of before I surrender?" Wyll plays along, a smile painting his lips.

"The crime of!!" His child starts with confidence, "of...." trailing into uncertainty as their grip on the sword falters.

Wyll is patient as he lets them have the time to gather their thought. cleaning and wiping the counter down.

"Of not giving me food!"

"Didn't you just eat your breakfast after stealing my breakfast?" Wyll scooped up his child up in his arm, holding him with one hand while carrying the bottle with the other. His kid kicked their feet in the air as they dropped the wooden sword.

"But dad!! That was hours ago, I'm hungry."

"I clearly recall it being minutes ago."

Moving to the living room where his youngest laid peacefully sleeping in their small rocking bed, Wyll let go of his hold just as he sat on the couch.

Climbing into his lap, the most adorable brown puppy eyes looked up at him. "I want pancakes please" stretching on the end of the word, his kid whined.

With a defeated smile, Wyll agreed to it. Knowing you'd scold him for spoiling the kids too much if you were here right now, still he was weak against them. Somehow, his own kids were more persuasive than any devil this warlock has ever encountered before.

Gale

"There you go, all dry and clean" he said as he started to put on the baby bear onesie back on the giggling infant in front of him, their small hands gripping on Gale's beard with surprising strength as he zipped them up.

Yet the discomfort barely mattered to the wizard, he happily let them play with his face as he admired how adorable they looked in the fluffy animal custom. Smiling and giving their belly a soft kiss to make them laugh even louder.

The loud crash from outside the room barely phased him either as he kept coddling the infant, calling them endearing names and cradling them in his arms. "Papa's here, no need to fret."

"MR.DEKARIOS!" Tara's screech followed shortly after, "your presence is required immediately!"

Still too busy entranced by how adorable his child was, Gale took slow steps out of the room, contouring harmless light tricks to impress his youngest.

The sight that met him was one that would've probably given his younger self a heart attack no doubt, the countless torn pages of books thrown around the floor, the spilled ink and the crumbled magical scrolls.

But as the years went by, he found himself mellowing out much more. Very few things phased him by now, especially with how ironic life tended to be. The fates must be snickering right now. to give him a kid with wild magic in their veins, brimming with sorcery from such a young age.

You usually kept them in line, Gale was too guilty of being an enbaler as you've put it. It's not his fault he thought his kid was the coolest person in all the realms.

"Books are for losers!" Ah, there they stood, his own flesh and blood. Amidst the chaos of papers and magic, a potted plant.

A talking potted plant.

"Did your magic surge again?" Gale could only feel amusement as he leaned down to pick up his child, making sure to hold it far away from his other child so they don't nibble on the leaves of their sibling.

It seemed like both his cat and his child prefered to continue their argument. "Why, I have never heard such nonsense before! Mr.Dekarios, would you please get your spawn in line." Tara, his beloved elegant tressym, was flying around him in an attempt to smack the plant with her soft paws.

With a giggling wobbling infant on his right arm and a potted plant polymorphed kid on his left, Gale effortlessly casted the necessary incantations to reverse the polymorph while avoiding Tara's claws.

A poof of sparkling light filled the room as a full toddler replaced the potted plant, Tara blinded by the light, crashed into them and they all stumbled down onto stacks of torn papers.

The three of them buried under the pile, only the fluffy bear onsie wearing emerged unharmed on top.

[navybrat817]

Do Stud and Smartie do a nice Thanksgiving or do they just have a relaxing day?

It would be low-key if they celebrated, nonnie!

So Thankful

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You share some laughs with Bucky while you cook together.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Puns (so many puns), fluff, being thankful, inner monologue, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Short and sweet for Stud and Smartie. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was Bucky’s idea to start cooking early so you could eat sooner and relax later. You were more than okay with that. While today reminded you of the blessings to count and memories to cherish, neither of you wanted to go overboard. A nice, simple meal to show that two of you were thankful for the good things in your life and each other was more than enough.

No traveling. No stress. Just each other.

I’ll always be thankful for you, Stud.

You glanced over at Bucky as he checked on the food in the oven before you went back to your task at hand. The kitchen was a safe haven in your apartment and making meals together was something you looked forward to no matter what the occasion. Though the space could be hectic at times with the banging pots and sizzling sounds, it was also an area to relax and have fun with your creations.

The impromptu dance breaks brought an extra layer of warmth in between cooking.

Bucky looked over your shoulder as he came up behind you with a small hum. “Looks good,” he commented as you added a pinch of spice to one of the side dishes.

You angled your head to brush your lips along his jaw and took a moment to breathe him in. He wrapped an arm around your waist in return and he pulled you close. “You look even better.”

“You think so?”

“I know so,” you smiled.

“I'm a mess,” he mumbled, giving your jaw a kiss. “Don't even have a shirt on.”

“And I'm thankful for that,” you sighed dreamily. He said earlier that he’d put a shirt on once you finished cooking, but you would've been happy if he stayed in his sinfully sexy gray sweatpants only. “So, so thankful.”

“I don't think our families would appreciate me video chatting with them without my shirt on,” he joked.

You snorted as you tried to picture the look on your mom and dad’s faces. As much as you missed not seeing them today, the video chat would help. If Bucky really didn't wear a shirt, they would make light of it.

And nothing would top the hickey discussion, your cheeks hot from the memory alone.

“Becca would never let you hear the end of that,” you said, leaning back against him. “And you may have to put a shirt on, but you'll have to eventually get out of those pants.”

He chuckled deeply, your eyes fluttering shut when his mouth touched your ear. “Will you help me with that?”

“You know I will,” you replied, smiling to yourself. “And I hope this dinner won’t be the only thing filling me up tonight.”

Bucky pulled away from your ear before he burst out laughing, the happy sound reverberating in the room as his chest moved against your back. It was like he was sharing his laughter with you. “Well, I’d love to stuff your turkey,” he said once he caught his breath.

“Yeah?” You smirked, turning in his arms to face him. “You wanna butter my biscuits?”

What’s a day like this without puns?

His eyes crinkled like he was going to laugh again. “Oh, yeah. I’ll butter your biscuits real good,” he rasped. It wasn't fair that his puns sounded sexy while yours sounded ridiculous. “Maybe I'll candy your yams, too.”

“Oh, my God,” you giggled when he pushed his body against yours and pressed your back into the counter.

“I’m not God. I'm just Bucky,” he grinned, leaning in close enough that his lips touched yours. “But maybe I can show you my meat thermometer and you can drop to your knees like you’ll pray for me to put it in your mouth.”

I mean, yes.

“Okay, seriously. What the hell have you done with my Stud?” You demanded, trying to shove him back even as heat shot through your body. Your beefy man didn't even have the gall to budge.

“Just let me check your temperature,” he pleaded with an innocent stare, a great contrast to what he was offering. “Make sure you’re hot and ready.”

“How did you say that with a straight face? How?!”

“This is me. This is who you're marrying,” he said proudly, your cheeks warm at the reminder that the gorgeous man in your personal space was going to be your husband. The heat rose more when his gaze swept over your body. “And I can't decide what I want first. Thighs or breasts. Both are juicy and delicious.”

You sharply inhaled as his eyes darkened a shade. “I don't know if I want you to stop or continue, but I’m telling everyone at Friendsgiving this weekend what you said.”

He tilted his head as if he was contemplating the options. “I think you want me to continue, especially since the turkey isn't the only thing that needs basting.”

I’ve created a monster.

You giggled all over again, your side almost aching. “St-Stop,” you wheezed.

He framed your face and kissed the tip of your nose, his touch almost drawing a whimper from you as you calmed down. “I'm sorry,” he said sincerely before he smirked again. “Why don't I give you something to gobble on until we eat? It might help.”

I must stop this man.

“You think you’re so ‘punny’,” you said, resting your hands over his. And he was. He would always find a way to make you laugh.

The charming smile he gave you was almost hot enough to melt your panties. “I like to think I'm adorkable.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

You raised an eyebrow at him. “This is what I have to look forward to, huh? A lifetime of this?”

Bucky’s eyes went soft before he closed them, pulling you in for a deep kiss. He kissed you like it was as easy as breathing, open, steady, and natural. It was like the floor beneath your feet vanished. You floated, but his lips and tongue tethered you to him. It reminded you how loved you were.

And you would always be thankful that he gave you that gift.

“As long as you're by my side, it’ll be the best life I live,” he whispered, giving you another soft kiss. “And I’m very much looking forward to it.”

You had to swallow the tears in your throat. Who wouldn't choke up at that? “I’m looking forward to it, too,” you whispered, your heart racing at the fond look in his eyes. “And Stud?”

“Yeah, Smartie?”

You smiled, having to get one last pun in. “You’re welcome to mash my potatoes anytime.”

Oh, these two. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[lvnleah]

hiya you’re the first person i’ve found that writes for lotte!! could i request an arsenal fic where reader is quite loud and outgoing so when she joins arsenal everyone expects her to become friends with beth, katie etc (which she does and they become great friends) but she ends up getting together with lotte and people are shocked but it makes sense bc they work so well together as time goes on THABN YOUUU

Balancing the chaos | Lotte Wubben-Moy

thank you for this request! I loved writing it :)

Joining Arsenal felt like stepping into a whirlwind of energy, banter, and loud personalities. Right from the start, everyone expected you to fall in line with Beth, Katie, and Kyra — the unofficial leaders of the banter brigade. Your outgoing nature made it seem like a perfect fit. After all, they were known for being the loudest in the room, constantly joking around, and bringing life to every team event. And, in many ways, that’s exactly what happened.

You quickly became fast friends with them. Beth’s humour paired well with your quick wit, you were always up for Katie’s teasing, and Kyra’s boundless cheekiness seemed to match your energy stride for stride. Whether it was karaoke nights, team dinners, or intense training sessions, you were right there in the thick of it, adding to the noise, the laughter, and the good vibes. Your connection with them was effortless, and people started to associate you with that tight-knit group of loud personalities. If you were around, the party was never too far behind.

But amidst all the chaos and fun, something else quietly developed that no one really saw coming.

Lotte.

She was the complete opposite of what people expected for you. Where Beth, Katie, and Kyra brought fire and noise, Lotte brought calm. You weren’t exactly avoiding her in the beginning — far from it. But she wasn’t in the spotlight, the loud group where you naturally gravitated. Still, over time, you found yourself drawn to her. There was something magnetic in how she could remain calm and composed in the loudest of moments, how her focus never wavered on or off the pitch.

At first, it was the little things. You’d bump into each other at the gym, and she’d offer a small smile and a quiet word of encouragement. Then, during team meetings, you noticed how she always had the most insightful observations. When she spoke, people listened. There was a strength in her stillness, and it fascinated you. Slowly, conversations with her grew from football tactics and strategies to deeper topics. You’d talk about music, books, and life outside the whirlwind of football.

You couldn’t pinpoint when it shifted, but suddenly, you found yourself looking for her after training sessions, seeking out her company during quiet moments at the training ground. Her calmness balanced your own loud energy in a way that felt… right. It wasn’t that you had to suppress your natural outgoing self around her, but with Lotte, you didn’t feel the need to always be ‘on.’ You could just be.

People started to notice the shift before you even realised it yourself. Teammates exchanged surprised looks when you and Lotte would sit together at meals or when you’d disappear for walks after practice. It wasn’t like you were hiding anything, but in a team full of larger-than-life personalities, your budding relationship with Lotte was quietly unfolding in the background.

It wasn’t long before your friends started teasing you about it.

“Oi, where’s your partner in crime?” Kyra asked with a teasing smirk, glancing around as if searching for Lotte.

You shrugged, a bit flustered. “Who?”

“Lotte,” Beth said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her lately.”

Katie leaned in “I see what’s happening here. You’ve ditched the loud lot for the quiet, mysterious one, haven’t you?”

Your face heated up, but you shot back quickly, “Please, as if I could ever ditch you lot. Lotte’s just…” You paused, trying to find the right words. “She’s different, yeah? Calm. We talk about stuff other than football, you know?”

Beth smirked. “Ah, so you’re telling us she’s your escape from us? Is that it?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “You lot are a lot to handle, okay?”

Katie nudged you, “So, what’s going on with her, then? You two seem close.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could say anything, you heard a voice from behind.

“Am I interrupting something?”

You turned, and there was Lotte, standing just behind you with that calm, amused smile on her face. She must’ve come in quietly, unnoticed amidst the chaos that was your group.

Katie immediately grinned and leaned back in her chair. “Speak of the devil. Nah, not interrupting at all. In fact, we were just talking about you.”

Lotte raised an eyebrow, giving you a look that said she knew exactly what they’d been saying. “Oh? Should I be worried?”

Beth shook her head, still smirking. “Not at all. Just discussing how someone here can’t stop singing your praises.”

You groaned, playfully shoving Beth. “Ignore them. They’re being ridiculous.”

Lotte chuckled softly and slid into the empty seat beside you. “I don’t mind.”

The group exchanged knowing looks, and for a moment, the teasing stopped. It was one of those unspoken things — the kind of connection that didn’t need a loud declaration or a big show. Lotte’s presence calmed the table in an instant, her quiet energy grounding the loudness around her.

Over the next few weeks, the shift became more obvious. The team dinners and nights spent together continued, but more often than not, you found yourself sitting next to Lotte. There was something about being with her that felt natural, like the two of you balanced each other perfectly.

Then, one day after training, as the team was cooling down, you found yourself sitting on the grass beside Lotte, the rest of the team chatting and laughing nearby. You were both quiet for a moment, just enjoying the stillness. Finally, Lotte spoke, her voice soft but clear.

“You know, I don’t mind the teasing,” she said, her eyes flicking to yours with a small smile. “About us.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “About us?”

Lotte nodded. “Everyone seems to have noticed that we’ve been spending more time together. And, well… they’re not wrong, are they?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean…?”

She gave you a small, knowing smile. “I mean, if you’re okay with it, I wouldn’t mind if we made it official. Us.”

You felt the grin spread across your face before you could stop it. “Yeah,” you said, leaning a little closer to her. “I’d like that.”

When the rest of the team finally caught wind that you and Lotte were together, the reactions were… varied, to say the least. During a post-match dinner, Katie was the first to address it, of course.

“I didn’t see that one coming.”

Beth smirked, shaking her head. “I mean, I kind of did. They balance each other out.”

Kyra, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, grinned. “Oi, loudmouth, who knew you’d end up with the quiet one?”

But they weren’t upset — far from it. They could see that it made sense. What you had with Lotte wasn’t loud or attention-grabbing, but it was steady, grounded, and real. It was the kind of connection that didn’t need to be shouted from the rooftops. As time went on, people grew used to seeing you and Lotte together, and they began to understand why it worked. The calm and the storm, the balance between loudness and quiet strength.

She grounded you in ways you never knew you needed, and in turn, you brought a sense of fun and adventure. She’d encourage you when you needed it. It was a partnership built on mutual respect and understanding.

On the pitch, it became even more evident why the two of you worked so well together. Where you brought the intensity, Lotte brought the control. You’d push the pace, and she’d make sure the defence stayed steady.

What started as a surprise to the rest of the team soon became second nature. Beth, Katie, and Kyra remained some of your closest friends, and you never lost that bond with them. But now, Lotte was the one you went home to at the end of the day, the one you shared quiet moments with when the chaos of football and life slowed down.

In the end, the thing that shocked people most about your relationship was how obvious it became. The more time passed, the clearer it was that Lotte was your perfect match, even if no one saw it coming at first. It wasn’t the relationship that everyone predicted, but it was the one that worked — for both of you.

[g-xix]

angry ginge dating hcs but with a YouTuber reader who pretty big (million subs) but her personality is kinda the opposite of his (reserved and more introverted)

Black Cat x Golden Retriever dynamic | Angryginge13

Okay j an fyi of the FORMAT: -At first if how u met n got dating (note form story) -Then is the HC's of how it is to date Ginge post-meeting + asking out (j notes)

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

-Started w chatting back and forth on stream a bit

-First time you communicated was when you were streaming, you got a raid from angryginge13 -Said the ritual thankyou and hope your stream was well… -But then realised that Ginge's raiding chat was spamming GINGE WAS SIMPING FOR YOU, GINGE THINKS YOU'RE FIT, GINGE WOULD SELL FRED FOR A DATE WITH YOU -Got a wee bit shy and nervous at that because you weren't one to get many compliments to learn how to deal with them -Giggled whilst Ginge was trying to tell his chat to SHUSH AND BE SUBTLE, I TOLD U THAT IN CONFIDENCE by spamming your chat with messages of his own -Chat picked up on your laughter and blushing as deffo flerting, which only made you more flustered in the moment -Ginge asked you to add him on Discord in the stream, you just chose to ignore it because you didn't want to embarrass yourself by talking to him on stream -You ended up adding one another on Discord after the stream and having a private latenight discord call, instead -Small talk, little jokes, whispered conversations and getting to know one another… -He made you laugh quietly and had you resting your head on your palm listening to him, biting your lip every so often as you admired how good-looking he actually was

-Began calling latenight more frequently, until it became a little ritual of the two of u to call and chill post-stream with one another -Morgan (Yep, you got onto the first name basis) was proper interested and just a bit awestruck when you first spoke properly to him -Probs bc initially you let him ramble and talk about himself, asking questions of your own and getting to know him bc you were too shy to talk at first -But as you spent more time together and got to know one another, he began asking more about you and you opened up more -And he just picked up everything you said like a sponge, soaking up all the precious time he could spend with you -He loved the way your voice sounded on the speaker, and always gamed split-screen so that he could play Minecraft or GTA and look to the Discord tab to the side, to watch as your eyes crinkled and lips curved into the gorgeous smile whilst you laughed whenever he made a joke -You're the type of always put a hand over your mouth when you smile, just out of shyness -Morgan always told you to pull your hand down because he wanted to see you smile though -Which instantly gave butterflies. 🦋🦋 -He really thought you were beautiful, through and through.

-Not too long later, you were chatting to Morgan on stream that you were going to Manchester in a few days for an event -You secretly had Morgan's stream pulled up whilst you were on call with him, and watched as his mouth fell open at the news- muting himself on Discord to air-fist on the stream, letting out an excited scream and giving his chair a happy punch a few times, letting out three happy "YANITED, YANITED, YANITED"s before unmuting on Discord again and responding: -"Oh, that's awesome." -You laughed at how cool he sounded, despite the mini happy-ecstatic-anger-aggression-episode he'd had only moments prior to that -"Does that mean I'll be seeing you soon?" He asked hopefully. -You looked at how hopeful he looked on the screen, eyes wide and face full of wonder as he waited for your answer eagerly. -"No." You responded bluntly, unable to stop yourself from crushing his dreams for just a moment. -Morgan's face deflated like a balloon, seeming absolutely devastated before you let out a chuckle, unable to hold the lie -"I'm joking, I can't wait to see you soon, Morgan," you responded quietly with a little smile which inflated to an uncontainable grin as you switched to watch Morgan's stream. -Morgan muted in the call, turning back to address his stream as his bubbliness returned- screaming a celebration and happily punching his chair a few more times, clearly over the moon at the prospect of finally getting to see you irl soon -Recollected himself before unmuted and responding calmly "That's awesome, can't wait to see you in a few."

-Two weeks later, you were sat outside Old Trafford stadium as he'd said he'd pick you up from there. -You had come quite early since Morgan wanted to take you around Salford and show you his town -Still yawning and a wee bit chilly in the morning coolness, you sat outside the stadium's entrance on your suitcase, pulling your phone out -Took a selfie with the Trafford stadium and did a little piece for your vlog, saying how you'd arrived and all… -Looked through Snapchat whilst waiting… -And YouTube… -And Twitter… -Maybe he's just running a little bit late, you'd told yourself -And Instagram… -And YouTube again… -It had been nearly 45-bloody-minutes since Morgan had said he's pick you up and there was still no bloody sight of him. -Did a little piece for the vlog again and relocated to a comfier bench for the next fifteen minutes -It had been an hour since he said he'd pick you up from the stadium, and still there was no sight of him. -Felt a bit crushed at the prospect he's forgotten you. -Getting ready to leave, you got up and began wheeling your suitcase behind you, looking for the nearest exit our of the stadium when- -"I'M SO SORRY I'M LATE-" -A solid wall crashed into yours, nearly knocking you off your feet as the body hit you with BIG impact, arms wrapping around your shoulder as Morgan hugged you like you'd known one another for years -"MORGAN!" You exclaim his name as you catch the voice and ginger hair of the person, tentatively hugging back, a little bit shy seeing as it was your first time meeting the person behind the screen -He let out a laugh, pulling back to look at you in the eyes and scan your face, as though he didn't quite believe you were there -To be honest, he was just absolutely in awe of everything- the fact you were so shy and quiet the first time he'd called you, and now the fact he was here- stood opposite his favourite crush-turned-friend(-and-he-hoped-would-turn-girlfriend)

-Fair to say the next few days were a whole whirl of chaos. -Morgan introduced you to EVERYTHING in Salford- his favourite park he went to as a kid, his old primark school, his favourite chippy and Chinese takeout place… -When night fell on the first night, you went to leave when- -"Aren't you staying overnight?" He furrowed his brows together in confusion -"Didn't know whether you or whoever you live with would be fine with that," You responded, a tad nervous as you yourself had wondered whether you would be allowed to stay at Morgan's, and you didn't want to ask and seem as though you were inviting yourself. -Luckily Morgan seemed to take it in his stride as he wrapped an arm around you confidently- sending little tingles where his hand met your skin and pulsed electricity through your body at the feeling of him so close- as he brought you up to his room -Back at his house, it felt so comfortable being in his room- the one you'd only seen the background of through Discord calls -He gave you a tour of all his little wall decorations and he even had a few medals strung up on the walls from old football tournaments, which he proudly explained before moving onto his prized Sondico boots -You had another latenight talk that night- the only difference from usual being that you two were in person, and could just look to the other side of the room when you wanted to see the other -Ended up staying awake well into the morning, at which point you'd relocated to his bed, wrapping yourself in his duvet whilst he lay in his gaming chair with a blanket around himself -You still couldn't quite believe you were seeing him in person as his duvet was wrapped around you, the crispy pine smell something you didn't expect from Morgan at first, but grew more comfortable and accustomed to with each breath -A silence naturally fell in conversation at some point and before you knew it, the two of you fell asleep around 3-or-so in the morning.

-You had a few more days to spend in Manchester, and you made the absolute most of it with Morgan with you -Did a stream one night, where you shared the chair with Ginge and played Minecraft together on his PC -Kept alternating between who got to sit on who's lap as either of you took over from using the mouse and keyboard -You made a great show of miming to the chat that Ginge stinks every time his back was turned to you and he sat on your lap -Ginge (apparently) made a big deal of you being too heavy for him whenever you weren't looking at the webcam and were playing MC, despite the fact that on the webcam it was obvious that you were way smaller compared to him -Ended the stream my shutting down Minecraft, just sititng on Morgan's lap and leaning your head back on his shoulder, reading the chat and listening to him talk to his viewers whilst you took a break from entertaining the stream, just too tired to keep up -You kept getting close to falling asleep, only opening your eyes slightly and coming back to conscience every time Morgan said something a bit louder -Eventually Morgan realised your sleepiness and you briefly heard him mumble to the chat before he draped a blanket over you and ended the stream, just letting you lie and fall asleep on him in the gaming chair

-Woke up the next morning to see cute compilation clips of you all over Twitter, TikTok and all other short-form-content apps… -Featured clips from last night's stream including: Ginge chasing you around the room with his football, yelling for you to JUST DO 5 KEEPY UPS Him pretending to be be in excruciating pain as you sat on the very edge of his lap- clearly not actually hurting him. Ginge trying to persuade you and mentoring you in yelling his infamous YANITED And sweetest of all, when u were close to falling asleep and he noticed, so he put a finger to his lips at the chat telling them to shut up. He opened up a paint document and typed shall i blow an airhorn rn?, running a poll for chat to decide before ultimately deciding against (despite the poll's encouragement to disrupt your sleep), and instead he just draped a United blanket over you, proud to see you supporting his team- even if you weren't conscious to recognise it.

-Streamed a bit later by reacting to your tiktok fyp with him, when one of the ship edits of yourself and him you seen earlier had popped up again -You had signed into YOUR TikTok account on his PC asw -Hence the like button to the left glowing bright red, as you'd already seen the TikTok earlier and had given it a like since you thought it was really quite cute -You went bright red and flustered in the face as you glanced at chat, watching as it tenfolded in speed as everyone began pointing out how you'd already liked it -You hoped Ginge would scroll down to the next video and that would be the end of that, but nooooo… -He looked to chat and read off The video's already been liked, looking back to the video and realising you had indeed liked it prior to watching it there -Ginge goes bright red, slightly flustered, but bursts out laughing nonetheless, making you drop your head into your hands in embarrassment -"DO YOU LIKE ME?" He exclaimed, happily shocked. "ARE YOU SAYING YOU LIKE ME AFTER ALL THIS TIME?" -Your shoulders shook at a combination of laughter and near tearfulness from what felt like it were cyber bullying. -Ginge was shocked by your lack of denial though, clearly expecting you to laugh it off and disagree. His heart swelled in his chest as he realised that you liked him- but that didn't stop him from not taunting you further, wide grin on his face as he bounced his leg beneath you -"I LIKED YOU FIRST BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D FALL FOR AN UGLY BASTARD LIKE ME- DO YOU ACTUALLY LIKE ME?" His enthusiastic shouts were almost degrading to himself, and made you die a bit inside as he didn't stop. "DO YOU WANT TO KISS ME, Y/N?" -Clearly his mocking was getting too much and he was growing far too cocky. -"What if i did?" You responded to his taunts, throwing him off guard as his eyes widened, jaw falling slack as the taunts turned right back and onto him. -"Eh?" He questioned, not quite believing it. -The chat was running at the speed of light, just as confused as Ginge at the sudden confidence you seemed to have, despite being such a shy persona. -"Said what I said." You shrugged, though you could feel electricity building in your stomach out of fear and yet also excitement. -You pressed the button on his keyboard, turning the camera off of you two and instead onto the staring screen as you turned around to face him, smiling shyly as his mouth, in a perfect "o" began curling into a hopeful smile. -His hand worked its way from the armrest up to your face, tucking a stray hair behind your ear as his blue eyes glowed in excitement -"Really?" He whispered, his eyes dropping down to your lips all too yearningly -You barely managed to respond by nodding your head before his lips crashed against yours eagerly, your hands working to the back of his head and practically pulling his face closer to yours, all too happy that this was happening yourself -Could've been a second or a half-hour before you pulled away, lips still tingling as they curled into an ecstatic grin, his eyes fluttering open to meet your own once more, before he dove in for another, shorter, more appreciative kiss -Turned the camera back on after a giggle was shared between the two of you- watching as the chat accelerated at lightning pace, commenting on the way the two of you absolutely looked like you'd just kissed- lips puffy, cheeks red and smiles simply ecstatic -Ginge could only respond by standing up, picking you up bridal style with a squeal as he cheered and lifted you, yelling happily- "I'VE GOT MESELF A GIRLFRIEENDD!"

DATING HC'S BETWEEN SHY!GF AND LOUD-ASS!GINGE: -Arm around the shoulder type love -He walks around with you under his arm so that he's basically hugging you whilst he walks -That way he always gets to introduce you to everyone he meets/is talking with asw because he knows you get nervous doing that alone -Loves that possessive feeling as well -He loves having you next to him because it reminds him he somehow managed to bag the girl he just had an online crush on and never thought he's actually manage to date -You love having his arm around you because you just know that he does it because he's proud to be with you -Also you love his arm around you because it means you can always just wrap your arms around his middle and hug him freely -Whenever you get a bit nervous or overwhelmed by what's going on around you, you take his hand that's around your shoulder and hold it / squeeze it just to relieve your stress -He always leans down and whispers something sweet to you, whether that be words of encouragement or a little joke to get your spirits up again -As much as you like being able to hug around his middle when he's got his arm around you- he loves being able to just pull you closer and press a kiss to the top of your head or cheek when he gets those moments of appreciation and awe of how the hell he's managed to bag you -He's just sm taller, like, the head kisses are constant -But you aren't complaining 🤭 -He's such a hugger asw though, like genuinely so full of love n hugs -Ya seen him get super happy when Simon asked him to play in the charity match? Yk, he punched the chair out of happy aggression? Well: -Gets happy-aggressive with you -This mf is like, hugs you so tightly you feel like you might burst sometimes -And also he's just so fucking strong, like, he'll just pick you up randomly -Loves surprising you by just sweeping you off your feet so that he's carrying you… -Before then just making you scream as he throws you onto the sofa or bed -Pre-sleep, yk how everyone opens up a bit more? -He just opens up and gets way more lovey-touchy -Wants to watch some Netflix… -Have you lying on top of him, head resting on his chest, his hand on your lower back, gently rubbing -Fall asleep either cuddling or at the bare minimum with backs touching/hand holding… -You love that he's so touchy bc it means you never have to ask him to come over so you can hug him- he's already by your side and making you feel loved -He loves seeing you in his clothes as well -Size difference is a key part of dating Morgan. -Seeing you enveloped in one of his hoodies that's so big on you- the cuffs covering your hands and material all bunched up and ending mid thigh always has him feeling some typ'a way -First time he caught you wearing his large hoodie he was a little surprised, but over the next few days he began liking seeing you in it more and more… Until he realised that he actually liked you wearing his stuff. -Tried to get you to wear his Manchester United shirt constantly -(That's the one item of clothing of his you swear you'll never touch) -At first, into the relationship I think the two of you were used to hugging and all, but still hadn't crossed or discussed a few boundaries… (Yk, in terms of touching one another in the 🔞 way)

-And you hadn't really initiated and touch or anything, yet -One time when you and ginge was cooking dinner, he was trying to find the strainer -Had Ginge on his tip toes looking through the uppermost cupboards, rifling through the pantry, even checking other rooms… -When he bent over to look into the cutlery draw, he let out a sharp gasp and jumped as he felt something come down on his ass hard -He turned around instantly, feeling absolutely shocked and violated as he turned around and saw you with silicon spatula in your hand, hand pressed over your own mouth as you were shocked at your actions -His hand found his ass, massaging the pain out as he laughed between his pain, asking why you'd do that -"If you put that cake in front of me it's gonna get eaten" Ginge still quotes you to this day -Ginge is just so proud to have a girlfriend tbh he loved doing couple-y things -Halloweens- he always suggests the best couple's costumes -The first year you two went as Ron and Hermione (didn't have enough time to get a proper good outfit) -Next year he went as Ed Sheeran, you went as Taylor Swift -And most recently, he was allowed to organise what you'd wear for halloween… He wore his ManU kit, and had you dress as an inflatable football. -Those Insta pics went hard. -Ginge loves doing allsorts of couple-y things tho, like, he LOVES organising dates too -Just so grateful and happy that's he's dating you he's always so happy to organise a date where he just gets to spend time with you -He's organised theme-park dates, movie-night dates, TikTok-game-decides-our-date dates… -When you first brought him down South to stay at yours for the first time, you took him around your city, showed him all the personal landmarks of your town… -And as night fell, you brought him into your backgarden to climb the tall old tree at the very back, and sit in your childhood treehouse -He was shocked when he saw the fairylights covering the walls, the bottle of bubbly, and a blanket and projector all inside the treehouse -"Planned a date for once," You smiled shyly as he ogled at the interior and the clear effort you'd put into the treehouse, as it looked perfectly cozy for a date night -Ended up falling asleep watching Moana together, cuddled against the hard wooden floors of the treehouse -Woke up with all sorts of back pains. -Couldn't say you regretted it though, it felt lovely to organise a date for once- especially because Ginge was so happy for the next few days- constantly hugging you from behind and randomly kissing you on the head

YOUR SONGS: Sweet Caroline, Neil Diamond Crazy in Love, Beyonce & Jay-Z Perfect, Ed Sheeran Blue hair, TV girl Like I want You, Giveon Pluto Projector, Rex Orange County 96 Bars or Revenge, JME

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[skellseerwriting]

What is Love? (Baby Don’t Hurt Me)

Love Clueless!Morgie x GN!Reader Part 2/2

Thank you anon for the wonderful ask! I never would have come up with this on my own. Here’s part 2!

Part 1

Word Count: 1,834

Warnings: slight angst, happy ending, fluff, Morgie is happy, brief heart brokenness, physical affection, Morgie learns what love is

Summary: You decide to teach Morgie the five love languages. Unfortunately for the both of you, you are quickly falling in love. You, however, don’t think he knows what that means

Part 1: Quality time

After you had named off each love language, you needed to decide which one you wanted to start with.

Physical touch? Your face felt a little warm at the thought. Too soon for that.

Gift giving maybe? Probably too difficult right now since you barely knew Morgie. So maybe you could get to know him through quality time!

You did a little, internal, happy dance at the quick thinking. It was perfect. All it really was is hanging out and getting to know each other better. You could do that.

So after explaining that to Morgie, he simply stated “How do we do that? Just talk about things we like?”

“Yes, exactly. You’re getting the hang of it.” You gleamed. “Many friends become friends through shared interests; things they both like.”

“Oh.” Was all he said, then added. “Do we have to like the same things?”

You try not to let out a snort, and spectacularly fail.

“Of course not. That’d be boring!” He looked confused again.

“Okay, okay.” You said, prepared to explain things once again to him. “Imagine you walk into school, and everyone is wearing your clothes.” He frowns. “Now imagine instead of everyone going to class, they all ditch it just like you. They’re all hanging out in your usual spot.” His frown turned into a peeved expression.

“That’s annoying.”

“Exactly!” You tell him. “And when you go to lunch, everyone takes that favorite food of yours because they all like it, leaving none for you!”

He actually started growling at that, like a dog. You scooched back a little.

“They better not.” His lip curls up. “That chocolate tuna bread is mine.”

Your lips also curled up a bit, for an entirely different reason. This boy was so charming (not to be confused with the actual charming).

“See?” You pointed out. “That’s why it’s good that we all like different things. You’re learning already.” He nodded with a grin, finally understanding. Even though it was just one small step, it made you so happy that he seemed to be enjoying this.

You think you were going to really enjoy hanging out with him.

Part 2: Acts of Service

The next morning, when you told Morgie the next love language you’d be doing, he made a face.

“Service? Like helping out at an orphanage?” You suppressed a giggle.

“That is a form of service.” You told him, clasping your hands together with your pointer fingers sticking out. “However it’s not necessarily service service. It’s helping someone out, no matter how small. Picking up someone’s pen for them when they drop it, for example.”

“Or holding the door open, right?” He said with a happy look and something knowing in his eyes.

“Exactly! Good job” You praised, not entirely understanding his implication with that. “So, today, I want you to be on the look out to help anyone in need.” He stuck out his lower lip.

“I thought this was just going to be between you and me.” He pouted. You tried to ignore the little stutter in your heart from thinking about Morgie only wanting to spend time with you. That’s not what he means, you thought, so stop it.

You hide your thoughts with a smile.

“Most of it will be, but it’s not something that can be done a bunch in one sitting. Plus we have school, so you won’t see me a whole bunch.”

After a moment, he goes “Can we eat lunch together”? That threw you for a loop. Together?

“Erm, what about your friends, Morgie?” You ask uncertainly. His eyes widened.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t think about that.”

“It’s fine. You can meet me here after school.”

You didn’t end up waiting until after school.

Squealing, you open the door to let Morgie in.

“Did you see her face!”

“Yeah, that was priceless!” He jeered, walking in with squeaky footsteps. “I didn’t realize she didn’t hear me right behind her. When she turned around…” he let out a loud laugh, shaking his sopping wet hair like a dog. You brought your arms up to cover your face.

“Easy! Don’t get me wet too!”

He didn’t listen, going on with “When she dropped all her stuff, I didn’t even see the fountain right behind me. I think the universe is trying to get back at me for being good!”

He slipped of his shoes, reaching for the towel you handed him. Your dorm was a lot closer, so the moment he got pushed from surprise into the fountain, you went to help him.

“Or maybe it’s to even out all the good luck I’ve been having.” He added, closing one eye.

“What good luck?”

“Meeting you!” He answered cheerfully. You felt yourself flush at that. He didn’t mean it like that, you reminded yourself again.

“Don’t worry,” he cut through your thoughts. “I’m not going to let that stop me from acts of service.”

“Thank goodness.” You in a joking tone. “You’re getting really good at this, Morgie.” He perked up at the compliment.

You’re getting too good, you thought sorrowfully, hoping this all didn’t end too soon. You would absolutely hate that.

Part 3: Gift Giving

Smiling giddily to yourself, you held the gift in your hand as you approached Morgie’s dorm. Not wanting to put too much pressure for gift giving, you decided that you two should just give each other one gift. You weren’t too worried, thinking he might like whatever you get him. But simultaneously worried he wouldn’t like it enough from you. Still, you were quite confident that what you currently held was quite nice, so you tried not to think about it.

After a knock and being let in, you gave yourself a moment to look around the room to see how it was decorated. Silken scarves of greens and gold shimmered across the walls and even on the ceiling. A couple of books were set on a shelf, one of which was titled Different Dog Sounds. You smiled and moved on, seeing a clothes rack with clothing not unlike what he was currently wearing. What could Morgie say: He liked nice clothes.

He sat at the end of his bed, and so did you after a moment of hesitation. You cleared your throat, then held up your offering.

“This is my gift to you. I hope you like it.” As he eyed the gift, you looked at him nervously. It was a silky scarf of gold color with black lines waving through it. He already wore thin scarfs like this, but you were positive he didn’t have one like it. What if he didn’t like-

“I love it!” He beamed, picking it up gently.

“I- you do?”

“Yeah!” He told you. “Would you put it on me?”

That was an unexpected request, but you did it anyway. Picking it back up from his hands, you brought it around his neck. His eyes were on yours, and that was hard to ignore to focus on your task. Then, you realized you weren’t sure how he usually tied his. After looking at him with uncertainty, he recognized the problem and took your hands into his own. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his warm fingers guiding yours where to move the scarf, creating a loop and pulling the other end through.

His gaze never left yours; doing it all from muscle memory. It was near impossible to not let your hands freeze up until it was finished. Looking at you a moment longer than you thought made sense, he reached behind himself to grab what you could only assume to be your gift.

“I hope you like it.” He whispered, still looking at you. You broke away first, seeing what he held in his outstretched palm. It was a tiny little snake made out of clay, with a wiggly line body painted green. It wasn’t the most professionally made by any means. But upon recognizing he made this for you, you found its weight worth in gold.

“It beautiful.” You said softly, noticing its asymmetrical black dot eyes.

He moved to set it in your hand as you reached out to grab it, only for it to miss its destination and tumble off the bed and straight onto the floor.

“No!” You both cried, immediately sliding off the bed. Morgie held up the little thing. It was now broken into two pieces, right through the middle.

Seeing tears starting to form in his eyes, you grabbed the half with the head and said lightly “Hey, we can share it.”

He let out a little sniffle. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “I get half and you get half.”

He smiled at that wistfully. “Like a friendship necklace.”

“Mhm,” you smiled back. “Just like a friendship necklace.”

A small part of your heart thought about maybe more than just friends, but you dismissed your feelings once again. Morgie looked at lower half of the clay snake in amazement, and you couldn’t help but silently wish he would look at you that way.

Part 4: Words of Affirmation

“So… does it involve speaking?”

“Yep! You use words.”

“What… kind of words?”

You gave him a loving look. You didn’t know what it was about him sometimes being a little slow, but it was incredibly endearing. When he didn’t get it, he would look at you with a question in his eyes; relying on you to help him. You shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as you did.

“Anything that is uplifting really, with more of a focus on compliments.”

His eyes lit up. “Oh, like telling you you’re cute?”

You did a double take at that. Flames licked at your cheeks as air slowly compressed out of your lungs.

“W-well yes.” You stuttered, clearing your throat. “But that kind of comment is usually used by people who are dating, or want to date said person.”

Morgie sat on that for a second, while also sitting on your bed. His lips were pressed into his mouth, suddenly lost in thought. Finally, he looked at you again with a grin.

“Okay.” Was all he said.

What was that about? You tried not to dwell on it, or on the fact that your statement technically implied he wanted to date you when you knew it wasn’t true.

“I think you’re clothes look really nice.” You complimented Morgie, hoping to distract yourself from him by distracting yourself with him.

“Really?” He perked up like a dog. “Thanks! I really like all the little things you collect.” He looked at the aforementioned items as he said so.

“Thank you. It’s pretty effortless actually, I just keep the things people give me.” You waved him off, trying not to let every little compliment turn you into a mess. His eyes still scanned the shelves on the wall, looking for something.

“Where’s the-“ He cut himself off as he spotted it. On the nightstand, right next to where you lay your head at night, was the half snake. Your face went ablaze again as you resisted the urge to grab it and hide it; he already saw it.

“You keep it next to you?” He said in such a quiet, happy tone that your heart melted. All you could manage was a tiny nod. He gazed at you with a look you recognized in others, but you knew that it didn’t count with him; he still didn’t understand the feeling.

“So,” he began lightly. “Is your receiving love language gift giving?” You nod again at him.

“And quality time. I really enjoy that.”

“Yeah, I think I caught onto that. You know, since you enjoy hanging at with me so much.” Was that a flirtatious remark?

He smiled at you innocently.

“Well for you… I’m not entirely sure since we’re still only on number four.”

“I think I like receiving words of affirmation.” He told you.

“Really?”

“Yeah, whenever you tell me how good I’m doing.” he said, averting his gaze. “It feels like there are happy bugs in my stomach.”

You didn’t know what to make of that.

“Well, what can I say?” You said. “It’s my giving language. Acts of service too.”

He nodded. “I think that’s why I’ve been struggling recently with my friends. None of them really give me affirmation, except for Uliana. But it’s usually because she needs me to do something.”

“So you think that’s her giving language.” you asked.

“Yeah, and for receiving I think it’s the same, along with acts of service. To bad it tends to be forceful. I love doing it anyways though.”

You both sat in silence for a moment, before he picked back up again.

“Hook’s is gift giving. He’ll steal food for us; sometimes little trinkets or apparel. Like the scarf I’m wearing right now.” He looked a little happy as he recalled the memory. “He doesn’t prefer gifts for himself though, since he can steal what he wants. I think that’s why he likes to throw his arm over mine and vice versa; he can’t steal affection.” His little smile began to grow. “Hades and Mali prefer quality time. Silence with the people they care about; giving and receiving. Hades also appreciates it when I help him out with stuff.” He took a pause with a breath, then looked at you. “I know they’re my friends, but I love them like family. That’s what it is, right? Your family is the people closest to you; who mean the most to you.”

And what about me, you wanted to ask. What do I mean to you?

“Whereas romantic feelings-“ He paused, uncertainty written all over his face. He leaned several inches into your personal space. He glanced down for a moment before whispering, “they’re the one you- the one you care most f-“

You jumped away and off the bed. Immediately you regretted the look of pain he adorned. You caused that.

But no, it couldn’t be. You refused to believe it. He was just confused, you told yourself, he still didn’t understand; despite what he was just saying.

He called your name.

“Yes?”

“Did I do something wrong?” His voice broke.

“No, Morgie, you did nothing wrong, I promise, I-“ You had to get out of here. You needed to get out of here.

You did just that.

And just like that, you were both brokenhearted.

Part 5: Physical Touch

You hadn’t seen each other for a few days after you had left your dorm. Or rather, you were doing everything in your power to avoid Morgie.

It hurt. It really did. Whenever you saw Morgie he looked just as bad, if not worse. But it must have been for a different reason. There’s no way it was because he also had feelings for you. There’s no way.

It was all for the best, you told yourself. You did what you could, he seemed to understand love enough on his own now; just not enough to know that what he felt towards you was love. That you were sure of.

But no matter how much you told yourself that, it never made the pain go away. It began to fester.

It creeped into your mind like a infection, flaring up at the thought of him. And you really did like thinking of him. It brought daggers to your chest. And when you left him that night, it was a particularly cold, jagged knife that plunged into your heart. It twisted itself before being yanked out, leaving an open wound with hot liquid pouring out of your eyes.

You wanted it to stop. You wanted him. But you knew it was all just a fantasy from the moment he first stepped into your dorm room.

After school ended for the day, you went back to your room to cry again, wondering when the tears would finally dry out.

You heard a knock at the door.

You ignored it.

Whoever it was knocked again even louder. And so you decided that confrontation was the best exterminator. But you didn’t expect to see the one who was so insistent on seeing you.

It was Morgie.

You went to close the door, but he placed his arm in the way.

“What do you want, Morgie.” You sighed, tired. Tired of having to deal with all these feelings. If love was so great, then why did it cause so much pain?

“I-“ he started, trying to get the words out of his mouth. His face looked so open; so vulnerable. “Can we finish our lessons?” He ended on a high pitch.

“What?”

“Our lessons,” he stated plainly, albeit nervously. “We never got to our last one.”

Why was he doing this? Could it be possible that he actually-

“And?” You cut off your own thoughts. “You seem to have learned enough.”

He seemed frozen. “I just-“ he sighed. “Look, can we do our last language? Then you’ll never have to see me again.”

Never again? That hurt to hear. But that’s what you wanted anyways right?

“Alright.” You told him, opening your door farther. He immediately walked in and went to sit with his legs folded on your bed. Huh, you had forgotten how used to that you both were.

Fanning away the intruding thoughts of the fun times you had together before it all went to moot, you went to join him.

“So,” you said dryly, sitting on your knees in a lounging position. “How do you plan to go about this.”

He said nothing. Moving silently, he unwrapped something from around his neck. After gingerly pressing whatever it was to the corner of your eye, you caught the metallic look to it. The rich yellow color. The black waves that reminded you too much of the tears he was actively drying.

“Like this.” He said softly, moving to dry the other eye. When had he become so affectionate? You placed your hand on his wrist to stop him. He let you.

“Morgie, what is this?”

His face looked slightly flushed.

“Physical Touch.” Was all he said, carefully removing your halting hand. He didn’t let go, however, as he continued to dry your tears. Instead, he laced your fingers together. And while a teeny tiny part of you wanted to pull away, the rest of you decided to lean into him.

“This is nice.” You murmured, forgetting why you avoided him in the first place.

“Yeah?” He responded, replacing the scarf with his open palm. His fingers caressed your eyelids with a feather-like touch not unlike what he had done to your little knickknacks a week ago. How had you ever lived without feeling the touch of this beautiful boy?

After a little while, you both resorted to a cozy embrace; arms around each other.

“Morgie?” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“Yeah?” He mumbled back adjacently. You pulled back to look him the the eyes, closer than you had ever been. You decided to tell him the truth.

“I’m sorry I ran out. I’m sorry I hurt you. The reason I did that was because I fell in love with you, and I didn’t want to take advantage of you because I didn’t think you could feel the same.”

All he did was give you an aloof, silly little smile.

“That’s great,” he said, touching your foreheads together. “Because I love you too.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“Well,” you smiled toothily. “There’s one form of physical touch that’s common for people who feel that way.”

He smiled back, understanding you perfectly.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

You didn’t wait another second.

[m-ayo-o]

coffee snob

18+ smutty // character 21+ wc 700 selfshiptember; 1

Coffee, you like it sweet and milky, hot or cold, depending on the weather. And there’s this one shop round the corner from your office that makes it just right.

In addition to your requested extra pumps of vanilla flavouring, your usual barista is asking if you’d like whipped cream today.

You nod excitedly and watch him squirt it on top of your drink, carefully adding a fine layer of powdered chocolate.

It looks pretty. Too pretty to drink.

He slides a long spoon through the cream and sets it on a saucer with a small napkin.

Ever the perfectionist.

But this time when his delicate hands push your drink over the counter he decides to strike up a conversation.

“Does it taste nice like that?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows at your sugary drink.

“Mm hmm” you hum and take the mug.

“Well,” he sighs and studies the drink in your hands, “as long as you like it.”

“You made it, so…” you trail off, taking the spoon and licking the cream off the end.

He gulps, his dark eyes following your movements.

“Well, thank you,” you chirp, pulling him out of his gaze as he waves you off, heading to your favourite corner of the café.

⋆⁺ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆★

“So, how do you like your coffee?” You question the dark haired barista the following week. He always looks so dissatisfied when he serves your drinks, almost as if it pains him to make them.

“Black” he replies simply, finishing off another syrupy concoction for you.

Despite his clear aversion to your taste in coffee, he always serves it beautifully. You love watching him work.

“Hm, isn’t it too bitter like that?” Now you’re asking.

He slides your drink over and looks at you from under those long, dark lashes.

“There are many different flavours in coffee. I can show you,” he replies. Seeing the café is fairly quiet he decides to take a break, leaving the few customers for his colleague to take care of.

And so begins the first of many lessons with your favourite barista.

⋆⁺ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆★

You learn a lot from him, especially after closing time in the small store cupboard in the back.

He lured you back there under the pretence of selecting some coffee beans for you to try. 

But you soon see his plan unfolding as he’s tugging up your skirt and pushing your panties to the side, not only educating you on the fine coffee that lines the shelves, but you also receive a humbling lesson on just how quickly he can make you cum.

It’s his fingers. You think he must have some hidden magic power in them from how they get your head spinning.

“Again?” he lets out a breathy chuckle, watching you eagerly grind onto him, riding out another high.

“N-need more” you whine shamelessly.

“I know, pretty girl. Just wait a minute,” his fingers curl and dip into you some more, “love seeing you like this.”

But soon your little whimpers wear him down. He rips off his apron, unbuckles his belt, black jeans pushed down and he groans when his tip slides over your wet entrance.

It was in the heat of the moment, you swear. You were just pushed up so close together in the tiny cupboard, feeling his body brush against yours. You just bent over to pick up a bag on the floor, feeling his hand on your ass.

And now you’ve got yourself all filled up with your sexy barista’s cock. Just like his coffee making, his love making is passionate, attentive, just perfect.

You find yourself gushing over him more times than you can count, his gruff moans going straight to the tight heat in your core where his cockhead is pushing.

And after the first time you tasted his cum, getting pulled off his cock and swivelled round to take his load in your mouth, you’ve become addicted.

Despite his numerous attempts to enlighten you, your tastes in coffee have remained unchanged. Your taste in men, however, has become very specific indeed.

Namely the tall, handsome barista, with an attitude nearly as spiky as his dark hair, Megumi Fushiguro.

selfshiptember!!

megumi m.list

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Solstice Eve | Loki x Reader

You and Loki enjoy the run up to the Winter Solstice, getting to know the Asgardian court and integrating into your new home. But there's always trouble brewing and this time old allies come back as new enemies.

Warnings: some language, silly fluff, Christmas vibes in August, threat of kidnapping.

AN: what do you mean this is 8 months too late!?

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Series Masterlist | Loki Masterlist | Masterlist

Winter in Tonsberg was beautiful. You watched day after day as drifts of snow filled in the crags and tarns of the mountains surrounding the village. Every morning you made coffee for two, slowly learning all of the different dials and knobs of the expensive coffee machine Loki had in his impressively equipped kitchen. His cottage wasn’t as sprawling as the compound, but it was beautifully appointed. From the open stone fireplace to the waterfall shower and roll top bath, Loki had a wonderful eye for both luxury and comfort in even the most everyday items and habits. He allowed you to make any changes you wanted though, adding blankets you bought at the Sunday market, cushions and tapestries the elders gifted you and what felt to him like hundreds of candles. 

The house was always happier with a candle burning, cycling through vanilla and cinnamon, the scent clung to him when he attended council meetings and followed him to the small pub on the wharf, The Dog and Bildgesnipe, when he met with Thor. 

Loki had started adding sticks of cinnamon to the fire in the evening too, unable to go without it regardless of if you were in the cottage or not. He loved the way you’d changed his home, fitting perfectly into the nooks and spaces of his heart and moulding new and interesting ways to live out of every vacant moment. 

He watched you now, as you wrapped the ends of your sweater over your hands to protect them, standing at the window, watching the weather changing in the distance, the people passing and waving in the street. 

The morning had started like any other, tangled in a mess of bare limbs and soft sheets, Loki had kissed you awake and you’d showered together, giggling in the steam without a care. After your shower you’d dressed first, leaving Loki to enjoy the hot water while you sought out your first coffee of the day.

 As he watched, you sighed, leaning against the wooden window frame and raised your hand as Madam Gina walked past, the stooped old woman who had revealed so much of your life on that day at the end of November. Since then you’d seen her many times, mostly in the Long Hall where she took up residence on the sidelines, watching and smiling at the children playing or the business of the court. You liked it there too and had spent many happy afternoons since beside her, topping up her teacup whenever it got low.

Thankfully, there had been no more revelations and no more surprise visitors. Just the ebb and flow of life in Tonsberg as it should be, and Loki’s heart swelled to see you so settled. Everything was as it should be, he thought, ready for another day.

Tony ushered Steve into his office, checking the corridor before locking the door. Steve rolled his eyes, the entire office was empty at this hour, but he was glad Tony was at least taking their project seriously. 

“Have you done it?” Steve went straight for the desk, bending across to pull all the paper together and leafing through.It was unlike Tony to do anything the ‘old fashioned way’, as he called it, but he was determined to keep this project a complete secret.,

“Of course I’ve done it, you’re a sceptic, Rogers, anyone ever tell you that?” He circled around the wide glass desk and dropped himself into his office chair.

“I just want to make sure it’s right, we don’t know what we’re messing with here.” He scanned the paper again, the strange symbols and pictures a blur. 

“I’m sure, if we -” Tony snatched the papers back, searching for something, “if we - god fucking damnit this is why I hate paper - a ha!” With a flourish he pulled something from the bottom of the pile and slapped it onto the glass in front of Steve. “If we use this,” he tapped his fingers on a circling of runes, “we can keep him contained. I saw him in that castle, he could’ve used his magic and had her out in seconds, but instead he -” Tony made a motion over his throat with his thumb, “why would he make such a mess unless he had too?” 

“Tony, the mans a lunatic, maybe he just likes killing?” Steve sighed, pulling another chair closer so he could sit and flick through the pages instead. 

“I don’t disagree, that’s why I want to bring him in.” Tony took the page back, keeping it neatly to one side.

Steve rubbed a hand over his face and then looked out of the window. It had started to snow across the compound in the last few days, slushy grey drifts that made him think of Brooklyn in the 40s, churned up snowmen and bitter cold nights. 

“What are you going to do with him, once he’s here?” He asked, his mind wandering to Bucky, currently safe on the sofa in his own apartment. Probably still mooning after Natasha, but at least he was safe. They’d locked him up too, and he was innocent, doubt crept into his consciousness but Tony was already answering. 

“Lock him up, throw away the key?” Tony said, glibly . 

“Tony,” Steve’s tone was firm, if they were arresting a man then they needed more of a plan than just locking him up. 

“We put him on trial. Thor says he’s served time in Asgard and been ‘rehabilitated’, something about the Mind Stone and I don’t fucking buy it. He’s a liability and Thor won’t help us, went all Prince Charming with a sore head when I suggested it.” 

Steve remembered Thor leaving, no one had heard from him since but he was fairly sure he was back in Norway. He wouldn’t leave the Asgardians for long. 

“I remember. So, we put him on trial and then?” Steve trailed off, “put him in prison? What prison would even hold him?”

Tony’s eyes lit up, “And then we charge the Federal Bureau of Prisons a small fortune to keep him here! I love it Rogers, you’re starting to get it!” 

“Tony.” 

“Then we know we’re doing the right thing, okay, girl scout. He’s got that girl all wrapped around his fingers, who knows what awful, evil things he’s twisting into her mind. We get him, we get him on trial and then we get her back.” 

“Fine.” Steve gave a heavy sigh, “When?” 

“Tomorrow.” 

“Do you know where he is?” 

“Tonsberg, where else would he be,Thor said he was under Asgard’s protection.” 

“Tomorrow, Tonsberg.” 

“Just us though, don’t worry anyone else about it now.” Tony said, cryptically. 

Steve scowled, he hated these backdoor deals, if he was doing them then so were a hundred other people and who knew what they were up to. But he had promised to keep Estrid safe and then she’d slipped away, been seduced by Loki and under his watch, kidnapped, attacked, vanished. Despite his doubts and fears about how Loki’s imprisonment might play out, he couldn’t leave a woman in such clear danger. 

“Agreed, let’s get him locked up where he can’t hurt anyone anymore.” 

“That’s the spirit, Rogers.” Tony grinned again and Steve’s stomach turned again. 

—

Loki pulled his sweater on, abandoned on the back of the sofa the night before, and kept half an eye on you while he collected his own coffee from the kitchen island. On light steps he crept up to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. 

“How’s the weather today, my Darling?” He sipped his coffee, looking down at you with that wistful smile he seemed to have permanently etched on his face. 

“Cold, snowy,” anyone else may have looked miserable at prospect of a below freezing day on the unforgiving coast, but not you. No, Loki had noticed you were always happy to enjoy the changing season and everything they had to offer. Whether it was the bright sunshine he'd met you in, the crisp autumn leaves that coated the ground are his cabin, or now the blanket of snow that has been placed like a cosy blanket across the entire horizon. “We should go for a walk later, on the cliff tops, if it’s not too windy.” You suggested, finishing your coffee. You span in his arms, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair. 

“That sounds wonderful, Asynja, I’ll try and get out of this council meeting early. In fact, would you like to attend? I believe we’re discussing the last preparations for the Solstice feast and Yule celebrations. I’m sure your new friends would enjoy your company while they weave the wreath.” He teased, kissing your forehead. 

The elders of the village had taken quite a shine to you and you’d easily fallen into step with the other women, helping to prepare for the feast and giving advice on the decorations. In reality, you had no idea what was happening when they asked. It has come as a surprise that they not only allowed you to join them, but sought your input with genuine interest. Especially as you had barely celebrated anything while you lived as a mortal in London. There’d been no Yule, no Christmas. Nothing. But you were excited to share this first celebration with Loki. 

“Leave my friends alone,” you chided playfully, “I’d love to come, let me just -” 

You barely had to move to use your magic now, a simple flick of your fingers and you had summoned your boots and tights, a corduroy skirt and knitted jumper. Your coat and scarf were by the door. Although it was below freezing outside it didn’t seem to bother either of you, Loki never felt the cold and you were always able to conjure enough warmth in your hands to keep the Norwegian wind at bay. 

“Are you ready?” You asked, skipping out of his grasp and opening the door, letting a swirl of snow in over the doorstep. 

“Of course I am,” he answered, a wisp of his own magic dancing in the air as a duplicate called to you from down the street. 

With a laugh you shut the door, chasing him down, your magic and laughter entwined with the softly falling snow. 

Loki was right, the council meeting was no more than a decorators committee at this point in the month, but you both revelled in the feeling of being part of something more, something soft and warm that filled you with happiness just like the hot spiced wine and thick stew that was passed around at lunch time. 

By the time Brunnhilde had called an ending to the proceedings it was already dark, the street light reflecting from the crisp snow and the moon illuminating the edges of the water. 

“I guess we’re not going for that walk on the cliffs after all,” you grouched playfully, wrapping yourself around Loki’s arm as you walked side by side. 

“As much as I’d enjoy having you all to myself in the dark of night,” Loki purred in return, freeing his arm just to wrap it around your waist, “I fear we have friends waiting.” He kissed the top of your head and you snuggled closer.

Loki led you from the Long Hall where the King held her council, and decoration, meetings to the lone pub in the village. Val had commiserated on the necessary building of some restaurants and a hotel on the edge of the village to accommodate the increasing number of tourists, but the pub remained solely for the Asgardians, their visitors, and no one else. You had a feeling there was some sort of spell or enchantment that made it invisible to the tourists that passed by the windows, but you’d never felt the need to ask when the welcome was always so warm for you. 

At the entrance, Loki held the door for you, whisking away your coat in a flurry of magic and ice cold wind. Beyond the bar was already bustling with laughter and bodies, each hand raised in greeting as you both passed, some muttering “your highness” still, unable to lose their deference. 

“Evening,” Loki shook hands politely with some and patted others on the shoulder, leading you to a booth by the window already occupied by Thor, beside him was a slender woman with dark brown hair and delicate features, tapping on a table and trying to show Thor something while he shuffled closer. Every time he moved, the woman moved away, just slightly, but you didn’t need to read their body language to know this was not a couple that’d last, you felt it deep inside, like an instinct. 

Loki stopped and coughed loudly, “good evening, brother.” He smirked at Thor’s blush. 

“Good evening, Loki.” Thor replied, stiffly, “good evening, Trouble.” He stood and crushed you into a hug, startling you out of your thoughts. “Let me introduce you to my-” 

“Friend,” the woman interrupted, “Jane Foster, it’s lovely to meet you.” She smiled, shaking your hand, and scooched over enough to make space for you both on the bench seat. But as you looked at her, you could sense there was more. Images of her and Thor rose unbidden in your mind, and that golden thread of connection still hung between them, slack and dim, but still there in your mind’s eye. Interesting. 

“I’m Estrid,” the name still didn’t feel right, and you’d suggested to some of the others they could use your old name as a sort of nickname, but it hadn’t stuck, not with Loki around. 

“Princess Estrid,” he said, proudly, draping a protective arm around the back of the seat and rubbing his thumb against your shoulder. 

“Well I sure Jane doesn’t care about all of that,” you smiled at her, and she smiled back, but before you could say anything else Thor had reached over the table and tapped a large finger on the wood. 

“Doctor Jane, she’s a Doctor.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure Estrid doesn’t care about all that either,” she pushed his hand away, “I’m really pleased to meet you, Thor’s told me all about you and, well, I’ve got some experience with Asgardian nonsense too. It’s good to meet you, is what I was trying to say, and maybe I could read your electromagnetic impulses some time, if that’s okay?” Jane rushed her words out, the tablet clutched in one hand, her eyes twinkling with excitement. 

“I don’t know about that,” Loki squeezed your shoulder.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Loki, don’t worry about it. I’d be happy for you to read my electromagnetic impulses, I think -”

The bar tender set down a tray of glasses, a tankard of ale for Thor, a glass of aged fifteen year old whiskey for Loki and a bottle of chilled white wine with two glasses. 

“Loki, Thor,” the bartender nodded at them both, polite, but without the obsessive reverential treatment of the older Asgardians. “Princess,” you smiled back and thanked him.

“Doctor!” Thor tapped his finger again. 

“My apologies, Doctor Foster,” he stammered, retreating to the bar. 

“God he’s so embarrassing, I’m so sorry.” Jane turned to you, ignoring Thor’s aghast expression and opening the wine, “I’ll pour.”

Safe in the knowledge that you and Jane were perfectly able to handle yourselves, Thor and Loki took a polite turn around the bar, speaking with the villagers and their friends in turn. 

After the first bottle, Brunnhilde appeared, signalling for the bartender for three more drinks and joining you and Jane in your booth. 

“I don’t know how you both put up with those two.” She said, sliding into the seat, a bottle of wine in one hand and mead in the other. 

You hadn’t realised how lovesick your sigh was until Brunnhilde laughed, shaking your shoulder, “sorry,” you blinked a few times, tearing yourself away from the sight of Loki half bent over a cards table a few feet away. His black jeans were pulled tight around the curve of his thighs and you just knew if he turned you’d be able to see the outline of every wonderful inch of him hidden beneath. He’d discarded his aran sweater when the fire had roared to life at the edge of the room, leaving him in a forest green shirt, rolled up to his elbows. As he moved you watched as the veins in his hands became more pronounced, gliding your gaze up to his broad shoulders and the black curls that fell over his face when he laughed. 

It wasn’t just that he looked good enough to eat, he also looked happy, rested and content, his friends around him and purpose every day. He gave you purpose too, joining in the council activities and practising your magic.

“Hate to break it to you, B’, but I don’t put up with him anymore.” Jane said, sadly. 

“What? I thought you two were-” you hesitated to elaborate and Jane took pity on you. 

“We broke up, it just wasn’t working. But I’d already agreed to spend the Solstice and Yule here, so - maybe it was a stupid idea.” 

“No, no-” Brunnhilde pulled her into a hug and it occurred to you that they probably already knew each other, if Thor had brought her here before. “You’re always welcome in Asgard.” The King winked and Jane blushed. 

“I’m sorry - that things didn’t work - I didn’t mean,” you stammered acutely aware that this was now a reunion of friends and you knew nothing about them. “I can go, if you want to talk and catch up-” 

“No, stay, please.” Jane smiled a lot, there was always something in the corner of her lips, wanting to be happy, but this smile was softer so you sat back down. “Now, tell me what it’s like having fire magic.” 

The wine, beer and mead flowed freely in the tavern that night, every villager in their cups excited for the celebrations to come. At midnight you decided to head home, passing Loki on your way to the door, he slung an arm around your hips, pulling you to his side. 

“I’m going to stay awhile, my darling, if you don’t mind,” he looked up at you from his cards table, his blue eyes like sparkling frost in the firelight, and you bent to kiss his quickly. 

“I don’t mind, handsome, you stay.” You ran a hand through the errant curls that had formed in the warm atmosphere. 

“Are you walking with someone?” Despite the many empty glasses spread across the table, he was still alert and concerned, scanning the pub for any danger. You both bore the memory of your kidnapping, a sense of fear when you were alone without anyone, despite being stronger now. 

“B’ is going home too, Jane is staying in the rooms at the back, but Thor said he’d see me home if you wanted to stay.” 

At the sound of his name Thor thundered towards you both, clapping a hand on your shoulder and giving you a little shake. You could almost feel the wine sloshing inside of you and you patted his fingers, hoping he’d stop. 

“Fear not, brother, I can escort the maidens home.” Thor bowed theatrically, behind him Jane and Brunnhilde snorted with unrestrained laughter and you couldn’t help joining in. 

“Very well, take care of my Asynja,” he tugged you down and kissed you again, the taste of whisky and honey dancing on his tongue as he deepened the kiss. 

“That’s enough, either let her leave or walk her yourself.” Brunnhilde gave you a shove, waving behind her as Loki turned back to his game. 

You were happy to let him stay, pleased to see he’d taken up new friendships since you’d both become so settled. You’d miss falling asleep next to him, but you knew he’d be home soon and you needed your bed immediately, your head was already swimming. 

Jane left your party first, taking the steep steps at the back of the tavern to the rooms above. You’d offered her your spare room tomorrow, but tonight just thinking about removing your makeup and brushing your teeth seemed too much, making the spare bed was unimaginable. 

The King took the side street behind the Long Hall, waving goodnight as you and Thor made your way to Loki’s cottage. You’d left a light on above the door and it illuminated the wreath you’d made and hung there earlier in the week. 

Opening the door the soft scent of cinnamon and pine drifted into the crisp night and Thor once more embraced your arm. 

“Estrid,” he looked down at you, suddenly very serious, even the way he said that name held a gravitas that gave you goosebumps. 

“Yes?” 

“Thank you,” he smiled, pulling you into a bear hug and squeezing you tight. 

“What for?” You laughed, trying to squirm free. 

“For making your home here, for trusting Loki and I. I have seldom seen him as happy as when he’s with you. I’m glad to have you here, Trouble.” He ruffled your hair playfully, his own drinking catching up to him. “May you be here for many more celebrations.” 

“Well, thank you for welcoming me, Thor.” This time you lifted your arms and wrapped them around his neck, hugging him back, and he lifted you off the ground, shaking you from side to side until you were both crying with laughter. “I think -” you hiccuped, “I think we should both go to bed and sleep. Lots to do tomorrow.” 

“Yes, yes,” he wiped a tear from his eye, “I must fight Loki tomorrow.” 

“What?” In your bewilderment you couldn’t stop laughing.

“Oh not truly fight him. But we must pretend to fight, so I can beat winter and spring will come again. Have no fear, I shall return your beloved to you unharmed.” And with that he patted your back and wandered into the village, humming to himself. He tripped slightly on the decorations that had appeared along the harbour as you’d drunk. With a happy giggle he danced around the wreath and meandered back to his own home. 

Across the harbour there was a flicker in the window of the now abandoned harbour master’s house and Steve sat back on his haunches. 

“He hasn’t left that bar,” he groused, rubbing the arms of his stealth suit against the cold of the night. “But she seems safe, Thor is here as well.”

Next to him, Tony turned the heater of his suit up, “of course he is, I’ve never met a worse double agent in my life.” 

“He’s hardly a double agent, he’s loyal to his brother, I can’t exactly blame him for not following orders.” He thought of his best friend, safely tucked up in the compound with his budding relationship with Natasha to distract him. He knew what it was to choose loyalty over command. 

“Well, he’s not on our side. We just have to get him alone and then we can lock him up and forget about it.” Tony leant back on the creaking wicker chair. 

“You said we'd do this properly.” 

“Yes, yes, whatever you need to help you sleep at night Spangles.” Tony waved his hand, the gauntlet of his suit catching the faint light. 

The little house had stood empty since the it’s two inhabitants had been arrested by the King of Asgard and her guards. It had been damp and cold enough before then, but now the frost lay thick on the inside, as well as the outside, of the small windows and Steve was jealous of Tony’s heating system, the soldier rubbed his hands together. 

“Let's just be quick.”

“Wouldn't want you becoming a Capsicle again.” 

Across the bay the tavern door opened again and a square of warm light cut across the black cobbles. In the doorway a familiar figure filled the space leaving a silhouette of his lean body dancing on the ground as he waved drunkenly behind him. 

“Let’s go.” Steve ordered, pulling the dark cowl of his suit over his head. 

<< Chapter 17

Chapter 19>>

[mariariley]

Simon Riley x reader

⋆✮⋆ relationship headcanons ⋆✮⋆

2nd person

female reader

NSFW warning

Word count: 1.4k

masterlist || have a request/ask? Here are the rules <3

I edited this one a little too many times 😭 added bunch of stuff so I’m sorry for the reblogs that aren’t getting the updates

Let’s be honest, it would be a hell of a journey to get with this man

At first, he wouldn’t be interested in you at all

It takes a lot of patience to actually make some kind of bond with him that isn’t merely because you’re a teammate or whatever you imagine in your CoD AU

If you’re patient and stubborn enough, you might get somewhere

If you treat him right, take it easy with him, prove yourself worthy and convince him you genuinely care, it’s a bingo

It might seem like you’re taming a wild animal but it really isn’t. Considering he’s a soldier preoccupied with duty, there’s no room for emotions

Or at least no room for emotions until he learns how to control them and put them aside when it’s mandatory which would take a while

That’s why he’d be slowly letting you in, step by step you’d notice he’d talk with you more and wish to spend more time with you

He wouldn’t tell you any of that though. He’d express that physically in a way - sit closer to you, stand closer to you (giving off protective vibes), stare at you

The staring part might seem a little unnerving but it’s just his way of admiring you from afar considering he can’t admire you up close (yet)

The situationship would go on and on as he’d slowly make room for you

When he finally makes sure the special little warm place for you in his cold heart is completely ready, he’d let you in

The moment you’d officially click would be spontaneous, you probably wouldn’t expect it. You’d be alone, probably just enjoying the peace with a TV on when he’d casually wrap his arm around your shoulder

He’d make a small talk, probably end up flattering you with a cheeky comment or make you giggle with a dad joke

For the first time he’d let you touch him. He’d let you sneak your hand underneath his mask and slightly lift it, merely to reveal his mouth

He wouldn’t hesitate another moment because he’d be tired of hesitation. You’d be surprised how gentle he is, how soft his kisses are and how careful he is with his hands

He isn’t into PDA so the crew would have to figure it out on its own

As your significant other he’d be ready to lay his life down for you. He’s extremely overprotective and would get jealous

At times it wouldn’t seem as healthy but if you’re good at communicating there shouldn’t be a problem with dealing with any setbacks

He loves pampering you, treating you like a princess, giving you everything he’s never had

He's a man of few words so his love language is mostly physical touch. It’s hard for him to choose which part of your body is his favorite because he loves holding all of you like a plushy toy

But if he really had to choose it would probably be your face and torso, his favorite parts to kiss, as well as your collarbone (has a thing for necklaces)

His sex drive isn’t high and it would take a lot of time to get fully intimate with him

First he’d spontaneously test your boundaries, make sure what you’re comfortable with and what not

Your first intimate session he’d take nice and easy. He’d realize how good you make him feel in every aspect. It would turn out to be very passionate, slow and intense

Every next time would be better than the previous one. You’d explore each other and experiment together and actually start doing it more and more frequently

You’d hear him praise you and dirty talk here and there. For example “You can take it luv”, “Do it for me sweethear’”, “There’s a good gal”

And when he’d make you squirt or when he’d want you to cum again: “Do it again for me”, “You can do it”, “Just one more time luv, do it for me princess”

He’s okay with oral but definitely prefers the real deal. He also prefers doing it inside, in complete privacy where he can cherish you properly

His favorite positions are the classic missionary, cowgirl and reverse cowgirl and even then he’d tell you to look at him over your shoulder because he prefers looking at your beautiful face

He loves holding your hand while thrusting deep inside of you, going slow with a perfect amount of roughness, stretching your walls. There’s something about this edging pace that makes his ears rumble in pleasure

Isn’t that vocal, mostly just grunts and groans and heavily breathes

Is a dom but not an aggressive one. Never.

He’d use classic nicknames such as “love”, “darling” but also “sweetheart”, “sweets”, “doll”, “princess”

You’re probably the only one he enjoys hearing Simon from. He loves when you call him by his real name

If English isn’t your first language and if you have an accent, he would love it. He’d tell you how adorable it is if you’re insecure about it

Fantasizes about moving with you to Manchester and owning a dog. He isn’t a family man, he doesn’t want kids

Loves when you admire his tattoos and touch his face. He’d always guide your hands to his face. He loves when you kiss his scars (and loves kissing yours if you have any, as well as beauty marks)

Loves to hold your hands and admire your nails if you like them painted and/or long (loves when you give him gentle scratches with them, especially his arms and back), perhaps has a tiny size kink

Loves your scent and your perfumes it you wear any, hence he loves when you wear his clothes

Takes his mask off when sleeping but only when it’s pitch black. Here’s a fluff oneshot I wrote about it

Fun fact: blud is not a morning person when he’s not on duty. It’s hell to get him out of bed

He sleeps none to lightly and wakes up when you make the smallest shuffle, checking on you and always making sure you’re nicely tucked in

He can neglect himself really badly and I’m talking hygiene and clothes. Not taking care of himself is a bad habit of his. For example he wouldn’t shave his beard for a long time, shower, wash his clothes etc

You reminding him to do such things can be annoying but if you do it in a peaceful suggestive manner there won’t be any escalations. He’d admit and probably call himself a dirty pig before finally putting his dirty socks and underwear in the washing machine and finally showering

He drinks. Bourbon is his favorite and he can consume too much at times. He’d reassure you he can control himself but sometimes he can get a little tipsy. He isn’t an alcoholic but the amount he drinks at times can worry you

He smokes too, often stinks of nicotine

Loves when you brush your teeth together

Also loves to watch you do your morning and night routines

Has a thing when you cook for him. Loves everything you make in the kitchen but he’s always the one making tea, no exceptions

Also has a thing to tickle you with his spiky beard when he doesn’t shave

He's a cheeky bastard, his sarcasm always on point. Loves making dad jokes and has a dark humor

Knows a lot of tricks e.g. with cards and that penny behind your ear trick. When you’d ask him to show you how he does it, he’d claim it’s “real magic”

Loves playing poker with his crew. Him trying to explain the rules to you is hilarious though because you probably wouldn’t understand anything. He’s rough on teaching

He’d love keeping you on his lap while playing poker with the crew along with a glass of strong bourbon, claiming you’re “his little helper/assistant”

Another fun fact: blud does not own enough clothes. You would have to go shopping with him which he hates

He would never open up about what he’s been through. He doesn’t want to traumatize you or ruin the picture you have of him. Or at least that’s just his fear. Only fear, to disappoint you and lose you

Though he would tell you about some missions and battles if you’re really interested. He’d tell you about his scars, where, when and how he got them. Some he’d skip because they connect to a part of his life he doesn’t want to talk about

What a journey to win Simon’s trust ey? Well he still can’t be surprised if one day something pulls you apart. Nevertheless he truly hopes it doesn’t

He wouldn’t want this to end, ever. He found his happy place and that’s you

Dividers belong to @firefly-graphics 🖤

[kamisama1kiss]

HIIIII THE MOVIE WAS SO GOOD AND I SAW YOU WERE TAKING REQUESTS AND OMG OMG COULD YOU DO A NEKOMA MANAGER x KENMA PRETTY PLEASE ITS OKAY IF NOT BUT ANYWAYS THE MOVIE HAS ME AUGH!! Ah! preferably the prompt i think would be fun is either Kenma and Y/N going to the conbini and/or arcade in the middle of the night after the loss (they sneak out of the hotel) or Arcade/GameStop Worker!Reader x Regular!Kenma. This is my first time making a request so HOPEFULLY I did this right!!

The movie is so good, like wow. I actually did some small researching for snacks for a konbini 😝🫶 You did great, BTW! Loved the cute idea!! ♡

Song of choice: Sweet by Cigarette After Sex

!⚠️Spoilers from The Dumster Battle will be mentioned shortly⚠️!

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Kenma Kozume { Midnight Snacks }

"Not of your brightest moments {Name}" Kenma spoke with the volleyball manager, walking next to him along the streets of Japan for a breather. "Perhaps not, but you didn't say no."

They smiled at him, finding his constant small frown from having to leave the comfort of sleeping to go out, alongside his switch being placed into their pocket for no purpose of being used.

"It has been a long enough day as is." not adding much of an answer while he was still tired from the match with Karasuno. Shrugging a shoulder at what he had side, "This just a short trip to clear our minds, besides its good for you to go outside some more."

They spoke gently, placing a light hand on his shoulder. The walking stops in a halt. "I know this was hard on you after how it ended, with the ball falling out of your hand at the end."

Almost as he held his breath when it was mentioned, his shoulder stiffened as well, feeling guilt from earlier. Nonetheless, he had experienced a new feeling. "You had fun playing volleyball today, I saw it. We all saw it." A soft patting motion with the hand resting on his shoulder, further making their way down the street lit path.

Rounding the corner in silence, the loudest sounds were easily picked up by the sounds of shoes hitting the concrete. It was maybe quiet but not uncomfortable. Simply, a warm aura wrapped the duo.

It could be seen as Kenma eyed them. Hesitation was shown in his movements, with enough curridge his hand finally latched on to their hand. It was pinkey linked, a small form of affection that he rearly initiated himself.

Hearts beating as one, with the stars dancing along the dark canvas up above. Comfort was broken at some point. "We could head to the konbini, up ahead." They suggested in a soft whisper, pointing briefly with their head. "A night snack could be nice."

The night felt as a warm breeze when they now had a destination to make. He was quiet, but not many words needed to be exchanged between the two. Lazily smiling as his eyes would softly admire how the moonshine hit their face, never having gotten the grasp of how they even ended up together.

With a blink of en eye now standing in front, one of the few ials of snacks, food, and simple groceries along such. "Hm, I feel for a strawberry sando. You?" They asked him while they reached for the strawberry snack.

His cat-like gaze roamed before reaching his wish. "A apple pie flavoured Umaibo." Reaching for one alongside it being not too far from where they stood.

"I'll pay." They said even before he could even utter another word. "Are you sure? I could pay for my own just fine." Raising a light brow but gives them the snack if choice anyhow.

"I insist, take it as a treat. You paid for the last one." They grinned at him as they now spinned on the heel to go upfront, lightly tugging him after with the pinkey still being held.

With yet another flash of a blink, they sat outside of the konbini, each munching on their respected snacks. "You know, this evening was pleasant, actually." He mumbled after a second bite, looking over at them only to already be greeted by a pleased and eased smile.

"I am glad to hear so." They lightly spoke, the moon shunned yet again on the two, giving them a soft glow. Going from linked pinkey to hands completely intertwined as time went on.

~~~

Hope you all enjoyed this little Kenma Kozume snippet!♡