#It spiraled unexpectedly from there but he started it! He always starts it!

[sysig]

Read an interesting new fic, but really it was the spider that sold me (Patreon)

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[sagesskies]

been reading a lot of qt bl recently, and this idea struck me:

imagine you've just transmigrated into a world where you're the second male lead's best friend, when him and the fl enter a rough patch in their relationship because seriously, that guy flirts with way too many girls despite being in a committed relationship, and this time the fl has had enough and breaks up with him.

the 2nd male lead just has a downward spiral, because he was super dependent on the fl, and you, doing your job as his best friend, give him words of encouragement, as you were instructed by the system. but when he, unexpectedly, asks you to do more than give him advice, and instead help him in the direct process of fixing their relationship, you can't exactly say no when he's asking you so pitifully with tears in his eyes.

so, you help him, concocting schemes to win the fl over, sabotage the 1st male lead, and the like. this is way more than the original best friend did, where he just said some encouraging words and then proceeded to dip out of the plot till the emotional climax where he gets hit by a car and the female lead and 2nd male lead supposedly "make up" and "date again" at least, till the 1st male lead wins her back over.

you're able to actually get closer to him as well, past the shallow mask that all humans don, and get to know him as more than just 'a playboy with unhealthy attachment issues'

you learn that he likes to play the guitar and sing, that he cries when watching romance movies, that his favorite color is purple, that he dreams of making a career out of his music, and that nobody ever believes he can.

but when you place your arm around his shoulder, and look deep into eyes and tell him that you do, you believe in him, you see the way that his eyes widen in surprise, and how tears start to well up in his eyes, but completely miss the way his cheeks start to redden.

you actually miss a lot of things. how he always remembers your coffee order, how he knows the way you like your eggs made, how he remembers your favorite show and movie, and knows your handwriting by how you write your m's.

you also miss how he wraps his arm around your waist, drapes his jacket over you when you get cold, and likes to loop his arms around your shoulders and cling to you like a koala does to a tree.

what you do notice is how he's stopped talking about the female lead as much, how he only asks you how you're doing, invites you out not to plan something but to instead just hang like friends would, and when you bring up how the female lead has started dating the 1st ml he just blinks, and then says "Okay, good for them," like he wasn't bemoaning how close they were only three months ago.

and what you are forced to see is that the only person he's feeling possessive over is you. he's always texting you, asking where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. he's glaring at anybody who even breathes in your direction, and one time your friends told you he threatened them to leave you alone.

slowly, you start to distance yourself from him. you decline his offers to hang out, you avoid him on campus, and have even gone so far as to mute his notifications because he's been sending you so many messages.

the system is alerting you of his unnatural behavior, and you tell it that you're very aware, and trying your best to get the story back on track. but by god, is he making this so hard.

it all comes to a head when you hear pounding at your front door, the sound muffled by the heavy downpour of rain, and when you open it you're, sadly, not surprised to see that it's the 2nd male lead, clothes soaked and sobbing, he's telling you he misses you. that he doesn't know why you're avoiding him, but whatever he did he's sorry for it.

"Just don't ignore me, please [Name]," he whines, "If you do, I might die!"

how will you get yourself out of this mess now?

[rafeskai]

Life as We Know It — Rafe Cameron

Prologue

Two opposites must navigate love, loss, and unexpected parenthood to discover the meaning of family.

Summary: When tragedy strikes, two very different individuals find their lives unexpectedly intertwined as they become the guardians of an orphaned child. As they navigate the challenges of co-parenting, balancing careers, and confronting their pasts, they discover that family can form in the most surprising ways. Through heartfelt moments and unexpected humor, they explore what it means to build a life together—one step at a time.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Character deaths & angst.

Author's Notes: Inspired by the movie "Life as We Know It"!

Masterlist: Here

There were few constants in your life: the salty tang of the Outer Banks air, the sound of waves crashing against the shore, and the endless drama of the Cameron family. You grew up here, just like them, but while they lived in a sprawling estate atop Figure Eight, you came from the modest side of the island.

You had known Sarah Cameron for as long as you could remember. She was the kind of girl who could charm anyone with a smile, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. But unlike most, you didn’t want her for her name or her wealth. You liked Sarah for her heart. She didn’t care about the boundaries between Pogues and Kooks; she made everyone feel like they belonged.

By the time you hit high school, Sarah was your best friend, and you were practically inseparable. She introduced you to John B. during your junior year. He was scrappy and full of life, and you quickly fell into a comfortable friendship with the two of them.

Rafe Cameron, however, was a different story.

Rafe always lurked on the periphery of your life, like a storm cloud threatening a clear sky. He wasn’t like Sarah. Where she was warm and easygoing, Rafe was sharp edges and unpredictable tempers. You’d crossed paths countless times, but they were rarely pleasant encounters.

You remembered the first time you met him clearly. It was Sarah’s 16th birthday party, a massive affair with twinkling lights strung across the Cameron backyard. You were lingering by the dessert table when Rafe swaggered up, red Solo cup in hand and a cocky smirk plastered on his face.

“You must be Sarah's best friend,” he said, sizing you up in a way that made your skin crawl.

“Yeah. And you’re Rafe,” you replied curtly, wishing Sarah would swoop in to rescue you.

“Sarah’s little charity project,” he said with a laugh, taking a sip of his drink.

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait. “And you’re the reason half the town avoids this place like the plague.”

To your surprise, he laughed again, this time louder. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

It was the start of an unspoken rivalry, one that lasted for years. Where Sarah tried to bring people together, Rafe pushed them apart. His antics grew wilder with time: parties that spiraled out of control, brushes with the law, and rumors of worse. You avoided him as much as possible, which wasn’t easy when Sarah was your best friend.

After high school, you moved into your own place on the south side of the island, taking a job at a local café while figuring out what you wanted to do with your life. Sarah and John B. were building their lives together, too, settling into a cozy house not far from the beach. And then there was Willa.

Willa was their miracle. Born a month premature, she was tiny but fierce from the start. You adored her, becoming the self-proclaimed honorary aunt who babysat whenever Sarah and John B. needed a break.

Life was steady, even happy, despite its imperfections. You had your routine, your little found family with Sarah, John B., and Willa. Rafe was a distant memory most of the time, someone you only saw at obligatory gatherings where you both pretended the other didn’t exist.

So when the call came, ripping Sarah and John B. away in an instant, the grief was like a black hole, pulling everything you knew into its crushing void.

And then came the twist you hadn’t seen coming.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.

[little-diable]

Reunited - Carlisle Cullen (smut)

What can I say, I’m a sucker for reunion fics. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: What has started out as another day of teaching for Carlisle quickly spiralled into something unexpected - all because of the woman sitting in his lecture hall, a woman he hadn’t seen for the last 301 years.

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (f), only slight angst, mainly smut

Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader (2k words)

He had his eyes focused on his phone, brushing past students who looked at him with wide eyes and warm cheeks. A soft smile played on his lips, excited about yet another class he got to teach, ready to start a new semester. The sound of his shoes meeting the cold floor echoed through the air, following him all towards the lecture hall he entered precisely on time.

Carlisle placed his things down before he let his gaze wander, trying to ignore the unfamiliar sensation simmering deep inside of him. A few familiar faces smiled at the professor, bright students who aspired to be like him one day - mixed with a few who simply wanted to impress the handsome man. Mostly unfamiliar big eyes stared at him, wondering if he was truly their professor this semester.

And then his eyes met a pair of golden ones, forcing him to freeze.

He was sure that if he were still a human being, he’d have choked on his breath, hand darting out to stabilise his frame before he could lose his balance. It had been too long since he had last seen her, 200, 250 years? Perhaps even 300? He couldn’t tell how long it had been while staring at the woman he had once promised to wed, a woman whose side he’d been ripped from all too unexpectedly.

Carlisle had to clear his throat, mimicking what others would do while they found themselves distracted. He turned his back towards the students, scribbling down his name on the big board before he recited his monologue, the words he always spoke whenever a new semester started, making himself familiar with those who decided to take his class.

But even as the minutes faded by, filled with questions by students who wanted to catch his attention, he couldn’t focus on anything but her. He asked himself what she was doing here; how she had found him; and why it had taken this long for their paths to cross again.

He wanted to end the class early, wanted to rush towards her to feel her frame pressed against his after all those years. But something held him back, something torn between sadness and fear. Would she still look at him with the same gaze that made him feel like a god? Would she still want to brush her lips against his like she had once done with every rising of the day and every fall of the night?

The second the bell interrupted his rambling he felt as if he could breathe again, watching the students rise to their feet while they all shot him soft smiles, already looking forward to the following week. And yet Carlisle couldn’t care about them, not when he watched her move all too slowly, set on letting the others leave the room before finally approaching him.

“I’ve always known you were good at this, it’s always been your passion.” His hands ached to reach for her, fingers balled into a fist to stop them from moving.

“What are you doing here?” The laugh he had missed ever since rumbled through her, clawing its way out of her dead fleshcage. Slowly, (y/n) took a step closer, and another, and another until she found herself pressed against his chest, arms finding their way around his neck.

“Why don’t we take this back to your office and I’ll tell you all about it?” Carlisle gently pushed her away, he reached for his things and wordlessly began to move, expecting her to follow him. He could almost feel his dead heart racing, pounding in his chest to call out to hers. Fuck, she had always been the one he ached for, high on her closeness, on her teasing character, on the lips that fit against his all too perfectly.

He unlocked the door to his office, holding it open for (y/n) before locking it again behind himself. Her eyes began to take it all in, fingers brushing along the spines of books older than he was, clearly reminding her of the house they had once shared judging from the sombre look tugging on her features.

“You’re a hard man to find, Carlisle.” (Y/n) plopped down in the leather chair, legs crossed over one another while her eyes burned into his. He mimicked her movements, finding rest in the chair closest to hers, unable to fight against the need to be close to her. “But it seems like you’ve forgotten your little promise to me, have you not?”

“What do you mean?” He stared at her with confusion laced in his gaze, something that made another almost sad laugh claw out of her. Carlisle watched her reach for her bag, pulling out an envelope that had a yellowish touch. Carefully he took it from her, staring down at the writing of her name on the paper, clearly written by him.

“It’s been 301 years, Carlisle. You promised back then you’d find me again, it was my one condition. But you didn’t, I waited for you to appear last year, so I needed to make sure you were still alive. But it seems as if you’re doing well, teaching, working as a doctor, you even have your own family now.” Her smile turned bitter, no longer filled with the warmth he had felt flushing through his veins moments ago.

No word rolled off his tongue as he pulled out the crumbled paper, barely able to read what he had once scribbled down due to the fading ink. But the parts he could still read were all too clear to him now, forcing guilt to settle in his stomach. He had forgotten, had forgotten about the one promise he had sworn to live and perhaps even die by.

“I,” he placed the letter down before reaching for her cold hand. “There are no excuses I can speak, nothing to make up for breaking this promise. I am sorry, so sorry, my love. Time has slipped through my fingers, with my family and all those things that have happened, I must have lost my focus. But I’ve always carried you with me in my thoughts.“

She squeezed his hand before letting go, eyes flickering back to her other hand. Carlisle followed her gaze, looking at the silvery ring he instantly recognised, reminding him of the day he had brought it home to her.

“Did you get married?“ Her voice was small, barely carrying enough strength. Carlisle's hand shot forward, reaching for her face to force (y/n) to look at him. He shook his head, while being certain that he would have broken out in tears had he still been human.

“My love, my pretty girl,” he shook his head while tightening his grip on her chin. “As if I could ever love another, my soul is bound to yours, and it will always be. My love for you knows no time limit, it’s eternal just like the future laying ahead of us. I am surrounded by those others call my children, but my heart has never been opened to house another love but yours.”

It took her a second to move, but the moment she found her strength, (y/n) leaned over the arms of their chairs to press her lips against his cold ones. Carlisle instantly replied to the kiss, shifting them around to pull her into his lap. The kiss was fuelled by their longings, urged on by the missed out centuries as they deepened it.

“You still taste the same, like home.” Her mumbled words made him chuckle, allowing Carlisle to tighten his hold on her before kissing her again for a short minute.

“Let me take you to my place, love, I want to do this properly when we make up for our lost time.”

…

“Carlisle,” she panted his name, back arched off the mattress while staring at him. He had his hands placed on both her thighs, keeping her held in place to properly brush his tongue through her slit. The second they had entered his empty place their bodies had found back together, set on finding out if they still harmonised as well as they had all those years ago.

“Shh, my love, let me search for forgiveness the proper way.” His words drew a soft chuckle from her, eyes fluttering close again. For the past 300 years (y/n) had imagined this happening over and over again, wondering if he’d still touch her the same, if he’d still find comfort between her legs, if he’d still fuck her with the same love connecting their bodies.

Moans clawed through her, sounds that left Carlisle grinning in success. He held onto her as if he was scared that she’d disappear before he could properly apologise, set on gaining her forgiveness. He stared at her with darkening eyes, high on her taste, on the sweetest sensation he had always been aching for ever since crossing paths with her. She choked on his name, calling it out over and over again like a prayer both had last spoken 301 years ago.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this, missed being touched by you.” Her softly spoken words made him chuckle, pressing a kiss to her inner thigh before sucking on her pulsing bundle again and again. (Y/n)’s impatient fingers tugged on his golden hairs, keeping him close while he pushed her towards her orgasm, set on watching her come undone before fucking her.

He teased her entrance with two of his cold fingers before pushing them into her tightness, watching another pleasure filled expression tug on her features. She clung to him, let him curl his fingers against her swollen spot just like she needed him to. And with another call of his name (y/n) came, letting her orgasm flush through her as Carlisle kept sucking on her pulsing bundle.

With a whine leaving her, (y/n) watched Carlisle pull away to undress, exposing the body she had only seen in her dreams for the past centuries. It didn’t take him long to find his way back to her, lingering between her thighs to align himself with her heat, grinning down at (y/n) as he pushed into her.

Both moaned in unison, relishing in the feeling of their bodies being connected once again. For a few seconds, neither of them moved, foreheads pressed together, she had her legs wrapped around his waist, he had his hands placed on both sides of her head. Only as Carlisle felt her walls flutter around him did he dare move, building a ferocious rhythm that was spurred on by their longings.

“You feel devine, love. I don’t know how I’ve survived this long without you.” (Y/n) could only reply with a moan, searching his lips to press a teeth-clashing kiss against his. Their tongues fought for victory as Carlisle fucked her harder, reminding her of a time where she had still been human, finding her body littered in marks after every night spent with him.

“Carlisle,” his name rolled off her tongue again and again, eyes wide as she searched for the strength to switch positions. Carlisle allowed her to move, to flip them around for (y/n) to straddle him, hands placed on his cold chest. He marvelled at her, watched her take what she was desperate for while he found himself falling in love with her all over again.

“What a sight you are, my pretty girl.” With her head thrown back, she found herself tumbling closer towards her second orgasm of the night, all too aware of the fact that he wouldn’t be done with her for a long time. His hips met hers, burying himself deeper with every thrust all while his fingers found her pulsing bundle, circling it with enough pressure.

She came first, losing her strength while he flipped her around again, searching what he was desperate for. It didn’t take Carlisle long to let go, to follow her down the edge with a groan of her name. His forehead fell against hers, clinging to his lover while both allowed their highs to pass.

“Will you find it in yourself to forgive me?” His whispers made her smile, allowing her to pull him down for another kiss.

“You still have some making up to do, but I think we both know how you’ll achieve that.”

[drarryspecificrecs]

2024.08 ~ Top 10 longest fics posted on AO3

1. The Emerald Room by echostep [M, 181k]

►While working a psychology internship, Harry Evans is presented with the challenge of analysing Draco Black, a mysterious patient who spends his days writing on the walls of his hospital room. But when the story of ‘Malfoy’ and ‘Potter’, a Dark Lord, and a magic castle starts to sound familiar, Harry struggles to find his place in a world that no longer remembers him.

2. The Art of Getting By by @thusspoketrish [E, 149k]

►This is a story about love. Draco is on a desperate mission to escape the devastating voice controlling his life, taunting him about his past, and cursing his future. As he reaches his breaking point, he’s sent to a psychiatric hospital, rendered mute, and struggles to find meaning in moving forward. Harry, grappling with his own demons, has been spiralling out of control with an unchecked temper. Unable to escape the anger that has consumed him, he finds himself involuntarily committed, believing that there’s little hope in achieving the semblance of normalcy he craves post-war. Their paths collide, and fate proves how beautiful and cruel it can be.

3. The No Divorce Clause by @coffeedrgn87 [E, 144k]

►Haunted by the war’s aftermath, Harry Potter flees his old life, searching for peace in far-flung corners of Europe. But peace proves elusive when he unexpectedly crosses paths with Draco Malfoy. In a world where magic lingers just beneath the surface, their journey takes them through enchanted cities and ancient secrets, testing the boundaries between rivalry and something far deeper. With unresolved tension crackling between them, Harry and Draco face a slow-burning connection that neither can ignore. As they navigate heartbreak, danger, and the shadows of their past, they’ll discover that the hardest battle isn’t always against dark wizards—it’s against the walls they've built around their hearts.

4. Out of the Dark by Chioces [T, 127k]

►Ten years after the war, most Slytherins have either been executed or gone into hiding. A few, like Draco, exist on the outskirts of society. Not that Draco minds, his life is simple and respectable. He runs a business he loves and keeps his head down. It's not perfect, but for Draco, it's more than enough. That is, until he makes the ill-advised decision to help a very drunk Harry Potter. Potter, true to form, takes this as an open invitation to not only invade Draco's home, but also to drag Draco into the political mess that Wizarding Britain has become. [...]

5. Lifeguards by patrick11stump [M, 123k]

►Draco Malfoy is simply trying to get on with life working at a muggle pool as a lifeguard. That is until a certain trio of troublemakers decides to come to HIS pool and change everything in his simple, stress-free life.

6. When We Were Lost (We Found Each Other) by spifty_one [E, 110k]

►If there was one thing Harry Potter could count on in his life, it was a guaranteed lack of boredom. So, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise that as he was making his way through Diagon Alley to the nearest Apparation point-the one day a month he ventured out of 12 Grimmauld Place-that he passes by an altercation that was absurdly unevenly matched. His whole world turns on its head from there. He just doesn't know it yet.

7. A love story by Year_ofthe_Rabbit [?, 98k]

►Draco Malfoy is just doing his best to keep his head down and get by as he counts down the days until the end of his probation. He clings to his secret dream of finding a way out of the drugery to earn his potions mastery, counting every knut and sickle he can scrape into his savings. His only indulgence is his weekly trip to Sereni-Tea, a cosey shop welcoming even to a convicted death eater. And Harry Potter, who came out of no where and is determined to make himself a part of Draco's life. [...]

8. One Starry Knight by @ferretboyandpotty [E, 93k]

►A story told through Draco’s perspective as he goes through life as a bored Prince, sad knowing he has to marry a woman he doesn’t love. Hope is well and truly out the window until Sir Harry Potter, the kingdom’s most popular Knight, is hired at the castle, and he shows Draco things he’s never experienced before. In one way or...another. There are troubles that lie ahead for both of them, mainly one being a deliciously evil King Lucius Malfoy. Angst, adventures and copious amounts of romance.

9. Show Me by VanessaCG [E, 77k]

►Nine years after the war, and Harry thinks he's fine. All right, his work is all-consuming and his social life is woeful. [...] Draco has spent years trying to establish himself as someone of worth to Wizarding Society, albeit in a reclusive, understated way. Throwing himself into his business in an attempt to manage his own anxieties and ignore the nagging voice telling him that he's not good enough, his private little world is at least safe and comfortable. Or as safe as he can make it. But when famous Harry Potter shows up in his shop after nine years, everything looks set to be turned on its head.

10. Hearts Need Change by Adora_Slytherin [M, 75k]

►Draco spends his days at the manor just like any other day. It feels like everything is the same until he chooses to change that. /// Featuring: Soft Draco, tea time, baking and lots of fluff hopefully.

—

※ Word count: 1k ~ 15k

※ Word count: 15k ~ 40k

All I Ask of You by veradubhghoill [E, 36k]

Beneath the Masks We Wear by Dbenny [T, 18k]

In Deep Water by @mallstars [E, 39k]

Kiss me on my pretty lips, I'd tear my soul out for a piece of this by fairies_withspirits [E, 15k]

Kitchen dancing to bad 90’s music by Big_dog_energy [?, 19k]

Meet me at Midnight by ProseMary [T, 15k]

A Smarter Hat Than Me by @enparallel [E, 32k]

Sore by rubygreene [E, 38k]

Viewer's Discretion by @mintyelbows [E, 21k]

The War of Souls by @ladyrava [G, 30k]

you weren't supposed to die (before I could kiss you) by @dobbyrockssocks [T, 28k]

—

Ongoing Fest/Exchange

※ Fics would be listed elsewhere.

Drarry Mini Bang | @drarry-mini-bang

HD Hurt-Comfort Fest 2024 | @hd-hurtcomfort-fest

HP Soulmates Fest 2024 | @hp-soulmates

[misotsukiiyeooo]

Streetlamp

Pairing: Xu Minghao xF! Reader

A/N: honestly I realized I haven't really written much angst so I think I'll start writing a lot more. (not proofread so I apologize for errors)

Genre: Angst

Word count: 5.9k

Synopsis: After a heated argument, Minghao finds you under a streetlamp.

Just moments ago, their cozy living room had been alive with laughter and stories, but everything shifted when the argument erupted unexpectedly.

“I can’t believe you would do something so reckless!” Your voice trembled, caught between anger and hurt.

Minghao stood a few paces away, his composure unshaken, but deep down, he struggled to maintain his calm façade. “I thought you understood where I was coming from. Why can’t you see it’s not that simple?”

You shook your head, frustration boiling over. “You just don’t get it! You can’t decide everything on your own and expect me to be okay with it!”

The argument spiraled out of control, words thrown like daggers in the heat of the moment.

His cool finally snapped. “Well, if you're always going to try to decide things for me, I don't think we're right for each other!”

Silence stretched out, heavy and full of tension. You stared at him in disbelief. “You know what? Maybe we aren't.”

The hurt in your voice stung. Minghao clenched his fists, feeling the urge to reach out and bridge the growing distance between you both. However, he chose to stay still, hoping that giving you space would help cool the flames of your dispute.

Breathless moments passed before you, overwhelmed by emotion, turned on your heels and walked out of the house.

The sight made Minghao's heart sink. His instinct was to call out, to chase after you immediately, but he hesitated, wanting to give you a chance to breathe.

You began to speedwalk, almost running while wiping your tears; you couldn't believe he even dared to say that.

Minutes passed as Minghao remained in the same position, his mind racing with everything he wanted to say.

Finally, he came to his senses and, not even bothering to grab a coat, ran out of the house, not wanting to leave you alone on such a cold night.

Minghao ran with everything he had in him. He noticed a small figure crouching under the streetlamp.

There you were, crouched on the ground, realizing that while running away seemed like a good idea at the moment, the darkness and cold began to weigh heavily on you. The chill of the night air bit at your skin as you wrapped your arms around yourself.

Minghao stopped in his tracks. He wanted to reach out and fix this mess, but fear held him back.

Noticing a presence, you looked up with teary eyes. The streetlights cast a soft glow, illuminating the tension that hung thick in the air between Minghao and you.

“Y/N,” he said softly this time, biting his lip nervously. He took a moment to compose himself, searching for the right words amidst the chaos of your disagreement. “I know I shouldn’t have said those things… but we can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

He noticed you trembling slightly and immediately took off his hoodie, crouching down to your level to cover you before standing back up to give you the space you needed.

You turned to him, anger and hurt still simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t get to decide what happens next, Minghao. You pushed me away with your words.”

“I know, and I'm sorry. I want to fix this, but I can’t do it if we’re not talking.” He sighed, considering what to say next. "We've been arguing so much…"

He stepped closer, allowing the space between you to close just a fraction. Your eyes locked, and in that moment, the air shifted—a hint of vulnerability underlined by a stubbornness that neither could ignore.

Your expression softened, and your shoulders relaxed just a bit. “I know…it’s just… sometimes you make decisions and forget I’m part of this too. I can’t just stand by and watch.”

Minghao nodded, guilt washing over him. “I know, and I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel left out.”

You let out a sigh, feeling too tired and cold to argue. “I just want you to consider me… to think of us.”

“I will,” Minghao promised, stepping even closer, the tension slowly dissolving. “We’re a team, right?”

“Right,” you replied, your voice barely a whisper. The fight in you was replaced by a tentative hope.

"Can we go back home now?" His voice was barely above a whisper as he looked down at you, his expression filled with regret. You nodded softly, feeling the weight of his sorrow, and stood up, the air between you heavy with unspoken apologies.

"Do you want your hoodie back? You're only wearing a thin shirt…" You worried about taking off the hoodie to hand it to him.

He put the hoodie back on you. "No, you keep it. I'm alright like this; I'll consider it a punishment for the way I treated you." He replied, attempting to hide the fact that he was trembling.

You nodded once more. "Yeah, maybe you're right." You attempted to joke to clear the tension a bit.

He didn't laugh but agreed, feeling sorry.

You both arrive home, and not much is said during the walk. Minghao unlocks the door and holds it open for you.

As you enter the house quietly, you make your way to the bathroom to wash up. He sits on the couch, his hands intertwined as he takes a deep breath.

When you exit the bathroom, Minghao immediately looks up at you. Unable to meet his gaze, you walk to the bedroom, leaving him behind.

He sighs, unsure of what to do next.

After a couple of minutes, you leave the bedroom and look at him, confused. "Why are you still sitting there?" you ask. He still occupies the same spot on the couch.

"I wasn't sure if I should join you…" he fidgets with his fingers. You approach him and say, "Hao, I'm still hurt by your words, but I'm no better than you. I shouldn't have left; I should have stayed to talk things out." You look into his eyes.

“But what’s done is done, and we can’t change it. So please come to bed; I don’t want you sleeping on the couch, okay?” He nods gently before standing up and taking your hand with care.

Although the tension in the air is noticeable, it dissipates quickly as he wraps his arms around you, allowing you both to fall asleep together.

Taglist!!

@jjunie-0 @honglynights @allieyaaa @bath1lda @minminghao @hanniehae-yoon @black-swan-blog27 @wonunonu

[writingforstraykids]

Letters Of Love - Felix🖤

Pairing: Felix x gn!Reader (poly!skz)

Word Count: 813

Summary: Next you remember a day with Felix, baking brownies together.

Warnings/Tags: fluff

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin

You scroll through your photo gallery until your eyes catch on a particular image that makes your heart flutter. It’s one of your favorite pictures—one that perfectly captures a day filled with sweetness and laughter. The photo is of you and Felix, standing side-by-side in the kitchen, covered in flour and chocolate batter, both grinning as if you’ve just shared the world’s funniest inside joke.

In the image, Felix is holding up a wooden spoon with a bit of brownie batter on the tip, his other hand making a playful peace sign next to his cheek. There’s a smudge of chocolate on his nose, and his freckles are even more prominent under the bright kitchen lights, like tiny constellations dotting his sun-kissed skin. You’re beside him, leaning in close, a flour handprint marking your cheek—the culprit being Felix, of course, who had decided a few minutes earlier that making a mess was half the fun of baking. The two of you are surrounded by mixing bowls, measuring cups, and ingredients scattered haphazardly across the counter. In the background, you can see the oven’s timer counting down, the scent of chocolate almost tangible in the photo.

That day had been one of those unexpectedly perfect moments. You’d been feeling a little down, overwhelmed by the stress of the week, and Felix, with his uncanny sense for your moods, had suggested you bake something together. “Chocolate makes everything better, love,” he’d said with that sunshine smile of his, and you couldn’t argue with that logic. So, you’d put on some music, rolled up your sleeves, and let Felix lead the way.

It hadn’t taken long for the kitchen to turn into a chaos of laughter, teasing, and stolen tastes of sweet batter. Felix, ever the perfectionist, had tried to follow the recipe step-by-step at first, but it didn’t take much for him to abandon his usual precision in favor of playful improvisation. He’d ended up accidentally flicking flour at you, which had spiraled into a lighthearted war of ingredients. By the end, there was more batter on the counter (and on each other) than in the actual pan, and you both had to pause multiple times just to catch your breath from laughing so hard.

But the real magic happened when the brownies went into the oven and you both settled onto the kitchen floor, backs against the cabinets, just talking softly. Felix’s voice, low and soothing, had filled the space as he shared stories and dreams, his eyes shining with that quiet passion that always leaves you in awe. You’d listened, mesmerized by the way he seemed to light up just from being able to share a small moment like this with you. When the timer finally beeped, you’d both jumped up, eager to see the finished product, and the look on his face when he took the first bite—eyes wide, cheeks dimpling into that radiant smile—was sweeter than any dessert.

With a fond smile, you attach the picture and start typing your message, knowing exactly what you want to say to the boy who turned a simple baking session into a cherished memory.

---

Message to Felix🐥❣️:

Hey Angel,

I was looking through some photos, and I found this one from our brownie-baking day. Do you remember? I swear we got more batter on each other than in the pan! But I loved every second of it. You always know exactly what I need, even when I don’t know it myself. That day, I was feeling so stressed, and then you came along with your smile, your warmth, and your endless positivity, and suddenly everything felt lighter.

It’s not just the baking itself that I loved—it was being with you. I think that’s what you do best, Lixie. You make even the simplest moments feel special just by being yourself. I still remember sitting on the floor with you, listening to you talk about everything and nothing. You have this way of making life sweeter, of turning every second into something to smile about. Like magic.

Thank you for always knowing how to brighten my day, for bringing that sunshine energy wherever you go. Happy anniversary, my Angel. Here’s to more brownie battles, more flour fights, and more moments filled with your laughter.

Love you to the moon and back.

Your partner-in-baking and forever taste-tester

---

You send the message, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you picture Felix’s reaction. He’ll probably smile that wide, dimpled smile, eyes crinkling with joy. He might even send back a photo of his own—maybe of the same batch of brownies, or maybe just of him holding up a wooden spoon, ready for the next round. Because that’s Felix—always looking for ways to make you smile, to keep filling your days with the sweetness that only he can bring.

Chan | Minho | Changbin | Hyunjin | Jisung | Seungmin | Jeongin

MASTERLISTS | PROMPT LIST | GUIDELINES

Taglist (Please let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist):

@zehina @jinnie-ret @atinyniki @galaxycatdrawz @silverstarburst @aaa-sia @lilmisssona @kthstrawberryshortcake @channieaddict @soullostinspaceandtime @rebecca-johnson-28 @lixie-phoria @kibs-and-bits @xxstrayland @ihrtlix @pheonixfire777 @mellhwang @palindrome969 @theo4eve @harshaaaaa @rylea08 @heeyboooo @manuosorioh @gisaerlleri @andassortedkpop @lailac13 @bbokari711 @kazuuuuru @rssamj @wolfyychan @stellasays45 @chrizzztopherbang @ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal @silentreadersthings @myforevermelody143 @sapphirewaves @minh0scat @dis-trict9

[misteria247]

It'd been a good day. For one moment, the day had been good. And now.....

'Breathe Northwest, you gotta breathe here!'

The thought hissed frantic in her head, but she ignored it. Instead, staring at the crimson color that was now staining her skinned knee and palms. The scent of copper overwhelming her to the point it where it made her head swim.

'Hands stained red, can't ever get it off, it never comes off.'

Pacifica felt her throat constrict as her breathing began to quicken. Chest tight and bound, her hands trembling as she just stared at all the blood. There was so much of it, too much of it. Always staining never going away, never coming off she just wants it off-

"Pacifica! Hey Pacifica, snap out of it! Please!"

A voice muffled cried out in the spiraling panic she was now falling into. Not completely registering who it belonged to. Instead trying to focus on trying to breathe and God she couldn't breathe please someone help-

"GRUNCLE STAN! GRUNCLE FORD! FIDDLEFORD! SOMEONE HELP SOMETHING'S WRONG WITH PACIFICA!"

The voice panicked and murky shouted out. The blonde barely processed it, instead wheezing and feeling sick. The sounds of footsteps rushing in, before another presence was by her. Warm, cautious hands gently taking her hurt ones. Pacifica let out a distressed sound only for a gruff soft voice to shush her quietly. Putting her at ease somewhat.

"Pumpkin I need you to go get the first aid kit from Poidexter or Fidds. Can you do that for me?"

The rough voice asked earning a noise of agreement before the source of it went rushing away. Pacifica trembled and again the voice spoke but this time at her.

"Hey, hey kid it's okay. You're gonna be okay. I need you to look at me."

It said, waiting for the girl to respond. After a bit of a struggle, the blonde finally looked away from her bloody hands, sucking in a harsh breath that made her head hurt, and chest give a funny stutter of sorts. Unseeing eyes made contact with a larger form that consisted of colors and shapes. But for some strange reason, they brought her comfort.

"That's it. You're doing great kid. Now, I need you to listen to me, follow my breathing. Don't focus on anything else. Now breathe in-"

The form said, taking in a deep breath to demonstrate. Paz tried to follow, her intake shuddering and making her nauseous.

"I-I can't-"

She started to say only for the comforting form to interrupt her, tone firm but tender.

"Yes you can sweetheart. Just focus on me, and take it easy. Now again."

After that, it was a bit of a blur for her. Hazy recollections of following the voice's breathing, hiccuping, and crying all the while until finally, the world began to refocus. Pacifica blinked, her surroundings finally making sense. The familiar back porch of the Mystery Shack greeted her, as well as the anxious form of Mabel and the concerned form of Ford. On the sofa sat an opened first aid kit, and it was then her knee and palms made themselves known by stinging dully. Confusion hit her as she realized that someone was gently rubbing her back. Eyes landing on the source, she was surprised to see none other than Mr. Mystery himself being the one doing it. Stanley noticed her gaze and seemed to relax a bit, offering her a cheeky smile.

"There she is, thought we lost there for a bit. How are you feeling? Can you stand up kid?"

Stan asked, seemingly indifferent. But his gaze held concern and understanding in them. As if he knew what kind of personal hell Paz had just gone through. The teen tried to speak but found she couldn't, her throat seemingly not working. Embarrassed, Paz shook her head no. Stanley didn't seem too surprised.

"Alright, up we go kid."

The older man said, picking her up unexpectedly. Paz immediately gripped his shirt, still shaken from earlier. Stan didn't comment on it, instead making his way up the old wooden stairs to join Mabel and Ford.

"Sweetie can you get the couch set up in the living room? I'm sure your pal is gonna need it."

Stan said, earning a hesitant nod from his niece. Mabel gave her friend one last worried look before heading inside. Pacifica didn't pay much attention, too exhausted from the events from earlier. Stan and Ford started to whisper amongst themselves, the two men seemingly discussing something before coming to an agreement. Ford held open the door for the two, and Stanley stepped inside into the kitchen. Where Fiddleford and Dipper were seated at the kitchen table, looking incredibly anxious and on edge. As soon as they noticed Pacifica, however, the tension they had seemed to fade away quickly. Dipper looked like he was about to start asking questions, but one look from Ford to Fiddleford made the two adults intervene. Taking Dipper into the living room with Mabel to set something up. Leaving Stan and Pacifica alone. A silence settled over them before the older man spoke up.

"I know you're probably embarrassed by what happened. But I'm just gonna tell you right now that no one cares about that. They care about whether you're okay or not. So don't think too much on it, alright?"

Pacifica took the words, processing them a bit. Before quietly nodding, not ready to talk yet. For Stanley, it was fine, he knew from experience how exhausting a panic attack could be, so he wasn't going to push it. Satisfied, he carried her out into the living room to join the others, where hopefully she could finally get some peace.

[ryuunchi]

Good Luck! Babe

Through memories of your shared past and the choices that drove you apart, Jotaro wrestles with the reality of what he lost.

In honor, good luck babe being my number one song in my spotify wrapped (btw how's your spotify wrapped guys)

Jotaro Kujo x Reader

It was the dead of night, the kind where the world felt impossibly still. Jotaro Kujo shifted restlessly under the covers, the weight of unspoken thoughts anchoring him in place. He turned from one side to the other, brow furrowing as the pale moonlight seeped through the curtains. Eventually, he gave in to the restless pull, slipping out of bed with a grace that belied his towering frame.

Out on the balcony, the night air was sharp against his skin, the distant sounds of waves crashing faintly against the shore. He lit a cigarette, the flicker of the lighter illuminating his features for a brief moment. His eyes caught the glint of his wedding ring, a faint frown tugging at his lips. "Even with time on my side, I can't stop the feeling," he muttered under his breath.

The box was where he'd left it, tucked away in his study, untouched for years. He opened it carefully, his movements almost reverent, as if disturbing it too quickly would unleash memories too vivid to bear. Photographs, trinkets, and old letters spilled out, a chaotic time capsule of his youth. His hand paused over a photo, the edges worn from handling. The sight of you, smiling beside him, sent him spiraling down memory lane.

Flashback

You had been a constant in his life, back in the playground when you first met him when no one else dared approach the brooding boy with the sharp gaze and sharper tongue. But you did. You'd plop down beside him, your unshakable cheer dissolving the walls he built.

As the both of you reach high school, "You can say that we are nothing," he'd grumble in annoyance, brushing off the teasing remarks from his classmates who swore you two were a thing. But deep down, Jotaro knew the truth.

In Egypt, things changed. What started as a journey to save his mother took on a different weight when you joined the team. Watching you leap headfirst into danger, driven by your own sense of justice, terrified him. The day you scraped your knee during a battle, he lost it. His fists clenched with a fury that sent his Stand charging forward, obliterating the enemy Stand user with a vengeance that startled even Joseph.

"We're just friends," he insisted to the others, but the way his hands shook when he bandaged your wound told a different story.

Then came the final battle. The sight of you lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath you, nearly stopped his heart. You barely survived, pushing through with sheer stubbornness, but it was then Jotaro knew. He had always loved you. And that was the problem.

After everything, he distanced himself, convinced that his presence only brought you danger. College was his excuse to put a continent between you. You reached out, of course through calls, letters, and even showing up unexpectedly, but he just turned away it every time.

When he married someone else years later, it was out of desperation to escape the ghost of what you two had been. But even then, he couldn't stop the memories.

---------

Back in the Present

The photo slipped from his fingers, landing softly among the other relics of his past. The cigarette burned low in his hand as he sighed, staring out into the dark horizon. He thought of you, wherever you were now, and the bittersweet ache he couldn't shake.

"You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling," he murmured, a hollow chuckle escaping his lips. Not even Star Platinum could stop his feelings on you from his heart.

And maybe that was the cruelest irony of all. He'd built walls, married someone else, and tried to move on. But no matter how many girls he kissed in bars, no matter how many shots he took to drown the feeling, he can never outrun it.

"Good luck, babe," he whispered to the night. "Well, good luck."

The cigarette burned to its end, the ash falling unceremoniously as Jotaro crushed it out against the balcony railing. He lingered, staring into the darkness as if the night might answer the questions gnawing at him. Did I make the right choice? He glanced at his wedding ring again, the cool metal feeling heavier than it ever had.

But the truth? No matter how far he ran, the memories stayed, as another memory flashes in his mind.

You weren't just a chapter in his story, you were the whole damned book. From those childhood afternoons spent on his bedroom floor, piecing together puzzles or fighting over which cassette to play, to the late nights in Egypt where exhaustion blurred into comfortable silence. You were always there.

And you were always too much. Too bright, too stubborn, too willing to throw yourself into danger for people you loved. Like him.

The final fight against Dio had cemented everything. You'd been hit hard, blood pouring from a wound too close to your heart. Jotaro's entire world had tunneled to that moment, his mind screamed at him to stop time, to fix it, to change fate. But not even his stand could undo what had already been done.

"Don't cry, Jojo," you had whispered through labored breaths, the edges of a smile still clinging to your lips. "I'll be fine. Just... stop looking so damn serious all the time."

You survived, barely. But the scar left behind wasn't just on your body.

The sound of soft footsteps behind him pulled him from his thoughts. His wife stood in the doorway, her sleepy eyes narrowing as she took in his hunched posture.

"You're thinking about her again," she said, not as an accusation, but as a quiet fact.

He didn't deny it. He couldn't.

"You're a fool, Jotaro," she added, arms crossing as she leaned against the doorframe. "You've spent your whole life running from something you'll never escape."

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable as always. "It's not that simple."

She tilted her head, a small, sad smile playing on her lips. It is. You're just too stubborn to admit it.

Meanwhile...

Across the city, you sat at a bar, a glass of something strong in your hand. The years had been kind and unkind in equal measure. You'd moved on—or at least, you'd tried. A few relationships, a few heartbreaks, and still, the ache of Jotaro lingered like a phantom limb.

The bartender passed by, raising an eyebrow at the far-off look in your eyes. Another round?

You shook your head, laughing softly to yourself. No, I think I'm done chasing ghosts for the night.

Still, the memories surfaced, unbidden. His smirk. The way his eyes softened when he thought no one was looking. The way he held you after that fight, whispering apologies that didn't make sense until years later.

"You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling," you muttered to yourself, swirling the last of your drink. It was true, wasn't it? Even after all this time.

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

Back on the balcony, Jotaro stared at the horizon, the first light of dawn breaking over the ocean. He knew he couldn't turn back time, couldn't rewrite the choices he'd made. But a part of him wondered if it wasn't too late to rewrite the future.

For once, he didn't crush the thought before it could take root. Instead, he let it linger, like a spark waiting to catch fire.

Morioh, Years Later

Years passed, and the tides of Jotaro's life shifted. His marriage unraveled slowly but steadily, the cracks growing too wide to repair. Perhaps it had always been doomed a relationship built on avoidance rather than love. By the time the divorce was finalized, Jotaro felt more relief than regret. His ex-wife had been right all along. He was a fool, chasing something he could never have, even as he tried to deny it.

Now in Morioh, with his daughter Jolyne by his side, life felt strangely quiet. He had come here to investigate a series of Stand-related incidents, but it also gave him a chance to bond with his daughter. 

The morning sun filtered through the streets of Morioh, painting the quiet town in golden light. Jotaro walked with Jolyne, who was six now, her tiny hand clutching his. She chattered excitedly about a butterfly she had seen, her words tumbling over each other in the way only children could manage. He nodded absently, his mind somewhere far away.

Daddy, are you listening? Jolyne tugged on his hand, her face scrunched up in a pout.

Yeah, he said, forcing a small smile. "Butterflies. Sounds exciting."

She rolled her eyes, a dramatic gesture she'd clearly inherited from him. You're so boring.

--------

One sunny afternoon, Jotaro walked through the bustling streets of Morioh with Jolyne trailing behind him. He adjusted his hat, scanning the crowd out of habit. Then, his breath caught in his chest.

There you were.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. You were standing across the street, radiant as ever, laughing at something. The sound of your laughter carried over the chatter of the crowd, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

But then he saw them.

A child, that's the same age with Jolyne, tugged at your hand, pointing excitedly at a bakery window. You crouched down, smiling warmly at the little boy as you ruffled his hair. And next to you, a man placed a protective hand on your back, a subtle intimate gesture that spoke volumes.

Jotaro froze, the weight of the moment crashing over him like a wave.

He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. The world felt like it had stopped, but not even Star Platinum could save him from the crushing reality of what he was seeing.

"Daddy?" Jolyne's voice snapped him out of his trance.

He turned away, pulling his hat lower to hide his face. "Let's keep moving."

But Jolyne didn't budge. "What's up with you? You've been weird all day."

"It's nothing," he said firmly, but the crack in his composure didn't escape her notice.

That night Jotaro let Jolyne stay at his grandfather's hotel room for a while saying something he needs to finish his thesis, But in reality he sat alone in his hotel room, staring at a glass of untouched whiskey on the table. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about you, about the life you'd built without him.

"You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling," he whispered bitterly to himself, his own words mocking him now.

He thought about the box of memories he'd once kept, now long gone, discarded in a futile attempt to move on. But the memories weren't tied to objects. They lived in his mind, in his heart, and they resurfaced whenever he least expected.

---------

The next morning, as he walked through Morioh again, fate played its cruel hand. You were there, this time just steps away. You looked up, and your eyes met his.

For a moment, the world did stop.

"Jotaro," you said, your voice soft and disbelieving.

He nodded once, his expression unreadable. "It's been a while."

You hesitated, glancing at the child beside you. "It has."

A man appeared standing next to you, holding a cup of coffee and handing it to you. He looked at Jotaro curiously but didn't ask questions.

Jotaro forced himself to remain composed. "You look... happy."

"I am," you replied, your voice steady but tinged with something unspoken. "I have a good life."

He nodded again, a faint, almost imperceptible smile on his lips. "That's good."

You opened your mouth to say something else, but he stepped back, tipping his hat in that familiar, stoic way.

"Take care of yourself," he said before turning and walking away.

---------

The defeat of Yoshikage Kira brought a strange stillness to Morioh. The relentless tension of hunting a killer, the battles against Stand users, and the constant fear of losing more innocent lives had all ended. But with the quiet came the inevitable, it was time to leave.

The boat rocked gently against the current, the distant hum of Morioh fading into the horizon as Jotaro stood at the stern, arms crossed and hat pulled low over his face. The salty sea breeze ruffled his coat, but it couldn't cut through the heavy weight in his chest.

Beside him, Joseph sat quietly, the older man leaning against the railing with a faraway look in his eyes. He seemed tired, more than usual. Perhaps it was the culmination of their mission or simply the passage of years catching up with him. Jolyne, meanwhile, sat near the bow of the boat, her legs dangling over the edge as she stared out at the endless expanse of water.

"Are you going to say something, or are we just going to sit in silence?" Joseph finally asked, his voice breaking the stillness.

Jotaro didn't respond immediately. He watched the waves instead, his reflection rippling on the surface. "What's there to say?"

Joseph sighed, adjusting his hat. "You saw her, didn't you? In Morioh."

Jotaro's jaw tightened. He didn't ask how Joseph knew,his grandfather always had a way of reading him too well.

"Yeah," Jotaro said finally, his voice low. "I saw her."

Joseph gave a small nod, his gaze softening. "And?"

"And she's happy." The words tasted bitter on Jotaro's tongue, but they were the truth. He let them hang in the air, heavy and final.

Joseph studied him for a moment, his old eyes filled with understanding. "You know, Jotaro, some things... they're just not meant to be. Doesn't make it easier, though."

Jotaro let out a dry chuckle, devoid of humor. "No, it doesn't."

Jolyne turned her head slightly, catching fragments of the conversation but pretending not to listen. She didn't know the details, but she could tell whatever they were talking about weighed on her father in a way nothing else did. She hadn't seen him like this, not even during the darkest moments in Morioh.

She looked back at the water, her heart heavy with questions she didn't know how to ask.

Seeing you again had cracked something deep inside him. He hadn't let himself feel it fully in the moment, but now, the weight of it bore down on him. The image of you with your husband, your child, your life—a life he could never be part of, played over and over in his mind.

He clenched his fists, the tension in his hands mirroring the ache in his chest. He thought of all the moments that led him to this. The late nights in his childhood home, where you two whispered about dreams too big for kids to understand. The times in Egypt, when he swore to himself he'd keep you safe no matter what it took. The way you smiled through every scrape, every scar, every moment of heartbreak.

And then he thought of how he'd walked away.

It was during your final year of college. You had waited for him outside his lecture hall, rain pouring down in sheets, soaking through your clothes. But you didn't leave. Not until he finally stepped out, his usual stoic mask in place.

"Why are you doing this?" you had asked, voice breaking. "Why are you pushing me away?"

He couldn't look at you. "Because it's better this way."

"Better for who, Jotaro? You think I don't know what you're doing? You're not protecting me—you're running."

The silence that followed was louder than any argument. Finally, you had stepped back, wiping the rain and tears from your face.

"Good luck, Kujo," you had said, your voice trembling. "I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."

------

The sound of seagulls chirping in the ocean air, snapping Jotaro back to the present. He stared down at his hands, calloused and steady, hands that had protected so many but failed the one person who had mattered most.

He could still see your face in Morioh, the way you'd smiled at your child, the warmth in your eyes as your husband's hand brushed yours. That life should have been his. He should have been the one standing beside you, the one holding your hand, the one building a family with you.

But it wasn't. And it never could be.

Jotaro tipped his hat low, shielding his face from Jolyne, who still glanced at him curiously from time to time. She didn't say anything, though. She never asked about the moments he seemed lost in thought, about the weight he carried like an anchor dragging him under.

Through his eyes, the scenery blurred past, but all Jotaro saw was you.

And as much as he wanted to stop the world, to freeze time and rewrite everything he knew it wouldn't change a thing.

As the boat carried them farther from Morioh—and from you—Jotaro stared at the horizon, the sun dipping lower as if to pull the day away with it. The world felt quieter, lonelier, despite the presence of his family nearby.

His grip on the railing tightened, his knuckles white against the metal. The image of you, your smile, and the life you'd built without him flashed in his mind one last time.

With a voice low enough that only the sea could hear, he muttered, "You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling."

And no power, not even The World could change that.

[sunrisemill]

♡ The little things ♡

Summary: Matt has always been pressured to live up to his father and everything that he expects him to be. Y/n has always been very quiet and has been pressured by her whole family to step out of her comfort zone and live her life free from her worries. What will happen when they unexpectedly run into each other at a random ice cream shop?

(Warnings: Toxic family members (Nothing happens though dw it’s only mentioned)

Pt.2

(Matt’s POV)

“You want me to leave?! Fine then, I’m done dealing with this shit.”

I shout out across the house before slamming the front door behind me.

This is the third fight we've had this week.

Ever since my dad found out I've been ditching classes he's been on my ass about everything.

So what? I skip a couple of art classes. It's not like it actually matters.

The thing is my dad is a stern man. Ever since I was a child he told me that I needed to learn how to be a real man.

So that means I shouldn't ever talk about how I feel. I should just suppress my emotions, so I do that.

The only downside is that my emotions come back up in bursts of anger that I can't control.

It's not like I want to be this way, it's the way I've been wired since I could remember.

But the truth is I’m scared.

I’m scared that I’m never going to escape these emotions.

Everyone is going to forever know me as the miserable grump, Matt Sturniolo.

I wish I could change it around but nobody gives me the chance.

Maybe… when the opportunity arises I might have a chance, but I know that's not true.

As I start to spiral into worse thoughts, a hot pink neon sign in the shape of an ice cream cone catches my attention.

I find myself squinting my eyes as I try to make out the letters.

“Gelato Galore”

No way they’re being serious…

GELATO GALORE?

That's ridiculous but I might as well try it, all I want is to be alone and what better place to be alone than an ice cream shop during winter?

I step through the door and I’m instantly overwhelmed by the bright colours, I feel like I’m drowning in an ocean of pink.

It’s everywhere I look!

As my eyes dart around they land on the only person in the shop besides the workers.

It’s a random girl and she seems upset, I feel like I know her from somewhere but I can’t place it.

The way she looks is something you could only describe as a depressing portrait made by a struggling artist, her hair falling in front of her face as tears roll down her cheeks.

The redness on her nose matching the small cherry on top of her sundae that she seems to be refusing to eat by the way she pushes it aside.

I feel a strong urge to check up on her but I don’t know if I should. I’ve never been good at helping people in need.

I sigh as I walk up to the counter. Whatever she's going through is none of my business.

~~~~

(Y/ns POV)

I let out a couple of sad sniffles as I push the little maraschino cherry that's on top of my ice cream to the side.

He was supposed to be here fifteen minutes ago…

I keep telling myself that he must be stuck in traffic or maybe he's just running late and I'm overthinking it all.

I've been repeating all the different scenarios in my head and reasons why he could be late.

My nails impatiently tap against the pink plastic spoon they gave me, I feel as though I’ve been here for hours when in reality it has only been around twenty minutes.

Why can’t he just call me or even text me if he’s running late?

That's when I see my phone light up on the table. I quickly pick it up and I'm met with his contact name.

As I read the message he sent me I could physically feel my heart drop, all of the hope I had was crushed within a second

“I can't make it.”

What the fuck? No sorry? No explanation? Nothing.

I can't believe he could treat me with such disrespect.

I feel like such an idiot…

I sigh in defeat, I place my phone down on the table and dive straight back into my ice cream to distract myself from the current heartbreak I'm feeling.

As I scraped some ice cream from the bottom of the tub, I noticed that the chair in front of me had just pulled back and someone had taken a seat on it.

“Hey, I hope you don't mind me asking, but I couldn't help but notice that something seems to be bothering you. Is everything okay?”

what? I lift my head and I'm met with the sight of a stranger.

But he's not really a stranger, It appears to be Matt Sturniolo.

Although I have seen Matt at school and around the small town that we live in, we don't necessarily run in the same social group.

I sigh as I sit up straight and put down my now-empty ice cream tub.

“I'm fine, really. Don't worry about it.”  

I look back down at the table, silently praying that he goes away but he stays.

“So…you a fan of ice cream?”

His small voice catches me off guard, I’ve never heard him talk with such little confidence.

Every inch of my body screams at me to get up and leave. To ignore the boy sat opposite. To run straight back to my room and rot in bed. Run back to my comfort zone.

But I hear my mother's voice ringing throughout my head.

“Come on, Y/n. You're not going to go anywhere in life if you don't put yourself out there. Just try it once, you might be surprised by what could happen.”

So I swallow every anxious feeling screaming at me to leave.

“Yeah. I mean… who isn't?”

A small smile on my lips. I lift my head to look at him, noticing the corners of his lips curled up slightly.

~~~~

I feel a peaceful smile tug on my lips, the scent of cold crisp air filling my senses.

I've always loved the winter. It has a sense of comfort that has always overwhelmed me.

I feel myself dipping deeper and deeper into a state of tranquillity when suddenly the boy next to me speaks up.

“You never answered my question earlier.”

He peers down at me. I sigh.

“What question?”

I know what question he's talking about. I've been asked the same question for years and I've grown to become annoyed at it as I grow older.

“I asked you, why are you always by yourself? Don't you have any friends?”

I tense up and he notices. He stops walking and grabs my wrist, forcing me to stop in the middle of the pavement.

“I'm sorry…”

I watch as his face contorts into a remorseful expression. His eyebrows knitting together.

“I didn't mean to come off as rude. It's just… I've seen you around school and you're always alone, I'm curious.”

I sigh as I look away from him. This is the last thing I need right now. I don't need someone here pointing out stuff that I already know.

It's frustrating. I tug my wrist out of his grip.

“Why don't you… oh, I don't know… mind your business.”

My tone is filled to the brim with annoyance. The way his face falls causes a twinge of guilt to seep into my heart but I push it down.

“Look, I'm just trying to help.”

He speaks through gritted teeth.

That was my last straw.

Without saying another word, I spin around on my heels and walk in the other direction. Completely ignoring the sound of his voice calling out for me.

So much for trying to make a friend.

(A/N: omg this literally took me weeks to finish 😭 I’ve been having an INSANE and extremely frustrating writers block but she’s done 😋 thank you so so much for reading <333)

Tags: @guccifrog @junnniiieee07

[kiiwiigii]

Tease

Felix x Fem!Reader

Summary: Teasing Felix always has a good outcome.

Warnings:

NSFW 18+

Smut

Anal

Word Count: 800+

Requested?: For Kinktober!

Can I ask for Felix for the final prompt of Kinktober? #R.I.PReader'sAss

A/N: There was an attempt.

Felix's hand came down with a hard smack, and I jerked at the stinging sensation in my ass cheek. He followed the smack with the coolness of his hand on my reddened skin. I moaned, feeling the juices between my thighs dripping onto the bed sheets below. 

"You look so pretty like this, baby." He murmured quietly before grasping a handful of my hair and pulling me backward onto my knees and right up against him, his hand cupping one of my breasts. "Imagine how much prettier you'll be with my cock stuffed in your ass." 

I couldn't help the debauched moan that escaped from between my lips, my heart thrumming with anticipation and a healthy dose of fear. There was a good chance my ass would never be the same after this. 

But I couldn't back down now. I had been teasing Felix all day, making sure to sway my hips and ass enticingly with every step. Pulling him into an empty hallway and whispering in his ear about how I wished the plug in my ass was his cock. He had responded by pushing me against the wall and nipping at my neck in reproach. 

I was sure he would have taken me right then and there had he been able to. But he couldn't. 

He knew it. 

I knew it. 

And now I was receiving the punishment for it. 

He pushed me back onto my hands and knees, and his hand came back down again, a loud smack ringing throughout the room. The smack had been unexpectedly harsh, but I couldn't help the way my body reacted to his touch. I moaned softly; my eyes closed as I savored the cold feeling of his hand on my skin. 

I arched my back, a moan escaping as his deft fingers teased the plug inside of me. 

"You like that, baby?" He whispered; desire thick in his voice. 

"Yes." I breathed. 

"Good." 

Felix then proceeded to shove his cock into my dripping pussy without warning, holding onto my hips with a bruising grip. 

The sensation of his cock stretching my walls and the plug in my ass nearly sent me spiraling. I could already feel the heat beginning to build as my walls started tightening up. 

"Coming already, darling?" 

I nodded, biting my lip as I felt his fingers curl around the plug, tugging it out gently. I gasped, feeling the cool air against my now loosened bud and then groaned, suddenly feeling empty as he pulled out of my pussy slowly. 

"Felix- Felix, baby. I'm so close, please." I begged. 

"Patience, darling. You'll be coming soon enough. I just had to get my cock nice and wet." 

A thrill went through me as I felt Felix push his cockhead against my tight ass. 

"Breathe, Y/N. Try to relax." 

I bit my lip, trying to relax my muscles as he pushed his tip inside me with deliberate slowness. Trying to relax was pointless since I immediately tensed yet again and quivered, trying to adjust to the pressure. It felt like an eternity before I felt his shaft slip all the way inside. Felix paused, letting me adjust before he began rocking his hips back and forth, barely moving. It wasn't long before the pain gave way to pleasure. 

"You're doing so good, Y/N." 

My muscles clenched around him, and I moaned involuntarily at how good it felt to have that large cock filling me up, stretching my insides just right.  

"Yes, Felix. Please. Harder." I panted, my voice trembling. 

Felix stuttered for a moment, surprised before he began pistoning his hips harder, his thrusts faster. He reached around and pulled me back by my waist again, his hands coming up to grasp at my breasts, pulling at my nipples as he thrust deeper and harder into me. 

"You feel so good, Y/N." He whispered. "So tight." 

I could feel the warmth starting to coil in my belly, my pussy pulsing and my body shaking as I tried to hold on for as long as possible. 

"I'm so close." I mewled. "Don't you dare stop."  

He squeezed my breasts harshly, and I cried out. His long fingers made their way south to my clit, circling it fast and hard. 

The coil finally snapped, and I cried out, my ass tightening around Felix, the waves of pleasure crashing over me as I came hard, my body tensing up and then shaking violently. Felix followed suit soon after, coming deep inside of me, his cool seed coating my insides before gushing out and running down my thighs. 

Slowly he pulled out and I moaned in disappointment, my body aching for his touch but also slightly happy for the reprieve. My ass stung and my pussy was still pulsing, but in a good way.  

"Don't worry, darling." He murmured, crawling back onto the bed and pulling me into his arms. "We'll go for round two soon enough." 

I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. 

{Kinktober} // {Masterlist}

Taglist: @alecvolturi @alecvolturiswifeforever @belladonna-xox @birdiebeesblog @bunbunbl0gs @hyperuseless @jana-jaeynneee @itsmytimetoodream @lack-lust-3r @lucansmina @pawspurpaw @pooka167 @rosedpetal @targaryenmoony @twilightlover2007

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[inevitablysomber-dark]

The Price of Success 3

Dark! Peter Parker x Clementine! Reader

Summary: Clementine has fought tooth and nail to achieve her dream of attending a prestigious university. Balancing her demanding workload, a suffocating home life, and financial strain, she’ll do whatever it takes to stay afloat. Enter Peter Parker: wealthy, charming, and unexpectedly fixated on her. When he offers a proposition that could solve all her problems, Clementine reluctantly agrees—unaware she’s stepping into a carefully constructed trap. What begins as a transactional relationship spirals into something far darker as Peter’s true intentions come to light.

Warnings: This story contains dark themes, including manipulation, psychological and emotional abuse, unhealthy relationships, non-consensual elements, obsessive behavior, gaslighting, loss of autonomy, familial neglect, and power imbalances. Please read at your own discretion.

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Series Masterlist

The morning light streamed through the thin curtains in the living room, waking me far earlier than I wanted. My back ached from the stiff couch cushions, and my neck felt like it had been bent at an unnatural angle all night. I blinked at the ceiling, letting the familiar stress knot settle in my chest. Another day, another problem.

The basement was still a disaster zone. Most of my things were ruined, and what little I’d salvaged was shoved into trash bags at the corner of the room to be dug out when needed. My parents’ promises about fixing the flooding were just words—weeks had passed, and they had yet to call a plumber. What were they waiting on? A flooded basement was just a disaster waiting to happen,

Pushing the blanket off me, I sat up and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I could hear the faint clatter of Mandarin in the kitchen, probably making her pregnancy-approved smoothie, while my mom hummed along to whatever song was playing on the radio. The normalcy of their morning grated on my nerves, as they’d already forgotten about everything that had been wrecked. My everything.

I grabbed my phone, scrolling absently through notifications. A text from Carrot popped up, asking if I was still on for our session later.

I texted her back, confirming the session.

After that, I scrolled through Amazon, adding replacements for my ruined items to a wish list. It felt like a depressing exercise in prioritization—deciding what I needed and what could wait until I had more money. Everything felt urgent, but my bank account disagreed.

"Instead of being on your phone, you could start on these dishes," my mom said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I saw her standing before me, hands on her hips, ready to pounce.

I didn’t react. Nowadays, she was always looking for a reaction, and I wasn’t giving her one. I ignored her and went upstairs to the bathroom to prepare for the day.

"Don’t ignore me," she called after me. "When I get back, I want those dishes done. You hear me?"

"Yes," I replied, not even looking back.

It was easier to give her the response she wanted, even if I had no intention of doing what she asked. All my stuff was destroyed, I was sleeping on the couch, and I was sure she still expected rent next month. She could save her demands for someone else. I was over it.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while the faucet ran. My jaw was tight, and my shoulders were heavy with tension. My reflection looked just as worn out as I felt. The weight of replacing everything, finding a way to get out of this house, and keeping up with school felt too much to handle. And it all just felt so impossible.

I went through my day as usual, but a numbness clung like a heavy fog. A creeping depression lingered at the back of my mind, threatening to overtake me. I tried to fight it, keeping busy and going through the motions, but it felt like a losing battle.

When I met up with Carrot later that afternoon, I helped her with her assignment, though I noticed she was more distracted and jittery than usual.

“What’s wrong?” I finally asked.

She hesitated before blurting out, “What’s the appropriate response when a man hands you a bouquet?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I think it’s usually ‘thank you.’ Unless you didn’t want them?”

She shrugged, her shoulders rising to her ears. “I don’t know. He just handed them to me. This guy...he knows my brother. I’ve seen him around the house a few times, but this was the first time he’s ever spoken to me. He just...gave me the flowers.”

“What did you do?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Her head dropped back, and she groaned, covering her face with both hands. “I squeaked and ran to my room.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Sounds like you’ve got a secret admirer.”

“Do I?” she peeked at me through her fingers, but her expression was tinged with fear instead of excitement.

I frowned. “If you don’t like it, you can just tell him to back off. Seriously. If he makes you uncomfortable, shut it down.”

She turned to me, uncertainty written all over her face. I wanted to say more, but the words stuck in my throat. Before I could figure out what to say, I glanced at the time on my phone and realized it was getting late. Home awaited me, but the thought of walking into that house twisted my stomach. I remembered a few frat boys handing out flyers on campus earlier that day and dug one out of my backpack.

“Hey, how do you feel about going to a party tonight?” I asked, holding up the flyer. “Girls get in free.”

Carrot gave me a skeptical look. “You want to go to a party?” she asked, her tone dripping with disbelief.

She had every right to be surprised. In the month or so that Carrot had known me, our outings had consisted of coffee shops, bookstore visits, and the occasional brunch. I wasn’t exactly a party girl; judging by Carrot’s demeanor, neither was she. But tonight, I needed a reason—any reason—not to go home.

“Come on,” I said, nudging her shoulder. “We can call Nikki for backup. It’ll be fun.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay?”

I plastered on a smile. “I’m peachy. Look, I just wanted to try something different. We can do something else if you’re not up for it.”

She took the flyer from my hand, studying it momentarily before sighing. “I suppose it can’t hurt.”

I nodded, already reaching for my phone. “Alright then. I’ll call Nikki.”

As soon as Nikki heard the word party, she was already on her way to pick us up. But the moment she saw Carrot and me still in casual clothes, she rolled her eyes dramatically and dragged us to the nearest outlet mall.

“Absolutely not,” she declared, hands on her hips. “Yall are not showing up looking like that.”

Nikki was a diva through and through, a true glamour girl since birth. She adored everything that sparkled and shined, living for the high-end life. Gold jewelry, luxury perfumes, and the most sought-after fashion brands—if it was expensive and exclusive, Nikki probably owned it. She thrived on attention and wasn’t about to let us cramp her style.

By the time she was done with us, we were dressed to the nines. Carrot was wide-eyed and blushing in a sleek emerald-green dress that hugged her figure modestly but she insisted on keeping her sweater on. Nikki made sure I was in something equally stunning—a black jumpsuit that was somehow both chic and comfortable, paired with a statement necklace she insisted on buying for me.

“This is non-negotiable,” she said, fastening it around my neck. “We need to turn heads when we walk in.”

On the drive to the party, Nikki couldn’t stop gushing about her latest sugar daddy, a wealthy entrepreneur planning to whisk her away to Cancun for an all-inclusive trip next month. Carrot’s eyes widened, her mouth slightly agape as if she were hearing about this lifestyle for the first time.

Nikki and I couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction. She seemed so innocent, and she probably was.

“Have you ever had a sugar daddy?” Carrot asked me, her voice curious but shy.

I shook my head with a small laugh. “No, but I’m open to it. Honestly, I might have to start looking into it with how my life is going.”

I sighed dramatically, and Nikki grinned. “Well, you’d make a fabulous sugar baby,” she said. “You just need to polish up your wardrobe.”

“Mandarin had one before she got pregnant,” I added offhandedly. “I think his name was Andy?”

“Wait,” Nikki said, her perfectly arched brows shooting up. “Do you think he could’ve been the father?”

I shook my head. “No, she dropped him long before she got pregnant. But I’m willing to bet it was whoever came after him.”

Nikki leaned back in her seat, humming thoughtfully. “Whoever it is, she’s keeping it locked up tight. The drama potential is endless, though.”

I will be the first to admit when I’m wrong, and boy, was I wrong about this party. I’d never been so uncomfortable in my life. The music was deafening, pounding in my chest like a second heartbeat. There was barely any food, just a sad bowl of pretzels and questionable chips. And the smells—good God, the smells. Everywhere I turned, there was a faint but offensive hint of body odor, like a slap in the face every time I tried to breathe.

Carrot was tucked away in a corner, practically melting into a fern as if it could shield her from the chaos around us. She looked like she was about two seconds away from bolting. Meanwhile, I was trapped by a drunken frat brother who didn’t seem to grasp that "no" was a complete sentence.

Of the three of us, at least Nikki was having the time of her life. She was in the middle of the dancefloor, a dazzling whirl of energy as she danced with anyone and everyone who wanted. She didn’t have a care in the world, and I envied her for that.

“Yeah, so I was thinking,” slurred the guy in front of me—Jerry, or maybe Jeremy; I’d stopped caring after the second introduction. “If you wanted, maybe sometime I could invite you to my parents’ yacht, and we could have a good time, y’know?”

I plastered on a polite smile, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. Jerry had been glued to my side since I walked through the door, and I’d been trying to shake him off ever since. His idea of flirting was as obnoxious as it was persistent.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the shift in Carrot’s posture. The fern she’d been hiding behind wasn’t enough to conceal her now; a giant of a man loomed over her, easily towering over most of the party. He had the kind of presence that commanded attention; sure enough, quite a few people were sneaking glances his way.

Carrot, on the other hand, looked like she’d just seen a ghost. Her wide eyes and stiff posture were screaming for help. For a split second, I hesitated, wondering if maybe I should let her handle it. Perhaps this was her chance to flirt, to break out of her shell a bit. But then I saw how she shrank back, her fingers clutching the edge of her dress like she wanted to disappear.

“I think my friend needs me. I have to go,” I said, cutting Jerry off mid-ramble.

As I turned to leave, his hand shot out and grabbed mine. “Wait—at least give me your number?” he asked, his words slurring together.

I carefully pulled my hand away, keeping my tone firm but calm. “No,” I said, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “Goodbye, Jerry.”

“It’s Jeremy,” he yelled 

Well, that mystery is solved.

Without waiting for a response, I approached Carrot, whose panic was practically radiating off her. The giant man standing over her didn’t look threatening—at least, not in a conventional sense—but the way Carrot clutched her bag to her chest told me she wasn’t comfortable.

I stepped between them, offering the man a polite smile. “I’m sorry, I need to borrow her. Do you mind?”

The man shifted his attention from Carrot to me, his smirk deepening as his eyes locked onto mine. He was handsome in a way that took a moment to fully register—like a painting you only appreciate after stepping back to see the whole picture. His sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes gave him an almost otherworldly intensity, and the way he carried himself, with an effortless confidence, was magnetic. It was the kind of presence that made you curious.

“Go ahead,” he said, his voice deep and smooth, but I was already pulling Carrot away.

I scanned the dancefloor and spotted Nikki, still having the time of her life, a drink in hand as she laughed and twirled in the middle of a group of strangers. I considered dragging her out right then and there for a second, but she was clearly in her element. I decided to let her have her fun a bit longer. In the meantime, I turned my attention back to Carrot, who still looked like she was struggling to shake off the encounter with the man.

“We need to get you somewhere quiet,” I said, glancing around. “Let’s head upstairs and see if we can find a room for you to breathe.”

Carrot nodded silently, following me through the crowd of partygoers and up the stairs. After peeking into a few rooms, I found one empty and gestured for her to sit on the edge of the bed. She perched there, her shoulders tense as she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater.

I sat beside her, my voice soft. “He seemed into you. Did you not like him?”

Her face flushed, and she hesitated before muttering, “That was him.”

My brow furrowed in confusion. “Who?”

“Vincent,” she clarified, her voice barely above a whisper.

The name didn’t click immediately, and I tilted my head. “Who’s Vincent?”

She sighed, realizing I wasn’t connecting the dots. “The guy who randomly gave me flowers.”

“Oh.” I raised an eyebrow. “Did he threaten you or something? Because it looked like you were about to pass out.”

Carrot shook her head, avoiding my gaze. “I don’t want you to think I’m weird.”

“Too late,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Now tell me, why were you so scared of him?”

Her shoulders slumped, and she finally looked at me, her expression torn. “I… I kind of have a fear of men. People in general, but mostly men.”

I blinked, taken aback. “What about your brother?”

She gave a slight shrug. “Well, I’ve known my brother my entire life, long before I had this fear.”

I considered her words carefully. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Carrot shook her head, clearly exhausted. “Not really. I just want to go home.”

I nodded, glancing around the room for a way to distract her until Nikki was ready to leave. My eyes landed on a deck of Uno cards sitting on the nightstand, and I grabbed it with a small smile.

“How about we have our own little party up here?” I suggested. “Just until Nikki’s ready to go.”

Carrot gave a faint smile and nodded. “Okay. That sounds nice.”

We played a few rounds, the tension slowly leaving her shoulders as she started to relax. After some time, I checked my phone and realized Nikki still hadn’t texted. Sighing, I stood and motioned for Carrot to follow me back downstairs.

When we reached the living room, my stomach dropped. Nikki was passed out on the couch, her head lolling to the side. Beside her sat Jeremy, the drunken frat guy who had been bugging me earlier, his arm draped around her shoulders like he had every right to be there.

Anger flared in my chest as I stormed over, shoving his arm off her. “What the hell are you doing, creep?”

Jeremy stood up, clearly drunk and getting belligerent. “You wouldn’t give me any pussy, now you’re cockblocking me?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, my voice ice-cold. “Oh, please. She wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole, drunk or not.”

Carrot was already beside Nikki, gently trying to rouse her, but Jeremy stepped forward, towering over me in an attempt to intimidate me. I squared my shoulders, refusing to back down, but someone stepped in front of me before I could say anything else.

“Jeremy, back off,” came a familiar voice—firm, deep, and slightly dangerous.

It was Peter.

Jeremy opened his mouth to argue, but Peter cut him off with a sharp glare. “You’re drunk. Go to bed.”

Jeremy looked like he might argue for a moment, but then he huffed, set his bottle down on the table, and stumbled toward the stairs, muttering under his breath. As he disappeared, he shot me a death glare, but I couldn’t care less.

I turned back to Nikki, who was groggy but starting to wake up. “Thank you, Peter,” I said, my voice softer now.

“No problem,” he replied, his tone shifting to his usual cheerful friendliness.

Carrot and I helped Nikki to her feet, but she was still too out of it to walk properly. Peter stepped forward, scooping her up effortlessly and slinging her over his shoulder like it was nothing.

“Where’d you guys park?” he asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I started to protest. “We can handle it.”

Peter gave me a puppy-dog look, his grin disarming. “Come on. Let me help.”

I hesitated but eventually nodded, too tired to argue. “Alright. Follow me.”

When we reached Nikki's car, I took her purse and started rifling through it, hoping to find her keys: lip gloss, receipts, a wallet—everything but what I needed. Frustrated, I glanced inside the car to see if she’d locked them inside, but the doors were shut tight, and the keys were nowhere in sight.

“No keys,” I muttered, exasperated. I turned to Peter, who still had Nikki slung over his shoulder. “We either have to go back inside and look for them or... walk.”

Carrot’s face fell at the suggestion, her exhaustion and discomfort evident.

“Or,” Peter interjected smoothly, pulling a set of car keys from his pocket, “I could take you all home. My car’s parked just down the street.” He flashed a charming smile. “I can even get some of the guys to look for Nikki’s keys tomorrow if you’d like.”

I hesitated, weighing the options. Carrot stood silently, her posture stiff as she avoided looking directly at Peter. Her quiet demeanor tugged at me, so I turned to her for input. “Would you be okay with that?” I asked gently.

She nodded after a moment, her gaze dropping to the ground. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she murmured.

“Alright, that settles it,” Peter chirped, his grin widening. He adjusted Nikki’s weight on his shoulder and motioned for us to follow him down the street.

When we reached Peter’s car, a sleek black Mercedes Benz, he opened the door with practiced ease and motioned for me to sit up front. Meanwhile, he carefully strapped Nikki into the back seat, her head lolling to the side as she mumbled something incoherent.

“We’ll drop off Nikki first,” I said, watching him secure her seatbelt. "She lives the farthest, and... I don’t feel comfortable leaving her alone while she’s like this.”

Peter nodded without question, his usual easy smile softening as he closed the door behind Nikki.

The drive was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the faint sound of Nikki mumbling in the back. When we pulled up to her house, Aunt Lisbeth answered the door, her hair covered with a silk bonnet and her robe cinched tightly around her waist. The disappointment on her face was immediate as her eyes landed on Nikki over Peter’s shoulder.

She sighed heavily. “Just put her on the couch. I’ll get her father to carry her to her room.”

Peter nodded, lifting Nikki with care and stepping inside. As he placed her on the couch, Aunt Lisbeth turned her attention to me. “How’s school going, Clementine?”

“It’s going well,” I said, forcing a smile despite my exhaustion.

Her expression softened, and she nodded approvingly. “Good. I know you’ll probably be the most successful in the family.”

Her words warmed me in a way I didn’t expect. Outside of my parents, most of my family members have always supported my decision to pursue higher education. It was a small comfort, but one I held onto tightly.

After exchanging quick goodbyes, Peter and I headed back to the car.

Next, we stopped at Carrot’s house. A woman, who I assumed to be her mother, stood outside, bundled in a blanket with a scarf on her head, waiting by the door.

“Is your mom okay?” I asked, noticing how fragile she looked.

“She’s fine,” Carrot mumbled. “She’s just sick. I told her she didn’t have to wait for me outside.”

As Carrot opened the door, she glanced back at Peter and me. “Thanks,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Peter smiled warmly. “Anytime.”

Carrot walked over to her mother, who waved slightly at us. “Thank you,” the woman said faintly before Carrot gently guided her inside. Watching them, I couldn’t help but think about my mother—a woman who barely made time for me and never cared enough to try. The stark contrast stung more than I cared to admit.

When they stepped inside the house, Peter glanced at me. “Alright, your turn. Where to?”

I hesitated, my hands tightening around my coat. “I don’t want to go home.”

The words came out before I could stop them. I wasn’t sure why I said it, but the thought of returning to that house, to the couch, to the constant tension and nagging felt unbearable.

Peter’s hands rested on the steering wheel as he processed my words. “Would it be okay if I took you to my place?”

I blinked, unsure how to respond. “I don’t want to go to the frat house either.”

He chuckled lightly. “I don’t live at the frat house.”

We sat silently for a long moment, the weight of the decision hanging between us. Was I really going to his place? But then I thought about the couch, my parents, and Mandarin monopolizing every corner of that house. The answer was clear.

“Okay,” I said finally, the word heavy with exhaustion.

Peter smiled faintly. “Okay.”

As he pulled away from the curb, I leaned back in my seat, staring out the window. For the first time in weeks, I felt a tiny flicker of relief.

[ficitig]

A list of all of the HP fics I reviewed and filed away in 2024! I don’t specialize in any one fandom, but out of the over 300 fics I read this year, these were my favorite HP fics.

A Little’s Enough — 69K | Drarry: Suffering from PTSD and survivor's guilt, A Post-War Harry joins a trauma support group in the hopes of finding someone who can relate to what he saw Voldemort do. Unexpectedly, he runs into a war torn Malfoy there

Aniseed — 7K | Gen: or: The Art of Identifying the Things which No Longer Serve You

Between Pride and Cowardice — 6K | Drarry: Draco's punishment for not killing Dumbledore was to be turned into a werewolf by Greyback. After the war, he tries to hide from the world but Severus comes to find him

Little Lost Things — 10K | Drarry: If you lose something, your soulmate finds it. What starts small spirals as the war looms. Told over twelve years and ten lost items

Power The Dark Lord Knows Not — 102K | Gen: In a seaside cave far away, a wall crumbles, a poisoned basin dries, enchanted corpses become permanently still, and a seventeen year old boy breaks the surface of the water

Prodigal Son — 8K | Drarry: How far can you let one relationship break another?

Seven Drops and Asphodel Blooms — 102K | Severitus: When Harry blows up Aunt Marge during the summer, Dumbledore is much quicker to react. Snape finds him far before the Minister does, but his plan of dropping him off with a lecture and half a dozen additional summer assignments doesn't work out. In which Harry spends the summer at Spinner's End

Survival is a Talent — 530K | Drarry: In the middle of their second year, Draco and Harry discover they're soulmates and do their best to keep it a secret from everyone. Their best isn't perfect

Then Comes a Mist and a Weeping Rain — 21K | Drarry: It always rains for Draco Malfoy. Metaphorically. And literally. Ever since he had accidentally Conjured a cloud. A cloud that's ever so cross

Unknown Door, The — 60K | Drarry: There is something wrong with the Bellcrest. The heart of the place beats rotten. Everyone says so

Whispers in the Castle — 38K | Severitus: While trying to escape from Dudley and his gang, nine-year-old Harry Apparates himself to Hogwarts instead of the roof of his school

[obigem]

"Raymond?" Rishella interrupted the moment that had turned awkward. "Are you giving Cameron our sorrows and prayers?"

"Of course, dear. And we talked about that other thing too."

"Oh." Rishella finally understood the awkwardness of the moment.

"We'd completely understand it, Cameron if you didn't feel comfortable with it."

"Yes, of course, Cameron," Raymond reassured, "It's only if you feel comfortable calling Shelly and I Mom and Dad."

"Me?!" Rishella had obviously not been made aware of that part of the offer.

Cameron could tell right away that things were starting to spiral into a very awkward place, so he decided to put an end to it as best he could.

"Listen, Raymond, Mrs. Nichols, I appreciate you both so much. You've been great, and that offer, wow, it's very loving of you."

"But even though I lost my mother so many years ago, in my heart she's the only mom I could imagine myself calling Mom, and I only just lost my Dad, so—"

"My goodness, Cameron, I'm sorry! I didn't want to insinuate that either of us would be replacing your parents."

"I know you didn't mean it that way, and don't get me wrong, I appreciate the offer. In a way, it makes me feel closer to you both that you'd be willing to see me as a son in that way. But for now, if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to keep calling you Raymond."

"Of course," Raymond assured him, "I just wanted you to know that you'll always have Shelly and I in your corner, if you need any advice or wisdom I'm here for you in any way you need it."

"Thanks, Raymond."

Unexpectedly, Raymond approached him and pulled him into a hug.

"I know it hurts now, but in time, it'll get better." Raymond said warmly.

"I appreciate that." Cam patted him back. When the embrace broke, Raymond not so discretely nudged his head from Rishella to Cam to prompt her forward.

"Oh honestly, Raymond." Rishella sighed.

Rishella, a bit awkwardly, followed up Raymond with an embrace of her own.

"It's as Raymond says, Cameron. Things will get better, so chin up. You need to be there for your family, especially the children."

"I know. I appreciate your concern, Mrs. Nichols."

"Oh bother, I suppose we've made it to the point where it's perfectly OK for you to call me Rishella now, haven't we?"

"Really?"

"Well, you father has passed, and my time is likely not long for now, it'd be awkward for you to be calling Mrs. Nichols on my deathbed."

"Yeah, uh, I guess that would be, uh, very—"

Rishella cleared her throat as she broke from the embrace. "Well, that's enough of that. You call us if you need anything. You hear me?"

"Yes, of course. Thanks Mrs.—err, Rishella. Really. I mean it."

[ichtios]

guys it seems like it is happening. after so many years, I'm loosing anxiety. Anxiety attacks, panic, they are in retreat. And I know why. And you would think I'm the happiest person ever. I'd think that too. But rn I'm the saddest person ever.

I realized I have nothing more to fear, to be anxious about, because I have nothing more to loose. The fear has no point of attachment. I lost everything I was so scared to loose. I'm living the life that I was so afraid to live since I was very little. Life that is cold, where no one is waiting for you at home, and you have no one to wait for. No one will hug you, hold your hand, hold you, tell you they love you. When you hear only your footsteps and hear your own voice talking to yourself.

For so many years I was scared to death that I will be left alone. Now I realize that my anxiety disorder became real, when my second bf dumped me. I saw that "love" is conditional (which is not, the real love is not, but that is what I learned), and that if I don't meet expectations I will loose. In my next relationship I was anxious from the start. He always made me feel that I am not enough, and I went into this anxiety spiral, where I was trying so hard to be "normal" and to prove that I can be "fun", but it was all out of fear. So the more I tried the more anxious and panicky I was, and there was no fun with me, I always ruined every "going out", we never went for vacations, etc. I developed severe panic attacks and health issues. Still I thought that if he would leave me, my life will be over.

As you probably know he finally left for good, 21 April 2023. And it was that evening, when I was falling into this abyss, when The Guy unexpectedly caught me. And since then everything started to change. I was getting better. At eating, sleeping, living. But I didn't realized everything yet. I think I was daydreaming so much, that I was living in some kind of illusion.

Then he was sick for one week, and now he is gone for one week abroad, and gives no signs of being alive. And somehow it made me realized, when I was finally left with no one (even if it is just for a while), that indeed I lost everything that I was afraid to loose and that I was ABLE to loose. It doesn't matter anymore how I behave, if I'm "normal" or not. Nothing to prove anymore, no performance. No test to pass. No "love" to work for, to bend over backwards for.

But what about The Guy you may ask, am I not afraid that I will loose him? (though we are not really a couple, but you know what I mean). The thing is - no, because I see that he loves me, and that it won't change because of the issues I have. I might be wrong but this is what I feel. He may not admit it, he may be cold towards me when I try to be close. But you know how his pupils dilute when he looks at me? his entire eyes sometimes become black. And the way he talks, the way he behaves.. I live long enough to recognize when someone is into me. And it is sincere. So, anyway, there is no anxiety attached to it. Yes I probably may loose him, but not because of me, not because of some "test" I fail.

Now that he is gone and I have this terrible feeling like it was all just a dream and he was a dream. And in fact this is my reality, this painful, cold, solitude is my reality. But no, he will be back. And I don't know what will be about us, but I know things are changing rn. And it is huge.

and btw tomorrow is my B-day.

(photo is from the middle part of Warsaw, it is some kind of college. I went there to see if I will have panic attack which I would normally have. There was none. I just felt overwhelming sadness, and this mantra went over and over in my had: you lost everything you could. there is nothing to loose. nothing matters anymore. And tears were streaming down my face. And it's a weird thing because it is so good but also so sad.)