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kbwrites · 2 months ago

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The Lord's Favorite CH. 5

synopsis: Amaryllis (/ˌæməˈrɪlɪs/)[1] is the only genus in the subtribe Amaryllidinae (tribe Amaryllideae). A vibrant bloom that symbolizes new beginnings and fresh starts. They are often associated with winter and the holiday season.

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⚝content: trueform!Sukuna x f!reader, angst, slowburn

⚝wc: 3k

⚝a/n: I've been really slacking on updating this series, gonna try harder I swear.

Sorry.

Even the thought of the word sounded wrong to him. He was a king–ruthless and commanding. His subjects kissed the ground he walked on. There was never a choice he made, that was up for debate. Every criticizing eye was swiftly plucked out, questioning tongue severed.

But, you—seemed to be a point of contention. Ever since your arrival that was the trend you followed. It was vexing, sure and yet he wouldn’t dream of changing the dynamic.

Why did the sight of you crying so affect him? Why was it that you, a mere servant, could disturb his centuries of carefully maintained control? It wasn’t just your fear that unsettled him; it was the realization that you had managed to penetrate his defenses in a way no one else had.

With a frustrated growl, Sukuna stopped pacing and stared at the reflection in his ornate mirror. The king he saw there was every bit as formidable as he’d always been, but the reflection now held a hint of something else—something vulnerable that he could barely recognize.

His eyes drifted to the door, hoping for any sign of your arrival. He replayed the conversation from earlier, the way you had looked at him, shrunk under his yelling.

As night fell, the emptiness of his bed became a stark reminder of your absence. The usual solace of his grand chambers turned oppressive, and no matter how much he tossed and turned, sleep eluded him. The silence was deafening, only filled with thoughts of you.

He turned over for what felt like the hundredth time, his frustration mounting. For the first time in hundreds of years–the king of curses could not sleep.

Every creak of the palace, every distant sound seemed magnified in the quiet of his chambers. His usual patience frayed, replaced by an unsettling anxiety. He clenched his jaw and stared at the ceiling, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him.

The minutes turned to hours.

As the hours dragged on and the first light of dawn began to seep through the heavy curtains, Sukuna finally acknowledged the truth he had been fighting: your presence—or the lack of it—affected him more than he was willing to admit. He needed to find you.

Throwing off the covers, he rose from bed with a determined stride.

He navigated through the labyrinth of his palace. Looking through every room, his irritation growing each second he failed to locate you.

Finally, he encountered Uraume, who was in the midst of their morning duties. Sukuna’s usual composure was replaced by a rare edge of desperation. “Uraume.” he barked, his voice carrying a sharp edge. “Where is she?”

Uraume’s eyes widened in surprise. “My lord, I—”

“Do not play games with me,” Sukuna interrupted, his frustration palpable. “I demand to know where she is.”

Uraume, taken aback by the king’s sudden intensity, struggled to maintain their usual calm demeanor. “I do not know, my lord. I have not seen her this morning.”

Sukuna’s jaw clenched, his gaze darkening. “Find her.” he commanded, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Inform me immediately when you do.”

After what felt like hours of searching, Sukuna’s relentless pursuit led him to the library—a place he rarely visited.

As he pushed open the heavy wooden door, his gaze swept over the vast array of bookshelves and reading nooks. His sharp eyes scanned the room with a mixture of hope and irritation.

There, nestled in a quiet corner of the library, he finally found you. You were lying on a velvet sofa, the soft light filtering through the high windows casting a gentle glow over you. Your breathing was steady, but the sight of you so unexpectedly calm, yet so isolated, struck him with a fresh wave of frustration.

Sukuna stood still for a moment, the weight of his anger still mingling in his chest. He had expected to find you hiding, but the sight of you resting so peacefully, despite the turmoil from the previous day, left him momentarily speechless.

“Why are you here?” His voice was sharp. He tried to suppress the concern in his tone, but it seeped through nonetheless.

You stirred at the sound of his voice, slowly opening your eyes. Seeing him standing over you, the mixture of his commanding presence and the faint softness in his gaze was almost disorienting.

“I... slept here.” you murmured, as you sat up.

Sukuna’s expression softened slightly, though his frustration remained evident. “Do not think that you can simply evade me. I was looking for you.”

You looked up at him, trying to find the right words to explain. “I..needed a moment away.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed, a flicker of hurt flashing across his face. Away? Away… from him?

His anger seemed ready to boil over. He clenched his fists at his sides, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

He started to say something more, but the words choked in his throat. He paused, his face contorting as he wrestled with his emotions. “Come with me.” he said abruptly, his voice strained.

Without waiting for a response, Sukuna turned on his heel, and you watched as his broad shoulders shifted, tension coiling beneath his skin. The silence that followed felt like an unspoken command, so you rose quietly, trailing behind him as he led the way out of the library and through the grand halls of the palace.

Each turn felt more hidden, the winding path narrowing until the towering palace walls faded behind you. Sukuna moved with purpose, leading you through a barely visible trail as if he had walked it countless times before. The air grew cooler, more secluded, and with every step, the tension between you deepened, thickening the silence.

When the path opened into the garden, your breath caught in your throat. You had never seen this place before—none of the servants had even whispered of its existence. A private sanctuary, tucked away from the rest of the palace. The delicate rustling of leaves, the vibrant flowers, and the gentle trickle of a fountain made it feel like stepping into a dream, so unlike the cold, imposing grandeur of the palace.

You glanced around in awe, but Sukuna remained still, his back to you, as if the beauty of the garden was inconsequential to him. He stopped near the center, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath, barely holding back the storm of emotions that brewed within. You hesitated, waiting for him to break the silence.

"This place..." He paused, as if the words were unfamiliar to him, his jaw tightening with the effort to continue. "No one but Uraume knows of it." His crimson gaze finally meets yours, studying your reaction. You look up at him, caution etched on your face.

“My Lord… why did you bring me here?” You finally find your voice.

His jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as if he were holding back words he didn’t know how to express. For a moment, he said nothing, his piercing stare taking in every detail of your face.

When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, the usual edge softened just slightly. “Because...”

He hesitated, his expression hardening once more, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. “Because you needed to see this. Needed to understand that..." He stopped himself again, frustration flaring briefly in his gaze.

He tore his eyes away from yours, staring instead at the quiet garden around you, the flowers swaying gently in the breeze as if mocking his struggle. "I could not sleep."

“You… couldn’t sleep.” you repeat.

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as if he regretted saying it aloud. "No," he growled, his tone sharper than intended. He shifted his weight, clearly battling with himself. "I couldn’t sleep because you weren’t where you should be." His fists tightened briefly at his sides, and for a moment, you thought his temper might snap again, but he held back. He took a deep breath, looking back at the garden.

“Where I should be…” you echoed, the weight of the words sinking in. Bitterness filled your mouth at the thought.

You had never had a place to belong, passing from one household to the next—no family truly wanting you. Being taught to serve, be invisible, to follow orders without question. “Belonging” was a luxury that other people had, you had only known obligations, expectations, and silence.

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond. "My Lord… I’ve never had a place where I was meant to be." Your voice quiet. You kept your eyes low, avoiding his gaze, afraid of what you might see in it. Afraid of what he might see in it. "I’ve only ever been where I was told… where I was needed. There’s never been a place that was… mine."

“I see,” Sukuna said softly, breaking the heavy silence that had settled between you.

“Your absence… is felt.” His voice was a low murmur, almost introspective.

The admission hung in the air, delicate and uncharacteristic of him. Sukuna’s usual command was replaced with a rare, raw honesty, his battle with his own emotions evident in the tightness of his jaw and the uncertainty in his eyes.

For a moment, you looked up, meeting his gaze. The depth of his words, the way he had fought to express them, was both startling and unsettling. You had never imagined that your presence—or absence—could affect him so deeply.

“I’m… sorry,” you said finally, the words escaping before you could second-guess them. “I didn’t mean to cause such distress.”

“No.” he said eventually, his tone laced with frustration and reluctance. “It’s not just… about distress.” He took a deep breath, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. “Yesterday, I... I lost my temper.”

The awkwardness of his apology was palpable as if each word was a battle against his own nature. The struggle was evident in the way his shoulders tensed and his fingers clenched into fists before relaxing. He was trying to bridge a gap that his usual demeanor couldn’t easily cross.

You looked at him, your mouth agape in shock, maybe the night of no sleep had cause hallucinations. Had you heard him? Were you mistaken?

The usual commanding presence that inspired fear and respect was now tempered by an uncharacteristic hesitation and softness. It was as though you were seeing him for the first time, not just as a king, but as a man grappling with his own emotions.

You quickly caught yourself, regaining composure as you took in the full scope of his vulnerability. The stark contrast between the imposing figure of Sukuna and the genuine, albeit awkward, sincerity he had just displayed was striking. His powerful frame, usually so unyielding, seemed momentarily diminished in the garden’s serene atmosphere.

He turned away briefly, running a hand through his pink hair in a rare show of agitation. He turned his back to you again, but the tension in his posture spoke volumes. “It is… difficult for me, to express… what I mean.”

He cast a quick, almost helpless glance over his shoulder. “You’re... you’re allowed in this garden. Whenever you want. It’s not meant to be hidden from you.”

Slowly, you took a step forward, the shock giving way to a tentative understanding. "Thank you, my Lord," you said quietly,. "For… sharing this with me. And for allowing me a place here."

“You… are welcome.”

Your gaze shifted to a nearby flower, its vibrant petals standing out against the verdant backdrop. Curious, you asked, “What’s this one?”

Sukuna’s eyes followed your gaze, and for a moment, he seemed to find solace in the change of focus. “That’s an amaryllis” he said, his voice regaining a touch of its usual authority.

“Amaryllis..” you practice, tasting the name on your tongue.

“Yes,” he continues, “It symbolizes strength and new beginnings. It thrives even in harsh conditions.” He shifted his gaze back to you, eyes tracing the lines of your face with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You reached out for him, your hand trembling slightly. Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he hesitated for a moment before he slowly took your hand in his. He guided it firmly to his chest, where his robe parted to reveal the warmth of his skin,a stark contrast to the cool garden air. You could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart beneath your palm—a heartbeat that seemed to resonate with the depth of his emotions.

He stared intently into your eyes, his own filled with a mixture of sincerity and trepidation. “You have…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “You have… affected me. More than you know.”

The air between you grew heavier, your breath catching in your throat as his hand trailed over your face, gentle and calculated. Tracing the soft skin of your cheek, to your jaw—brushing against your bottom lip. As his fingers lingered on your lips, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you in this suspended moment.

“My lord—” you began, your voice wavering with a question that never fully formed.

For a brief moment, neither of you moved. Your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat. The garden around you seemed to quiet, the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of crickets fading into the background as if the world itself was holding its breath.

Then, with a slow exhale, Sukuna guided you to a softer patch of grass further within the garden, a place hidden beneath a canopy of trees, where the light filtered through the leaves in soft, fragmented patterns.

"I meditate here," he said quietly, sharing a secret. He lowered himself gracefully onto the grass, his movements deliberate, leaving just enough space beside him for you to join.

"You… meditate?" you asked, almost without thinking, your tone laced with disbelief.

He turned to look at you, amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Did you think me incapable of silence and thought?" His voice was tinged with sarcasm, though it didn’t sting. "That I am so detached, so unfeeling?"

The embarrassment crept up your neck, your eyes darting away as you bit your lip. "I didn’t mean—" you began, but the words felt clumsy, an apology for something you hadn't meant to assume.

Sukuna’s gaze softened, and he let out a quiet breath, his amusement fading into something more genuine. "It is…easy to believe," he murmured, "given how I appear." His hand reached out, beckoning you closer. "Come.”

Slowly, you settled beside him, the grass cool beneath your skin as the quiet of the garden enveloped you both. Sukuna reclined, two arms propped behind his head, allowing the stillness of the space to calm his unease. You glanced at him, the formidable king of curses suddenly appearing more human in the soft light of the garden.

An awkward silence stretched between you. Sukuna, clearly uncomfortable with the quiet, cleared his throat and tried to make conversation. "What of your family?" he asked.

The question caught you off guard, and you hesitated, the pain of your past surfacing briefly. "My family… they died when I was young," you said quietly, your voice betraying a hint of the sorrow you felt. "I was left alone after that."

Sukuna’s eyes widened slightly, and he shifted uncomfortably, his usual confidence momentarily faltering. "I see," he said awkwardly, trying to find the right words. "I didn’t mean to… to bring up something so... personal."

You looked at him, noticing his genuine discomfort and the uncharacteristic hesitation in his gaze. "It’s alright," you reassured him. "It’s been a long time."

Sukuna let out a frustrated breath, closing his eyes briefly. "This…isn't exactly my strength." he admitted, almost begrudgingly.

"And here I thought you were all-powerful in every aspect." a small smirk tugs your lips as you chuckle. Sukuna’s cheeks flushed slightly, avoiding your gaze.

Before you could react, Sukuna moved with surprising swiftness, crawling on top of you and trapping you gently between the grass and his strong arms. His gaze was intense, crimson eyes piercing, boreing holes into your own.

"Do you find this amusing?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver through you.

The sudden shift in position left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him. The distance between you was minimal, the warmth of his body so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I’m not accustomed to this. It is… difficult. You make it difficult.”

He hovered just above you, his breath mingling with yours, “You have a way of unraveling me. It’s... unsettling.”

The warmth between you grew. Every subtle movement of his body against yours sent a shiver through you, making your skin tingle.

Sukuna’s gaze fell to your lips, the tension between you crackling with an electric anticipation. He hesitated, his expression a mix of determination and longing. “What is it you do to me?” he asked, his voice a whisper that seemed to echo in the stillness.

The man who had always been a figure of strength and control was now entirely absorbed by you, and the realization made your heart race even faster.

His nearness was intoxicating, every touch and glance fueling the fire that had been kindling between you. With a sudden, almost desperate movement, his lips descended on yours, capturing them in a kiss that was both rough and dizzying.

His grip on you tightened, his hands framing your face with a desperate intensity. The moment felt like it stretched endlessly, the world outside forgotten as his tongue entered your mouth with an urgency that bordered on frantic. He explored every inch of you, his taste mingling with yours. The kiss was a maelstrom of sensation, his passion overwhelming in its depth.

Your hands roamed the expanse of his chest, feeling the heat of his skin and the silk of his robe on your fingertips. Sukuna’s groan vibrated through you, He pressed more of his weight into you, his two lower arms gripping your waist with a possessive force, his nails digging into your flesh as if to anchor himself to you.

As he finally pulled away from your lips, you were met with the sight of him—his pupils dilated, breathing ragged, and his heartbeat quicker now. Sukuna’s chest heaved with every breath, his expression pure hunger.

He wanted to consume you. And you were more than ready to let him.

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#kbwrites #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna angst #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk sukuna

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fear-is-truth · 3 months ago

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yearn ── tate langdon x f!reader.

NSFW MINORS DNI 18+ TAGS: sexual content ・ fem!reader ・subby!tate ・ unprotected p in v・ english is not my first language so bear with me・not proofread

It had been two agonising weeks since you left the Murder House. Fourteen fucking days of suffocating silence that your absence carved into every corner. Tate had spent decades watching new residents come and go, meeting their untimely ends within these walls, never giving a rat’s ass about them. But you—you had become the one thing that made his endless days of death and monotony feel bearable. You made him feel alive in a place full of ghosts.

But this time, something felt wrong. It wasn’t like you had just gone to school or the store, slipping away for a few hours with the promise of coming back. No, this time, you’d left for summer camp — two whole weeks of being out there in the world, away from him. You said it would fly by, that it was nothing, but to Tate, it felt like an eternity. And deep down, a gnawing fear clawed at his gut: what if you didn’t want to come back? What if you met someone?

The first few days, he convinced himself you’d be back in no time. He tried to stay calm, tried to hold it together. But the more time passed, the more restless he became. You were out there, in the world, alive, and he was trapped here — unable to leave, unable to follow you.

Every night, he replayed your last conversation in his mind. You had kissed him goodbye, a quick peck on the lips, so casual. “I’ll be back soon,” you had promised. But Tate remembered the way your lips lingered a little longer than usual, the way your fingers trembled just slightly when you pulled away.

Two weeks. Fourteen days. He spent most of them in your room, staring vacantly at the ceiling, trying not to do something more “stimulating” than jerking off and crying — for instance killing the electrician your parents had hired. The bedsheets still smelled like you — faint, but enough to drive him insane. He buried his face in your pillow more times than he’d care to admit.

Now, you were finally coming back.

When the front door creaked open that evening, Tate was waiting at the bottom of the staircase. The second you stepped in, a little tired but smiling, duffel bag slung over your shoulder. The sight of you — finally back in the house, finally back with him — made something snap inside him.

“Hey, I’m—”

You barely had time to finish your sentence before Tate closed the distance between you in seconds, crashing his lips against yours. His hands were on you instantly, gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. His lips were rough, almost bruising, as if he was trying to make up for every second you were gone. You moaned into his mouth, surprised by the desperation but didn’t pull away.

You missed him too.

“Don’t… don’t ever leave me again,”

Tate mumbled between frantic kisses, his breath was hot against your skin. “I can’t… I need you here. I can’t do this without you.”

“I’m here now, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your hand tangling in his messy blonde curls. You stumbled backward as he guided you up the stairs, not bothering to slow down. His hands were all over you, tracing your sides, your hips, anywhere he could reach. It wasn’t just physical — it was emotional. The pent-up frustration of your absence, the loneliness, the abandonment — it was all boiling to the surface.

When you reached your room, Tate practically kicked the door shut behind him, fingers tugging at your backpack before tossing it to the floor.

“Tate…” you breathed out, but he was already kissing down your neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks. You moaned softly, your fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer. The way his erection pressed against your hip stirred something inside you. You pushed him onto the bed before straddling him, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of him as he leaned back.

“I missed you,” you reaching down to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, blinking at you before you pressed your lips against his again. Now that you were in control, the kiss was slower, languid.

“You have no idea…” he groaned thickly between kisses, “How long I’ve been waiting for this. I can’t… fuck, I missed you so much.”

“I’m not leaving again,” you pulled your t-shirt over your head, before reaching back to unclasp your bra. Eagerly, Tate latched his mouth on your nipple and sucked, enough to make you gasp, but you didn’t stop him. The pain mixed with the pleasure in a way that made you feel dizzy and lightheaded.

Bunching up your skirt and wiggling your hips enticingly, you reached down to wrap your fingers around his member, giving him a few firm pumps before before slowly sinking down onto him, until he was fully sheathed inside you.

“F-fuck…” he croaked, eyes fluttering shut.

Placing a hand on either side of his face, you kissed him hard. Licking at the seam of his lips, tongue probing his mouth. Your hips began to gyrate, finding a pace that had you both grunting in pleasure. Tate’s hands rested on your waist and began meeting you thrust for thrust from below.

You threw your head back, pornographic moans escaping your lips each time he hit that sweet spot. The room filled with the sounds of the slap of skin on skin, the sharp intakes of breath, and the wet suction of his cock sliding in and out of your cunt, occasionally punctuated by your combined grunts.

Finally, blissfully, the hot coil snapped. Your orgasm tore through you, inner walls convulsing around his cock. Tate followed moments later, his load spurting into you, triggering aftershocks that left you breathless and trembling atop him. You collapsed against his chest, panting, as his cock twitched deep inside you. Your hands slipped into his blonde locks and wrenched his head up so he was looking directly into your eyes.

“You okay?”

“Y-yeah..”

#𝐅.𝐈.𝐓 #tate langdon smut #american horror story #ahs #tate langdon #tate langdon x y/n #tate langdon x reader

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

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Ghost of You

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

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

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

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

Word count: 14.3k

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

main masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Spence.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah," he agreed, albeit tersely.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

When Great Trees Fall

Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,

rocks on distant hills shudder,

lions hunker down

in tall grasses,

and even elephants

lumber after safety.

When great trees fall

in forests,

small things recoil into silence,

their senses

eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,

the air around us becomes

light, rare, sterile.

We breathe, briefly.

Our eyes, briefly,

see with

a hurtful clarity.

Our memory, suddenly sharpened,

examines,

gnaws on kind words

unsaid,

promised walks

never taken.

Great souls die and

our reality, bound to

them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,

dependent upon their

nurture,

now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed

and informed by their

radiance, fall away.

We are not so much maddened

as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of

dark, cold

caves.

And when great souls die,

after a period peace blooms,

slowly and always

irregularly. Spaces fill

with a kind of

soothing electric vibration.

Our senses, restored, never

to be the same, whisper to us.

They existed. They existed.

We can be. Be and be

better. For they existed.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck! I love you!” you screamed

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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tag list <333 @dirtytissuebox @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

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reystenius-01 · 7 months ago

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Sweet and Sour

Summary: Alexia comes home from that game to a sick reader. Comfort and fluff ensues.

(okay theres a bit of angst as well, i couldn't help myself, im sorry 😭)

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

Alexia didn’t know whether to cry, to yell, or to hurl a water bottle against the nearest surface. They had lost. Barça had lost. Their first defeat of the season could not have come at a more dangerous time, in the first leg of the Champions League Semi-Final.

It was their first home defeat in five years, as well.

And to add salt to the wound, you weren’t around. You weren’t at the game today. You were at home, incredibly ill to the point where looking at a screen hurt your brain. You weren’t there for Alexia to cling onto, to reassure her that everything would come up blaugrana at the end of the day.

At least, though, you were at home, getting better for the second leg. You’d save them, Alexia told herself, as she applauded the fans for coming and attending. The fans deserved better than whatever the hell that performance was out there.

God, it kept replaying in her head. That miss. That fucking miss.

She could’ve levelled it, put her team on some somewhat stable ground for the away leg at Stamford Bridge. A part of her shattered when that ball went wide, it took majority of her willpower to get right back up afterwards.

The little head-slaps she usually gave Vicky were lighter now, only just. As much as Alexia would love to give Jona a piece of her mind (she’d do that tomorrow at the latest), you were waiting for her at home.

The mere thought nearly brought her to her knees.

Though she knew that you would understand, that you would be the usual radiating beam of positivity that you always were despite feeling like you got hit by a truck, a part of her feared that you’d be disappointed, not just of the team, but of her.

Alexia was brought out of her thoughts as Jona walked into the locker room. The usual post-match speeches were given, but a chunk of Alexia’s brain was just all mush after that game. It was mostly a blur, and she could hardly remember what she had said in her own speech. Thankfully, she didn’t need to do media. The last thing she needed right now, especially in her current headspace, was for some reporters trying to bait her into making a scathing comment.

She wanted to go home to you. And at the same time, she didn’t.

The team bus was mostly silent on the way back to the training ground, a few of the girls conversing in hushed tones, some faint music coming from the back of the bus. Alexia hadn’t texted you yet. You needed the sleep, so you could get better and get back to the team.

Salma’s head was on her shoulder, the girl having fallen asleep a few minutes into the bus ride. Alexia’s heart went out to the girl, and she had encouraged her to keep her head up.

The minutes went by like a blur, and before Alexia knew it, they were back at the training ground. The radio played faintly in her car as she drove back to your shared home, making a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up your antibiotics, since the pharmacist had called her to let her know that your required dose for tonight was ready.

The first thing Alexia noticed when she got home was the smell of soup. You must’ve made some boxed instant soup or something, her thoughts confirmed when she saw the box and the seasoning packets. There was still some soup left in the pot on the stove. Well, there was dinner sorted.

She set the bag from the pharmacy down on the kitchen counter before heading upstairs to check on you. She quietly entered the bedroom, and saw you curled up in bed, your breathing steady and peaceful. She smiled softly, grateful to see you resting. You could be a little stubborn at times.

Carefully, she approached the bed and sat down beside you, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair from your face, also gently holding her hand against your forehead to check on your fever. Thankfully, it wasn’t that bad anymore.

“Hey, amor,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “I’m home.”

You stirred slightly, blinking sleepily as you looked up at her. “Hey, pretty girl,” you murmured, clearing your throat and sitting up a bit so you could lean against the headboard. “How are you? How was the game?”

Alexia hesitated for a moment, trying to find the right words. She didn't want to disappoint you with the loss, especially when you were just starting to feel better.

“It was... challenging,” she said finally, hating how small she sounded. “But you know how it is. Win some, lose some.”

Your brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering in your eyes. You knew your girlfriend the same way you knew how to breathe. There was no way she’d ever use the words ‘win some, lose some’ to describe a game, especially a Champions League semi-final, at home no less.

You studied her for a moment, your eyes searching her face. “Lex, what's wrong?” you asked gently, sensing her reluctance to talk about it.

Alexia hesitated, her heart heavy with the weight of her missed chance, chewing a little on the inside of her cheek. “I... I had a chance to level the score,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I missed.”

Your heart broke then and there, not because of the loss at all. Your girlfriend, the Alexia Putellas and the two-time Ballon D’or winner looked so… small in front of you. Your expression softened with understanding, and you reached out to take her hand in yours. “Hey, it's okay,” you said soothingly, your voice filled with reassurance. “That’s football, love.”

Alexia noticed you shift closer to her a bit, your thumb stroking the back of her hand gently. You were keeping your distance a bit, not wanting to get your girlfriend sick, even more so now.

“But it was such an important game,” Alexia said, her voice trembling with emotion. “And I let everyone down.”

You shook your head, gently squeezing her hand. “You didn't let anyone down, Lex. You gave it your all out there, and that's all anyone can ask for. We win and lose as a team,” Alexia wasn’t looking at you, but you were looking at her, studying her. You could see her biting her bottom lip to keep herself from crying in front of you. “Mi vida, mírame.”

Alexia nibbled on her lip some more, before shaking her head. Your hand left hers, reaching up to gently hold her chin and encourage her to look at you. “Ale, mi niña bonita. Please look at me.”

She let you turn her face to face yours, and your thumb immediately reaching up to wipe away the tears that were escaping the corners of those gorgeous hazel eyes.

Your heart ached for her. She looked so vulnerable in that moment, and it pained you to see her so torn up over the match. “Alexia, listen to me,” you said, your voice firm but gentle as you wiped away her tears, albeit a little croaky as well. “You are so much more than just one missed chance. You are strong, talented, and resilient. And no matter what happens on the field, I am always going to be proud of you.”

Alexia's breath caught in her throat as she looked into your eyes, seeing nothing but love and admiration reflected back at her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

“Don't apologise, amor,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Alexia shook her head, a shaky sigh escaping her lips. “I just... I hate feeling like I disappointed the team, the fans… and you.”

You reached out, cupping her cheek gently in your hand. “You didn't let anyone down, Ale,” you insisted, completely sure of what you were saying. “You're an incredible player and an amazing captain. And I couldn't be prouder of you–”

You doubled over, turning your head away to cough into your arm, your other hand patting your chest.

“Amor,” Alexia all but jumped to your side, hand rubbing your back despite you trying to keep her at a distance so that she didn’t get sick.

“I’m…” Another stream of coughs escaped you, and Alexia pulled away briefly to pour you a glass of water. “I’m fine, Ale, thank you.”

You accepted the glass, taking a few sips to soothe the irritation you felt in your throat, massaging it gently. “Maybe you should take some medicine,” she suggested, worry evident for your health.

“After this,” you set the glass on the bedside table, grabbing Alexia’s hands again and getting her to sit beside you. “It's okay to feel disappointed, Lex, but don't let one moment define you. You are capable of so much more than you realise, and I know you know that.”

Tears continued to stream down Alexia's cheeks, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes as she listened to your words. “I just want to make you proud,” she admitted, her voice slightly above a whisper, sounding more like herself now.

“Oh, bebita,” you murmured, your voice soft just like your smile as you bunched up your sleeve, wiping at Alexia’s cheeks. “You already make me proud every single day.”

Alexia sniffled, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Even when I miss crucial chances in important games?”

“Even then,” you replied without hesitation, your gaze locked with hers. “Because you give your all out there, and you never give up. You always fight, and fight to make up for it.”

“You always know just what to say,” she whispered, a soft sigh escaping her as she looked at you.

“What can I say? I’m just so wise,” you replied, pulling a face, making Alexia chuckle and lightly shove your shoulder. “Hey, no bullying the weak and feeble!”

“You aren’t f-fuh–?” Alexia tried to copy your pronunciation, and with each attempt, your smile grew. “Amor!”

“What?”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Just…” Alexia put her hands on your shoulders. “You’re not weak.”

“I know, mi amor, I know. You aren’t either,” you put one of your hands on top of one of hers, gently caressing her knuckles. “We’re still in it. We’ve been here before, no?” You looked at her knowingly, yet so softly and so full of love.

“Mhm,” she hummed, her smile getting bigger.

“We just need a bit of faith and trust. No matter what happens, win or lose, you’re one of the most amazing people in my life,” you reached out to run your hand through Alexia’s hair, still a bit damp from her post-match shower. “Want me to brush your hair?”

“I want you… to take your medicine,” Alexia said with a smile, and you groaned.

“Is it the tablets?”

Alexia pursed her lips as she stood up, stifling a smile as she held out her hands for you to help yourself up out of bed.

“Amor,” you whined, kicking your feet a little like a child being denied ice cream from a street vendor.

“Come on, my tough and pretty and sexy girl,” Alexia wiggled her fingers. “You can handle a few pills, lovely.”

“I told you that a few months ago, and you banished me to an air mattress on the floor because you didn’t want me catching whatever bug you had,” You held onto her hands, standing up. Alexia’s large hands patted your waist a little before holding you gently. It was an adorable habit of hers. “And then, you proceeded to beg for me to come to bed with you just because you couldn’t stand being apart from me for the night.”

“Come, come,” Alexia had a smile on her face as you went on your little rant, leading you down the stairs to your inevitable fate of having to ingest some pills. You hated the feeling of pills in your throat, even when you took them with water. “Don’t be stubborn.”

“Alexia, don’t be mean to me, I am ill,” you stopped at the bottom step, Alexia looking up at you slightly, tilting her head and smiling at the sight of you pouting.

You grumbled when she wrapped her arms around your waist and picked you up into her arms, begrudgingly wrapping your legs around her waist to hold onto her as she carried you into the kitchen, “Be careful, you played a rough half of football.”

Alexia glanced at you, brow furrowed. You weren’t supposed to be on your phone or any technology for that matter.

“Mapi called,” you smiled innocently, fingers scratching her scalp, the midfielder closing her eyes at the feeling briefly. “It’s been a while since she used short sentences.” Alexia winced. ��Too soon, yep, sorry.”

“The doctor said you need to have three tablets–” Alexia braced herself for the mush of words that were about to come out of your mouth.

“Amor!”

-----

#woso community #barca femeni #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso one shot #alexia x reader

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taojjang · 1 month ago

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ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁.ᐟ riize when you're restless because of a nightmare

genre: fluff reaction! ⁠♡, pairing: bf!riize x implied fem!reader (usage of petnames princess and pretty girl), warnings: slight fear, crying, nightmares/night terrors, angst if u squint

♡⸝⸝ waking up your boyfriend after having a frightening dream

shotaro . . . groggily opens his eyes to the sight of you anxiously tugging on his arm.

he sits up and asks, "what's wrong honey?" he can't help but frown as you shuddered, telling him about the nightmare that ripped you out of your slumber. shotaro hates how helpless he is when you experience night terrors, it's almost like torture to see you waking up in such distress.

he sits up and pulls you closer to his chest, brushing your sweat-soaked hair away from your face. "i'm sorry i couldn't help you, honey... do you need water? should i go make you a snack?"

eunseok . . . jolts awake at the feeling of your hand on his stomach.

after blinking away his sleepy vision, he notices the look of pure distress on your face. once he saw 2:51 am on the bedside clock, he knew you'd probably dreamt of another nightmare.

"did you have another nightmare, darling?" eunseok asks, reaching to rest his hand on your cheek. all you can do is helplessly nod, silently pleading for comfort. he sleepily pulls you down to lie your head on his chest and leaves a soft kiss on your temple. "none of it is real. it'll be okay, sweetheart. close your eyes."

sungchan . . . figures you're just a bit restless as you cuddle closer to him.

but as the dip in the bed grows deeper, he opens his eyes to find you kneeling beside him with tossed hair and a stressed frown. he worriedly places his hand on your thigh, carefully stroking your skin with his thumb.

"i had another nightmare," you complain, resting your hand atop his. sungchan tightly blinks away the urge to close his eyes and holds your hand. "yeah? do you wanna talk about it, princess?" you breathlessly tell him about the petrifying dream you'd just woken up from. once he notices you getting worked up while explaining, he shushes you and pulls you into a warm hug. "it's over now, let's sleep, hm?"

wonbin . . . snaps out of his sleep when you shake him awake.

"what, baby? what happened?" he's still blinking and trying to adjust his eyes to the dark room as you cry to him about your scary dream. once he sees the tears streaming down your face, his eyes soften and you earn his full attention.

your fear is slightly dissipated by the cute pout on wonbin's face as he listens to your rant. he's holding your hand and looking into your teary eyes, trying not to cry himself. once you're finished, he urges you to lie back down and cuddle so you can finally sleep peacefully. "maybe if we cuddle, you won't have those dreams anymore"

seunghan . . . has concern plastered over his face as you jolt out of your sleep.

he immediately sits up and places his hand on your back. "was it another nightmare?" you force a weak nod as the horrifying scenes replay in your mind. seunghan pulls you into a hug, resting his head atop yours after leaving soft kisses there.

"my poor angel... it must've been so scary," he coos as you rest your head on his shoulder. seunghan won't stop easing comforting words into your ears until you start feeling sleepy again. once you tell him you want to rest, he lies the two of you back down on the bed and holds you suffocatingly tight. "i'll keep watch for those nightmares. if you have another one, i'll hug you tighter and squeeze it away!"

sohee . . . is confused as to why you're suddenly cuddled up against his chest and whining.

sohee was falling asleep while watching reels on his phone when your sudden movement woke him right back up. he taps you on the back and asks, "what? did i bother you?"

sohee has to hold back a smile when you tell him you're scared of a nightmare you'd just woken up from. he feels somewhat accomplished that you're seeking comfort from him since you're usually quite self-reliant. he grins and puts his phone on the nightstand before holding you closer with both arms. "those dreams can't hurt you, pretty girl. let's sleep."

anton . . . takes a while to wake up lol

but once he hears your whines, he's immediately springing up to hold you. he worriedly looks down at your frightened frame and notices the tears dripping onto his sweater.

"why are you crying, my love?" you explain through hiccups that you had a scary dream and anton immediately melts. he rests his head atop yours and runs his hand along your arm. "i'm so sorry, love... is there anything i can do for you? do you need something to drink?" you want to reply, but the only thing that leaves your lips are light sobs. he figures you just need a warm hug as you cry onto his shoulder. anton holds you and whispers gentle shushes until you run out of energy, falling asleep in his arms. he leaves a soft kiss on your forehead before tucking the both of you back into bed, making sure not to let go of you until sunrise.

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levisjinchuriki · 12 days ago

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confession - toji fushiguro

summary: toji, in his own complicated way, loves you and fears it's too late to tell you

warning: toxic!toji, toji being vulnerable, fluff, angst, almost crying, possessive!toji

your heart races as you grip the door handle, refusing to look back. the weight of yet another argument lingers heavily on you, each harsh word replaying in your mind, cutting deeper with every step you take away from him. you’ve reached the end of your patience with toji's anger, his possessiveness—it’s too much, too hard, too painful to keep holding onto hope that things might someday change.

just as you start to turn the handle, you feel his hand wrap around your wrist, firm and unyielding, stopping you in your tracks. you try to pull away, but his grip only tightens. “don’t walk away from me” he says, his voice low and fierce, barely masking the desperation underneath. there’s an urgency there you’ve never quite heard from him before, but you force yourself to ignore it.

“let me go” you fight him, wanting to leave before he can see you break down.

toji doesn’t respond with words. instead, he turns you around and pins you against the door, his presence overwhelming. his chest heaves, his jaw tight with a frustration that almost mirrors your own, and before you can get another word in, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s fierce and insistent, as if he’s trying to solve every misunderstanding and apologize for every argument.

your hands instinctively go to his chest, pushing him away with all the anger and hurt you feel, but his lips are unrelenting, filled with a need that’s raw and intense. your resolve crumbles as you feel the weight of his emotions breaking through the hard shell he so often hides behind. against every logical thought, you find yourself giving in, your hands softening against his chest as he pulls you closer, every breath, every touch, pleading with you to understand him.

finally, when you’re no longer fighting him, he pulls back just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breaths coming heavy and ragged. his hands hold your shoulders, afraid that if he lets go you might run away.

he doesn’t say anything right away, and in the silence, you feel the weight of everything left unsaid, heavy between you. slowly, you open your eyes to look up at him, your breath still shallow and your pulse racing from the intensity of his kiss. you’re surprised to find an unfamiliar expression on his face. there’s no anger or frustration like before—just a look of deep, quiet remorse, softening the hard lines of his features. his brows furrow, eyes full of emotions he’s never fully shown you until now.

you’re almost afraid to break the fragile silence hanging in the air. his eyes flicker up to meet yours, and you see the conflict written all over his face, his expression caught between wanting to hold you close and wrestling with the regret of every argument that brought you to this moment.

“i don’t know why i always mess this up” he finally murmurs, his voice thick with frustration and guilt. his jaw clenches, and he seems almost angry at himself, as if grappling with emotions he doesn’t fully understand.

you watch him, taken aback by the vulnerability he’s allowing himself to show. this isn’t the strong, unbreakable toji you’re used to—the man who keeps his emotions buried, always hiding behind his tough exterior. this is the man behind the walls, the one who’s just as scared of losing you as you are of being hurt by him.

“don’t go” he quietly pleads. and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he speaks the words you never thought you’d hear from him. “i love you”. his tone is raw, almost broken.

toji’s love for you is fierce and consuming, even if it’s sometimes buried under layers of anger and silence. he’s not good at showing it; he’s never been good at showing any of his emotions. life has taught him to hide his vulnerability, to be strong even when it would be easier to let his guard down. you can feel the weight of that struggle, the way he battles with himself just to find the right words for you.

love isn’t soft or easy for him. it’s wrapped up in everything he’s never known how to say and every touch that lingers just a little longer, as if he’s afraid to let you slip away. his hand tightens slightly on your shoulder, grounding himself—and you—in this moment. the intensity in his gaze says what he can’t, those three simple words spilling out of him like they were pulled from the depths of a place he barely knows himself.

he’s rough around the edges, yes, and prone to silence when you crave reassurance. but in the way he protects you, in his instinct to keep you close and safe, he hopes you can see his love. it’s clumsy, flawed, but real. and for him, this is everything he can give.

his confession lingers in the air, heavy and vulnerable, a plea wrapped in the few words he knows how to say. his gaze softer than it’s ever been. there’s fear there, a desperation he’s never shown before, as though he’s finally realized he’s been risking too much, that he’s about to lose something he can’t afford to let go of.

“i'll be better, just– don’t leave me” he begs. your eyes brim with tears at his confession. here he is, letting you see his fear and his need in a way that tugs at your heart.

you reach up, brushing a stray piece of hair from his face, fingers lingering against his cheek. “toji… i don’t need you to be perfect,” you say, voice wavering as the intensity of the moment settles over you both. his shoulders sag and he leans into your touch. for a moment, you see something almost childlike in his expression, something hopeful and fragile, like he’s allowing himself to believe he can be what you need him to be. “i just… i just need to know you’re willing to try”.

he nods, eyes never leaving yours, the weight of his feelings clear as he lets himself fall apart in front of you. with one last, shuddering breath, he closes the small distance between you, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s deep and tender, a silent promise that he’ll keep trying, as flawed and messy as it may be.

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misspygmypie · 3 months ago

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The Promise

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah, Lando Norris x reader Words: 1910 Request: Hello. Lando and Reader having a fight and Lando leaves for a race weekend but reader actually thinks he's going to leave them and tries to hide her crying from Noah but he sees and calls Lando scared he's leaving them making him fly straight back after the race to reassure that he is at leaving his family. Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

Lando and Y/N had always been known for their supportive relationship but as the current Formula 1 season ramped up the pressure started to show.

The days leading up to the next race weekend had been some of the busiest for Lando. With meetings, media obligations and endless preparations he barely had time to catch his breath.

Y/N had been supportive but clearly feeling the strain, especially with a six month old that needed all of her attention she was in desperate need of support. But instead their evenings together were now filled with quiet tension rather than shared moments of joy.

One evening when Lando was scheduled to leave for the next Grand Prix soon Y/N brought up the plans for their last few hours together. “I was hoping we could spend some time with each other before you leave,” she said softly as they sat in their living room. “Maybe a quiet dinner or just a night in? We could get a babysitter for Noah and Maebry.”

Lando, his mind still swirling with the demands of the upcoming race, responded with a distracted sigh. “I really can’t, Y/N. There’s so much to do. The team is depending on me and I need to be focused. This race is crucial.”

“Every weekend is crucial, Lando,” Y/N’s eyes flashed with frustration. “It feels like we’re just drifting apart. We barely see each other and now you’re going to be gone again.”

“You know how important this is! I’ve got a job to do and it’s not like I can just skip race preparations because you’re feeling left out!”

The argument escalated quickly. Emotions flared as Lando accused Y/N of not understanding the demands of his career, while Y/N felt neglected and undervalued. Their emotions got more tense by the minute and soon harsh words were exchanged.

In the heat of the moment Lando decided he needed space. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he said tensly. He packed his bags, his mind racing with the pressures of the upcoming Grand Prix and the unresolved tension with his wife.

Y/N watched him, feeling both sad and angry. “Is this really how you want to handle this? Just walking away?”

Lando paused for a moment, his hand resting on his suitcase. He looked back at her, his expression exhausted. “I don’t know how else to handle it right now. I can’t stay here and argue. I need to focus on the race. Maybe it’s better if we talk when I get back.”

With that Lando finished packing and headed out. Y/N, feeling powerless and desolate, stood by the door, her heart heavy while she watched him drive away.

Y/N paced the living room, her heart racing with a fear that felt all too familiar. The memories of the argument with Lando replayed in her mind. She couldn’t shake the nagging worry that he might not come back, just like Noah’s biological father had done after their last fight. The way he had walked out on them when Noah was just two months old without looking back.

She wasn’t just scared for herself but for Noah too, fearing that the stability and love they had come to rely on might disappear, leaving them both alone once more.

After bringing the kids to bed Y/N retreated to her own bedroom, shutting the door behind her as tears began to flow uncontrollably. She sank onto the bed, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her fears. The thought of Lando not returning gnawed at her, past betrayals and broken promises fueling her anxiety.

Unbeknownst to her Noah, unable to sleep, had wandered down the hallway and stood quietly by the door, listening to his mother’s muffled sobs. His small frame tensed as he heard her crying, his young heart aching with a growing sadness, sensing that something was terribly wrong.

The weekend dragged on for Y/N and Noah. Despite Y/N’s best efforts to keep things normal Lando’s absence was deeply felt. Y/N was preoccupied with her own emotions and the recent argument with Lando, making it challenging to fully address Noah’s growing distress.

The next day, while Y/N was busy in the kitchen, Noah quietly went into his room a few minutes after he had watched his dad on the TV finish practice for the day. Having secretly grabbed his mom's phone, he dialed Lando’s number, his small fingers shaking as he pressed each digit, just how his parents had shown him for emergencies. The phone rang several times before Lando answered.

“Hello?” Lando’s voice came through, busy with the race weekend’s chaos and the exhaustion after the practice session he had just finished.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was small and choked with emotion.

“Noah! What’s wrong?” Lando asked, his concern immediate as he recognized his son's voice instead of Y/N’s as expected and he listened to the trembling voice on the other end.

Noah’s tears began to flow freely. “I’m scared, daddy. What if you don’t come back? What if you leave us like… like the other daddy did?”

Lando’s heart instantly ached hearing the raw fear in Noah’s voice. He quickly moved into a private area and sat down, focusing entirely on his son. “Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry you’re feeling this way. I promise I’m not going anywhere. I love you, mommy and Mae very much and I’m coming home soon.”

Noah’s crying intensified. “But what if you don’t come back? I heard mommy crying last night! What if you just stay there forever?!”

Lando felt a sharp pang of guilt and sadness. “Noah, listen to me. I’m finishing up here and then I’m coming home. I’m always thinking about you and mommy and your sister. I would never leave you! I promise I’ll be back soon and we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Noah’s sobs were interrupted by hiccups. “Really? You promise you won’t leave us?”

“I promise,” Lando said firmly. “I love you so much. Just remember, even when I’m not there, I’m always with you in my heart.”

Noah took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Okay, daddy. I love you!”

“I love you too, Noah. Be good for mommy and I’ll see you soon,” Lando said softly.

The call ended and Lando sat quietly, overwhelmed by the emotional weight of Noah’s fears and his own guilt. The pre-race tension seemed insignificant compared to the worry he felt for his family.

Unaware of the conversation that had just taken place Y/N continued her evening routine. When Noah rejoined her in the kitchen he was quieter but seemed somewhat reassured. Y/N noticed the change but was unsure of the source of his sudden calmness.

After dinner she put Maebry and then Noah to bed, her mind still occupied with the issues between her and Lando. When she turned to leave the room Noah’s voice called out softly.

“Mommy, can I tell you something?”

Y/N sat down on the edge of his bed. “Of course, sweetie. What’s up?”

Noah looked up at her, his small face still a bit flushed from his tears. “I talked to daddy. He said he’s coming home soon. And, mommy… I heard you and daddy talking and you crying last night. I was scared.”

Y/N’s heart sank. She reached out to hold Noah’s hand and took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure. “I’m so sorry you heard me, Noah. I was just having a hard time. But Daddy and I love you very much and we’re going to be okay. We’re all going to work things out.”

Noah nodded, seeming comforted by her words. “Okay, mommy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Noah,” Y/N said softly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. She stayed with him a little longer until he fell asleep, the weight of the most recent events still heavy on her shoulders.

As Y/N left Noah’s room she felt relieved but also sad. The phone call had provided some comfort for Noah but it also highlighted the emotional distance that had grown between her and Lando. Y/N knew they had some work to do when Lando returned. For now she focused on holding her family together, hoping that soon they would rebuild their connection.

________

After the race, despite the adrenaline and excitement of the weekend, Lando’s mind was consumed by worry. He couldn’t shake the image of Noah’s fearful face and the distress in his voice. The thought of his family struggling while he was miles away drove him to a resolute decision.

When the final checkered flag fell and the race weekend concluded, Lando made a swift choice. He bypassed the traditional post-race interviews and celebrations, driven by a singular focus: getting home as quickly as possible. His team understood his urgency after he briefly explained the situation and provided the necessary support.

Lando rushed to the airport and managed to catch the earliest available flight home, the hours stretching endlessly as he anxiously waited to be back home l with his family. The flight was a blur, his mind fixed on being with Y/N, Noah and Maebry.

It was late into the night when he finally arrived at home. Y/N was in the living room, feeling the weight of the past few days and the tension of the argument with Lando. The apartment was quiet except for the soft sounds of the city outside.

The front door creaked open and Y/N looked up, startled. Her eyes widened as she saw Lando standing in the doorway, looking both exhausted and determined.

“Lando?” she asked, relieved.

Lando stepped inside, his expression earnest. “I’m sorry I didn’t call ahead. I just needed to come back as soon as I could.”

Y/N rushed to him, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re here. You really came back!”

Lando enveloped her in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry for everything. I heard how upset Noah was and he told me how he heard you crying and I couldn’t stand being away any longer. I needed to be here to make things right.”

Y/N clung to him, her tears falling freely. “It’s been so hard! We missed you so much.”

As they held each other they heard a small, hesitant voice from the hallway. Noah had woken up from the commotion, his eyes puffy from sleep. He peeked around the corner, looking at Lando with a mix of apprehension and hope.

“Daddy?” Noah’s voice was barely a whisper.

Lando dropped to his knees, opening his arms wide. “Hey, buddy. I’m home. I’m really sorry for scaring you. I love you so much and I’m not going anywhere.”

Noah ran into Lando’s arms, relieved as he hugged his father tightly. “Daddy, you came back!"

“I did,” Lando said, holding Noah close. “I’m here now. We’re all going to be okay.”

The tension and worry of the past days began to lift, Lando’s presence providing the comfort and reassurance they all needed.

After Noah was back in bed Lando and Y/N settled in the living room. They spoke quietly, sharing their feelings and discussing the issues that had come up. While the road to resolving their issues would take time, the commitment to being present and supportive was a crucial step forward.

________

AN: Anon, I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

#lando imagine #lando norris imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #lando angst #lando x noah #lando norris x reader #ln4 x reader #lando x reader

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paulyenvol6 · 1 month ago

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All You're Good For

Daemon Targaryen x reader (OS)

You have disobeyed and upset your husband and he intends to punish you for it in a way that brings him great pleasure....

Contains: detailed smut, oral (m receiving), unprotected anal sex, fingering, crying, angst, gagging, spanking, degrading, objectification, dirty talk, mentions of words like slut and whore, dom!Daemon, slutshaming

Wordcount: ~4.89k

Masterlist

Please send me your request, I need inspiration!!

'Fuck, fuck, fuck.', had been the only words inside your head for the past minutes.

You shouldn't have been so naiv and stupid and careless. You desperately bit your lower lip and felt tears burning in your eyes.

Restlessly you walked up and down in your chambers and anxiously awaited your husband's arrival. Your hands were entangled and you unconsciously toyed with your fingers just to do anything. You had to touch something, distract yourself but you couldn't fight the urge to replay this wicked evening over and over again.

It had started pleasantly, a feast in honor of the king's name day with music and dancing and a warm summer night. You had drunk wine and perhaps that had been the cause of this whole mess. It had been a little too much, just the amount to make you tipsy and imprudent with the words leaving your lips.

Because at the height of the night you had found yourself talking with Lord Byvrin Martell and though you hadn't intended to, your conversation could be described as playful. Of course you were convinced that your teasing behaviour was exclusively caused by the alcohol in your blood but Daemon had been furious.

Lord Byvrin had complimented your looks, your clothes, your hair and your eyes and you had thanked him for each word as if you were a young maid looking for a handsome match rather than a happily married woman, that you truthfully were. So you couldn't even act like Daemon was exaggerating because if he had acted this way with some highborn lady you would've been equally furious. The alcohol had simply made you behave in a way that didn't meet your true self and you wanted to slap yourself for it so hard.

After a few minutes of your conversation with Lord Byvrin Daemon had spotted you and only after a moment had sensed what was happening. He had walked over to you with flashing eyes and his teeth grinded and had literally dragged you away from your companion. You had looked at him and slowly started to realize what you had done and once Daemon had opened his mouth you were filled with regret and fear.

"To our chamber. Now.", your husband had hissed and you hadn't dared to disobey him.

And now there you stood, alone and scared, panicky and desperate to see Daemon and explain to him. But he made you wait 30 more minutes and then finally entered your rooms. Though you feared what he would do or say you were just happy to see him and looked at him with big eyes.

But he didn't do you the favor of meeting your gaze and instead just slowly walked to the table in the middle of the room to put the things he had carried with him on its surface. His little dagger that he always took with him and the cloak he had been wearing because of the coldness that slowly had started to creep up.

Only then did he look at you and you twitched at the coldness in his eyes. He really was angry with you.

"Daemon…", you wanted to start just to say anything but he cut you off.

"Shut up. I don't want to listen to anything coming out of your mouth tonight."

Tears welled in your eyes. "Please, let me – " With quick steps your husband approached you and took hold of your chin.

"Have I not made myself clear?", he hissed.

And so you remained quiet as Daemon examined your face. "Oh for fuck's sake… tears? Really?"

To you this seemed like a rethorical question so you didn't reply. Then he shoved you roughly away from him towards the bed and started to walk back and forth in front of you.

"I don't think I have to tell you how much like a cheap little whore you have acted tonight. You, a married woman, have thrown yourself on this cunt. You looked like a filthy slut like this, darling and truthfully I'm embarrassed for you."

You lowered your gaze feeling ashamed at his words but Daemon remained cruel and glared at you.

"None of this. Lift your chin, you will look at me. You'll be looking down to the ground long enough tonight."

You gulped loudly but forced yourself to raise your gaze.

"Good. Now get on the ground."

A second after your husband had said these words you had dropped to your knees. All you cared about now was making him forgive you and you would do anything he asked you to. Pleadingly and with big eyes you looked up to Daemon whose expression was almost disdainful. And then his hand connected with your cheek. It was a soft slap, not hard enough to leave a print but enough to make you twitch. He hummed and then took hold of your chin again.

"You will suck me off now. And you will do so without any complaints or resistance, do you understand me?"

You nodded with a trembling buttom lip because he looked so angry with you and that made you feel scared and desperate. Daemon usually wasn't mad at you. He usually praised you, told you what a perfect girl you were for him. But now he pulled down his pants and wrapped a hand around his already hardened member.

"Open.", he said while watching your face and you followed his command by parting your lips for him. He bit his lip while inserting himself in your warm and wet mouth and hissed sharply once he was fully inside. You didn't do anything and just waited for his command. Pleasing him, that was your only concern right now and you would listen to his every order.

Daemon enjoyed feeling the warmth of your mouth for a moment and then pulled at your chin so you'd open up wider for him. He grinded his teeth looking down at you and then thrusted deep inside of you. His cock met the back of your throat which made you gag and grab his thighs but he didn't care and neither did you complain. His stones were now almost pressed to your face and you felt overwhelmed with his member stuffed into your mouth. You luckily didn't have a very strong gagging reflex but right now even you were on the edge and struggled keeping in him.

Daemon usually went very careful and slow with you when he fucked your mouth but tonight he was so mad at you that he didn't blink an eye seeing you fight. He merely used your mouth as a tool to get off and put your comfort behind. And you most certainly didn't really care either. You knew you would be able to take it if it was for him.

But something did trouble you. You hated that he didn't talk to you. You probably would have preferred for him to degrade and insult you but you didn't even get that. He just had his eyes fixed on you, an angry look on his face and his hand gripped your hair tightly. Now and then he licked over his lip or threw his head back but it seemed like he entirely ignored you.

His hand held you in place while he now increased the pace with which he entered your mouth. You felt him slide past your teeth and over your tongue and tried your best to concentrate on breathing each time that his tip hit your throat. Tears had welled in your eyes again and you couldn't exactly tell whether they came from the physical or the mental pain you felt. All you knew was that you hoped that this would calm your husband.

Now Daemon threw his head back and closed his eyes because he was driven closer to the edge with every thrust. You just felt so incredibly good around his cock and the tightness made him see literal stars. It additionally brought him great pleasure to see you struggle and hear your little coughs and gags. Perhaps it was caused by his fury at you but it filled him with some sort of profane desire and satisfaction.

He wouldn't say that he was a terrible person and he truly did love you, he definitely did. But right now the blood in his veins was boiling and he couldn't get this picture out of his head. You, his wife and the most precious person to him standing so close to this weak cunt of a lord. Throwing your head back while laughing and blushing at his compliments. The way you had bit your lip and had given him this smile that Daemon found only he deserved. You weren't supposed to look at any other person like this and he wanted to make sure that you were intensely reminded of that fact.

Because that could be said about Daemon Targaryen; he was a possessive person. You were his wife, you were his'. And if he could he would let every person in the seven kingdoms know about it. If he could he would kill every person who had ever looked at you a little too long or even just had one wrong thought about you. Daemon wanted to have you and not let any other man even come near you. And now he wanted to both remind you of where you belonged to and punish you.

By now saliva and tears were running down your face and coated your chin and neck. It was messy and filthy and just what Daemon wanted to see right now. His cock relentlessy thrusted into your mouth, desire and lust befuddling his mind so much so that he didn't care about you, crouching on the stoney ground, anymore. He didn't care if you were struggling, if it was too much for you or if he made you gag. Every twitch or squirming was stopped by the hand in your hair and all he wanted was chasing his release.

And he did, his cock bruised your throat until the knot in Daemon's belly tightened and he was sent over the edge. His seed left his cock and shot deep inside of your mouth leaving you coughing and choking. He let go of you at once almost pushing you away from his now flaccid member and you sank down to the ground where you had held yourself up on your knees before. Your hands steadied yourself on the ground now and you let your hair fall in front of your face.

You sniffed a few times not being able to look at Daemon but then you felt him grab a fistful of your hair and he yanked you up to meet his gaze. Though he was still hard in his expression he looked a little calmer and you wondered if he would be easier on you now.

"Bed. Hands and knees.", was all he hissed and you were quick to obey him.

You didn't like the fact that you couldn't see what he was doing so you turned around to watch him over your shoulder. Daemon took his shirt off leaving him completely bare and then walked over to you.

Usually you could always see his eyes shifting when he looked at you and you hated the fact that it wasn't the case tonight. Why did he have to look so cold? Couldn't he allow his eyes to warm up for one second? Just so you knew that he was still your loving husband despite this big mistake of yours.

Of course you understood his anger and you wouldn't even say that he was exaggerating. You knew that Daemon was of heated and jealous nature and didn't like it when someone that wasn't him dared to compliment you or eyed you that way and yet you wished he would forgive you as quickly as possible. You would do whatever it took and really wanted to tell him that but you knew right now was not the time to open your mouth.

You felt exposed and vulnerable under his gaze with your arse up that was only covered by a bit of your gown which had moved so half of your cheeks were bare on display for him. You turned your head again too scared to upset him further and awaited his next move with your head facing the headboard of the bed. You heard him approach you and then a hand was put on your arse. He pulled the fabric up and ruffled it around your waist and then the next thing your heard was a rip which made you twitch.

It immediately earned you a slap on your right cheek which only made you squirm again and you surpressed a little cry. Daemon removed your torn dress from your body and you didn't dare voice a complaint about him destroying the expensive gown. You just stayed silent while the cold air brushed over your naked skin and sent goosebumps down your arms.

His hand landed on your arse once more which made your body jolt forwards and Daemon was quick to pull you back to him. He stroke your skin, a gesture almost too gentle given the circumstances but you allowed yourself to relax a little though all your senses were still sharpened like a blade.

And then your husband finally spoke to you and you were relieved at first but then the content of his words made you widen your eyes.

"You've been very bad. You've disappointed and upset me and I'm gonna punish you for it by fucking your arse."

"What?", you breathed and now couldn't help but turn around to look at him.

Daemon had fucked your other hole once before because the both of you had wanted to try it a few moons ago. The tightness of it had been heavenly to your husband but it had brought you great pain and discomfort and so you hadn't done it again ever since. It had been as if you were torn apart and the stretch and sting had made you tremble and so Daemon hadn't even entered you more than a few thrusts.

You had spoken about it afterwards though and you had suggested that you would want him to do it again when he would 'really want you to feel him intensely with every inch of your body'. So you had basically given him your consent to use it as a punishment when you really disbehaved.

"I will use this tight little hole to get off. You know what it does to my cock."

You glared at him with big eyes.

"Daemon…", you whispered and suddenly his face softened just a little bit.

And yet he was determined when he grabbed the back of your neck and leaned forwards.

"You know that you can get up and leave now. I'm not gonna do anything you don't want. But if you'll allow me to, I'm gonna fuck your arse as a way to remind you of your place. Because I think you forgot it.", he said with grinded teeth.

Of course you wouldn't leave now. As painful you knew this would be, you'd do it. Because yes, you hadn't loved it when he had done it the first time and yet it was you who had suggested to use it as a penalty for you disobediance after all. You would endure it. You would let him use your arse to get off and show him that he meant everything to you and that you would do anything in this world to receive his love, just the way he received yours.

You simply wanted please him and let him know how much he meant to you. So much that you would let him abuse your arse. It wasn't like it was the greatest pain in the world but the first few minutes had been very hard and even once your tight hole had gotten used to his size it was still a little uncomfortable to you and it was far away from giving you any pleasure.

"I want you to do it, Daemon.", you whispered nevertheless and intensely looked in his eyes.

"Good.", he growled and dug his fingers into the flesh of your backside.

"Because I'm merciful I'm gonna prepare you. But then I won't be anymore. I'll take your hole like a toy. Merely to get off. And I won't care how much you'll cry or whine, do you understand me?"

You nodded. "Good. I'll use you until I'm satisfied but if it's truly too much for you, you're gonna say 'red', alright? Only then will I stop."

You nodded again feeling a nervous fluttering in your stomach but you remained determined to take it. You felt Daemon run his hand over your arse again and then he wandered down and slid over your folds. There was already some wetness waiting for him but he knew it wouldn't be enough to make this as little unpleasant to you as possible so his finger traveled further down until it found your little pearl.

Daemon started by rubbing it in slow circles just the way you liked it and pressed into it more forcefully with every minute passing. His left hand was rested on your arse in the meantime, soothingly caressing you while his finger of his right hand made you soaked with arousal. Right now he wasn't even mean or hard with you; this was about making you wet and relaxed for him.

And he definitely achieved his goal as in a matter of minutes your wetness was running down your trembling legs. You let out little sighs and whimpers and clenched your hands in fists while Daemon enclosed your pearl inbetween two of his fingers and rubbed them tightly.

You had your head lowered and tried your best not to fall down on your stomach. Your knees were wombly and threatened to give in so you tightly held on to the sheets. Your husband now used his finger to collect some of your slickness and spread it all over your cunt and especially your arse hole. Now and then his finger came back to your nub in order to keep you calm and then you heard him get closer to you which made you gulp anxiously. You knew that this would hurt and yet not for one second did you doubt your choice.

"Relax.", he hissed and you exhaled deeply. It was hard sometimes to ease up when you nervously expected any kind of pain but you knew that this was the only way that this would be less uncomfortable so you closed your eyes and concentrated on your breathing.

In the meantime Daemon continued his touch on your pearl while circling your arse hole with his other hand and wettening it with your arousal. He even spitted in his own palm and used it as lubricant. Soon he inserted a finger in your hole which made you squeeze your eyes but you forced yourself to breathe and calmed down after some time. He pumped his finger a few times while circling your pearl and then added a second. This one stung a lot more and you twitched and moaned but Daemon soothingly ran his thumb over your skin.

"Shhh. Just relax." You tried to, you really did but your veins were throbbing and sweat was gathering on your forehead. And yet your breathing became more steady over time and soon Daemon sensed that you were ready for a third finger. He coated it with his spit and forced it into your tight hole which made tears well up in your eyes. You hummed quietly and dug your nails into the sheets while your teeth were buried in your buttom lip to surpress a shriek.

And then after more time passing you had adjusted to his three fingers and Daemon thought it was time to fill you with his cock. He removed his hand from your hole which made you whine and took yet another step towards the bed. He ran his tip over your clenched hole and pressed his finger into your pearl.

"Ease up. The more you relax the less it'll hurt."

He was right so you tried your best to relax your anal sphincter and then Daemon finally started to push inside.

The pain instantly brought tears to your eyes and you felt like you were torn apart. Your husband wasn't exactly small when it came to the size of his member and now you really felt every inch of him.

Slowly Daemon worked himself inside of your tight hole while you sniffed and tried to fight the tears relentlessly gathering in the corner of your eyes. It was an uncomfortable sting, an unpleasant ache that only very slowly faded away. And then he was fully inside, your walls pulsating around him and Daemon sighed deeply his cock so wonderfully surrounded by the tightness of your arse.

"Fuck.", he growled and held on to your hips. You hiccuped and whimpered and tried to further relax so you would adjust to his cock.

He actually gave you some time and soothingly caressed your hips and cheeks while letting out little moans. This was a magical experience to him because your walls stimulated him so well, it almost felt as though his cock would get torn off by your arse.

"Seven hells… Yeah that's it.", he hissed and then after yet another few minutes began fucking your hole.

At first he slowly pulled out of you only to thrust back in which made you whimper at the ache but Daemon got faster over time and started to fuck you at a steady pace.

"Oh gods be good.", he whispered. "Stupid little slut. You know that's what you deserve, don't you? Being my little fuck toy and doing nothing but having your holes spread for me and letting me take you the way I want. I hope it will teach you some lessons in how you are to behave."

You nodded quickly and hoped that he would even see the gesture because he might have his head thrown back. His hand came down to your arse and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room. You cried out and instinctively jumped but Daemon pulled you back to him at once.

"You'll fucking take what I gave you. Tonight you're nothing but my plaything. You are meant to serve me for my pleasure and I'm only gonna use you to dump my seed in your filthy holes. That body is mine and no one else's. If I ever catch another man looking at you like that cunt tonight I'll have his fucking head on a spike. And you.", he snapped grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back.

"I don't have a problem reminding you of your place once more. As much as I hate to see you struggle, my sweet love, I enjoy fucking that tight arse of yours. If I ever see you acting like a cheap little whore again, I swear to you I'm gladly gonna fuck your disobediance out of you. Am I clear?"

You nodded and though his thrusts didn't bring you real sexual pleasure you felt your cunt clench around nothing at his words. After all you both knew that you loved it when he degraded you like this; you didn't know why, but he only had to call you his dumb slut and you were soaked.

"I won't do it again, Daemon, I swear it to you."

He leaned forwards so his mouth was brushing over your ear. "No you won't. Because you don't like me assaulting this cute arse, do you?"

You shook your head and whimpered. "No."

"So you're gonna behave from now on. If not I'll be happy to give you another taste of what happens when you disobey me. When you're trifling with other men while I'm in the same fucking room. Do you know how you dishonoured me tonight?"

His hand painfully dug into your hips and you knew this would leave marks.

"I'm sorry.", you cried out.

He straightened up again and watched his cock entering your arse over and over again. He parted his mouth and moaned in enjoyment. It wouldn't take him long until he reached his high for the second time tonight and he was ready to fill your little arse with his seed.

"You're a dumb whore only good for having your holes filled. That's all you're good for, little girl. I'll better keep that mouth of yours stuffed with my cock cause I can't bear the words coming out of it. You can be glad that I like your little cunt and those tits of yours so much because otherwise I would've grown tired of you."

You knew better than to truly believe his words because otherwise perhaps you would've started to cry. This was a version of Daemon that you didn't get on a daily basis but it was one that you deeply loved. When he treated you like a common whore. When he degraded you until you really felt like a cheap slut.

"You're a fucking mess, little one and lucky for you it's what I like."

He pumped himself deep inside of you and by now everything was a lot more comfortable to you and you even slightly moved your hips to meet his thrusts. It wasn't like you could ever release from it but you enjoyed it and especially liked to listen to his sounds.

And then he finally released with a deep growl. It truly was one of the most intense highs Daemon had ever experienced and he panted rapidly as he watched you with his foreahead furrowed. He was almost overwhelmed with this feeling and needed a few minutes until he sighed and softly slapped your arse.

"Fucking hells.", he moaned and then slowly pulled out of your arse.

You sobbed, by now truly feeling so messy and dizzy that you didn't have one straight thought and then fell down on your stomach.

Daemon knew that he now had to take care of you; it was inevitable because the way you couldn't even hold yourself up on your hands and knees hinted at how fucked out you were but first he had to come down from his intense high so he deeply exhaled a few more times and then took his breeches from the ground and slipped into them so he was a little more covered.

Then he approached your lying figure and carefully ran his hand over your bare back. Your arse was reddened with where his hand had come down repeatedly and he just hoped that it hadn't been too much for you.

"Turn around, love.", he spoke gently but he only received a whimper in response.

"Y/n. It's alright, let me see you."

Only very slowly did you shift your body until you were lying on your back, twitching when your sore arse met the bed. Your face was covered with traces of tears and remains of his seed and Daemon softly caressed your cheek.

"How are you feeling, sweetling?", he asked trying to sound friendly and letting you know that he wasn't angry with you anymore. But more tears spilled from your eyes.

"I'm sorry.", you cried out and your lower lip was shaking while your face was drawn with desperation. "I-I w-was so b-bad. I shouldn't have s-spoken to h-him in the first p-place. I'm sorry, D-Daemon."

He sighed and took hold of your upper arms to pull you up. He carefully rested your head against his chest and felt your tears soaking his skin.

"Shhhh, love. It's alright.", he whispered and his voice sounding so soft only contributed to your crying. "I'm not mad at you anymore. Everything is fine. You took my punishment so well, I'm proud of you."

You squinted your eyes. "But I'm sorry. I-It was so bad, I-I'm sorry."

"I know.", he purred. "And I know you won't do it again."

You nodded swiftly and looked up to him. "I won't. I s-swear it to you."

He smiled lovingly and his face softened. "You took your punishment so well, little one. And though I was angry at you in the beginning, I'm proud of you now. You did a mistake but I taught you a lesson and I know that you will keep it in mind. You can relax now, darling. I won't hurt you anymore."

You blinked a few times and pressed your face closer to his chest. "I love you, Daemon. Please…. I wanna…"

Though you didn't even know what you wanted to tell him he understood and wrapped his arms more tightly around your back.

"I love you too, sweet girl. It's alright. I'll be with you. Always. Just relax and later we'll clean you up. But right now, you can get some rest."

You closed your eyes, the warmth and softness of his body sending shivers down your spine and you felt your body easing up. It felt so good being held by him after he had been so harsh with you.

He was your Daemon again. Your husband who would never let anyone come near you and who would love and take care of you forever.

181 notes · View notes

jensthwa · 2 months ago

Text

mountebank chem pt. one (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 9,7k.

WARNINGS: eventual SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, crying, mentions of drinking and drug usage, mature language, petty behavior, insults, yunho and reader really hate each other i fear, pet names (princess), negative mentions of body image, panic attacks/panic disorder, negative??? (or so they think) tension. no smut on this part, it's an introduction to these two characters, their families and the chaos they bring to poor yunho's and readers life.

NOTES: hi everyone! i know i posted the hwa fic ten days ago or so, but i wanted to get started with this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE. there's mentions of the last installment plot so, if you're new around here, you can always find the rest of the stories on my masterist! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: september 14th 2024.

permanent taglist: @hotteokkay, @potatomountain, @fairylover68, @e3ellie, @alsomimi

masterlist. - part two - part three.

A trembling finger is all you can see in the still dim light of the room.

It's quiet, very quiet. You haven't heard anything but your thoughts all night. It grosses you out, so you wait for the clock to turn to six and press the button you've been hovering on for, at least, half an hour.

Park Seonghwa is your only hope right now.

The conversation doesn't go as planned.

“No, I will not go to the party with you and no, I will not pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Not even your great pitch could've turned him around to help you. Sighing, you replay the conversation in your pounding head.

“This is very inconvenient for me but I hope you and the cool girl I saw yesterday are happy together… Even if it ruins my happiness forever!”

Your happiness was probably ruined the day you were born. Sighing again, you turn to the window.

It’s raining.

You didn’t notice until you ended the call that was, if you’re being honest with yourself, your last resource.

Brain rotting away the entire night, wine drunk and edible high, you didn’t even notice the rain accompanied you through your misery.

The sound of the droplets hitting your studio window and the sun trying to break through the gloomy clouds adds insult to injury: You’re running out of time.

Any time now, your mother is going to call you up to let you know you’re possibly getting promised tonight. Not engaged, but promised and presented.

Like you’re some sort of property your parents can give away.

Nails connecting with your glass desk, the noise syncs up with the rain pattering on your window sill and, to your tired mind, it also mimics the tic-tacking an old clock would make.

You figured, if you show up with someone on your arm tonight, they might finally leave you alone.

And not marry you off to Jeong Yunho.

There’s not enough hours in the day to plan a perfect escape, there’s not enough will left inside you to reach out to someone else and make everything seem genuine, organic, like you’ve known each other for years and kept it a secret all this time.

There's not enough time to save yourself.

Because there's this… unspoken agreement you’ve known about since you were eight.

Your parents and Yunho’s parents are friends. Your mom went to school with his mom and your dad met his dad when they were teenagers and they all got married off respectively because it was what worked for their families at the time so, after hearing the superficial love story at the age of seven, you knew you were going to meet the same fate eventually.

And the next year, you met Yunho.

He was an hyperactive little kid with a lot of energy and facts about the earth you didn’t care to listen to because the second you started playing with him in his huge backyard and turned to check if your mother was watching you, you realized that was not a casual playdate.

Smiling ear to ear, both your mother and his, it signaled to you that it has started.

Your planned love story with Jeong Yunho had sailed smoothly in their eyes and there was nothing you could do about it.

Naturally, you have hated him since then. But you were taught etiquette and were media trained since you turned three and could form complete sentences, so your hatred only really showed when you two were alone.

Turns out, he didn’t really care if you liked him or not.

He’s always been good at pretending as well.

That chirpy personality, kindness and humbleness he exudes in front of everyone else? An act.

And you were proud of yourself when you saw right through his bullshit when you were both eleven and left alone so he could show you around their new, bigger house.

Gone too soon was that child who wanted to teach you about worms in his backyard and in its place there was this distant tween who’s smile disappeared as soon as your mothers were out of sight.

“Listen, I don’t know why we’re being forced to hang out but I don’t like you.”

Dumb kid.

“Good, because I don't like you either but they can’t find that out.”

He scoffed, crossing his arms and frowning at you “I’m planning on telling mommy that you… chased me around with a knife or something, so she can see how psycho you actually are and stop forcing me to be around you!”

Eyes lighting up, that was the first time you saw a possible escape from all of this “You think that would actually work?”

Annoyed and a little freaked out, Yunho pointed at the smirk on your lips “See? That’s exactly what I mean: Psycho.”

And you both only grew hostile at each other since then. Sure, saving face in front of your parents and older siblings was necessary to not get scolded and revoked of your privileges (and you actually liked to be alone with him, only if it meant you could take a break from your mother and her judging gaze), but pretending to like Yunho proved to be more difficult than what you had imagined.

Especially when you both outgrew the phase where you tried anything and everything under the sun to piss the other off. Not so harmless pranks were pulled and the petty behavior got you both in trouble with your oldest brothers a couple of times but, no matter how hard you tried, it never “accidentally” got to your mother. Or his, for that matter.

So when you two stopped trying to get your point across and grew cold towards one another, that's when it got really ugly. Vile words cut through both of your egos harshly, family vacations that include his were uncomfortable and holidays were your personal hell.

December thirty-first and January first have always felt like purgatory. Christmas was always spared because you have family living on the other side of the world who you travel to see every year but it's never truly enjoyable when you know that, in the next couple of days after that, you'll see his dumb face.

But you have always smiled brightly at him and hugged him when he comes in with his unnecessary luggage at your home. You hold his arm and bat your eyelashes when you know your mom is watching from a distance and it all but confuses him every single time.

Remembering the time you both were thirteen and you went through very sudden puberty makes you smile. The look on his face when your kitty heels helped show how tall you got over the summer was fantastic.

“Look at what the cat brought in!” Scrunching your nose and squeezing his cheeks in fake affection, you noticed it took a lot for him to not swat your hands away.

But you also remember noticing that he was blushing when you pulled away.

“You look like a very ugly gigant,” he whispered with a smile, matter of factly and all “It doesn't really suit you.”

He was a pain in the ass. A manageable pain in the ass, but a pain nonetheless.

It all took a wrong turn when he caught up on your mothers plans by age fifteen. By that age, you've known for a while and the mercy you had on him, on explaining everything you believed to be true, was simply a way of keeping everything at arm's length from you.

The second he put two and two together, your guesses had automatically turned into a possible reality you couldn't cope with.

A reality that's about to hit you in the face and leave a bruise that doesn't really go with your polished image.

The rain picks up and you close your eyes in hopes of coming up with a new idea.

It only makes your headache worse.

You really should get going with your day.

There's appointments you need to get to, meetings you have to fill the space in because your brother is going to fail to show up as usual and you have to get your hair and make-up done for tonight.

You really shouldn't be crying right now.

Are you even allowed to cry?

Your fate was probably decided the day you were born, five months and a few days after Yunho.

“Shit.”

Sobbing is useless, so you get in the shower. You do your skincare routine and plan the outfit you're going to wear to the office while you cover your eyebags and try to make it look seamless, natural even.

If the struggle shows up in your face, you're going to get yelled at downstairs.

Living with your parents might be a bigger nightmare than getting presented with Yunho tonight but there's really nothing you can do about that, either.

Working in their company, gaining connections through them and being praised by simply having your last name attached to your first makes you completely useless when faced with a situation where you simply want to tell your mom to fuck off.

“Y/N, I hope you already weighed down the options for the dress you're wearing tonight,” is what greets you when you enter the dining room, breakfast laid out perfectly across the table both your parents sit at. She's glancing at you in warning “And I hope you know that the navy blue dress is the best option. It's on theme and it's classy, it shows your figure too.”

Fuck off.

You might've been taught a bunch of things while growing up in this tinsel bubble but never ever were you taught how to stand up for yourself.

It shows in the way you nod and smile and sit down on your designated spot next to your dad and in front of your mom.

“Navy dress it is, ma'am.”

The nod she gives in approval makes you nauseous. At least she's not saying anything about Yunho.

“Excellent choice, dear.”

You swallow the food on your pre-portioned plate with a tight throat and, after sipping your black coffee, you turn to your dad.

Feeling a little delirious on lack of sleep and a little bold, especially when it comes to work related matters, you take the opportunity to press on the other thing that kept bothering you the entire night.

“Father—”

He sees right through you.

“No, Y/N. It's not an open discussion, the deal is signed and sealed.”

“It's not a smart choice.”

“Kim Y/N!” slamming her utensils down on the table and making everything shake in the process, you barely flinch at your mothers warning “Are you calling your father dumb?”

“No, of course I'm not,” you defend yourself immediately, the softness in your voice hanging by a thread because all you want to do is scream at her to stop putting words in your mouth “All I'm saying is that he's too generous. That company is not profitable and he gave them half a floor in the building and an initial investment that's going to backfire,” you calmly explain to her what you told him the day before “There’s not really a market for physical media anymore.”

“And they're trying to bring it back,” your father returns, his eyes never straining from his food “I think it's a great idea. You said a couple of months ago that eighties and nineties style is coming back.”

“As a trend,” you remind him with a tight smile “And trends tend to die down rather quickly.”

“Soohyun approved it,” he finally looks up and his next words have you biting your tongue bitterly “You don't have a say on the final decision and you know it.”

Damn right you fucking know it.

“Are we clear on that?”

Glancing at your mother, you notice how she's picking on her food to try and avoid sticking up for you. Not that she normally would but you think, as the years pass, the mistreatment must give her some sort of guilty feeling she can only escape if she avoids your eyes.

Straightening your spine, you fix your face and smile with fake acceptance “Yes, sir.”

The tinsel bubble brings in unnecessary amounts of money and privilege, but it doesn't really save you from tradition and misogyny.

Soohyun is the firstborn, after all.

He's also a complete fucking idiot.

You love him a lot, but he's completely useless when it comes to this business.

Although trained separately and for completely different positions, you always paid close attention to the company.

You studied hard, you graduated early at the top of your class and went to business school as soon as you were able to. You even got to be valedictorian last year at your graduation and even then you knew you weren't getting your father's role once he took a step back from being the face of the company.

But you couldn't help but wish.

Wishing and imagining was your way of coping with it. What if you were born a boy instead? You surely wouldn't be in this predicament.

What if your brother wasn't pampered the way he was growing up? You surely didn't have to step in to save apparences with your employees.

Your day to day would probably flow so much smoothly if he actually wanted to do his job like he should.

Heels clacking on the marble floor, you strut the hallway into his office to aggravate your headache just a bit more: The space is a mess and when you glance at the tree you started to paint on his wall when he asked you to help him quietly turn the space around but never got to finish it brings your mind to the man who declined your offer this morning.

And the clock in your mind starts ticking again, faster and louder this time.

Soohyun’s voice comes out of a corner in the big office, behind some piled up boxes “Well that's not good.”

Snapping out of it and turning to him, you cock your head to the side “What is it?”

“You,” he comes out of his hiding spot, suit barely ironed and hair a little messy which makes you cringe “Usually, you complain as soon as you close that door,” he points at it with a tiny and concerned smile “So now I'm worried they cloned and replaced you, sis.”

“Well, you made a mistake yesterday and there's nothing I can do now to cover it up so,” raising your arms before tossing your purse on the free loveseat that serves as his lounging area, you sigh “Nothing to complaint about today, except—” you squint your eyes, making a show of pretending to be thinking about it “Oh! I'm probably getting married off tonight.”

The fake happiness laced in your tone makes your brother scoff. He walks to his desk, sitting down on his chair and shaking his head in disapproval.

“It's not an engagement, Y/N. It's more of a… Public relations matter.”

“Oh, so you agree with it?” Blood pressure skyrocketing, you quickly make your way across the space until you stand in front of him “You're fine with it?!”

“Don't act like you didn't already know this was going to happen eventually,” leaning back, he gives you an apologetic look. That's how you know there's nothing he can do about it either “Jeong Tech is the largest investor, or primary partner and basically the first big successful business we helped to launch here.”

The explanation is unnecessary. You know. You know he knows you know.

“And after the stocks falling over that little… Hiccup they had last year—”

“The selling clients information hiccup.” You recall with a tight smile.

Soohyun gulps.

“Yes, that, they need to rekindle their image with the press and, in the process, we gain a few reputation points in the market by association. You know how this works,” looking away for a moment, he bites the inside of his cheek before pressing on “And you two are loved and shipped by everyone online already. Grandmas swoon at the potential TVN drama they could make about your love story.”

What fucking love story?

It's more like a gruesome, slashy horror movie to you.

“Okay, is that why they don't marry me to Gunho instead?”

“No, Y/N, they don't marry you off to Gunho because he's in love and soon to be engaged to a complete nobody,” he responds right away with a shrug “Besides, you and Yunho—”

“We hate each other. We—”

“Now, I wouldn't say that—”

“—Completely and utterly despise one another. He's the unwanted dirt under my Louis Vuitton heel, he's the bee I want to kill but can't because they are needed for the environment,” you continue without taking a breath “He's somehow needed to this environment,” meaning the company “Although he's attending a public university and detaches himself from his responsibilities because he already has a brother who actually takes care of it all, unlike me!”

Soohyun doesn't seem hurt at that and you're annoyed he's not. That he knows you well enough to know you're trying to sink your claws into his pride because yours is flat lining as the minutes pass.

That does nothing but fuel your anger.

“Unlike me,” you repeat “Who has to take care of your responsibilities because you are too busy playing renovation simulator in your stupid office to attend your meetings! Because if you did attend them you would know yesterday’s decision was a mistake and—”

“There it is!”

“—You're going to cost us millions of won for nothing.”

Soohyun sighs and the way the scowls at the scattered papers on his desk lets you know he's not about to entertain this conversation any longer.

For the third time today, you are about to lose. And you're a sore loser.

“You're not getting engaged,” he reminds you, standing up and fixing his hair with his hand, his expression kind and sweet like you didn't just yell at him “You don't have to marry Yunho.”

You scoff “For now.”

“Or never, if you don't want to,” rounding his desk, Soohyun pats your head softly like you're a child “Just pretend for a bit and then let him break your heart publicly so that the media doesn't treat you like a stoned hearted bitch.”

“I am a stoned hearted bitch.”

He shakes his head “You're not but even if you were no one has the right to call you that,” your expression softens and you kind of want to cry at that, but you don't “Except me. Now, we have a meeting to go to, don't we?”

Duty calls, like it always does. Your brother steps away and rushes to the door.

Grabbing your purse and following him out, you fix your own hair in the reflection of the glass separating the cubicles from the hall “Do you even know what it is about?”

He smiles back at you “Nope but you're going to tell me on the way there anyway.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don't.”

The call comes after the meeting, when the sun is finally breaking fully through the clouds and your headache is starting to go away.

Only to come back in full force once you see Yunho’s face as soon as you make your way to your own living room.

Wearing a formal black blazer with matching trousers and a white shirt, the asshole doesn't even spare a glance at you even when you're sure he knows you just walked in.

The room started to fill with negative energy. He must have felt it, right? But he doesn't show it.

He's on the phone, eyebrows almost melting together as he pays attention to what the person on the line is saying.

“What do you mean he met this girl two days ago?”

Oh, he's gossiping. Your eyes almost meet the back of your skull when you roll them and, with a sigh, you throw your purse at him.

He catches it without making that much of an effort.

Asshole.

“End the call.”

“Wait, wait,” he covers the microphone with his hand and frowns at you instead “Shut it up, princess, this is an important call.”

“Princess? Who are you calling princess?” It's not hard to hear the person on the other line, a poor confused guy, talking back.

“My mother's friend’s daughter,” he shoots back and gives you a tired look, putting the phone to his ear again and signaling you to close your mouth “Anyways, is Seonghwa sure he wants to introduce us to her? Isn't it too soon?”

At the name, you perk up. Gears turn in your head, one by one because you're tired and your machinery probably needs another coffee to oil everything up there, but then it hits you.

That's where you knew Park Seonghwa from.

You were not proud of yourself for letting curiosity tickle you enough to check Yunho’s instagram page merely six months ago. On your burner account, of course, the one with a fake name and fake pictures so that people don't know you stalk them when you're bored.

There's this picture on his finsta where they're all sitting around a bonfire. It looked cozy, like they actually love each other which is a crazy concept for you.

All your friends are fake. Also, the concept of a bonfire is insane. Bugs? Acoustic guitars and careless laughter?

Insane.

But it seemed genuine the first time you saw it and it made you burn with jealousy of a life you could never have.

And in that picture, Yunho was hugging Park Seonghwa.

Huh. You wonder what would've happened if he accepted your proposal earlier today.

“Well, okay, uhm… I probably can't tonight. I know I said— Yes, Wooyoung, I know,” he sighs deeply as you sit down right in front of him, one leg over the other with rehearsed poise “I’ll see you all at Hongjoong's gig this weekend, yeah? Okay, bye… I love you too, oh my god,” he giggles and you frown, disgusted “Bye.”

You immediately go for it.

“Your boyfriend?”

“My husband,” his smile is fake and tight and it makes you want to punch him in the face “That's what I'm telling our mothers in fifteen minutes, by the way.”

Rolling your eyes again, you let out a tired breath “As if that would ever stop them.”

“So I reckon you know what's going on?”

“You don't?” eyebrow rising inquisitively and expression turning into a pitiful one, you wonder if that's why he seems so laid back at the moment “Please, indulge me and tell me you do.”

“Of course I know what's going to happen,” scoffing, he crosses his arms and looks at the living room double doors “Just trying to figure out if you're out of the loop so I can put you up to speed on our escape.”

“Oh, please,” you huff out a bitter laugh “If you really wanted to escape you would have been out of the country by now. Don't pretend you're not a people pleaser, Yunho,” looking back at you, that familiar wrath burns in his brown eyes and it makes you smirk “Passing the opportunity to hang out with Park Seonghwa and the rest of your public university crew is not usually what you do. You were probably given an ultimatum by your mother and that's why you're here, isn't it?”

Watching his expression shift from annoyance to confusion to anger in the span of seconds gives you the satisfaction your lost fights of the day took away from you.

“She's really pretty, by the way. His new girlfriend, the mechanic,” you smile, moving your eyes to the ceiling like you're trying to remember something “Didn't catch her name, though. Tell her I say hi when you see her. Oh, and tell Mr. Park I say hi as well. You don't really have to explain to anyone how you know me after tonight anyway.”

“How the hell do you know them?” he's full on frowning now and the corners of your lips twitch in amusement “Are you stalking me, Y/N?”

“Wouldn't you like that, hm?” clicking your tongue in disappointment of his guess, you rest your arms over your knees and lean your weight on them, like you're about to share your secret “I always know everything, Yunho. It's my superpower.”

He imitates your movements, jaw clenched and chest heaving “And here I thought it was being spoiled and annoying.”

Shaking your head, you lean a little further now “You're so silly, Yun, you know that's yours… When will you stop projecting your shit on me?”

“When you stop ruining my fucking life.”

Oh, he's so easy to mess with.

“Glad to know you think I have that much power over you,” you bite the inside of your cheek for a second and then sigh loudly and dramatically “Sadly, I can't control what my parents want me to do. Or do you really think I would choose you, the hypocrite who pretends to run away from his responsibilities, out of all the men in the industry?”

That cuts deep. His face lets you know it does, you also know it's hypocritical on your side to criticize him for getting the treatment you wanted to get to begin with.

He leans in a bit more “As if I would ever choose you, the most cold hearted snake out of the elite.”

Fuck him.

You lean in more, chin up “Mama’s boy.”

Doing the same, he griths out: “Spoiled brat.”

“Rakehell.”

“Psychopath.”

Laughing, you dismiss the fact that your noses are almost touching to shoot back “I hope you enjoy the way the media is going to tear you apart when it comes out that you cheated on me, asshole.”

“And I hope you enjoy when Dispatch digs up what you did at that party four years ago, princess. Falling off a table for mixing your drinks and your drugs and yelling at the staff as they tried to helped you out is quite embarrassing, isn't it?” he returns immediately and it fails to intimidate you but the fact that he knows about that angers you and it sparks in your eyes, so he smirks “Not that I would ever leak that information, of course.”

“You stupid fucking—”

“Ah, good! You're both here already.”

Pulling apart and standing up, you both try to regulate your breathing and conceal your flustered state as your mom and his walk straight towards you.

They're here early, you think. You couldn't possibly have argued with Yunho for fifteen minutes straight.

“I beg you save the public displays of affection for later, though,” his mom says and with a hand on your back she directs you to sit on the sofa Yunho was occupying before. You sit and he does too and you both make sure to leave enough space for the holy spirit and all deities in between you “We're going to need them for the cameras.”

Uncomfortable, you fidget on your seat until the warning look from your mother forces you to stop. Yunho gulps beside you, probably just as uncomfortable as you.

Both women smile brightly like they're not about to lay on you the saddest news of your life.

“As you both know, tonight's gala is a celebration of the twenty years Jeong Tech and Kim’s Innovation have joined creative forces and built the empire we have the pleasure to see unfold today…”

Is your mother reciting your dads speech? It sounds robotic, rehearsed, fake and forced and it's not something new from her but you hate it either way.

“And in celebration of our families friendship, loyalty and alliance,” Yunho’s mom continues and you take in a breath “We're finally making your relationship public!”

Finally?

“Finally?” Yunho asks and you lick your lips “Mom, Auntie… We don't have a relationship.” He tells them plain and simple and you don't look at him when you nod in compliance with the statement.

“Oh, you two have been in love since forever!” His mother dismisses what she just heard “It's only fair to finally let everyone confirm it. This way, you can actually be seen together without our public relations team having to rush to cover everything up.”

That has never happened. You prefer to stay as far away from Yunho as possible when your free will is actually yours to live with.

“Mom, we—”

“We are friends, obviously,” you interrupt Yunho before he dives head first into the depths of hell and his head snaps to you, eyebrows creasing a bit “But it's very much platonic. I don't feel—”

“Yes you do,” your mother interferes, tone stern and fake smile falling for a second as a result before she composes herself “You have loved him since you both were kids and he saved you from falling in the pool at you tenth birthday,” that never happened and slowly but surely you realize they have a whole story planned out for you “And you, Yunho, realized you loved her when she stayed by your side when you had the flu at age thirteen. When she cried over your high fever and came over everyday until you got better. Right?”

The question floats in the air for what feels like eons and she has successfully shut you up for good.

You knew, when you first met Jeong Yunho, there was no way of escaping this.

And he, ever so hopeful and foolish, can't seem to accept it the way you do.

Standing up, he looks at his mother with so much hurt you wonder if you still have that amount of delusion inside of you “You can't do this to us!”

“Dear, do not raise your voice at me—”

“This is the stupidest idea you had yet! I don't care how many years you've been planning this, it's not fair!” He paces around the space and you sigh, looking down at your lap. His voice echoes around the living room and you can practically feel your mom scowl with annoyance at the recklessness “You can't marry me off to someone like it's the eighteenth century! This is ridiculous, I—”

“You'll do it,” his mother stands up as well, voice firmer than you have ever heard. She's a soft spoken woman, a sweet woman even. She's never raised her voice in your presence and you don't let it show how by surprise it takes you “And you know what happens if you don't.”

You don't know why you relate to the pained expression on his face. You really shouldn't because you two are, clearly, on two different ends when it comes to pleasing your family.

His family seems loving, the way his mother treated him growing up felt so genuine you always wished you could switch places with him. Even at times where they thought they were alone in the room and you hid to witness the cracks on the foundation of their love, it never happened.

Until now, when he storms off and she seems rather unaffected by his pain. What she gives off is annoyance, just like your mother, she's annoyed that this didn't go as smoothly as imagined. She moves to follow him.

“Jeong Yunho!”

After she leaves the room, there's screaming in the distance, probably at the end of the long hallway. And then, there's silence until your mother breaks it.

“Well that was an unfortunate mess.”

Your throat feels like it's closing up but you push through it, standing up when your mother does too.

“Mother, I don't really think this is the best way to—”

She frowns at you.

“What are you wearing? A suit?”

“W-what?”

Dumbfounded, you look down at your choice of outfit that she saw this morning and then back up at her.

“I understand there's really nothing that can be done about your body shape but wearing silhouettes like these makes you look very masculine, Y/N.”

She's doing that thing where she belittles you into submission. Vulnerable because of what you just lived and what you just witnessed, you stand there and take it.

“And are you wearing makeup? Your eyebags, darling… I can't believe you let Yunho see you in this state.”

If only she knew you stayed awake the entire night trying to sabotage her plans.

This triggers you beyond belief. It starts with your heartbeat picking up, with your inner child begging you to stand up for yourself and banging at the walls of the safe you locked her up so many years ago.

When you both hear footsteps coming down the hallway, she looks down at her watch and your chest starts heaving.

“You need to get your hair and makeup done in an hour and a half. No need to go to the salon, I arranged things and they're coming over,” she informs you camly, putting on her fake smile when Yunho’s mom sighs at the doorway and when she turns away from you to get to her and loop her arm around hers, you catch his eye as he makes his way to you “Now, how about I show you what they did with the garden, dear.”

They walk away from the wreckage with a giggle that only raises your panic.

The fire of it burns your pride, your self image and your capability of keeping it together in front of your sworn enemy.

It doesn't help that he comes in with full vengeance, ready to take out on you what he obviously couldn't take out on his mom.

“Why didn't you say anything?!” his voice fills the room once again and you physically recoil, which makes him reconsider. He looks you over once and then takes a deep breath before pressing “Why did you tell them that we're friends? We're not friends, Y/N! You should've… You should've told them that you hated me, that y-you were in love with somebody else, anything!”

Tears cloud your vision and you can only reply in a faint whisper that sounds far away “Yunho, shut up.”

“Are you seriously letting them get away with this?” his index points at the door and he looks at you like he doesn't know you. He doesn't but he does know what your family is like, so you don't know why it surprises him “Are you seriously going along with this stupid charade?!”

Air leaves you. You can't breath but you try to and you faintly hear him say something else but it sounds bottled up, like you're underwater.

“I c-cant.” You try again but it barely comes out.

Breathing in with your mouth, you close your eyes and focus on the way your head pulses. Migraine in full force, it only aggravates the feeling of complete loss of control over your body. But your feet move before you can think, to the couch, to look through your purse because damn it if he finds out.

He follows you.

“Is this some sort of sick revenge against me or—”

They're not there. Why didn't you bring them with you today of all days?

God damn it. Yunho is, somehow, still talking.

“Because if we don't go out there and let them know that—”

“Yunho, shut the fuck up! Stop it!”

Turning around with tears streaming down your face and hyperventilating seems to shut him up for good.

“What's wrong?”

He stops, breathing hard with a confused look on his face and his eyes follow you when you quickly move around him to get out of the room.

“Y/N, wait—”

You don't wait to see if he's following you upstairs. You only know he is because when you trip midway, his hands are there to catch you.

Physical contact with him is so strange and unfamiliar that you have to push his helping hands away and, quickly and still hardly breathing, you make your way to your room.

Neatly done by the staff assigned to ready it up everyday before you get home, the order gets destroyed by your panicked state. You look through your vanity drawers messily, full on sobbing and mumbling incoherently as you do and you slam your fist down on the thing when you fail to find your pills.

“Where the fuck is it?!” You sob out, hand hurting and shaking until you fall to the ground.

You try to recenter, pressing your shaky palms into the soft material of the carpet and sinking your nails hard in it until it starts bunching up beneath your fingers. Eyes closed, you can't see when Yunho knees down next to you but you do jump in fear when his hand touches your arm.

Looking at him, you see when he removes his hand until, hesitantly, he places it firmly on your shoulder “I need you to breathe with me, Y/N,” he starts demonstrating, breathing in once, holding it in for a few seconds and letting the air go next. You choke out a sob “Breathe with me so you can tell me what I can get you.”

You want to scream at him to stop pretending to care and get out but you can't.

Instead, you listen to him. You breathe in when he does, hold the air a second longer than him and let it out afterwards. You do a few rounds of this, just staring at him with tears still falling down your cheeks until the fog in your brain starts clearing.

It's agonizingly slow and it pains you to let yourself be seen in these circumstances, especially by him.

“Now, what were you looking for?”

Coughing uncomfortably, you attempt to get up the floor but he stops you from doing so “You can leave, Yunho, I can get it myself.”

“You're shaking, Y/N,” it takes for him so say it to look down at your hands, which are barely grasping the carpet now and just hovering above it as they tremble “What do you need?”

“My pills,” you tell him in a murmur after a few seconds, closing your eyes because, to you, this whole thing is very embarrassing “I don't remember where I put them, m-maybe in my nightstand?”

“Drugs?” he asks with a frown and you shake your head, too panicky to get offended at the insinuation “Ah, actual pills, I see, um…” He gets up and you open your eyes to him walking over to your bed, sitting down to open up the drawer of your nightstand “You have a lot of shit here. What do they look like?”

“Prescription bottle, not a blister. Translucent, white cap.” You're taking control over your own body now, breathing starting to normalize and mind syncing up with the situation again.

Your head hurts still, but it's better than five minutes ago.

“Here it is,” you hear him say and he's on his knees next to you a second later. You take the bottle from his hand, unscrew the cap as fast as you can and shake it to get a pill out of it “It was behind a bunch of stuff. I'll get you some—” putting the pill on your mouth, you crane your head back and force yourself to swallow it “Water.” He finishes in a whisper.

When you look back at him, he looks a little freaked out.

“What?”

“N-nothing… Do you still need some—”

“No. Thank you for getting me these, you can leave now.”

Your tone is cold. The memory of him yelling at you downstairs returns so now you're pissed off and still very, very vulnerable. He's not allow to see you this way or any way for that matter.

But he just did.

He stays still and you're about to ask him if he didn't hear you or what but then you follow his eyes and notice he's staring at the way you hands still shake a little while trying to get the cap on the bottle again. You presume he's trying to read the label on it, too.

“How long have you had them?”

“The pills? This is a new prescription, so like… A month or so.”

He sighs, closing his eyes and sitting fully on the floor next to you “You know what I'm talking about, Y/N.”

Looking away, you hate that the cat is out of the bag. If only your mother didn't comment on your appearance maybe, just maybe, you could've keep the secret to yourself and take it to the grave with you.

You hate that Yunho, out of all people, found out.

But he helped you, so you decide to please him with an answer.

“I started getting them when I was ten, I think. I didn't know what was happening for a while and then at fourteen I learned what a panic attack was,” you recall, tone sounding breathy and tired and a little annoyed. He nods “And then I got officially diagnosed with panic disorder at twenty, so not that long ago.”

Eyes back at him, you see him frown and then nod again as if the information you just gave him is hard to digest. It's not, it's actually extremely normal for someone like you.

It makes you wonder if he has ever felt the same.

Taking another calming breath, you speak again “I would appreciate if you keep this in between us. Not tell your brother or anything,” you clarify before he can respond “Because your brother is going to tell my brother who is going to tell my mom and that's a whole disaster I don't really want to deal with.”

“They don't know?”

“Of course they don't know,” a bitter laugh makes it past your lips “If they knew, don't you think I would be the image of a visibility campaign against anxiety or something like that?”

“They're your family, though.”

“Blood is thicker than water but I'm allowed to have my secrets,” it's pathetic, the way your vision clouds once more and tears trail their path down your face once nor3 “And you of all people know how exploitative they are, so don't tell them.”

What happens next takes your breath away again. Not for the reason you expect but it does and, for the first time in your life, Jeong Yunho is able to make your brain malfunction.

You don't really think he realizes his hand is on your cheek, thumb whipping away your tears so softly it turns to you to a puddle right away

The last time someone handled you with that much care was…

Never?

Unable to look away, you catch the second he notices what he's doing and, by the time he does, he already leaned in a fraction into your space.

Snapping out the weird, dizzy moment you two just had, he lowers his hand and you clear your throat to try and shake your feelings, all of them, off.

Off. Away. You need to get your shit together and work on depuffing your face before the makeup artist and hair stylist arrive.

“Listen, if you want to mysteriously disappear tonight and miss the gala you can totally do it and I'll cover up for you. I wouldn't blame you and I don't really care if our parents take it out on me,” your words are fast and your tone lighthearted. Like you're making a joke but, also, you're totally not “In return for you to keep your mouth shut about this,” you shake the pill bottle “I wouldn't do it out of kindness, of course, after all I am the most cold hearted snake of the elite.”

Scoffing, he closes his eyes and lets his head hang low for a few seconds “You’re so—”

“Beautiful? Smart? Outstanding?” You offer.

He looks back at you again “Insufferable.”

You squint your eyes at him before your lips turn upwards in a sardonic smile.

Yunho lets out a heavy sigh “I'll do it.”

“Run away to Timbuktu and change your identity?”

“Be there,” he corrects, clearly tired of your antics “I’ll be there tonight. We are up to our necks in this bullshit, both of us,” he reminds your “And I'm sure my mother wouldn't let me get far if I did try to run away.”

The ghost of a genuine smile curls in your lips “Pussy.”

He rolls his eyes.

“See? Annoying as fuck.”

Your smile fully widens at that. Finally, some sense of normalcy after whatever the hell happened a few minutes ago.

“What dirt does she have on you to make you bend to her will all of the sudden?”

“She—”

“I'm sorry to interrupt,” both looking up at your door way, you try your best to hide the pills under your thighs as you eye the staff member suspiciously at his interrupt “But misses Jeong is calling for Yunho downstairs. She says that you have to leave to get ready and misses Kim urges you, miss Kim, to get a shower.”

“Yeah, she smells kinda bad, doesn't she?” Yunho jokes but the staff member doesn't laugh at his quip. Instead, he earns a push from you before getting up “I'll get going then.”

The guy bows and disappears at that.

“Finally.”

You feel like you have to thank him again for what he did. With words, not actions. But he doesn't look like he's expecting it and the words hang on your tongue without making it past your lips because it's against your morals to thank Jeong Yunho for absolutely anything.

“See you tonight, Y/N,” he says and you make a face that makes him smile for some reason. He moves to the door but stalls and, as you get up, you see him turn to you one more time “Bring them with you,” he points at the bottle on your hand “Just in case.”

You huff and close the drawers of your vanity, stashing the pills in one of them “Don't tell me what to do.”

“I wouldn't dare,” mimicking the staff member, he bows dramatically and you groan “Goodbye, princess.”

You close the last drawer with a little more force than you intend to as soon as he's out of eyesight and then whisper and amused: “Asshole.”

Now that's a couple of hours later and your head allows you to lock back in, to focus on the matter at task and prepare for what's to come.

Sitting in the car, your chauffeur takes the hill up to the Jeong’s so you can pick up Yunho and show up together to the event.

Hair beautifully done and makeup beat to the gods, it irks you that your mothers have everything so planned out down to the last details. There's a tablet on your lap and you're rehearsing the backstory they put together for this made up relationship.

As they told you earlier, you have to pretend you two have been in love since childhood. There's some paragraphs narrating how you supposedly felt like you owe him your life after he “saved you” from failing into the deepest part of the pool when you didn't know how to swim.

Which is true, you didn't know how to swim at that age but Yunho never saved you from anything.

Except maybe today, only after aggravating the situation to the point you couldn't help but break down in front of him.

Pressing a finger down on your temple, you close your eyes and try to wipe the image of him helping you away. Instead, the way the washed your tears away pops into it and you groan, earning a curious look from your driver.

“Is this hill endless?” you ask in a way to cover up your true grieving and he laughs a little, which makes you smile before complaining again, as a joke. Kind of “That's why they usually come to our house, it takes a whole business day to get here.”

That seizes your driver's curiosity and you look out the window when their mansion comes in full view. It's majestic, it's modern and it looks really pretty from your balcony at night, when it's all lit up even when you know the probability of someone actually being there is scarce.

His dad and brother are always at the office, his mom is always at a meditation class or the gym or the mall with your mom and Yunho, well, you can only assume he's never actually there. He seems to have a very active social life and you don't think his mom would necessarily approve of his public university friends being there.

When the car comes to a stop in his driveway, you look back down and scroll to that part of the document: You're supposed to be supportive on his choice of avoiding a private education, call him humble and down to earth if the question gets asked but not praise the public education system because your dad endorses a really expensive school, the one he and your fake father in law graduated at.

The one you graduated at.

It was so freeing not looking at his face in the halls when you started uni and you, quite frankly, don't think about him often enough to wonder why he was allowed to attend the university of his liking and study what he pleases.

Now you're curious but, as you see him descend the stairs that lead to his massive front door, you're not sure you want to talk to him outside of business for too long.

He's all dolled up in a navy three-piece, color matching your dress and all. Hair done and out of his forehead, you hate to say it does more for him than the usual style he wears it in. You don't remember the last time his bangs didn't cover his eyebrows and now you're wondering if you pushed all the times you did to the back of your mind.

It'll be hard to pretend you don't think he looks good because he does and you don't want it to show in your face, so you stay focused on the tablet as he makes his way to the car.

The driver gets out and attempts to open the door for him but you hear Yunho telling him it's okay.

“I'll do it, thank you, thank you,” he opens the door and so you hear him more clearly now and he slides on the seat next to yours with ease, a disappointed look on his face when he notices you “Ah, you're here.”

“They didn't tell you?” sounding boring as hell, you scroll to the bottom of the document and pass the tablet to him, avoiding to look at him again “We're supposed to arrive together so the photographers waiting outside can start speculating and reporting to the media outlets that something might be going on.”

He grabs the tablet, looks at the document for five seconds in total and then hands it back to you “Oh, yeah, I didn't read that.”

Your driver gets in his seat and starts the car, maneuvering out of the driveway in seconds and so you have to brace yourself on the seat to avoid sliding down on it as you're driven down the hill.

“You didn't read it?” your head snaps back at him and he shrugs “Yunho, we're supposed to pretend we're madly in love with each other and you didn't study?!”

“We've been pretending to get along in front of our moms for over a decade, Y/N,” he deadpans “We're doing the same tonight, only at a bigger scale. It's not that complicated,” shrugging again, he looks out at the street for a second before looking at you again, a disgusted expression on his face “I hope you're not expecting me to be all over you because now that I can't fake.”

“Because you're never felt the touch of a girl in your entire life? I know that, loser,” he's about to retaliate but you stop him with your index finger “You've been away from the spotlight for way too long. You don't know how ruthless and scrutinizing the people attending are, I do. So sit pretty and study this.”

You shove the tablet back and he groans, looking through the document briefly again.

“And how do you know who's attending?”

“Page ten through twenty five. There's a detailed list with names, occupations and hobbies so you can have possible topics of conversation. I also took the time to highlight in pink the ones I want to avoid,” you point out and he moves his finger on the screen until he gets to the list, scoffing in amusement a second later “You should avoid them too. Especially the Hwang’s,” he gives you a look, asking for an explanation “They gossip too much, their friend groups are filled with snakes who can't take an NDA seriously and the girl is a little in love with you, so she'll flirt with you the entire night.”

“I don't even know her.”

“You don't have to, she's in love with the idea of you and your family's influence. Seriously, Yunho,” you let out an annoyed noise, crossing your arms over your chest “It's like amateur hour with you. You should know this.”

“I live a normal life, princess, I don't know any of this because it's not important to me,” he states as simple as that and you shake your head in disapproval “It shouldn't be important to you or to anyone, really.”

“Oh, but it is,” you return and when you look at him he's looking back. There's this electricity passing in the space in between you, something dangerous that's the tail tale of how different you both are and you start asking yourself how are you going to pull this whole thing off “And now, it is to you. You're about to enter a ballroom filled with people who admire you for simply being a Jeong, people who want to be you. It's hard and it’s pressuring but you declined my offer to not show up earlier today, so fucking own it.”

There's a pause where you see his jaw clenching, you see him shift uncomfortably and adjust his tie before presumably telling himself to relax.

“And study as much as you can, I'm not covering up your mistakes.”

The rest of the ride to the venue is silent and, when you get there, you exchange a look with your driver that's both apologetic and a request for discretion. You know your staff is discreet but you thank them every time you can because it's a lot of shit to handle.

“Here you go, honey.” The pet name almost makes you gag but you take the electronic from his hand, lock it and give it to the driver to safekeep.

“I prefer Y/N,” or even princess, because you're used to it “Don't try that inside.”

Rolling his eyes, he sarcastically lets out “Anything else your highness wants from me before we get off?”

“Yeah, for you to shut up and leave me alone forever after tonight but that's not really going to happen, hm?” You can see through the tinted windows how people gather outside to try and see who's inside the car and so you fix your hair with your fingers and then turn to fix Yunho’s tie. He makes a noise of disagreement but you shush him “Oh and for you to open the door for me?”

He levels you with his stare “Can't do it yourself?”

“Fucking do it and stop asking questions, Yunho.” You say under your breath and he smiles a little, triumphant like he just won something only for pissing you off.

Neither one of you want to lose the staring contest you suddenly have going on and it's, once again, electric. The tension is palpable and not in a positive way but you have to act quick when his brown eyes scan your face and linger where they don't need to. Hand still on his tie, it's tempting to try and choke him with it so instead you just tighten it a little more and it serves as a

“Now, Yunho.”

When he gets out of the car, you hear people gasp. He's not usually at these types of events because his mother must indulge him a lot. But also, he's usually seen with a frown whenever he does attend, so it must come to a shock to everyone he actually showed up.

It came with a shock for you too, you're not going to lie. You fully expected him to back out on his word and leave you hanging to deal with the shitshow yourself, no matter what he said this afternoon.

Rounding the car, he doesn't make the dramatic pause you were hoping for before opening the door and offering his hand to you. The gasps intensify once you elegantly get out, flashes going off and blinding you for a second before you take your surroundings in and loop your arm around Yunho’s.

There's people screaming both your names, asking questions that you don't get to answer because it's not the time for that and this is not a red carpet you have to walk through.

You wave your hand at the cameras, bow to the photographers and smile brightly when a girl behind an iphone tells you how pretty you look.

That would be the first person to compliment you today.

You don't turn to see what Yunho is doing, probably handling the attention in his own weird, detached way like he normally does and when someone signals you both to get going inside, you follow the person until the doors of the venue closing behind you drown out the paparazzi noise.

In the solitude of the initial hall, you see how Yunho lets his posture fall and lets out a breath “Well, I hated that.”

Condescendingly, you smile at him “Poor baby,” you lean in a bit into him “We’re only getting started.”

The horror on his face as he stares back brings out a nervous feeling inside you, but soon you're dragging him by his arm and following the staff member down the hall.

And when she opens the door into the ballroom, you let the feeling overcome you for a second and you gulp because of it.

Only getting started indeed.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. This is part one of three (possibly more if the story extends that far). Any feedback would be greatly appreciated!

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kochslut · 1 month ago

Text

𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫╰┈➤ cooper koch

playing: treat you better by shawn mendes

synopsis: after a painful betrayal, you find comfort in your best friend, cooper, who tries to show you he can treat you better than your ex ever did. torn between the fear of ruining the friendship and the growing attraction you feel for him, you both face the tension between friendship and love, with an uncertain future but full of possibilities.

paring: cooper koch x reader

warnings: cheating, emotional abuse, detailed intimate interaction, oral sex, +18

It was late at night, and you were at home, your face wet with tears you couldn’t hold back. The image of Luke, your boyfriend, with another girl kept replaying in your mind, and the pain of betrayal felt unbearable. Your chest tightened, and the emptiness inside you grew with every passing second. You knew you couldn't be alone in this moment, not now. Without thinking too much, you grabbed your phone and called Cooper, your best friend. He picked up after a few rings, his voice rough from sleep but clearly filled with concern.

"Coops…" your voice came out weak, almost a whisper choked by tears. "I… I need you."

On the other line, Cooper sighed, and you knew he was already tired of all the mess Luke had been putting you through. He always said that guy wasn’t good enough for you, and now it seemed like all his worries were coming true. "Y/N, I'm on my way. Just hang tight," he said, not even giving you a chance to argue. Before you could respond, the call had ended, and you knew he’d be at your door in just a few minutes.

Sure enough, minutes later, the doorbell rang. You opened it to find Cooper standing there, concern etched across his face, holding a paper bag in one hand. He didn’t need to ask anything; one look at your face and he knew exactly what had happened. Without a word, he stepped inside and gently pulled you into a tight hug, letting you cry into his shoulder.

“I brought your favorites,” he said softly, lifting the bag with a few of your favorite sweets, but all you could do was sob against his chest.

He led you to the couch, never letting go of your hand, and sat down beside you, opening the little treats and offering one to you. "Try to eat a little, it'll help," he suggested, but you shook your head, unable to even think about food in that moment. Cooper sighed softly and rubbed his hand gently along your arm. “Y/N, I know it hurts right now, but you deserve so much better than this, you know that? He… he wasn’t the right guy for you.” His voice was calm, but there was a quiet intensity in his words, as if he’d said it a thousand times in his head already.

You lifted your tear-streaked face to look at him, wiping the wetness away with the back of your hand. He looked at you deeply, his eyes full of understanding, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t quite figure out. "I know it’s hard to accept now, but I know he's just not right for you, and you can tell me if I'm off. But I see it on your face. He hurts you, Y/N, and I can’t stand by watching you get torn apart by someone who doesn’t see your worth." Cooper’s words hit you hard, but they also felt like a balm to the pain. There was something about him that always soothed you, and even in the middle of the emotional chaos you were in, his presence made everything feel just a little more bearable.

Minutes turned into hours as you talked—or rather, as Cooper spoke and you just listened, enjoying the comfort of having someone by your side who truly cared. He shared funny stories, embarrassing childhood moments, and even some memories from school that made you smile through the tears. The soft light of the room seemed to dance, creating a cozy atmosphere, and slowly, the pain of betrayal began to fade just a little. As the night went on, you realized that even with a heavy heart, Cooper's presence beside you brought unexpected comfort. He had always been there for you.

When the conversation shifted towards your insecurities and the confused feelings that consumed you, Cooper leaned in closer, his gaze intense. "You have so much to offer, Y/N. Don’t let someone who can’t see that make you forget it. You deserve someone who recognizes how incredible you are," he said, his voice full of sincerity that made your stomach flutter.

A warmth started to spread through you. It was admirable how Cooper looked at you with respect, and a wave of gratitude washed over you. You smiled, trying to hide the mix of emotions stirring inside. "Thank you, Coops. That really means a lot," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. You noticed something different in the way Cooper spoke—maybe it was the vulnerability of the moment, but for a second, you wished he was the one for you.

He smiled back, and in that instant, something sparked. You realized that even in the midst of the pain and confusion you felt for your boyfriend, Cooper was there, ready to support you. The tension between you grew, and for a moment, silence filled the room. You thought about how his presence brightened the darkness surrounding you.

"You really are an amazing friend, you know?" you said, a slight smile on your lips. His friendship was something you treasured, and you couldn’t forgive yourself if you crossed that line with him.

"I just want the best for you, Y/N. Always," he replied, the sincerity in his voice resonating deeply in your heart.

It was like his words echoed a truth you didn’t want to ignore. As the night wore on, the idea that Cooper could be more than just a friend began to take shape in your mind, and you felt a mix of hope and nervousness for what might come next.

The clock on the wall showed it was much later than you thought. The house was quiet, and you could feel the fatigue setting in. The warmth and safety of Cooper’s company surrounded you, and the idea of being alone that night felt unsettling.

With hesitation, you looked into his eyes, searching for the courage you needed. "Cooper..." your voice came out soft, almost a whisper. "Would you… would you mind staying with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone."

He paused from fiddling with the sweets, his gaze soft and understanding. "Are you sure, Y/N?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I really want you to stay," you insisted, vulnerability lacing your tone. "Your presence… it helps."

A smile spread across Cooper's face, and he nodded, "Of course, I’ll stay."

"I’m going to run a bath," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. You didn’t want to show any signs of nervousness. "After, if you want to take one too, feel free."

Cooper nodded again, his eyes following your movements as if he wanted to make sure you were okay. He stayed in the living room while you headed upstairs to your room, the soft sound of your footsteps fading down the hallway. In the bathroom, the hot water felt soothing, easing some of the tension, but it didn’t calm the confusion swirling in your mind.

After getting dressed, you went back downstairs to find Cooper sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. When he saw you, he stood up, and the air between you felt thick with unspoken words. "If you want, the bathroom is free now," you said, trying to sound casual, but there was something in the air that made it hard to act natural.

He just nodded, silent as always, and went up to freshen up while you tried to gather your thoughts. Minutes later, he came down, the fresh scent of soap filling the space, bringing an unexpected sense of comfort. You both headed up to your room, where the soft light of the lamp was still on. The bed looked huge but somehow inviting. When you lay down, Cooper hesitated for a moment before joining you, lying beside you. The space between you felt too small, and even in silence, there was an invisible current connecting you two.

For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, as if the words were stuck, waiting for the right moment to be said. He slowly turned to you, the mattress sinking slightly beside him. His hand slid to yours, fingers intertwining in a calm, almost hesitant way. He took a deep breath before speaking, as if choosing his words carefully.

"I never understood, you know? How you could settle for so little… when you’re so much." His voice was rough, full of honesty that made your chest tighten. "You don’t deserve someone who makes you doubt who you are. You never did." He squeezed your hand gently, and you finally looked at him. The look in Cooper's eyes was intense but not angry. It was filled with concern, with care. There was something there you had never noticed before, as if he was trying to show you something you had always refused to see.

"I know I can treat you better than he can, Y/N," he continued, his voice heavy. "And I know you’re still hurting now, but look at me…" He hesitated, searching for your gaze. "Any person like you deserves a gentleman. I always said that."

Those words made you lose yourself for a moment. Cooper had always been there, always taking care of you, but there was something in the way he said it now that felt deeper.

"I’m not here to say I’m perfect, or that I can fix all your problems." Cooper swallowed hard, the tension in the air growing as the truth came out. "But I know I can treat you better. Because seeing you like this, broken, hurts. And I’d do anything to keep you from suffering like that again."

Was that a confession? There was a raw sincerity in each word, no grand promises, no games— just the truth. He looked at you so intensely that you felt exposed, as if all the walls you had built were coming down.

"Cooper, I…" The words wouldn’t come. Your heart raced too fast, and you felt your face heat up. "I don’t know what to say."

He didn’t let go of your hand; he just held it tighter, his eyes burning with an intensity you’d never seen before. His touch, the way his thumb brushed against the back of your hand, stirred something within you. It felt familiar yet completely new.

"You don’t have to say anything right now," he whispered, his voice low but filled with meaning. "I just want you to know that I’m always here. I always have been."

The silence between you thickened, charged with emotions that felt electric in the air. Your heart raced, and suddenly, you realized that his body was closer than before. His warmth was almost tangible, and you could feel his breath—slow and steady—while yours was uneven.

You tried to look away, to fight against the thoughts flooding your mind, but it was useless. Cooper’s fingers intertwined with yours felt like an anchor, and every delicate gesture he made seemed to spark sensations you had never felt so vividly. Your best friend, always so steady, so constant. But now, in that room with the soft light illuminating your faces, everything felt different. And you didn’t know if you were ready to face what that meant.

"I just… don’t understand how things got so complicated," you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

He let out a low, almost bitter yet soft laugh. "Love doesn’t have to be complicated, Y/N."

That phrase shattered something inside you, as if finally, something had been revealed. The weight of his closeness, his touch, his warmth… it all made you question what else you had overlooked. You could smell him, feel his strong presence, and the tension in the air was palpable for both of you. Before you could stop yourself, your eyes drifted to his lips, and you mentally reprimanded yourself for it. What was happening to you? It was as if an invisible force was pulling you closer, and every second beside him heightened that feeling.

Cooper noticed your gaze fixated on his lips, and a playful smile formed on his face. "I don’t bite, if you want to get closer… I wouldn’t mind," he said, laughter escaping his lips, light and teasing. Instantly, you felt embarrassed, your cheeks burning a deep red. That feeling of awkwardness only intensified the tension between you. The atmosphere grew charged, and his laughter echoed in the room as his eyes remained locked on yours. Your heart pounded in your chest, and the idea of moving closer made you both nervous and excited.

"Cooper, this isn’t…" you began, but the words faltered. You didn’t know how to explain what was happening, how he made you feel confused and exhilarated.

"It’s just a joke," he replied, but there was a spark in his eyes that made it clear he felt the same electricity. "If you want to, of course." The teasing in his tone made you bite your lower lip, trying to suppress a smile that threatened to appear. The tension grew, and you felt a wave of courage wash over you. It was as if the line between friendship and something more was blurring, and you wanted to explore this new territory.

Without a second thought, you moved a little closer, the distance between you shrinking. Cooper’s expression changed, and you saw surprise flicker in his eyes, as if he were questioning whether you would actually do this. But he didn’t pull back; instead, he leaned slightly in your direction, as if inviting you to take the lead. The pounding of both your hearts was almost deafening. Expectation hung in the air, and you found yourself holding your breath. Your gazes locked once more, and it felt like the world around you faded away. All that existed were the two of you, suspended in a bubble of possibilities.

"Are you sure about this?" Cooper asked, you could feel his breath growing closer to yours, his voice soft yet heavy with desire. The question felt more like an invitation than a doubt.

"I… I think so," you replied, feeling the vulnerability in your words, but there was something more there, a rising determination. Without another word, you decided to let yourself go. With an almost involuntary movement, your lips met his. The kiss started softly, hesitantly, as if you were both trying to understand what it meant. But soon the hesitation gave way to urgency, to the need to draw even closer.

Cooper pulled you nearer, his hands firm on your waist as you got lost in him. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, and you didn’t want to pull away. Your bodies molded against each other, each touch sending shivers down your spine. The kiss deepened, the tension that had once been almost invisible now transforming into a fiery connection. It was as if all the confusion and pain you had felt before evaporated, leaving only pure, true desire.

When you finally broke apart, both of your breaths were ragged, your eyes meeting with a mix of surprise and joy. Cooper smiled, that smile that made your heart race. "I… wow," you murmured, still dazed.

"See? I didn’t bite," he joked, the lightness returning to his tone, but the intensity in his gaze remained. It wasn’t long before you found yourself enveloped in his kisses again, and he seemed surprised. So much time waiting for you, for your touch, and now it felt magical.

The intensity of the kiss wrapped around you like a warm cloak, and Cooper seemed to absorb every moment with careful calmness. He gently pulled you even closer, now there was no distance between you both. His fingers glided softly over your waist, while his other hand caressed your face, as if he were trying to imprint every detail into his memory. His touch was gentle, but there was a strong connection pulsing between you, a growing desire that was barely contained. As your lips moved together in a smooth, deep rhythm, you felt a shiver run down your spine. He pressed your body against his, and you could feel the rapid beat of his heart against your chest.

He explored your neck with gentle kisses, his lips gliding over your exposed skin, and the sensation was exquisite. Every touch made your mind spin, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations you had never experienced before. He was being careful and attentive, always paying attention to your reactions, as if he was making sure you were comfortable even while the passion was already stronger than you could handle.

With a smooth movement, he pulled you on top of him, you had your crotch very close to his, and he had his hands sliding down your back as the intensity between you grew. The way he held you was protective, but at the same time full of desire. Your bodies moved in harmony, each movement resonating with an echo of a repressed passion that had finally found freedom. You could feel Cooper’s dick rubbing against your thigh. You still couldn't believe it was real.

The best friend? what a cliché.

The kisses became more urgent, deeper, as if you wanted to merge into one being. The man explored every curve, every contour, and you let yourself be carried away, surrendering to the moment. The mix of affection and passion was electrifying, and each touch seemed to ignite a flame inside you.

When he pulled away for a moment, his gaze was intense. Cooper leaned in, sealing your lips again in a kiss that said more than words could express. You knew that moment was just the beginning of something much bigger.

"Can I take off your clothes?" The request was barely a whisper, but there was an intensity in his gaze that made your heart race. You felt a shiver run through your skin, a mix of nervousness and anticipation. Unable to find words, you just nodded. It was as if, from that moment on, all his fears and insecurities disappeared.

Gently, Cooper raised his hands and began to pull at his clothes. He did it slowly, as if he wanted to appreciate every second, every little detail. The touch of his fingers on your skin was soft, and a wave of heat ran through your body as you felt the cold air touch your exposed skin. His gaze was fixed on you, full of admiration and desire, and in that moment, you felt more alive than ever. Cooper seemed to respect every part of your being, every nuance of your vulnerability. He moved even closer, his hands caressing your torso, exploring every curve with a delicacy that was both electrifying and calming.

As his hands slid across your skin, you gave yourself over completely, feeling the connection between you grow stronger. Cooper moved slowly, his actions full of intention, each touch an invitation to explore the depths of it. His breathing was labored as he watched you, as if he was trying to burn that moment into his memory. The chemistry between you two was undeniable, and the way he touched you awakened a desire in you that seemed to have been dormant for so long.

His gaze intensified, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was both soft and fiery. There was a seething passion, but also a tenderness that made it even more special. You felt completely enveloped by him, and the anxiety that once dominated you now turned into something delicious. Cooper's hands were all over your body, he caressed you while lightly squeezing your skin.

In some moment of courage, you started to move your hips towards him and were satisfied when you heard him make light moans during the kiss. That man was driving you insane, you no longer had any doubts that you wanted more from him; of that moment. As if in fright, you moved a little, putting your hand inside his shorts and stroking his erect member through his underwear.

He looked at you with wide eyes and you gave him a friendly look, as if to say everything was okay. It seems that this was confirmation for what you would do from now on, because you got off of him and tried to remove his clothes, who soon helped you. There was a half-naked Cooper on top of your bed, his penis looks like it would tear his underwear at any moment and you were the only one who could help him at that moment. And without any shame, that's what you did.

"Stand up." his ordination sent a shiver down the back of Cooper's neck and he did so without dissent. With the man standing, you began a difficult kiss, perhaps due to the difference in height, but it didn't last long; You soon started distributing kisses even close to his genitals. His underwear was quickly removed and you couldn't help but swallow hard at the sight of his member without anything covering it.

Cooper gave a perverted smile "Don't choke, y/n", he said in a teasing tone. Well, you weren't a loser, you weren't going to leave your best friend there with that victorious smile on your face. You gave him a wink and squatted down, coming face to face with that man's genitals. You couldn't help but wonder if you could really handle it, was it too big or were you just unaccustomed to your ex-boyfriend's small dick?

So, amidst not at all favorable thoughts, you placed your mouth on his member, who quickly entered a greater state of excitement upon feeling you. He can't help but grab your hair, helping you move back and forth. While keeping your mouth around the entire head of his cock, you ran your tongue over his glans, which made Cooper let out a hoarse moan.

He rocked back and forth as his mouth did all the work down there. You ran your tongue up and down, now using your hand to help with masturbation, trying to feel every part of that man who was there just for you and for you.

His breathing oscillated with each contact your tongue had with his penis, you noticed this and felt increasingly confident in continuing with the sliding movements. You could already feel him inside your throat, pressing so hard that you would probably not speak for some time.

It was hard to tell if Cooper was aware of how big he was, because he was forcing your head forward, making you gag a few times. He was already throbbing in your mouth and you tried to keep control of the situation, taking his hand carefully and removing it from your head. You wrap his penis in your hand and slowly slip your lips around and over it. Your tongue moves slowly under the ridge and around the tip in a figure 8. With Cooper standing, you run the outside of your teeth up and down the underside of his penis, moaning with his penis in your throat, lightly caressing his thighs.

He tried to say something between moans and trembles. "Y/N…" his voice came out shaky and you felt a shiver when you heard him say your name at that moment. "I want to cum with you." He moved back, interrupting the continuation of the blowjob.

You stared at him with watery eyes after a few sessions of gagging. "You're the boss, today." And you smiled at him, and he couldn't help but laugh and think about those words, perhaps the best choice of words you can give a man at that moment.

He took your hands and pulled you back up, the difference in size between you was striking. He felt like your protector, you were so fragile today. All he wanted was to take care of you and… well, he was doing it masterfully. He bent down a little and placed a long kiss on your lips, placing his hands on your back and feeling the soft skin that covered you. He didn't want to be rough with you, not today. Not with such a delicate moment, today he wanted to be a gentleman, kind… He couldn't see himself treating you roughly - even though that man wanted to throw you on the bed with all his strength and fuck you until you begged him to stop.

Now, he lightly lowered his lips to your collarbone, leaving wet kisses there. Your neck had now become his domain, he kissed every part and in some he gave light bites. You were breathing roughly, you were embarrassed to moan at that moment. You didn't want to seem like a poor and desperate bitch, even though you knew that Cooper would never think that of his best friend. The connection between you was unbreakable, and, as those kisses on your neck intensified, you knew that desire and vulnerability were intertwined, and you were ready to explore all the nuances of that new reality.

He ran his warm tongue over your collarbone for the last time, causing a strong shiver to run through your body. Now, he had picked you up effortlessly and laid you down on the bed, the way he looked at you made you blush. It was all unbelievable. He was sitting on a corner of the bed, giving him complete freedom of your body. He started another kiss that ended near your underwear. He stared at you as if asking if he could.

"Today I'm yours." You said in a pleasant tone, making him even more excited than he already was. Today you were his.

He removed the piece of clothing that prevented you from being completely naked and threw it somewhere in the room. Nothing mattered at that moment. You wanted him inside you. You wanted to feel him, have him. And as if he were reading your mind, Cooper put his mouth on your genitals; his warm tongue ran all over your intimate area, making you arch your back more and more. His mouth was all over you, as if he was devouring you. He wanted to taste more and more of you. He felt like a hunter with prey in his hands. Today he had you and he wanted to make the most of it.

Cooper's hands were holding your thighs, as if he were stopping you from leaving. He was squeezing you, but not tightly, it was more like a way of showing that he still had a certain dominance while being so tied to you. His fingers dragged along your walls, eliciting increasingly loud moans from you.

"You're already dripping," he said, caressing the entire length of your arousal. Now, his fingers were helping him with the work while his tongue continued to play over your genitals. The touches were almost hesitant, as if they were both exploring the limits of their shared desire. Their ragged breathing filled the air. His fingers followed a slow path, gradually discovering the areas of greatest sensitivity and a shiver ran through your body, each movement increasing the heat that spread through both of you.

His hands carried a firmness that made each second seem eternal. There was a care in his gestures, but also an urgent need to surrender completely to that moment. Your parted lips let out a sigh, as your hips moved along with Cooper's fingers you could feel a different sensation. It was almost certain that you wouldn't last long there, not with that man touching you like that. And he knew it because he started to increase his speed, staring at you from below. And when you exploded in his mouth, he knew he had done a good job.

You were panting, he enjoyed having you completely surrendered, now he knew your weak and sensitive points even more. Now he knew you better than anyone, and he hoped that you could truly surrender yourself only to him. That was what he wanted most.

"Do you have lube and a condom?" he said when he realized that you had already relaxed. In fact, now he wanted more than anything to feel you inside. He didn't usually use lube, but since he had already decided that he would treat you docilely today, he preferred to ask before trying anything else.

"I think there must be some in the drawer, I'll get it" you got up from the bed and went towards your wardrobe. He watched you open some drawers until you found a purple tube and some small packages, which he soon identified as what he had asked for. You approached and handed everything to him, who graced you with a smile.

"Lie down." He asked and you obeyed, lying down on the bed and watching him put the condom on his penis without difficulty. He soon approached you and placed the contents of the bottle at your entrance. The liquid was cold, making you let out a soft sigh. He was careful as he penetrated you, entering you slowly and asking a few times if he was hurting you, which you denied. In a fright, you could already feel the sensation of being filled by Cooper, he moved back and forth while leaning on the bed.

His cock slid inside you with shocking ease, it was as if your bodies belonged to each other. With each thrust you moaned in unison, transforming the room into your private world. Your breathing quickened as he entered you more deeply. The movements were slow and rhythmic, but the pressure increased, the desire intensified. The caresses explored your skin and the most sensitive areas, provoking visceral reactions that echoed through your mind and body. The emotional connection was as strong as the physical one, creating a fusion of pleasure and surrender.

Muffled moans filled the room, desire taking over both of you. As the temperature increased, the rhythm also intensified, your bodies giving in completely to the mutual pleasure, feeling each wave of ecstasy grow and spread like an invisible current. He let out a few inaudible curses and you scratched his back, it was already impossible to measure the strength at that moment. All you were focused on was giving that man what he wanted.

Without warning, Cooper pulled out of you and managed to turn you around so that your back was facing him. Now you were face down and he started to penetrate you again. One hand was holding onto the bed and the other was running down your back, exploring with more confidence, sliding gently over your skin, knowing every inch with instinctive precision. Your body responded to his touch almost immediately. The pressure of his fingers intensified on the back of your neck, causing deep sighs and muffled moans that escaped without control.

The heat between you grew rapidly, and desire took over every movement, your body reacting in an impulse of pure need. Your skin seemed to pulse under his touch, and the rhythm that formed between you was as much a dance as a battle between self-control and surrender. Cooper moved with a mixture of firmness and gentleness, provoking sensations that ran like sparks through your body. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, closer and closer, more and more connected.

Each movement was more intense than the last, and the touch on the most intimate parts made your body react with spasms of pure ecstasy. The caresses were deep, exploring every nuance, every inch of skin and every area of sensitivity. Your entire body was on alert, responding to each new touch, each new movement. The heat rose unbearably, and the proximity of your bodies made it clear that neither of you wanted to stop. The rhythm increased, the touches became more intense, bolder, as if they both knew exactly where and how to provoke the strongest reaction.

The intensity of the touch between the two of them kept growing, their bodies adjusting in search of greater proximity. With a firm movement, he guided you so that they changed positions. He sat on the bed and pulled you so that you sat on top of him, positioning yourself on his penis. Now, his hands explored your back, slowly moving down, making your breath hitch. He slid his hands around your waist, moving up your torso, while you tilted your head back, giving in to his touch.

He pulled you closer, the direct contact with his body increasing the tension. Your movements were now instinctive, natural. Cooper's hands continued to explore, his touches firmer and more precise, while you felt your desire grow with each second. Your mouths met again, with more urgency, the kiss deepening the heat that already dominated both of you. Your hands, which had been hesitant before, now moved confidently over his body, exploring every muscle, feeling his warm skin against your fingers. Your breaths mingled, the air between them filled with desire and expectation. Cooper held you firmly, controlling the rhythm, but still giving her space to lead what came next.

The change of position left them completely surrendered to the moment, each touch, each sigh making the desire rise even more. Her body moved deliberately, seeking pleasure with precision. The bed creaked under their weight. The sound of heavy breathing and moans of pleasure echoed as your bodies moved together, growing in intensity. Each touch, each movement, was a path of no return; both were in a state of ecstasy, that sensation was completely different from anything they had ever experienced.

The movements intensified, each brush of skin raised the desire to an almost unbearable level. Your body, still in his lap, moved with precision, and Cooper responded with firm hands on your waist, guiding you, the two of you completely in tune. The heat between you seemed to dominate everything around you, overshadowing any thought beyond that moment. You could feel Cooper's breath against your skin, panting, as he leaned in, gently biting your shoulder, each gesture increasing the electricity that ran between you. Your body reacted to each touch, and he could no longer control the moans that escaped, filling the silence of the room.

Cooper tilted his head back, his eyes closed for a brief moment, focused on the pleasure that was rapidly building. The tension between them was reaching its peak, and he could feel his body throbbing against his, both completely surrendered to the moment. The rhythm was accelerating, each movement bringing them closer to climax, the accumulated pleasure ready to explode. Your bodies moved in perfect harmony, accelerating until the final moment. When the climax came, it was like an uncontrollable wave that took over both of them. You contracted in a spasm of pleasure, followed by his, who held your waist tightly, the two of you completely losing yourself in each other.

For a moment, time seemed to stop, your bodies still shuddering with the last waves of pleasure. Silence returned to the room, broken only by the heavy breathing of both of them. Cooper held you firmly, but tenderly, as if he was still processing what had just happened. You lay down with your head on his shoulder, exhausted, but with your heart racing, your body still warm, feeling the last remnants of that moment. The two of you stayed there for a few moments, enjoying the newfound intimacy, the silence filled with everything you had experienced.

Memories of what had just happened swirled in your mind, and shame began to set in. Awkwardly, you rolled to the side, lying next to him on the bed, pulling the sheets up to cover part of your body. Cooper chuckled softly at your expression, clearly embarrassed, and turned to the side, resting his arm around your waist, pulling you slightly closer.

"You look adorable when you're blushing, you know?" he commented, his voice low and still a little hoarse, with a relaxed smile on his face.

You huffed, looking up at the ceiling. "Cooper, please, no… That was… I don't know…" Your voice was hesitant, as if you were trying to find the right words, but failing miserably.

He chuckled again, clearly more at ease with the situation. "I know that was… unexpected. But it was good. Really good." He made sure to emphasize the last part, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. "There's no need to be like this. We're fine."

Your heart was racing, but you didn't know if it was because of the intimacy you had just shared or the uncertainty of what was to come. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to process everything. Cooper was so relaxed, almost happy, while you were still trying to sort out your own feelings.

"I just… need some time to think," you said finally, glancing at him sideways. "It… changed some things, you know?"

Cooper nodded, not pushing you, his smile softening. "I get it. And I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to decide anything right now." He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, making it clear he was there for you, no pressure.

You looked into his eyes, feeling torn between the comfort he brought and the fear of messing everything up with your feelings. "Thanks, Coops. For everything." Your voice came out almost like a whisper, sincere.

"You know I’d do anything for you." He replied, his voice low but full of certainty. You smiled, turning on your side to face him, your faces close together. Even though you had no idea what the future held for you two, you felt at peace. For now, that was enough. Cooper just smiled back, pulling you closer as you both settled under the blanket. He wrapped his arm around you, snuggling you against his chest, and without another word, you both found your comfort in each other’s warmth.

You closed your eyes, trying not to overthink things. There was still a lot to sort out, but for now, you were together, cozy, and that was all that mattered. With your heart calm and your body relaxed in Cooper's arms, you finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped up in the feeling of safety and the mix of emotions he brought.

hey loves, it's me again! this time i tried to write a more chill smut because i was listening to the old shawn mendes songs and this story popped into my head. hope you guys enjoy it, and thanks for all the love and support on my first smut. by the way, after some comments, i decided to make this one with an implied reader gender; hope i pulled it off. love you all! just a reminder: english isn't my first language, so please be kind.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ reblogs, likes, and kind comments are totally welcome! my inbox is open if anyone wants to request a specific fanfic. ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

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