#a slightly different way to answer an ask

[rindreamery]

out of breath, got me going like...

attractive things that the blue lock men do.

itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you. 

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin. 

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention. 

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

© rindreamery, 2024

tags. @choccorin @mininji

[shysuccubusstuff]

Yandere! Mr. Crawling

Content: SFW hcs + Established relationship + Overprotection + Manipulation + Baby trapping + clingy! Mr. Crawling + Gaslighting + Somnophilia + Stalking + Death + Breeding kink + Slight size difference.

Summary: Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to keep his deep love secret from you

Note: I hope all of you are having a good day!! I'm trying to do my essays but they're so boring... Let me know if you have any suggestions/things you want to say to me, I love answering to people!!

SFW:

Human! Mr. Crawling who falls in love as soon as he sees your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who decides to try and keep you safe and protect you from all possible dangers. This ranges from leaving small gifts for you, buying you something to eat when he hears a rumble close to him, or buying you a drink if he has seen you working so hard on keeping up with all the classes, to sometimes intimidating the other guys that kept trying to get closer to you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries his hardest to speak to you, even if it's just a few words to make sure you know he's listening to you. Nodding his head and keeping his eyes completely focused on your face.

Human! Mr. Crawling who tries to make himself look smaller, crunching a bit and walking with his back a bit arched, not something that can be easily noticeable for others, but just enough to reduce the height difference between the two of you.

Human! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to make you feel safe with him, allowing him to get into your bedroom, even to the point of making a sleepover. He just had to try his hardest not to act in any weird manner.

Human! Mr. Crawling who keeps following you like a lost puppy. You can almost see two ears and a tail appear when he acts like a small puppy, being easily excited when you compliment him, even if it's for the smallest things.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who begins to feel how his pure love becomes something more twisted the moment he realises more people keep getitng interested in you. He looks so kind when you look at him, but as soon as you turn your head, his gaze becomes much darker, his expression is always serious, his brows slightly furrowed as he tries to keep himself restrained.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of you great "friendship" and starts to try and get rid of your friends. He keeps on interrupting when you meet with your other friends, creating different reasons why he just couldn't wait to meet you, as he truly needed you.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who takes advantage of his sickly aspect to make you worry about him, calling you to ask you for small gestures, making sure that they are small enough to avoid you from refusing him.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who is finally able to ask you out. He made sure to get rid of each and all your friends who could get in the way of your relationships, after all, he is everything you need, right?

NSFW:

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who had already seen you way before both of you met each other in class, his phone filled to the brim with pictures of you. The fact that most of them involve you in embarrasing positions while the rest are of your sleeping face. They definitely have no effect on him, hell no (just ignore the raging bulge he gets from seeing your lips slightly parted, totally normal reaction).

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who put a small chip on your phone while you were sleeping. How was he supposed to keep you safe if he didn't know where you were the whole day? Don't be so dramatic, he was just doing it for your sake :((

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who killed someone in front of you. He was stalking you around town when he saw that strange man grabbing you by your wrist and taking you to the closest dark alley. Before he could think, his hands were already gripping his throat, his face turning blue as his grasp got even stronger. When he finally was sure that man was no longer alive, he turned around, a happy smile on his lips as he waited for your compliments. He was now on his real height, allowing you to notice how he was over one head and a half taller than you, despite that, he made you pet his hair, forcing you to smile as the body of the strange man got colder.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling whose obsession only increases the moment the two of you decide to date. His arms are now always around your waist, his hands always touching you, no matter if you are alone or in front of other people. He just loves hugging you from behind, his dick rubbing against your ass, grinding against you as soon as he saw you do something he didn't like.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who forces his cock inside you, filling you load after load just to prove that you're truly his one and only. He doesn't stop until he sees his seed dripping from your hole, your eyes rolling to your skull with fat tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who keeps blabbering about impregnating you during sex, he doesn't even care about your gender, he WILL impregnate you. He will defy Mother Nature for you, filling you one after the other and not pulling out until the next morning.

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates with your clothes the moment he misses you, he doesn't care if you have been away for barely a few hours, he just misses his sweet darling so much :(( Not his fault that your clothes are filled with your sweet scent...

Yandere! Mr. Crawling who masturbates to your sleeping face while the both of you sleep together. He loves feeling you close to him, all relaxed as your expressions sometimes change to one of pure bliss... He hugs you from behind, beginning to grind against your ass as an attempt to keep himself in check. This of course doesn't work, which forces him to use his own hand to masturbate, slowly getting on top of you so he can get an extremely detailed view of your sleeping face.

[poguelandiarafe]

red carpet reveal | drew starkey

pairing - drew starkey x gf!reader

warnings - none

summary - drew brings you to the outer banks season four premiere even though you're relationship is still under wraps. well, until it isn't thanks to a pushy reporter.

--------

the 'outer banks' premiere is in full swing and you're so grateful you get to experience it with drew for the first time. you're buzzing with excitement, the flashing of cameras and excited fans screaming as the cast makes their way onto the red carpet feels surreal.

"you doing okay?" drew asks, gently squeezing your hand.

you nod, looking up at him with a smile, "more than. go shine you superstar."

he chuckles and his hand gives you another comforting squeeze before letting it go and opting to rest it on your back. the way he looks in that suit, flashing his signature smile to the cameras, makes you wonder how the hell you even let him out of the hotel room.

as drew is ushered into many different interviews, you keep to yourself, staying mostly in the background and out of shot. you don't mind this, always having preferred to watch him in his element. he talks with so much passion and excitement that you could, and do, listen to him for hours on end.

the night seems to be going perfectly until it's not. the problem? a leggy blonde who's seemed to make it her life's mission to interview your boyfriend. you claim to not be the jealous type, but you can already tell the type of questions she's going to ask by the way she stalks over to him, eyes not so subtly looking him up and down with an exaggerated smile on her face.

"so, drew," she begins, her voice already annoying you, "you're looking very handsome tonight. outer banks season four! what's it like to still be playing the hottest character on the show? you are literally the internet's boyfriend right now."

he's here with you, don't let it get to you are the words that keep repeating in your head as drew politely answers the question, but you know she's attempting to flirt with him.

"what does your family think of the show? i'm assuming they're very proud," her eyes briefly flicker over to you and she turns her attention to you, "you must be such a proud sister, right?"

you scoff, not only at the question but at the condescending way she's talking to you, like you're a child.

"uh... she's not my sister actually." drew chuckles awkwardly, his free hand coming up to scratch at his neck.

her eyebrows raise in surprise before her shrill voice cuts through the air, "oh sorry! well, it's so thoughtful of you to bring your friend to the event."

yes, you've both agreed to not directly make your relationship public, but god did you want to set the record straight. the way her hand kept grabbing his arm throughout the whole interview is making your blood boil.

before you can say anything, the interview continues and she pays you no more attention. drew's patience for this is wearing thin, but he's determined to remain professional, not wanting to go viral for lashing out at someone for doing their job.

"coming back to my earlier point about being the internet's boyfriend, how's the love life? tell us, do you have your own sofia yet or are you still available?" the interviewer asks, playful flirtation coating the words as they leave her lips.

drew's arm unloops from yours and slides around your waist to pull you slightly closer to him. he's not trying to out your relationship, just reminding you he's there.

his eyes narrow slightly in annoyance at the question, "i... uh, well it's my personal life. wanna keep it personal."

"come on, not even an inkling of an answer?" she insists.

you've had enough of this woman and, quite frankly, drew has to. he's ready to walk off but you don't let him, instead moving to face him with your back to her.

"what are you doing?" drew leans down, whispering in your ear.

before you let yourself overthink what you're doing, you grab the back of his head and pull him into a kiss. everyone around you is in shock. cameras are all turning toward the two of you, and the fans are screaming even louder now. the kiss isn't a subtle peck or quick goodbye kiss. no, it's a kiss that is telling the world he's yours and no amount of bad flirting will take him away from you.

when you pull back, your cheeks are flushed and drew has a stunned smile on his face. your eyes suddenly widen as the realisation hits you like a train of what you just did, and he can tell that a million thoughts are going through your head.

"hey, stop overthinking it. i'm glad you did it," he starts before whispering, "meant she finally shut up and stopped trying to flirt with me."

relief washes over you and your tense shoulders drop as you let yourself relax. you don't even want to think about the social media reaction right now.

"umm," the interviewer clears her throat, "i guess that answers the question."

you grab drew's hand before looking back at the woman, "i think we're done here."

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Cold Kisses (TWS)

Summary: The winter soldier always comes to you for help after a mission. He hardly speaks, let alone kisses you after a treatment...

Warnings: a kiss? flangst?

WC: 794

Read on ao3!

--

The quiet hum of the medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos that had undoubtedly unfolded on the mission. You adjusted the strap of your medical kit, fingers steady despite the anxiety that curled in your stomach. The Winter Soldier, the lethal assassin whose presence had haunted your every shift, was back. He had returned after every mission, but today... something felt different.

The door to the med bay creaked open, and there he stood—his cold eyes hidden behind the mask, his body battered and bruised from the violence that had unfolded. He didn’t speak. He never spoke unless absolutely necessary. His steel grip held the doorframe, his breath a shallow exhale.

You stepped forward, your professional mask slipping on as you took in his condition. The bloodstains on his combat gear, the bruises, the cuts, the faint but unmistakable signs of a mission gone wrong. He had returned before, but the desperation in his eyes today was something else entirely.

“Winter Soldier,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “You’re hurt.”

He nodded stiffly, moving past you toward the medical table. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell there was pain in each step. He sat down with a low grunt, his body too worn for his usual icy stoicism.

“Let me assess you,” you said, setting your kit down beside him. You kept your voice steady, though your hands betrayed you with their subtle tremor. The air in the room thickened as you began to examine him, your fingers brushing lightly over his bloodied skin, checking for injuries. You didn’t want to ask questions you knew he wouldn’t answer. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this mission had taken something more from him than usual.

The metal arm—his most iconic feature—was scratched, battered, a reminder of the relentless nature of his work. You gently checked his wrist, noting the way he winced but kept his gaze forward, unmoving. The silence between you two was familiar, but today it felt heavier.

“Your arm?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like he’d answer.

A grunt was his only response.

You moved on, your fingers tracing over a bruise on his side, one of many that had begun to form beneath his tactical vest. As your hands brushed against the cool skin of his torso, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of too many fights, too many betrayals. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even aware of your presence.

The only sound now was his breathing, shallow and uneven. You frowned as you gently lifted his shirt to inspect the cut across his abdomen. It wasn’t deep, but it would need stitches. You reached for a needle and thread, your hands shaking slightly as you began to stitch the wound shut.

You didn’t mind the silence. It was part of the routine. But today, it felt like a weight, one that had been building with every passing second.

As you finished with the wound, you prepared to clean up the mess, but before you could move, he shifted on the table, his gaze suddenly sharp as he looked at you. His eyes narrowed—like he was studying you. Something in them had changed.

You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn’t notice him moving until it was too late.

Before you could react, he leaned forward with a suddenness that left you breathless, his lips crashing against yours. It was raw, desperate, and completely unexpected. His kiss was fierce, his hands gripping the sides of the table, his body leaning closer until you had no choice but to lean into him. The cold metal of his arm brushed against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, his breath mingling with yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, every muscle in your body frozen in shock. His lips tasted of blood and sweat, the remnants of the mission lingering on his skin. You didn’t know what to do, what to say. The Winter Soldier—this man who had been trained to kill without hesitation—was kissing you, and you had no idea why.

As quickly as it had happened, he pulled away, his face impassive once again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He didn’t say a word as he stood, his movements stiff but purposeful. You stood there in stunned silence, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss.

Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the door, his presence as cold and mysterious as it had always been.

But something in you had shifted, something that would linger long after he was gone.

--

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[ryescapades]

ੈ‧₊༺ 1:43 am ༺‧₊ ੈ

characters: sakura haruka x gn!reader content: fluff a/n: methinks he doesn’t like to ask for it but he lowkey really enjoys listening to you talk so pls do yap to him abt wtv (he might start tweaking if u don’t) ≈ 800 wc

It’s peaceful, blissfully cold, and you’re soundly sleeping when you start to notice two things; something is vibrating, and it’s in the middle of the night.

Well, you assume it’s in the middle of the night since it’s still dark out and no trace of daylight is present at the moment. Not like you can think of anything else either, since you had just been woken up by the former of those aforementioned details.

Groggily and very much grumpily, your hand blindly searches for the source of the vibrating object which you had felt somewhere on the back of your thigh. Snippets of last night appear in your foggy mind, a small reminder of how you had accidentally fallen asleep while mindlessly scrolling through your phone before bed.

Finally managing to get the device in your hand, a low curse escapes from you as the beaming screen blinds your bleary eyes.

‘sakura <3’, the name on the screen reads.

Your eyebrows furrow, confusion evident on your face but you slide a thumb across the screen to answer the call anyway. “Sakura…?”

Across the static line between you two, Sakura closes his eyes as he relishes in the sound of your voice, albeit a little raspy from sleep. Too lost in the familiarity of it, he almost forgets that he hasn’t replied yet.

“Ah - hey...” he greets, slightly embarrassed that he doesn’t have anything thought up to say.

Sakura is by no means a frequent caller nor a texter— heck, he barely even touches the damn device he’s holding in his hand right now. But it’s past midnight. His body is tired, his mind can hardly keep up with how much he’s been thinking of you, and the next thing he knows, his fingers were already pulling up the number to your contact.

You’re no different than him, of course. Even in your sleepy haze, you can’t stop the onslaught of fluttering butterflies in your stomach just as his voice enters your ears, which unknowingly elicits a sigh from you, quiet and dreamy.

“Is everything alright? You never really contacted me unless it’s something important,” you ask worriedly, turning in bed as you try to get comfortable again under your blanket.

“’m fine, nothin’s wrong.”

���Oh, okay…” You trail off, unsure. “Uhm, is there anything you wanted to talk about?”

From where he’s sitting on the lone mattress in his home, blankets haphazardly tossed aside, Sakura taps his index finger repeatedly out of nervous tension. He feels stupid now; stupidly guilty that he had woken you up from your much needed slumber for - what?

What was he planning to say anyway? That this measly phone call was done out of pure impulse? That he had been kept awake all night because the only way he could fall asleep is when you’re there beside him? And that he’s been missing you all day?

He almost punched himself at how humiliatingly needy and deprived that sounds.

“No,” he opts instead, clenching his teeth as he reminds himself to ask any of his seniors for some good beating sparring tomorrow. Kaji, or Hiragi, preferably. Maybe then he could get this idiocy and cringiness punched out of him.

The line goes silent for a few moments. “Then why are you—” Your eyebrows furrow before realization sets in, a soft smile growing on your face. Blankets pulled up to your chin, you lay on your side as you let your phone get sandwiched between your cheek and the pillow.

“Actually, you wanna know what happened earlier today?”

Your boyfriend perks up at that, silvery and golden orbs gleaming in the dark room. He hums in affirmation, and that’s all you need before you start telling him about your day; all the littlest and most random things you found, all the people you’ve met, everything and nothing. Your voice, mellow and soothing, courses through him like a wave gently lapping up the shore, harmonious in its ebbing tide.

Aside from the few replies of acknowledgment, Sakura listens, listens and just listens. He’s carving a special place for your voice at the very front of his mind. Every rise and drop, every lilted word he could get. Like an anchor deep in the bottom of the sea, you ground him from drifting away to that bottomless pit he was once in back then.

It’s not until you stop talking for a second that he realizes he’s been focusing too much on the sound instead of comprehending what you’ve been saying, and you immediately catch on to that. You gently call out to him, and Sakura has to hold in the urge to shy away into the collar of his shirt from how affectionate and nice his name sounds on your lips.

“Sakura?”

“W-what?” He flushes red, though he’s glad that you’re not there to see it.

You bite down on your bottom lip, lightly chuckling in endearment. “Nothing, I just…”

A beat of silence passes.

“I love you, yeah?”

Yup, Sakura is a goner now (if not already).

told yall i’m a sakura girlie heh (< said the person who wrote for some other guy first before her top fave)

©🅁🅈🄴🅂🄲🄰🄿🄰🄳🄴🅂. do not steal, translate or repost my work anywhere else !

[reidmarieprentiss]

Oops: Wrong Person

Summary: Spencer and you share a steamy night together, but when you go to spill the details to Emily, you accidentally send the text to the person of interest... will Spencer see it before you can fix things?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: smut (18+), fluff

Warnings/Includes: NSFW (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, talks of hangover, mention of a gun, sending text to wrong person, happy ending

Word count: 7.2k

a/n: shout out to @imagining-in-the-margins for pulling me out of my writers slump with their wrong recipient challenge !!! not proofread :/

prompts used: Character sends their friend a detailed review of their recent sexual encounter… and accidentally sends it to the person they’re reviewing

Character enlists Penelope’s help in hacking into someone’s device to delete an unintended message

main masterlist

Additional warnings: allusions to sex, oral (fem receiving)

The evening began innocently enough—just another night out with the team, exchanging stories and letting Penelope’s latest matchmaking attempts provide ample fodder for laughter. You and Spencer had been particularly unlucky in love lately, both of you enduring one disastrous date after another. Penelope had insisted she had "the perfect person" for each of you, but after a string of ill-suited setups, neither of you were optimistic. It was that shared frustration that had the two of you lingering over drinks a little longer than usual, swapping stories of cringe-worthy encounters and commiserating over your shared loneliness.

The conversation flowed more easily as the alcohol loosened your tongues, and you found yourselves laughing more, teasing less, and unearthing unexpected commonalities. Spencer wasn’t just the brilliant, socially awkward genius you’d always known—there was warmth, wit, and a surprising sense of humor that made you start to see him in a different light. For his part, Spencer found himself captivated by the way your eyes lit up as you recounted your tales, his usual nervousness fading as he grew more comfortable in your presence.

When the team decided to call it a night, Spencer insisted on walking you home. "You shouldn’t be out alone this late," he said, his tone firm but his gaze soft. The cool night air sobered you both slightly, but the buzz of the evening lingered as you strolled side by side. When you reached your front door, you turned to thank him, but Spencer hesitated. There was a moment—a pause filled with unspoken words—before he asked, almost shyly, "Can I kiss you?"

The question caught you off guard, but the answer came easily. “Yes,” you whispered, and the next thing you knew, his lips were on yours, tentative at first but quickly deepening with urgency. The kiss ignited something you hadn’t expected, and before long, the two of you were tangled in your sheets, surrendering to the pull of the moment.

But now, as the morning light crept through the blinds, unwelcome and far too bright for how your head pounded and your stomach churned. The first thing you registered was warmth—Spencer’s arm draped over your waist, his face tucked into the pillow mere inches from yours. His soft breaths were the only sound in the room, aside from the dull hum of the city outside.

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest as the reality of the night before came crashing down like an avalanche. You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing, hoping, that somehow, this was a vivid dream. But the ache in your muscles and the tangling of limbs beneath the sheets told you otherwise.

How had it come to this? You’d both sworn off dating for a while after Penelope’s well-meaning but disastrous matchmaking attempts, bonding over how exhausting it was to keep picking yourselves up after failure. You’d laughed, drank more than you should have, and for the first time, Spencer wasn’t just your quirky, brilliant colleague—he was just a man. A man with soft brown eyes, a boyish smile, and the kind of awkward charm that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, someone understood.

And then he’d walked you home. You had both hesitated on your doorstep, the air thick with unspoken words and the lingering spark of a night full of confessions. Spencer had looked at you, his cheeks flushed and his voice almost trembling as he asked if he could kiss you.

God, you’d wanted to say no. You should have said no. But the way he looked at you, with a vulnerability so raw and genuine, made it impossible. And when his lips met yours, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away. At least until now.

A quiet groan escaped your lips as you gingerly shifted away from his arm, careful not to wake him. You needed space—space to think, space to breathe. Tugging on a shirt discarded on the floor, you padded to the kitchen, leaning heavily against the counter as you stared blankly at the coffee maker.

This wasn’t just a mistake; it was a colossal, earth-shattering disaster. Spencer wasn’t just some random guy at a bar; he was your coworker, your teammate. You weren’t supposed to cross those lines, especially not in a way that could make things awkward for the entire team.

You pressed your palms into your eyes, willing away the threatening sting of tears. "What the hell were we thinking?" you muttered to yourself, though you already knew the answer. You were thinking about loneliness, about longing, about the fleeting comfort of being wanted. You were thinking about Spencer's warm smile and the way he looked at you like you were the most fascinating person in the world.

The sound of movement behind you snapped you out of your spiraling thoughts. You turned to find Spencer standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled and his shirt haphazardly buttoned. He looked at you with a mixture of shyness and concern, clearly unsure of what to say.

"Good morning," he said softly, his voice cracking slightly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a tight smile. "Morning."

An awkward silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Spencer shifted on his feet, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on you. "Are you okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in that familiar, thoughtful way.

"Yeah," you lied quickly, your voice pitching just a little too high to be convincing.

Spencer’s brow furrowed, and he tilted his head, scrutinizing you in that way only Spencer could—like he was dissecting every layer of your soul. “You’re lying,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, devoid of judgment. “Do you regret last night?”

His words hit you harder than you expected. The vulnerability in his gaze—those soft, questioning hazel eyes—made your heart ache. You could feel the truth rising in your throat, but you swallowed it down. You couldn’t bear to hurt him, not after everything.

“I only regret drinking so much,” you said instead, forcing a weak smile and hoping it was enough. “I’m horribly hungover.”

For a moment, Spencer stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your immense relief, his lips quirked into a small, understanding smile, and he even chuckled softly. “Yeah, we might have overdone it a bit,” he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you making coffee?”

You nodded, grateful for the shift in focus. As the coffee brewed, the familiar aroma filling your small kitchen, the tension eased. You poured two mugs and handed one to Spencer, who took it with a quiet “thanks” and a smile. The two of you sat at your tiny dining table, sipping the hot brew and talking about the most recent case. It was like slipping back into the roles you knew, the professional partnership that felt safe and predictable.

When Spencer finally stood to leave, he hesitated by the door. “Thanks for the coffee,” he said softly, lingering for just a moment before stepping out into the morning sun.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the silence in your apartment felt deafening. You slumped into your chair, staring at the coffee cup he’d left behind. You’d managed to keep the lie intact, but it didn’t make the knot in your stomach feel any less tight. If anything, it made it worse.

Later that evening, unable to keep your thoughts to yourself, you grabbed your phone and fired off a text to Emily. She was your go-to for all the juicy details and unsolicited advice, and you desperately needed her take on the situation.

Em, you’ll never believe it… I slept with Spencer! And before you even ask, no, it was not good. He was so sweet and, honestly, really attractive, but it was like he was just there to smash and dash, I swear! There was no build-up, no foreplay, it was so boring. I swear the only reason I was even wet enough was how good he looked. Em, what do I do?

You stared at the message for a moment before pressing send, your heart pounding as you anticipated her reply. You knew Emily wouldn’t hold back, but that was exactly what you needed—someone to be brutally honest with you.

Setting your phone aside, you waited for the familiar buzz of her reply. But as the minutes ticked by, your attention started to drift. The weight of the day and the lingering tension from your morning with Spencer caught up with you, and before you knew it, you had dozed off on the couch.

When you woke early the next morning, the faint glow of your phone screen illuminated the room, the only light breaking through the predawn darkness. You groaned, rubbing one eye as you sat up, feeling the stiffness in your back from spending the night on the couch. Reaching for your phone, you squinted at the screen, ready to check if Emily had replied to your late-night text.

But when you opened your conversation with her, the message you so vividly remembered typing was nowhere to be found. Confused, you stared at the blank thread for a moment.

"That's weird," you muttered to yourself. "Maybe I just dreamed I sent it."

Shrugging it off, you stretched, wincing as the ache from your uncomfortable sleeping position made itself known. After a quick shower and a cup of coffee, you pushed the odd moment out of your mind, determined to start the day fresh.

Later that morning, as you walked into the bullpen at work, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The usual hum of activity filled the air—keyboards clicking, phones ringing, voices murmuring about cases. Spencer was already at his desk, his face buried in a file, and he didn’t look up as you passed by. If he was feeling awkward about that night, he didn’t show it.

You dropped your bag onto your desk and booted up your computer, feeling a flicker of relief that everything seemed normal. The morning carried on uneventfully—until Emily strolled over, her face unreadable, and perched casually on the edge of your desk.

"Hey," she said, her tone casual as ever. "Do anything interesting this weekend?"

The question made your stomach flip. For a brief, horrifying moment, you wondered if you had sent that text after all.

Your heart pounded as you leaned in closer to Emily, lowering your voice to a whisper so that Spencer, sitting just a few feet away, wouldn’t overhear. “Did you see my text? I could have sworn I sent one last night,” you asked, keeping your tone as casual as possible despite the rising panic in your chest.

Emily frowned slightly, pulling out her phone and scrolling through your thread. “No? What was it about?” she asked, holding her screen up as proof of her empty inbox.

The confusion on your face deepened as you promised to catch her up on your weekend later. “Never mind, it’s nothing,” you muttered, trying to sound nonchalant. But as she walked away, a gnawing sense of dread began to form in the pit of your stomach. Something felt off—terribly off.

Grabbing your phone, you scrolled through your messages, hoping, praying you’d simply forgotten to hit send or, at worst, sent it to someone like your parents or even Hotch. But when you finally found the message, your blood ran cold. There it was, the detailed, unfiltered account of your night with Spencer, sent—and the recipient was none other than Spencer Reid himself.

For a moment, the world seemed to tilt, and you couldn’t breathe. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, rereading the incriminating text over and over. You couldn’t even bring yourself to glance in Spencer’s direction, terrified he’d somehow know you’d realized your mistake.

Not knowing what else to do, you bolted from your desk and ran straight to Penelope’s office. You slammed the door shut behind you, startling her so badly that she let out a loud shriek.

“Y/N! What the heck, you scared me, girl!” she exclaimed, spinning around in her chair with wide eyes. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?”

You barely managed to catch your breath as you blurted out the words. “Can you hack into Spencer’s phone?”

“What? Why?” she asked, her confusion giving way to intrigue.

“I sent him something he was never meant to see,” you said, your voice trembling.

Penelope’s expression lit up with gleeful curiosity, her hands clasping together in delight. “Oh my god! Drama!” she squealed. “Was it something saucy?” Her grin turned wicked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“No, Pen, nothing like that…” you lied, though your face betrayed the truth. “Just—can you do it?”

“Only if you tell me why,” she sing-songed, leaning forward as if this were the best thing to happen to her all week.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “It’s about Spencer, okay? I sent him a message I was venting to Emily about… and it’s—oh my god, Penelope, it’s bad.”

“How bad?” she pressed, practically vibrating in her seat.

You hesitated, your mind racing. “Like… it’s about bedroom activities, bad.”

Her eyes widened, and her jaw dropped. “You and Boy Wonder?” she gasped, her voice rising in pitch. “No way! Tell me everything right now, and then I’ll consider saving your butt.”

So, you spilled it all, every mortifying detail of your ill-advised text and the lackluster night with Spencer. Penelope listened with wide eyes, her hand dramatically clutching her chest as though she were living through the mortification alongside you.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she interrupted at one point, holding up a finger. “Are you saying there was no foreplay? None at all? Oh, honey, that’s—oh no.” Her sympathy was so theatrical it almost made you laugh, but the weight of your predicament kept your stomach in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head. “I know, I know. It was just… disappointing. He was sweet, don’t get me wrong, but it felt so rushed, and then I panicked afterward, and now this. I just hope he hasn’t seen the text. I mean, he doesn’t check his phone often, right? Unless it’s a call or something urgent?”

Penelope tilted her head thoughtfully, tapping a glittery nail against her lips. “You’ve got a point there. Spencer isn’t exactly glued to his phone like the rest of us mere mortals. But if he has seen it…” She winced, letting the implication hang in the air.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Penelope, please. I’ll never live this down. Can you help me? Just… I don’t know, tell him it was a new protocol or something if you have to.”

Penelope’s lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Oh, sweetie, you know I love a good cover story. I’ll just tell him we’re testing a new security system or a phone update procedure, and I need to check his device. It’ll buy us some time, at least.”

Relief flooded you, though it was tinged with lingering dread. “You’re a lifesaver, Pen. I owe you big time.”

“Oh, you’ll owe me,” she quipped, already pulling up the tools she needed on her computer. “Now go sit tight while Mama Bear fixes your mess.”

You gave her a weak smile and stepped out of her office, nerves still on edge as you tried to focus on anything but the potential fallout. All you could do now was hope Penelope worked her magic before Spencer’s curiosity—or worse, his notifications—got the better of him.

—

It had been a few weeks since that mortifying ordeal, and life at the BAU had returned to its usual rhythm. You and Spencer were working together like nothing had happened, the two of you exchanging case theories and research notes with the same easy professionalism as always. If he had seen the text, he certainly wasn’t acting like it.

You clung to that thought, reassuring yourself every time you caught him flipping through files or muttering stats under his breath. Spencer wasn’t one to hold back if something was bothering him—if he had read the text, you were sure he would’ve said something by now. Right?

Penelope had assured you she’d taken care of it, spinning some elaborate story about a security test or protocol update to gain access to his phone. “Smooth as butter,” she’d told you with a wink. You had to trust her; if anyone could cover their tracks, it was Penelope Garcia.

Still, there were moments when a flicker of doubt would creep in, especially when you caught Spencer looking at you for a beat too long or when his smile seemed softer than usual. You wondered if he was just being his sweet, considerate self, or if there was some small part of him that knew.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. He was standing next to your desk, holding out a file. “I thought you might want to take a look at this. It’s related to the unsub’s timeline.”

“Oh, thanks,” you said quickly, accepting the file and forcing a smile. Your hands brushed briefly, and though the touch was fleeting, it sent a small jolt through you. You cleared your throat, trying to push the memory of that night further down into the recesses of your mind.

As he walked back to his desk, you let out a slow breath of relief. He was acting normal—maybe even too normal—but you decided to take it as a win. If he hadn’t mentioned anything by now, it probably meant Penelope had pulled off her mission flawlessly.

You could finally move forward, pretending nothing had ever happened. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

—

The team had gathered at the bar once again, and the night was well underway. Laughter filled the air as Penelope and Emily, true to their roles as the team’s biggest shit-stirrers, steered the conversation toward bad hookup stories. One by one, everyone chimed in with their own tales—some embarrassing, others outright hilarious. Even Hotch and Rossi surprised everyone by sharing anecdotes, their typically reserved facades melting away under the influence of camaraderie and alcohol.

You, however, stayed silent, staring intently at your soda and purposefully avoiding Spencer’s gaze. The thought of contributing to the topic sent waves of panic through you. Spencer, sipping his lemonade, seemed just as disinterested in alcohol as you were—although, unlike you, he appeared perfectly calm.

Emily, catching your silence and sensing an opportunity, smirked over the rim of her whiskey glass. “Y/N…” she began, dragging out your name in a voice that instantly made your stomach drop. “What about you? Any bad hookups recently?”

Your eyes widened, and the sip of soda you’d just taken went down the wrong way. You coughed violently, waving a hand to reassure everyone you were fine, even as your cheeks flushed a deep shade of red. “H-hmm? No,” you managed to croak out, your voice high and strained. “Not, um, not too recently.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening as if she could see right through you. “Not too recently?” she repeated, clearly fishing for more. “That’s a very specific answer, don’t you think?”

Penelope leaned in, her knowing grin rattling you further. “Oh, come on, Y/N! Spill it! We’ve all shared—you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

You opened your mouth, scrambling for something—anything—to say that wouldn’t give away the truth. But before you could stammer out a reply, Spencer spoke up, his tone light but pointed.

“Maybe we should let Y/N off the hook,” he said, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking back to his glass. “Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments.”

Your breath hitched, and time seemed to slow. Spencer’s words hung in the air, heavier than they should have been.

"Not everyone wants to relive their awkward, or boring, moments."

The word boring hit you like a brick to the chest, your mind immediately flashing back to the mortifying text you’d mistakenly sent to him weeks ago. Boring. The exact word you’d used to describe your night with him.

Your heart raced as you tried to process what this could mean. Had he seen the text? Was he throwing subtle jabs at you now, letting you know in his own understated way that he was aware of what you’d said? Or—your stomach churned—was this just a terrible coincidence?

You froze, your fingers gripping the edge of your glass as though it were the only thing keeping you grounded. Your face felt hot, and your mind scrambled for something to say, but your voice wouldn’t cooperate. All you could do was glance at him, hoping to read something in his expression, but Spencer didn’t look back at you. Instead, he sipped his lemonade nonchalantly, his face giving nothing away except perhaps the faintest flicker of amusement.

Penelope, blissfully aware of the tension now coursing through you, laughed and waved him off. “Oh, come on, Spencer. You’ve gotta admit, the awkward ones make for the best stories!”

Spencer smiled faintly but didn’t reply, his eyes fixed on the table. You, on the other hand, felt like you were going to combust. Every second stretched painfully as you tried to decipher his intent. Did he know? Had he been holding this over you all this time? If he did know, why hadn’t he said anything? And why bring it up now?

You decided you couldn’t sit there any longer. “Excuse me,” you muttered hastily, standing up and heading toward the bathroom. You needed a moment—just a moment—to breathe and figure out what the hell was happening.

Once inside, you leaned against the sink, gripping the counter as you stared at your reflection. He knows. He definitely knows, you thought, replaying his words over and over in your mind.

But what did that mean for the two of you now? And, more terrifyingly, what was he going to do about it?

When you returned to the table, you were relieved to find that the group had shifted away from the awkward topic of hookups. Instead, they were now swapping stories about their most embarrassing encounters with local law enforcement during cases. The laughter was infectious, and you felt some of the tension ease from your shoulders as you slid back into your seat.

Emily was in the middle of reenacting a particularly mortifying moment where she’d accidentally walked into the wrong briefing room during a case, only to realize it was a police academy class in session. Penelope nearly fell off her chair laughing, and even Hotch cracked a rare smile. You joined in the laughter, grateful for the distraction and the chance to blend back into the group unnoticed.

But even as you laughed, you couldn’t shake the awareness of Spencer’s gaze. It wasn’t obvious, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you felt it—the way his eyes lingered on you a second too long, the way he watched you out of the corner of his vision.

You tried to brush it off as paranoia, convincing yourself you were imagining things, but the weight of his attention was impossible to ignore. Every time you glanced his way, he quickly looked down, pretending to be focused on his drink or the conversation. Yet his subtle smirk betrayed him, like he knew something you didn’t.

Your stomach twisted again, but this time it wasn’t just embarrassment—it was something else, something harder to pin down. Was he amused? Angry? Curious? Or worse… disappointed?

“Y/N,” Emily called, pulling you back to the moment. “What about you? Didn’t you have that one time with the sheriff who thought you were the intern?”

You forced a laugh, grateful for the change of subject. “Oh, God, yes. He spent half the briefing explaining things to me like I’d never heard of basic police work. Then he asked if I could grab him coffee!” The group erupted into laughter again, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to relax, focusing on the good friends around you.

But even in the warmth of the group’s laughter, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Spencer’s gaze. It burned softly, quietly, but with undeniable intensity, leaving you wondering what he was thinking—and what he might be planning to say when the moment came.

After dropping Emily off and driving yourself home, you settled into the comfort of your routine, grateful to put the tension of the evening behind you. You had already changed into pajamas and washed your face when a sharp knock at the door startled you. The hour was late, and your neighborhood wasn’t exactly bustling at night, so caution kicked in immediately. Grabbing your gun—safety on, of course—you crept toward the door and checked the peephole.

The sight of Spencer standing there, hands tucked into his jacket pockets, made you release a heavy sigh. You lowered the gun, unbolting the door and opening it to find him still waiting, his expression a mix of nervousness and determination.

“Spencer?” you asked, blinking at him in surprise. “Why are you here?”

His gaze immediately dropped to the gun still loosely in your grip, and his eyebrows shot up. “Whoa,” he said with a nervous laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I come in peace. I just wanted to talk.”

You shook your head, setting the weapon on the nearby table with a faint smirk. “You picked a great time for it,” you muttered, motioning for him to come inside. “What’s so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

Spencer stepped past you, his movements careful and deliberate as he crossed the threshold. He paused just inside, glancing around as though he needed to steady himself. Finally, he turned to face you, his hands still tucked in his pockets, his face unreadable.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened, and then tonight…” he began, his voice soft but steady.

Your stomach dropped, and you felt your pulse quicken. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to sound casual as you leaned against the doorframe.

His lips twitched—something between a smile and a grimace. “You know exactly what I mean,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto yours. “The way you froze when I said ‘boring.’ The way you’ve been avoiding looking at me for weeks. And the way you bolted when Emily tried to press you about hookups tonight.”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but he held up a hand, stopping you.

“I saw the text,” he admitted softly, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting yours again. “The one you meant to send to Emily.”

Your heart sank, and your cheeks flushed with humiliation. “Spencer, I—” you began, but he cut you off again, his voice surprisingly calm.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” he continued. “I figured it was your way of processing things, and I didn’t want to make it worse. But after tonight, I realized… maybe we need to talk about it.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you tried to gather your thoughts. “Spencer, I didn’t mean for you to see that. I was just… venting. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I know you didn’t. And honestly, I’m not upset—not about what you said, anyway. But it made me think… maybe I didn’t handle things as well as I could have.”

That caught you off guard. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I wasn’t exactly at my best that night. I was nervous, and I didn’t know how to… connect with you the way I wanted to. And after seeing that text, I realized I might have made you feel… unimportant. Like it didn’t mean anything to me. But it did.”

His confession left you stunned, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—it was almost too much.

“Spencer,” you said softly, stepping closer. “I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t realize it mattered to you that much.”

“It does,” Spencer said simply, his voice steady but his eyes searching yours. “And I want to try to redeem myself, if you’ll let me.”

“Redeem yourself?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the words catching in your throat as the air between you grew heavy with anticipation.

Spencer stepped closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you, his movements careful and deliberate. “Yeah,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips. His hands found your waist, his touch light but firm as he gently pulled you closer. “Is this okay?”

You nodded, the gesture small but filled with meaning. You felt like you were in a daze, your thoughts scattered as Spencer leaned down, his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. Time seemed to slow as his face drew nearer, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was different this time—slower, deeper, infused with an unspoken promise. Spencer’s hands slid up your sides, one settling on your lower back, the other moving to cradle the side of your face. You melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, then curling into the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened.

It wasn’t rushed, and it wasn’t awkward. It was intentional, every movement speaking of care and consideration. Spencer kissed you like he wanted to show you exactly how much you mattered, how much the moment mattered.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves. His hand remained on your face, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek.

“Can we take this to the bedroom?” Spencer asked softly, his voice a delicate mixture of nerves and hope. His hand on your waist tightened ever so slightly, grounding both you and him as his hazel eyes searched yours for an answer.

Your heart fluttered at his request, the vulnerability in his expression making the moment feel intimate in a way that words couldn’t quite capture. You nodded, your lips parting slightly as you whispered, “Yeah, we can.”

He exhaled a breath you didn’t realize he was holding, his relief almost palpable. He smiled, that shy but genuine smile that made your chest ache in the best way. Taking your hand in his, he let you lead him toward the bedroom, his fingers entwining with yours in a way that felt so natural, so right.

Once inside, Spencer paused, glancing around as if he were taking in every detail of the space. You felt a rush of warmth in your cheeks, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings, but Spencer’s attention quickly returned to you. He reached for you again, his touch gentle as he pulled you close.

“I want to get this right,” he murmured, his voice soft and earnest. His hands slid up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks. “I don’t want you to ever feel like… like you don’t matter to me.”

The sincerity in his words struck something deep within you, and you leaned into his touch, your hands resting on his chest as you tilted your face up to him. “You don’t have to prove anything, Spencer,” you said quietly. 

His lips curved into a small smile, “I want to” he said before he kissed you again, this time with a slow, deliberate tenderness that sent a shiver down your spine.

Spencer’s hands trembled slightly as he took his time this time, unhurriedly removing your clothes with a reverence that bordered on worship. Every inch of newly exposed skin was met with a gentle kiss, his lips pressing softly against your collarbone, your shoulders, the curve of your hip. His attention to every detail made your heart race and your skin hum with anticipation.

His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second and show you how much this moment meant to him. He whispered quiet words between kisses—gentle reassurances and praises that made you feel both seen and cherished.

By the time you were completely bare, the tension in your body had melted away, replaced by a growing warmth that seemed to spread from your chest to every corner of your being. Spencer’s hands lingered on your waist, his touch warm and grounding, before he guided you gently to lie down on the bed. His gaze never left yours, his hazel eyes filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness.

“You’re beautiful,” he said softly, almost like a prayer, before straightening to remove his own clothes. Piece by piece, he stripped down, his movements still unhurried as though rushing would break the fragile intimacy between you. When he was down to just his briefs, he paused, his expression laced with vulnerability as he looked at you.

Spencer took your hand in his, his thumb brushing over your knuckles as he climbed onto the bed in front of you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and he leaned down, pressing another soft kiss to your lips before trailing a path along your jaw and down your neck.

This wasn’t rushed or frantic. This wasn’t about proving anything or making up for past mistakes (well, maybe a little bit). This was about connection, about being fully present with each other. Spencer’s touch was gentle but firm, his kisses lingering, his hands exploring every curve and plane of your body as though memorizing you.

“You matter,” Spencer murmured against your skin, the words sending shivers down your spine as they vibrated through you. “This matters.”

“Spencer,” you groaned, your tone half-playful, half-flustered as you turned your head and buried your face in the pillow, trying to hide the heat rising in your cheeks.

“I mean it,” he said with a soft laugh, his lips brushing tender kisses along the curve of your hips as he began to trail his way downward. His voice was warm and genuine, the sincerity in his words making your heart ache in the best way.

You gasped softly, lifting your head from the pillow to look at him just as his hands gently spread your thighs apart. His gaze was steady but filled with unmistakable affection, the teasing grin on his face doing nothing to disguise the care in his actions.

“No foreplay?” he said, raising an eyebrow as he settled between your legs. His hands caressed your thighs, his touch sending sparks of electricity through your body. “What awful man made you go through that?”

The memory of your drunken text and his earlier words flashed through your mind, and your cheeks flushed even deeper. “Oh my god, Spencer,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands as he laughed softly.

“I’m serious,” he continued, his tone light but laced with playful mockery. “That’s a crime against humanity, honestly. But don’t worry,” he added, his voice dropping lower as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “I’ll make it up to you.”

The words alone sent a shiver through you, but it was the way Spencer looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment—that left you utterly breathless. And as his lips moved closer, you realized with a mix of anticipation and awe that he fully intended to prove it.

The first kiss to your most intimate skin made you yelp in shock, your body jolting at the sudden, unexpected sensation. The sound escaped you before you could even process it, and your hands flew to grip the sheets beneath you as your breath hitched.

“Someone’s sensitive,” Spencer mumbled, his voice low and teasing, the words more directed to your skin than to you. His warm breath against you made your already racing heart stutter. Before you could form a coherent response, he leaned in again, his lips pressing another kiss to your clit, this time followed by a slow, deliberate swipe of his tongue.

The sensation was electric, a mix of heat and softness that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that slipped from your lips, your head falling back against the pillow as Spencer’s hands gripped your thighs gently, holding you in place as he worked.

He moved with an almost studious precision, as though he were memorizing what made you gasp, shiver, or moan. Every touch of his lips, every flick of his tongue, was calculated yet somehow felt achingly natural, like he was simply following the rhythm of your body.

"Mm," he hummed against you, his tone almost smug as he pulled back briefly, his lips glistening. "I knew you'd taste amazing." His voice was warm, filled with an admiration that made your cheeks burn. Then, without giving you time to respond, he dove back in, his tongue and lips working together in a way that left you unable to form a single coherent thought.

You were melting, your body arching into him as your fingers tangled in the sheets. Each sensation was more intense than the last, and you found yourself utterly at his mercy, the rest of the world fading away until only Spencer remained.

And just when you thought the pleasure couldn’t possibly get any better, Spencer added one of his beautiful, long, bony fingers into the mix. The gentle yet deliberate motion of his finger sliding into you sent a shockwave of sensation through your entire body, and you couldn’t hold back the way your back arched off the bed.

“Spencer!” you yelled out, his name tumbling from your lips like a plea, your voice raw with need. The sound seemed to spur him on, and you felt his lips curve into a faint smile against your skin.

“Good?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your skin as he looked up at you through half-lidded eyes, his expression equal parts satisfaction and adoration.

You could barely respond, your words coming out in broken gasps. “Yes—oh my god, yes!”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against you, before he returned his focus to you. His finger moved in perfect rhythm with his tongue, slow and deliberate at first, then gradually picking up a pace that had you completely unraveling beneath him. Every movement was calculated, every flick of his wrist or press of his tongue designed to draw out every sound you made, and you could feel yourself spiraling closer and closer to the edge.

“Spencer…” you whimpered, your voice trembling as your body trembled beneath his relentless attention. You weren’t sure if you were begging him to stop or pleading for him to never stop—maybe both, maybe neither. All you knew was that he was consuming every part of you, and you didn’t want it to end.

When he added a second finger, curling them in just the right way, it pushed you over the edge. The pleasure was overwhelming, crashing over you in waves so powerful that your cries filled the room as your body arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as if you needed to anchor yourself to reality.

Spencer didn’t stop, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you were left trembling, breathless, and completely undone beneath him. Only then did he pull back, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

“You’re amazing,” Spencer murmured, his voice filled with a quiet awe as he rested his chin lightly on your hip. His hazel eyes were warm and sincere, and a soft smile tugged at his lips. “Can’t believe I missed out on this last time.”

The compliment, so earnest and sweet, made your cheeks flush. You slung an arm over your eyes, laughing softly, trying to shake off the sudden wave of shyness that washed over you. “Oh my god,” you mumbled, your voice muffled by your arm.

Spencer chuckled, his amusement clear as he pushed himself up and lay down beside you. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and you felt his warmth even before he leaned in close, propping his head up with one hand as he looked down at you with a playful expression. “What’s so funny?” he asked, his tone light, curiosity mingling with amusement.

You moved your arm just enough to peek at him, a lopsided grin still on your face. “I just—wow,” you said, still catching your breath. “I was not expecting that.”

Spencer’s brows lifted in mock surprise, and he placed a hand over his chest in a dramatic gesture. “You doubted me?” he teased, his grin widening.

You laughed again, finally dropping your arm and turning to face him fully. “No, not exactly,” you admitted, biting your lip. “But that was… definitely not what I expected. In the best possible way.”

His expression softened, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced with something gentler. “Good,” he said simply, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “Am I going to get a better review this time?”

You burst out laughing, playfully swatting at his chest. “Mhm,” you teased, unable to keep the grin off your face. “I’ll make sure to tell Em how good her coworker is with his mouth.”

Spencer groaned, burying his face in his hands for a moment before chuckling. “Oh god, please don’t do that,” he said, his voice muffled by his hands before he peeked out at you with a sheepish grin. “Just tell her your boyfriend is better than you previously thought.”

His words hung in the air, and you froze, your breath catching in your throat. “Boyfriend?” you repeated, your brows raising as you looked at him, searching his face for any sign that he was joking.

Spencer’s cheeks flushed instantly, but he didn’t backpedal. Instead, he held your gaze, his lips twitching into a small, nervous smile. “I mean… if you want me to be,” he said softly, his voice losing some of its usual confidence. “I just thought… maybe this isn’t just a one-time, or two-timw thing. At least, I hope it’s not.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the vulnerability in his voice, and a warmth spread through your chest as you processed his words. You couldn’t help but smile, reaching out to rest a hand on his cheek. “You’re serious?”

Spencer nodded, his hazel eyes filled with sincerity. “Yeah, I am,” he said quietly. “But only if you’re okay with that.”

A smile spread across your face, your fingers brushing against his skin as you leaned in closer. “I think a girl could get used to that,” you whispered.

The relief that washed over Spencer’s face was almost palpable, and he couldn’t hide the wide grin that followed. “Good,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again, this time with a newfound certainty that made your heart flutter.

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

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

[sweetpupii]

“so,” powder started, holding your chin and tilting it upward to examine your features under the light of her room. she didn’t want to risk any mistakes with the contouring or the symmetry of your eyeshadow.

doing your makeup for parties had become her thing now.

“do you want me to match your hair like I did with mine, or should I choose another color?” please let me match it to your hair, please let me match it to your hair… “since we're going bold tonight.”

navy melted beautifully into ocean blue across her lids, magenta lit up her inner corners, and indigo traced her lower eyelids in a soft, smoky line—softening her piercing blue eyes. berry colored lipstick and a tiny smile completed the look.

a damn sight for sore eyes—that’s what powder was.

“hm, which one would look better?”

yes! that was an answer she liked. let her do the thinking; you just sit there and let her transform your pretty face with her arsenal of pigments. glitter? the palette was already sprawled on the floor, waiting. natural colors? sure, pretty boring, but you do you! neon colors? oh boy, how she loved those.

“i’ll take care of it. just don’t move. if you mess it up we’ll be late.” like last time.

matte lipstick is not easy to clean up after a few ( whole lot of ) kisses. things got a bit out of control, okay? it’s not her fault you looked good!

…well, technically it was her fault because she did your makeup that day, but still. she wanted to kiss you before that.

“oh, come on, it doesn’t tickle,” she pointed out as your eyes fluttered slightly at the touch of the fine eyeliner brush. experienced hands meticulously painted your eyelids, determined to follow their natural shape and bring out the color of your pupils. “look up at me, gotta do the waterline.”

maybe asking you to look directly at her the whole time was a mistake. the closeness was suddenly too distracting—your lips slightly parted as your eyes went up to meet hers, and she carefully applied the pigment.

that shade of lipstick you picked would look real nice mixed with hers…

focus, powder. just do her makeup.

“what’s with the eyes, sunny?” the blue-haired girl spoke after a while, holding your chin still, almost done with the eyeshadow.

“what do you mean?”

“those doe-y ones you’re giving me right now.”

your scoff only made it harder for her to focus on the task ahead. “pow, looking up because you asked me to doesn’t mean I’m giving you doe eyes. It’s your own thing if you get distracted that easily.”

“distracted? pft, no way. I’m completely focused here,” she argued with an unbothered shrug and roll of her eyes, as if she didn’t care. She dipped her brush back into the shimmering shade, determined to keep her hands steady despite the warmth crawling up her neck.

instead of poking fun at her, you stayed still as her delicate hands worked, her features drawn into a look of concentration that was almost as mesmerizing as the makeup itself. eyebrows slightly furrowed as she focused on making the look even.

“‘kay, done with the eyes,” she announced after a moment, pulling back slightly to admire her handiwork. the colors on your lids blended seamlessly into one another, like a miniature galaxy. “and now for the lips…”

powder reached for the lipstick you had picked earlier but hesitated with a thoughtful sigh, her eyes darting between the tube and your mouth.

“you sure you don’t want me to choose a different color? this one’s nice and all, but…” her voice trailed off.

“but what?”

her manicured nails tapped against the lipstick cap while comparing it to the lipstick she had used on herself. “I mean… this shade’s good, but mine would… y’know, match better. just saying.”

definitely not an excuse to kiss you.

taglist — @ananas26t @b3autyist3rror :3

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. … instead we’re moving slow, i guess she’s used to it by now.

05, CHAPTER FIVE. YOU BETTER START THINKING.

ju speaks. i procrastinated this so bad lol but i have some time over the break to get some stuff out (more hoaw chapters) so yay! pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual innuendos.

present day, june 2025.

i’m not sure why i let it happen again.

scratch that—i know exactly why. i just don’t want to admit it to myself. it’s always like this with paige and me. a spark, a touch, a stupid comment or argument that turns into something much bigger, much harder to control. we’ve been here before, over and over, in different cities, in different beds, pretending like this time will be the last time. it should’ve been.

the last couple of weeks have been easier than i expected, softer in a way i didn’t know we were capable of. i’m starting to think it’s too good to be true. paige hasn’t been running from me, hasn’t been trying to prove something every second of our time together. maybe that’s why i’ve let my guard down, just a little.

she’s still herself, of course. cocky, loud, and incapable of stilling. but she’s been showing up. not just physically but in the ways i used to hope for back when we were together the first time. it’s in the way she looks at me when she thinks i’m not paying attention, like she did in high school when she told me she never wanted to let go of me. it’s in the way she texts me good morning before i can even think about reaching for my phone, like she’s trying to prove she can still be someone i want to wake up to.

and maybe, stupidly, i’m starting to believe her.

not completely, not yet. paige bueckers has always been good at saying the right things, making promises she’s not ready to keep. but these past weeks, it’s like she’s trying to remind me who she was before everything got so messy. the version of her i fell for in the first place.

but when she’s here, like this? it’s so hard to remember why i ever tried to stay away.

paige is stretched out on her back, arm slung around me, fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly on my shoulder. the sheets are tangled around her bare legs, and she shifts slightly, the motion sending a faint brush of her skin against mine. i glance up at her, and the smug smirk already curling at her lips tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“you staring at me, nai?” she asks. her voice is rough and a little husky from sleep as she stretches. my eyes flash to her exposed abdomen.

“don’t flatter yourself,” i mutter, though it is so obviously a front.

“tooooo late,” she drawls, shifting again so she’s propped up on one elbow, the other hand sliding up to lazily run along my arm. “you’re terrible at pretending you’re not obsessed, by the way.”

i roll my eyes, trying to hide the way my breath hitches at her touch. “says the girl who texted me five times in a row last night because i didn’t answer fast enough.” i lean back against the pillow, staring up at her, and i swear i could forever.

paige’s grin widens, shameless as she looks away. “i mean, what was i ‘posed to do? sit there and wait? nah, i had to apply pressure.” the smugness on her face tells me she’s having way too much fun with this, fun with me.

i snort, shaking my head as i get up, swinging a leg over her and straddling her waist casually. “pressure? you called me a ‘certified flake’ and threatened to pull up if i didn’t respond.”

paige lets out a low laugh, her hands instinctively finding my thighs as i settle over her. “yeah, and look where it got me.” she licks her lips, smirk softening as her eyes flicker over my face, lingering on my lips that are curled up into a smile. “don’t act like you didn’t like the attention.”

i arch a brow, tilting my head to the side. “oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

her hands tighten on my thighs, smirk faltering for just a second before she regains composure. “mhm. attention. you’re welcome.”

i roll my eyes but don’t pull away, my hands bracing on her chest. how could i? “you’re such a problem.” i bring the comforter we shared last night up over my back, and its like a tent giving us privacy from the sun of my windows. i really need some black-out curtains or something.

“and you love it,” she fires back, her voice dropping, teasing, as her fingers trail upwards, stopping just far enough.

i do. God, i really do.

i smile, and i swear my face hurts from it as i lean down to kiss her. again and again, each one leaving paige chasing after my lips. i savor the moment. i’m not sure how long it’ll be like this, but i like it. a lot. i pull back, resting my head on her chest, breathing in her morning scent as she bites down on her lip in reminiscence.

“tell me i’m wrong,” she murmurs.

i laugh, more of a pity chuckle just because she’s so full of herself. i furrow my eyebrows just slightly, bringing my hand to a resting point right by my face. “i’m not telling you shit, bueckers.”

“yeah? but you didn’t say i was wrong.”

i don’t want to admit it, not to her, not even to myself, but paige knows me better than anyone. she always has. it’s infuriating and comforting all at once, the way she sees through me like i’m an open book. i’m not an open book. i never have been, but for paige…

she doesn’t press, though. she never does when it really matters. she just watches me with that maddening half-smile, her fingers brushing over my skin like she has all the time in the world, and i know she’s waiting for me to say it. to give in.

maybe that’s why i keep coming back. or maybe it’s because she’s the only person who’s ever made me feel this much all at once—frustration, want, affection, something i’m not ready to name. whatever it is, it’s why i don’t pull away, why i let her keep pulling me closer even when i know i should stop.

i shift, the sheets rustling beneath us, and my chest tightens. not about what she said, but what i’m forcing myself to think about. i hate how much i want this, how much i want her, even after everything. especially after everything. but its addicting, and i know she feels the same.

“maybe i’m just a sucker for this,” i mutter, low enough that i’m not sure she hears it.

but of course she does.

she nearly breaks her neck to look down at me. she doesn’t let the words settle. “nah, you a sucker for me.”

i roll my eyes again, avoiding her gaze, but i don’t argue. instead, i lift my head again as i prop myself up on her chest. “what makes you so sure?” it’s a stupid question, but i was fully ready for her to read me.

paige’s smile turns smugger. “because you’re here,” she says simply. “and you’re smiling like that.”

i scoff, trying to play it off, but the way she’s looking at me makes it impossible. i lean down, pressing my lips to hers again, even slower this time. how could i stay away from her when kisses me like this? i feel the way her mouth curves, realizing she’s smiling too.

my hand slides up to cup her face, and she pulls me just a little closer by the small of my back, grip tight like always, like she’s scared i’ll slip. it’s not rushed—in fact, we have a couple hours to be entangled like this before having to part—it’s intentional. like she’s got all the time in the world and wants me to feel it.

and i do.

“it’s—mhm—okay,” paige says, and i find her muffled words rather cute as i shift my hips up, pushing my lips further into hers. her hand slides up my bare back, fiddling with the clasp of my bra. “i am too.”

i pull away, sitting up a little straighter as i quirk a brow at her. “you’re what?” i ask. i decide to help her out, unclasping my bra, but holding the straps up over my chest until she’s finished speaking.

her eyes fall, tongue swiping over her swollen, pink lips. i’m teasing her, i know it, paige definitely knows it. but as she brings her hands up slowly, tearing my own away, i almost forget what i was doing to her in the first place, suddenly fully exposed. i hear her breath hitch. “a big, fat sucker for you.”

i bite back a smile despite her unserious words, because they always make me do that. i roll my eyes, cusping her mouth into my hand playfully as she laughs, shaking out of it.

paige doesn’t hesitate.

she attaches her lips to my collarbone, trails down to the curve of my chest. i look down, and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say paige bueckers is absolutely enamored with me. “so beautiful, baby,” she huskily says, her hands grounding my hips against her as she moves to my tits, attacking the marks she’d left last night so roughly it has my breathing going faster.

i tangle a hand in her hair, fingers tightening reflexively, and it’s like i can’t look away. her face, her lips—every detail feels seared into my memory. “for real,” she continues, and when she looks up at me unexpectedly, lips curving into a small grin, it’s like i’ve completely checked out.

i’m not me anymore, i’m whatever paige wants me to be.

“need you framed or somethin’.” it’s a joke. clearly a joke, nailea. but the way she’s making me feel makes it land differently.

“framed, huh?” i manage.

“yeah,” she replies proudly, like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever said. “you know, like for the crib. big centerfold. maybe as my lock screen too.”

i can’t help it—i laugh, shaking my head, closing my eyes momentarily as i pretend her words aren’t setting me closer to giving myself to her completely. “you’re so stupid,” i mutter.

paige doesn’t flinch, her grin only widening as she dips her head again, her lips brushing over the swell of my chest. “nah, just honest,” she murmurs against my skin, and the way her voice vibrates there nearly makes me lose it.

i force myself to breathe, leaning back slightly as her hands wander. “maybe you can,” i blurt out without thinking, and she pauses, glancing up at me again.

“what you talkin’ about?” she asks.

i don’t answer right away, leaning over to grab the pink polaroid camera sitting on my nightstand. it’s old and clunky, a relic from freshman year that my dad had given me, and i’d kept it more out of nostalgia than utility. now, though, it feels like fate.

it always does with us.

when i sit back, holding the camera up, paige’s eyes light up, her grin widening into something more troublesome. “nai,” she drags out.

i lift my eyebrows, playing along, like i don’t already know where this is headed. “i’m listening.”

“you not serious,” she shakes her head, voice etched with some laughter. she doesn’t believe it, yet she still tilts her head, sizing me up like she’s already planning the perfect angle.

“thought you wanted me framed, p,” i counter, poking my bottom lip out as i lift the camera a little higher.

her grin deepens, tongue flicking over her teeth as she leans back just enough, hands sliding up and down my legs, creating some sort of friction. she hesitates. “you sure?”

i pretend to think for a moment before responding. “hmm, depends. you gonna cooperate?”

paige chuckles. “oh, i’ll cooperate.” she shifts again, her posture loosening as she leans back against the headboard, one arm draping casually over her head, the other trailing down to rest just between my legs. shes so sexy it’s almost overwhelming. her grin is the same as always, blue hues pierced into me.

“go on then,” she urges. “show me how you see me, baby.”

i adjust the camera into focus, fingers fumbling over the different buttons i’m sure i’ll have to show her have to work before snapping the first photo. the flash and the sun combined cast her in a perfect light, and though she’ll look less defined in the old pixels, the sight’s engraved in my head now.

the whir of the camera fills the room, and the polaroid slides out, landing softly against her chest. paige grabs it, holding it up with a satisfied smirk as the image slowly develops, inspecting it like it’s a prize. she glances at me, her expression softening just a little. “i’m bettin’ you could do better.”

“oh, you think so?” i shoot back, handing her the camera.

“mhm. there a timer on this thing?”

i step out of the shower and into my room, shivering a little as i pull the towel tighter around my chest. paige, completely the opposite temperature of me, must have messed with my thermostat.

i silently curse her for getting so comfortable.

she’s still here, tall figure leaning over the bed she made up. she’s wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and her sports bra, her phone in one hand, the other lazily shuffling through the scattered polaroids we just took.

“what you doin’?” i ask, tilting my head at her as i walk over, water droplets trailing down my legs.

paige glances up, her blue eyes gleaming like i’ve interrupted something i should’ve known better than to question. “you thought i was lying about my lock screen?” she smugly says, holding up her phone.

i keep my eyes on her, not knowing what to expect as i move closer, the faintest tug of a grin threatening my lips. “what’d you do?” i mutter, snatching her phone to check it for myself.

sure enough, the lock screen now features a series of the pictures we’d taken. i blink, and i think my boiling, hot shower just cleansed every dirty thought i had before getting in, because i don’t remember us being this fucking horny. my cheeks flush despite myself. “paige, you cannot keep this on your phone.”

she strokes her chin, lowly laughing at my reaction. “why not? looks good, don’t it?”

i shake my head as i fight back every inch of amusement that wants to take over me. “it’s unhinged,” i retort, though the corner of my mouth betrays me. a part of me wants her to keep it.

she looks at me, completely unfazed. “everything we just did is unhinged.” well…

before i can think of a snappy comeback, there’s a sudden knock at the front door, loud and authoritative. my heart leaps, and i freeze. paige stiffens too, her smile faltering just slightly.

“shit,” i mutter, tossing her phone back on the bed. “put a shirt on.”

paige doesn’t move immediately, still grinning like she thinks this is funny.

“now, p!” i urge, hitting her arm and scrambling toward my closet for a robe.

“aight, aight,” she finally says, scurrying over and grabbing a shirt off the back of a chair. she takes her time pulling it on, moving like this isn’t urgent, like we’re not one knock away from being exposed.

but then there’s another knock, louder this time. not from the front door—this one is right outside the bedroom.

the fuck?

i freeze, my hand still on the closet door, dread pooling in my stomach.

paige’s eyes widen as realization dawns on her. “yo, who has a key to your apartment?” she mouths, grabbing the polaroids and shoving them under the pillow in a panic.

i shake my head as if to tell her i wouldn’t know before squaring my shoulders, trying to channel a calm i don’t feel. If i act casual, maybe—just maybe—i can smooth this over. except i don’t know who it is. we don’t know who it is. i tie the robe around myself and open the door slowly, preparing for the worst.

and there she is. cameron brink.

her arms are crossed as she scans the room, and she doesn’t have a reaction to paige’s presence in the slightest bit. i speak first. “how’d you—“ i start, but she cuts me off, holding up a pink key decorated with yellow daisies attached to her keychain.

well, shit.

“i had a feeling i’d need this,” she says coolly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “and your locations.” her eyes flick over my robe, then to paige standing awkwardly by the bed, and then back to me.

“bye, paige,” she says pointedly, not even giving her the courtesy of a glance as she busies herself by stuffing her keys into her purse.

paige hesitates, looking between me and cam, clearly debating whether to say something. i’ve got my own arms crossed, chewing down on my lip like a kid in trouble. she takes the hint, and finally, she steps toward me, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before grabbing her phone and heading toward the door. “i’ll… catch you later.”

if it weren’t for the predicament we were in, i’d call her adorable.

the door closes behind her, leaving me alone with cam, and i don’t even have to look at her to know what’s coming.

“really?”

i roll my eyes, crossing my arms tighter against my chest. i shouldn’t be upset with her though. i’m deflecting. “you stalking me now?”

cam smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “i came to apologize for what happened at the bar,” she says. “in person, because i haven’t seen you. but now i know why—you’ve been busy.” her voice has something etched in it, almost like she’s disappointed in me, but at the same time, knew.

i look away, fingers curling around the fabric of my robe. “it’s not like that,” i mutter, but even i don’t believe it. not really. it is like that. and maybe i’m just too tired of pretending i can stay away.

“isn’t it? i thought you were done with her,” she says, her brows raising like she’s daring me to lie.

i let out a breath, awkwardly keeping my hands to my sides as i sit on the edge of the bed. “me too.”

“then why is she leaving your apartment like a one-night stand?”

“because—” i start, but the words stick in my throat. what was i supposed to say? that seeing paige nearly every day had unraveled every ounce of willpower i had? that being around her felt like falling into an old habit, comfortable and impossible to resist?

“you try having your ex-girlfriend get drafted to the team you work for,” i say finally.

still, she rambles. “and maya?” cam presses. she’s so worried about it you’d think it was her problem. “they’re seeing each other, you know that, right?”

i close my eyes for a moment, guilt clawing at my chest. that wasn’t fair. “we haven’t…” i trail off, shaking my head. “we haven’t been thinking that far.”

cam exhales, hand running down her face. “that’s the problem, nai. you’re not thinking.”

her words settle into the room, a bit harsh for me to hear, but not untrue. and maybe that’s what stings the most—that i’ve been avoiding this conversation with myself for weeks. the truth is, i haven’t thought about anything beyond the way paige makes me feel when she’s close, the way her voice drops when she says my name, the way her hands feel like they’re meant to pull me back in no matter how far i run. i haven’t thought about maya, about what it would mean for her to find out, about how i’d explain myself if it came to that. i haven’t thought about the job i fought so hard to get, and how quickly it could all fall apart if this got out.

i look at cam. she looks like she’s seen this all before. she hasn’t. she hasn’t even seen half of it and wants better for me. she loves us both, i know that. but apart better than together.

i bite my lip, frustration pooling in my gut as i try to put my thoughts together. somehow, the only thing i can think about is how this isn’t just paige and i’s secret anymore, and i should fight to keep it under wraps until we figure it out. “please don’t tell maya,” i plead.

cam looks at me, her expression unreadable for a long moment before she sits down beside me, close but not touching. “you know i won’t.” i feel a sense of relief. “but promise me you’ll start thinking. about how this affects your job. about you.” she chuckles dryly, emphasizing that i don’t really have a choice.

i suppose she’s right. she is right.

[artbyblastweave]

To be honest, while I know that you've discussed a Worm/Marvel "crossover" before, considering how unusually different both Ultimate Universes are from mainline Marvel, how would a crossover with Worm go for those?

(Side note: I'm mainly asking for the potential thought experiment of: what if Cauldron met the Maker and all of the immense bullshit that would result from that.)

I don't think I'm totally capable of answering the back half of this ask because I haven't read The Maker comprehensively- Aside from his pre-heel turn stint in Ultimate FF, It's basically only Secret Wars, a couple of the times Ewing used him, and the current New Ultimate Universe.

So what I find interesting about this prospect is that Worm and Ultimate Marvel are very aesthetically compatible, right, you aren't going to drop one character into the other's setting and have them constantly going "what the fuck is going on" the way you would if we subbed in 616 Marvel at it's most four-color. But the worldbuilding and themes are actually very divergent in ways that are interesting to look at. Namely-

Worm is a grim, grim setting, but it's also attempting to replicate the status quo at Marvel and DC where, despite occasional attempts at government sanction or integration, there's fundamentally a weirdly high cultural tolerance for independent vigilantism as long as the person doing it is wearing a costume. Their version of Registration- The Protectorate- is a very carrot heavy initiative, when we see Kid Win making the recruitment pitch to Chariot it's all about the support you get, the funding, the backup, the PR help. Individual street level heroes get nailed to the wall or hung out to dry all the time, but collectively, they're granted a lot of discretion in that they're allowed to exist at all. And the fundamental reason for this is that the government is scared of them. They might be able to smack down individual upstarts who try to go full warlord or revolutionary, but they don't control the overall distribution of powers and there are so many of these assholes, three-quarters of whom go career criminal due to some combination of trauma, material want, neuroticism or ideology. So any set of norms that gets as many of these people as possible to behave in a slightly-less-antisocial manner is something that they're going to roll with. Worm is a world held hostage by the typical superhero paradigm, buckling under its weight. Crucial to this dynamic is that powers aren't a man-made phenomenon, and they're barely a man-influenced phenomenon via Cauldron.

But with the Ultimate Universe, a major pillar of the deconstruction and the worldbuilding is that superheroes would not be allowed to operate in the typical wild west paradigm. There's a much stronger divide between sanctioned heroes (The Ultimates, The Fantastic Four), grey-zone heroes like the X-Men, and then the out-and-out outlaw street level heroes like Daredevil and Spider-Man. A major plot point is that Nick Fury and his spooks very predictably figure out who Spider-Man is almost immediately; he's only able to continue operating as a street-level hero in the usual manner due to Fury's implicit sanction, because Fury is trying to groom him to eventually join The Ultimates. Moreover, a lot of the rest of the street-level capes (as depicted in Millar's Ultimates) are cast as genuinely incompetent puds, only not cracked down on because there's no real reason to. (Note that I have a seething hatred for this particular beat in practice because it deprived us of an Ultimate Luke Cage worth having, but I get what Millar was gesturing at with it.) All of this, likewise, is downstream of the fact that powers are almost totally a man-made phenomenon, with almost all superhumans being downstream of Military-Industrial Complex attempts at reproducing Captain America; it's not an out-of-control supernatural phenomena that they're trying to get in on, It's a government-made phenomenon that leaks like a sieve and eventually spirals out of control. The Ultimate Universe is fundamentally about Hubris in a way that Worm isn't.

Both settings converge on a state of societal collapse due to the advent of superpowers; Ultimate Marvel was gesturing at an impending superhuman-driven World-War Three for a while before things spiraled into the comparably destructive nonsense of Ultimatum, The Maker, The (partial?) balkanization of the U.S. and the rest of the crisis cavalcade that led into the 2015 Secret Wars and the total destruction of that universe. Worm suffered the much more tightly-directed Apocalyptic Bad Time with which we're all familiar.

As for a crossover premise, I'd have to say that post-gm Taylor getting marooned on 1610 and winding up in the orbit of 1610 Peter Parker specifically- as opposed to the MCU or 616 versions, with whom I've seen this done- is an underexamined hook. Ultimate Spidey represents a deft integration of Peter's best and worst personality traits. The early-run ditko-style dickishness is recontextualized as an anger about the state of the world, the crazy-making sense that bullies and dictators appear to have free run of the world and nobody but him is doing anything about it. Which, given the state of The Ultimate Universe, falls in the middle ground between typical teenaged myopia and a sober assessment of what he's up against.

Remind you of anyone?

[galpalaven]

Felassan - Inquisition Companion + Romance Option

I blacked out after work and wrote this in a daze. Enjoy?

Felassan presents himself as a Dalish dreamer mage and friend of Solas, joining up with Solas from the very beginning after the Conclave. 

He is romanceable by any gender or race, unlike Solas who is still race-locked (but bisexual — because the main gripe between the two is the topic of modern elves and anyone else being “real”). I think it would be interesting to also have specific dialogue if you try to romance both at once — Felassan would urge Lavellan to be careful with Solas either way, though it turns more clearly yearning and sad if the player has also triggered the beginnings of his romance.

Since Felassan’s addition to the group would be an extra mage, I think to balance all that out Cullen should be able to be taken at least on some outings, and we could have an extra rogue as well (Harding would fit here, I think).

more under the cut

Personality

As a friend of Solas and his direct counter, it’s immediately noticeable that Felassan is much more friendly and playful. Notably, he enjoys chatting up a Dalish inquisitor about being Dalish, and answers questions companions have about the elves with far more enthusiasm than Solas. If the two are in the party together, he will actively tell people not to listen to Solas and poke fun at him for being rude. 

He gets along well with all of the other companions. Some who get along less well with Solas will comment on how they don’t know how he’s still friends with him when they are not in the party together. He gets along especially well with Sera, showing interest in her upbringing without making her feel condescended to the way Solas does. He particularly enjoys hearing about the Red Jennies and her efforts at helping to even the playing field for the underprivileged.

He gets along with Vivienne as well — I think it would be interesting for Vivienne to be vaguely familiar with him after he had been friends with Briala. I think it’s not a terrible idea for him to have still been involved there, too, as it could come in handy during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.

Story Influence

The main differences with Felassan’s presence would likely come into play mostly with things to do with the elves.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Felassan is one of the most useful companions in this quest. Knowing Briala personally makes it easier for the Inquisitor to convince Briala to either:

Get back together with Celene

Become the puppet behind Gaspard

Felassan knows his way partially around the palace and is able to direct the party slightly when looking for things needed to advance the quest. He is also friends with some of the servants, allowing them access to some of the servants’ tunnels in a pinch.

He makes cheeky, sarcastic comments about the nobility when asked. He’s better at not speaking about his past, so he doesn’t get shifty during the quest like Solas does. He’s happy to dance with the Inquisitor, enjoying the scandal it will cause, with maybe a special line with a Dalish Inquisitor. Rather than single them out and make them “special” compared to other Inquisitors, it’s mostly just on principle of relating to them as another elf, similar to dialogue that can be triggered with Bull about being Qunari (or Tal-Vashoth, in that case).

What Pride Had Wrought

Welcome Felassan as the 3rd option for the Well of Sorrows!

This is where he becomes a real player on the table. He will argue with Morrigan about the Dalish, correcting her outright in places. They never gave the Dalish Inquisitor a real chance to argue with her about things, or explain things themselves, so he has snarky commentary either correcting her or being surprised when she gets things somewhat right. There are also scenes where he will take up the explanation entirely.

Felassan being present also will give the player the correct answer to the rituals. He knows them, explains offhandedly that he’s been here before as an excuse, and makes it far easier for the player to ally with the Sentinels rather than fight them.

By the time they reach the Well, things are tense. 

Solas still fights with Morrigan and the Inquisitor both. If the Inquisitor brought him and Felassan both, he will immediately reject the idea when Felassan offers himself as an option. 

Romanced!Felassan wants to do this for you — he knows what will happen, he knows the weight of this decision, and he doesn’t want this for you. He will elaborate if asked that drinking from this well will bind you, not only to the memories within, but the will of Mythal. The Inquisitor can, at this point, shrug this off if they don’t believe in Mythal or that she is still alive to control them. If the Inquisitor still chooses to drink themself, he accepts this, but tells them that he will help them with any… side effects, should they arise.

Unromanced + High Approval!Felassan will say something similar — you are his friend and he wishes to keep you safe. He will elaborate similarly if asked with high approval.

Low Approval!Felassan offers himself as a Dalish authority, perhaps derisively suggesting that he is older and wiser than a Dalish inquisitor, and that this is his responsibility, not theirs.

Either way, Solas is NOT happy, but will ultimately accept the final decision.

Trespasser

We come upon the eve of the Betrayal of Felassan.

At low approval, Felassan will have left some time in between the end of the main story and Trespasser, seeking to follow in Solas’s footsteps and find him. Despite not having high approval, Felassan is still fundamentally opposed to Solas’s decision, and will be trying to track him down alone to stop him — something Solas has been running to avoid at every turn. He does not want to see Felassan — he does not want to kill his best friend.

High approval and/or romanced Felassan is present and there to help the whole way through. 

Romanced Felassan particularly will have a scene where he will quietly pull his love aside and ask if they trust him. If they say yes (or “You’re scaring me.”), he will tell them that this will sound crazy, but ask them to listen until the end before saying anything else. He will explain the story of the Dread Wolf as he knows it — the rebellion, the Evanuris, the vallaslin, all of it — and then, at the end, explain that he knows this because he lived it. He tells the story of the slow arrow and the Dread Wolf (a Dalish inquisitor can recognize it midway and will interrupt with surprise) and explains that he was there. That he has known Solas for thousands of years, that he has walked this land for thousands of years.

He will also explain that he knows what Solas wants and that he must stop him — that they must stop him. Solas wants to fix what he thinks he broke, but the people alive today do not deserve the fate he would have of them.

And Felassan is willing to do whatever it takes to stop him.

High approval Felassan will explain in much less detail via commentary while discovering the murals in the Crossroads, leading up to eventually finding Solas.

Once Solas has been found, Felassan runs ahead of the group, disregarding calls for him to stop. The Inquisitor is left one man down as they chase after him until, finally, they reach the place where Solas waits — and they find Felassan in Solas’s arms, a knife through his ribs.

Felassan will be stabbed by Solas regardless of Felassan’s approval with the Inquisitor. However, depending on choices made during either Solas or Felassans personal quests, and maybe Solas’s level of approval with the Inquisitor, Felassan can die.

The Inquisitor who loves him or is his friend will rush forward as Solas stumbles back, catching Felassan and holding their hand over the wound, careful not to move the dagger. Between the blood and the Inquisitor’s mark consuming their other arm, they are a sad sight.

Solas apologizes, but states that it was necessary. He would only get in the way. The questioning continues as normal here, up to Solas taking the Anchor.

Romance

I’m not entirely sure how this would go yet. I think he’s playful and flirtatious if the Inquisitor starts it. He will throw out Dalish phrases sometimes “for privacy,” with a Dalish inquisitor, which comes with a very obvious, if not always visible, wink. 

His quests do focus around his identity as an elf, and around preserving elven history, whether the Inquisitor is Dalish or not. While this kind of happens with Solas, a lot of his dialogue is about how wrong the Dalish are — Felassan provides a different, more loving perspective on the modern elves compared to the ancients.

I think a love triangle route between him and Solas would be SO juicy. He wants his friend to be happy, but he knows that Solas does not believe that the elves are full people, and is concerned for the Inquisitor because of this. I think even if the Inquisitor locks in Solas, if the flirts were triggered with Felassan, you CAN actually come back to his romance after Solas dumps you (which, especially if they let him remove the tattoos, can hurt both you and him). I think it unlocking a special scene where he says that yes, he knew what they were and yes, he chose to keep his because he wanted them, would be sweet (and relatable if you chose to kEEP the vallaslin).

Overall, I think his romance would be sweet and fun. A direct counter to Solas and Sera, two elves who hate other elves. Felassan is proud of being an elf, he is proud of the resiliency of both the Dalish and city elves. He’s interested in every part of the world, including the dwarves, Qunari, and humans.

It's been a very long time since I played DAI so please forgive any inconsistencies. I just needed to write something down after work lol. tagging people who showed interest earlier! @lammstrellicon @swoleas @isayashai @witchofthewakingsea @ash-soka

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 14 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The soft rustle of leaves accompanied the gentle trickle of water from your watering can as Cha Hae-In’s words hung in the air.

“(Name), do you know Hunter Sung Jinwoo?”

You paused mid-motion, the steady flow of water halting as you processed the question. The vibrant blooms around you swayed in the breeze, oblivious to the tension blooming between you and your visitor. You finally set the watering can down, resting your hands on the pot rim for a moment before turning to face her. “What makes you ask that?” you asked carefully.

Hae-In, seated on the nearby wooden bench surrounded by vibrant flowers, hesitated before continuing. “Hunter Sung did something while taking down the dungeon's boss. Whatever he did, a foreign magic spread out and healed the B-team's wounds. It wasn’t his magic, though—it was something different.” Her tone was calm, but her sharp gaze betrayed her curiosity.

You took a moment, carefully brushing invisible dirt from your gloves to avoid meeting her eyes. Ah, Jinwoo, you thought, a flicker of irritation crossing your face. Could you be a bit more discreet for once? You sighed internally, recalling how lost in the heat of battle Jinwoo could become. It was one thing to act like this in a solo fight, but with so many witnesses?

“The foreign energy wasn’t unpleasant,” Hae-In continued. “In fact, it felt… familiar. I couldn’t figure out why until I came here.” She paused, her fingers lightly brushing the edge of the bench. “Your aura, though subtler, feels similar to that warmth from the dungeon. And your lack of scent—there’s something about it that’s always made you stand out to me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but your face remained calm. Hae-In was sharp—too sharp for her own good. You turned back to your tools, neatly organizing them as you spoke. “Yes, Hunter Sung is... an acquaintance of mine,” you admitted evenly, keeping your tone steady.

Hae-In tilted her head. “Then, did you know it was him I was talking about a few days ago?”

“No.” Technically true—she’d never mentioned his name outright. You met her gaze briefly, “You didn’t tell me.”

A comfortable silence fell between you as you finished tidying up and sat beside her.

“(Name), There’s always been something about you that I couldn’t figure out. From the moment we met, your lack of scent... I thought maybe you didn’t know why, either. But after all these years, I’m sure you know more than you let on.” she said softly. “But it’s never bothered me. From the moment we met, you’ve been honest with me in your own way.”

The sincerity in her voice was disarming. You felt her hands suddenly cover yours, and despite the gardening gloves, her warmth reached you. “I’ve always admired you for that.”

“You’ve always respected my boundaries. And I want you to know I respect yours too. I won’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. But…” She trailed off briefly, her fingers tightening slightly around yours.

“I want you to know how much you mean to me. You were my first friend, my mentor, and…” She looks sheepish all of a sudden, cheeks flushed and all. “To me, you’re like an older sister. You’ve always been there for me, and I’ll always be here for you too.”

The warmth in her gaze was almost overwhelming. You felt an old, familiar urge to tease her, to squeeze her cheeks like you used to do, if not for her holding your hands at the moment. But before you could speak, the chime of the shop bell interrupted.

The sound drew both your attention to the entrance, where a familiar figure stood.

Sung Jinwoo.

He seemed momentarily stunned to see Hae-In before his gaze shifted to you, and last to your clasped hands. His usual stoic expression was unreadable, but there was something sharp in his eyes that made you pause.

You felt your hand grow warm under Hae-In’s grip.

You gave Hae-In’s a soft nudge, prompting her to let go. As she withdrew, you gave her a brief reassuring squeeze—a silent message that everything was fine. She smiled faintly, understanding you without words.

Jinwoo’s eyes briefly flickered at the gesture, but you ignored it as you rose to greet him. Plastering on your professional smile, you stepped forward.

“Welcome to Perennial Atelier!” you said with practiced cheer. “How may I help you today, Sir?”

“I need to speak with you,” Jinwoo said, direct as ever.

‘I’m working, you oblivious man,’ you thought, though you maintained your polite façade.

“(Name), I—”

Here we go, you thought, already bracing yourself.

“—want you to come with me to my rank reevaluation,” he finished.

You blinked, “...Yes?”

“Good. Tomorrow. 10 a.m. You know the place.”

“Yes?? Wait—” But he was already turning to leave.

His eyes briefly flickering to Hae-In before stepping out, the bell chimed as the door shut behind him. Slowly, you turned back to Hae-In, whose expression mirrored your confusion.

“What... just happened?” she asked, echoing your own thoughts.

---

Later, as you worked on a bouquet of yellow roses, Hae-In’s voice broke the silence. “For a moment, he looked…” she murmured, her fingers fidgeting with Trick, the butterfly perched on her shoulder. “…scary.”

You paused, glancing at her. “Scary?”

She hesitated, recalling the brief flash of Jinwoo’s narrowed eyes, “Ah, never mind!” she said quickly, waving her hands in dismissal. “I’m probably overthinking it.”

You, however, couldn’t let it go. As you continued to fuss over her for the rest of the day, Hae-In didn’t complain, leaning into your care with a small, content smile.

---

Why did Jinwoo want you here?

You deadpanned internally as you sat on a bench at a safe distance from the throngs of reporters swarming around the South Korean Hunter Association's evaluation building. It was absolute chaos outside, a sea of flashing cameras, persistent microphones, and shouted questions all directed toward the entrance where Lee Min-Sung was scheduled to appear. But, unbeknownst to them, today’s true headline wouldn’t be the latest appearance of a celebrity Hunter—no, they would soon be scrambling for something much bigger. Because little did they know, today marked the reveal of South Korea's newest S-Rank Hunter, one who would go on to dominate headlines and leave the entire world begging for any scrap of information about him.

You couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped your lips. Poor fools. If only they knew what was coming, they'd be thanking their lucky stars for catching a glimpse of Jinwoo now, before he became the recluse he'd be infamous for.

But seriously, why were you here?

It wasn’t like you needed to see it in person. You could have comfortably stayed back in your garden, observing everything unfold through your butterflies, which you’d sent fluttering discreetly around the building. That was your original plan, and it was a good one. So why did you let yourself be dragged here, standing on the periphery, surrounded by this chaotic energy?

Oh, right. Because Jinwoo had insisted. You scolded yourself silently. Why did I agree to that again?

---

The wait was tedious. You watched through slitted eyes as reporters jostled for better positions, their excitement mounting each time the doors to the Association headquarters creaked open. They were all here for Lee Min-Sung. Yet, as you watched the throngs of people fidget and chatter, you knew their focus would shift in an instant.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you spotted Jinwoo emerging from the building, behind him were none other than Baek Yoon-Ho and Choi Jong-In. The moment Jinwoo’s presence became known, whispers rapidly spread through the crowd like wildfire, and within seconds, the focus shifted entirely from Lee Min-Sung to him. The air was thick with anticipation as people strained to get a better look.

There it is, you thought wryly. The announcement of South Korea’s tenth S-Rank Hunter was going to be all anyone would talk about for weeks. The reporters were already scrambling, furiously making calls to their editors.

Despite the buzz, you remained where you were, hidden behind your enchanted mask, which helped obscure your presence among the crowd. You didn't want to get involved, and you certainly didn’t want to be caught up in this mess. I'll just wait until he notices me, then slip away, you reasoned.

Except, Jinwoo did notice you. And not in the way you'd hoped.

Before you could react, he moved so quickly it was nearly impossible for even the trained eyes in the crowd to follow. In a blink, he was right next to you, standing there with that infuriatingly calm demeanor of his, as if he hadn't just drawn every single pair of eyes in the vicinity directly onto you.

The crowd gasped in unison, and you could feel the burning stares of the onlookers. Even Baek Yoon-Ho and Choi Jong-In, who had been walking behind him, were left staring at the spot where Jinwoo had stood mere seconds ago. You could almost hear the gears in their heads turning, trying to figure out who you were.

Seriously, how tactless could this man get?

Gritting your teeth, you grabbed Jinwoo’s hand without a word. At first, his eyes widened in surprise—softening in a few miliseconds—before quickly turning into a wince when you tightened your grip, nearly crushing his bones.

“Jinwoo,” you said through a clenched, saccharine smile that could have fooled anyone else into thinking you were pleased, “get us out of here. Now.”

Jinwoo gulped, instantly understanding the gravity of your anger. Without another word, he activated his assassin speed, whisking you away from the prying eyes of the crowd. The sudden burst of wind he left behind sent hats flying and reporters stumbling backward, while Baek Yoon-Ho and Choi Jong-In stared on.

---

You only released your death grip on Jinwoo’s hand when you found yourself standing in his apartment. As soon as you were sure you were out of sight, you yanked your hand away, shooting him a glare that could have melted through steel.

“What the hell was that, Jinwoo?!” you snapped, voice barely contained to a whisper despite your fury. “Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

Jinwoo stood there, momentarily caught off guard by your outburst. “I… I just wanted to—”

“No,” you interrupted, crossing your arms tightly. “You don’t get to explain yourself right now. Do you have any idea how tactless that was? I told you I have my reasons for staying out of the public eye, and you—” You jabbed a finger in his direction, causing him to take an instinctive step back. “—you just dragged me into the spotlight like that!”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix this,” you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration. “What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”

He tried to open his mouth to respond, but one look at your expression made him swallow whatever excuse he had. The hallway was heavy with tension, the silence thick enough to cut through.

Jinwoo wasn’t used to seeing you like this—your eyes cold and distant, disappointment clear in every word.

“Why did you even ask me to come in the first place?” you demanded, your voice softening, but not out of kindness—no, it was the calm before the storm. The kind that promised you weren’t done being angry.

“I… I just thought it would be nice to have you there,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “I wanted… I don’t know, for you to see how far I’ve come.”

For a moment, you hesitated. Jinwoo’s sincerity tugged at something inside you, but your anger was still far from spent. You sighed heavily, your shoulders slumping.

“You know what?” you said, shaking your head. “I need space, Jinwoo. I can’t deal with this right now.”

Jinwoo’s eyes widened, and the look of hurt on his face made your chest tighten painfully. But you couldn’t let yourself soften. Not now. You had to stick to your resolve.

“I’ll check on you in a few days,” you said curtly, your tone leaving no room for argument. “But until then, don’t even think about disturbing me.”

Before he could say another word, you let yourself dissolve into a flurry of butterflies, vanishing from his apartment in an instant. The last thing you saw was the crestfallen expression on Jinwoo’s face.

---

Jinwoo stood there for a long time after you’d gone, his apartment feeling emptier than ever with Jinah still in school. He rubbed the hand you’d nearly crushed earlier, wincing slightly.

“Well… there goes my dinner plan,” he muttered to himself, staring at the spot where you’d disappeared. He couldn’t help but replay your words in his mind, feeling the sharp sting of your disappointment.

I really messed that one up, he thought with a sigh. And with you in no mood to talk to him, he’d have to figure out a way to make it up to you—assuming you’d let him get close again anytime soon.

Maybe a bouquet of spider lilies...

End Note:

Unfinished Draft of [15/11/2024] -

[didyoulookforme]

a different arrangement

a fluffy, rambling, unedited blurb based on this from months ago.

it just kept popping up in my mind, so yeah...

—

the morning feels like a secret. the air is cool and delicate, the kind that belongs to an hour when most people are still tangled in their dreams. the cafe patio is calm, empty except for the shuffle of leaves and the scrape of chairs against concrete. you’re moving through it on autopilot, balancing a tray in one hand, the other shielding your face from the sun cutting low across the horizon. the smell of coffee—warm and grounding—clings to you, though it does little to wake you up. opening shifts always feel like borrowed time, half-remembered and hazy.

and your feet slow when you spot him.

he’s sitting at the farthest table, one leg is stretched out, the other tucked beneath him, and a suitcase sits neatly at his side. his notebook lies open, its corners curling slightly, and a pen twirls idly between his fingers. his hair is dark and messy in a way that feels intentional—like he’s pushed it back a hundred times and given up. sunlight catches on the soft scruff along his jaw, softening the sharp lines of his profile.

he’s focused, brow furrowed as though the page in front of him holds a puzzle he hasn’t solved yet. but there’s no rush in the way he sits, like he has all the time in the world. polished isn’t the right word for him—he’s too unruly for that—but there’s something distinct about him, something that makes this sleepy town feel even smaller. and yet, he doesn’t seem out of place. he looks like he belongs to the morning in the same way the sunlight does, temporary but perfect for the moment.

the tray in your hand feels heavier as you approach, the cups clinking louder than you intend. “black coffee,” you say, your voice steady but unfamiliar in the quiet.

he looks up, and the moment stretches, folds itself into something unexpected. his eyes meet yours, and they’re darker than you’d imagined. not cold, though—there’s warmth there, something sharp and curious. he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away the way most people might. and then, the faintest smile curves his mouth. it sends a quiet, breathless ache somewhere deep inside you.

“thanks,” he says, and his voice is low and easy, his accent stretching over the word like honey. it’s the kind of voice that feels like it belongs to another life entirely, something out of reach.

your eyes flick to the suitcase beside him before you can stop yourself. “heading somewhere?” you ask, feeling suddenly too aware of yourself.

“yeah. back home later today.”

“and where’s home?”

“london.”

you blink at the answer, the word heavy in your mind. london. it feels distant and impossible, like it belongs to movies and postcards, not to this conversation on this patio.

“i’ve always wanted to go,” you say softly, the admission slipping out before you can think better of it. “but i’ve never made it past here.”

“why not?”

his question feels casual, but the way he asks it—his eyes steady on yours, his tone light but sincere—makes it feel like more. your fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the tray. “life, i guess. work, family, money… the usual excuses.”

he hums, tipping his head slightly as he taps his fingers against the mug. “sounds like you need a break.”

you let out a soft laugh, trying to deflect the way the comment lands too close to something you’ve been avoiding. “don’t we all?”

“maybe,” he agrees, his voice dropping to something softer, more deliberate. “but you mean it.”

there’s a certainty in his tone that makes it hard to meet his eyes for too long. you glance toward the cafe, catching sight of a regular waving for your attention. the moment breaks like a thread being pulled loose.

“i should—” you start, nodding toward the door, but he interrupts gently.

“wait. what’s your name?”

the question feels startlingly intimate, even though it’s simple. you tell him, your name unfamiliar on your tongue, and he repeats it softly, like he’s testing how it fits in his mouth. it sounds better coming from him, and you hate how much you like it.

“matty,” he says, offering his name with a tone that feels just a touch warmer than before. “nice to meet you.”

the words stick with you as you retreat into the cafe, your heart thudding in a rhythm that doesn’t belong to the quiet morning. when you glance back, he’s still watching, his expression steady but unreadable. it’s enough to make your pulse stutter all over again.

—

matty doesn’t just sit at the table—he claims it. every time you step outside, he’s doing something different, though the focus in him never wavers. at one point, he’s writing, the pen in his hand moving with a kind of urgency that makes you wonder if the page will catch fire. later, he’s leaning back, one arm draped lazily over the chair, a crossword puzzle in front of him. the grid looks like a battlefield—half-filled answers, some scratched out, others left untouched. his pen taps against his bottom lip, his brow furrowing like the clue in front of him holds the answer to something far bigger than a single word.

you also notice the napkin—a blank canvas when you brought him his coffee, now covered in tiny sketches and spirals. there’s a cartoon coffee mug with a ridiculous expression, a constellation of stars, and looping scribbles that don’t seem to form anything in particular. it’s messy and oddly endearing, the kind of thing you wouldn’t expect from someone who carries himself like he’s got everything figured out.

when you bring him a refill, he pulls out an earbud before you’ve even reached the table, his attention snapping to you like he’s been waiting. the way he smiles makes something unfamiliar twist low in your stomach.

“you’re spoiling me,” his is voice warm with humor, his fingers tracing the edge of the mug you’re refilling.

you tilt your head, feigning nonchalance as you set the pot down. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

��not bad,” he says, leaning back in his chair as though the morning were made just for him, “just risky.”

his reply catches you off guard, and your face betrays you—just a flicker of surprise before you recover. his mouth curves slightly, almost smug, like he’s pleased he’s thrown you. you lift an eyebrow, refusing to let him win. “i’ll take my chances.”

his eyes dip briefly to the crossword, and he twirls the pen between his fingers before gesturing toward it. “you any good at these?” he asks, as if it’s the most natural thing to include you in whatever this is.

“why? need rescuing?”

“possibly.” he glances at the page, his lips pressing together like he’s fighting off a laugh. “turns out ‘chaos’ doesn’t fit into a six-letter space.”

your laugh is soft but unrestrained, spilling out before you can catch it. his gaze finds yours again, heavier this time, and your pulse stutters under the weight of it. “try ‘mayhem,’” the suggestion tumbling out before you’ve had a chance to think about it.

he raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “clever and helpful,” he murmurs, jotting down the word. “what would i do without you?”

the question lands somewhere it shouldn’t, leaves a warmth behind that lingers too long. you glance away, catching sight of the tattoo covering part of his forearm. it’s bold against his skin, and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“mortal kombat?”

his gaze follows yours, and his smirk widens into something softer, almost nostalgic. “yeah. childhood obsession.”

“didn’t peg you for a gamer.”

“i’m full of surprises.” his tone dips, playful but steady, and he leans forward slightly, closing the space between you just enough to make you breathless. “what about you? ever play?”

“once or twice,” you admit. “terrible at it.”

“button-masher,” he accuses, the word landing like a challenge. the laugh that slips out of you feels unintentional, easy in a way you didn’t expect.

“is there any other way?” you counter, crossing your arms as though to steady yourself.

his smirk softens into something quieter, his gaze lingering on you for a beat too long. “not if you want to win.”

—

“so, you’ve always lived here?” he asks, not quite a question, more like a statement he’s waiting for you to confirm.

you nod, brushing a hand over the edge of the tray still balanced against your hip. “born and raised. it’s not exactly exciting, but it’s home. predictable, you know?”

he hums softly, his expression thoughtful as he glances past you toward the street. “predictable’s not the worst thing in the world,” he says after a moment. “but you don’t strike me as someone who’s too thrilled by it.”

you laugh softly, the sound more honest than you intended. “no, not really. but it’s easy to get stuck, you know? years go by, and suddenly you’re still here, doing the same thing you were five years ago.”

“sounds familiar,” he admits, his voice dipping lower, quieter. “sometimes i think the only reason i’m not stuck is because my job keeps moving me around. but even then, it’s not like i’m actually living in those places—just passing through.”

“what do you do, exactly?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

his gaze shifts back to you. “i scout locations for films. basically, i find places that match the story—where the light works, or the atmosphere feels right. spots that set the tone before anyone even says a word.”

“that’s… unexpectedly poetic,” you say, smiling despite yourself.

he chuckles softly, the sound warm and easy. “yeah, well, the reality’s a bit messier. lots of late nights, arguing over budgets, dealing with directors who want impossible things. but every now and then, you stumble across somewhere that just works, and it makes all the chaos worth it.”

his gaze flicks back to you, steady and deliberate. “this place… it’s got something. quiet, sure, but there’s a kind of honesty to it. like it’s not trying to be anything other than what it is.”

you raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “honest? that’s one way to put it. most people would just say boring.”

he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair as his fingers drum lightly against the table. “nah. it’s not boring. it’s… understated. besides, if it was so dull, you wouldn’t still be here.”

his words settle into something heavier than you expect, and you hate how much they get under your skin. you glance down at the tray in your hands, brushing your fingers over its edge.

—

you find yourself wandering back to his table. it’s not because you have to—his coffee’s still half-full, and he hasn’t waved you over. but something about the way he’s sitting there, relaxed and yet quietly focused, draws you in.

“everything alright over here?” you ask lightly, tilting your head as you stop by his side.

his attention shifts to you immediately, like you’ve just become the most interesting thing in the room. “more than alright,” he says, his lips curving into that expression that’s already starting to feel dangerous. “though i wouldn’t say no to a top-up.”

you pour slowly, the steam curling between you. when you glance up, he’s watching you again—not just watching, but really seeing, like he’s cataloging every little movement.

“so,” he starts, setting the pen down and leaning forward slightly. “if you could get out of here, just for a little while, where would you go first?”

the question catches you off guard, and your hand stills over his cup. “i mean… anywhere,” you say, shrugging slightly as you set the pot back on the tray. “i’ve always wanted to travel—see places that feel bigger than here. but it’s not exactly in the cards right now.”

“what if it was?” he presses, his tone lighter but still carrying a hint of something more serious.

you raise an eyebrow at him. “what are you getting at?”

he leans back again, crossing his arms over his chest. “hear me out,” he says, his smile widening just enough to make you suspicious. “you stay in my flat in london for a couple of weeks. see the city, live a little. in the meantime, i’ll stick around here. get to know what it’s like to slow down for once.”

the suggestion hits you like a splash of cold water—shocking, absurd, impossible. “you’re joking,” you say, though your voice doesn’t carry as much conviction as you’d like.

“dead serious,” he replies, his face softening into something clearly sincere. “you said you’ve never left. maybe it’s time to change that.”

you blink at him, your mind racing to keep up. “and you’d just… what, live my life for a couple of weeks?”

“something like that,” he says, shrugging easily. “seems like a fair trade. i get to breathe for a bit, and you get to see the world—or at least, a small corner of it.”

“you don’t even know me,” you point out, your voice quieter now.

he tilts his head, his gaze steady. “i know enough,” he says simply. “and besides, this isn’t exactly a permanent arrangement. think of it as… an experiment.”

you let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “this is insane.”

“most good ideas are,” he counters, his voice dipping lower, warmer now. “so? what do you think?”

you hesitate, your pulse quickening under the weight of his gaze. “and how exactly would this work?”

“easy,” he says, reaching for the napkin covered in doodles. “give me your number. i’ll reach out once i’m back in london, and we’ll sort out the details. no pressure—you can back out anytime.”

his tone is light, but there’s a flicker of something earnest in his expression, something that makes it hard to look away. against your better judgment, you take the pen resting beside his notebook and scribble your number in the corner of the napkin, your handwriting slightly slanted from the nerves tightening your grip.

“don’t make me regret this,” you say as you slide the napkin toward him.

his fingers brush against yours as he takes it, the touch brief but enough to send a shiver up your spine.

“i wouldn’t dream of it,” he says softly, his grin returning just enough to make your heart stutter.

you straighten up, clutching the tray to your chest like it might keep you grounded. “we’ll see,” you manage, though your voice feels far less composed than you’d like.

“we will,” he says, and the way he says it—calm, certain—makes it feel less like a question and more like a promise.

—

the minutes stretch and settle as the day unfolds, but matty stays rooted at his table. his coffee cup sits empty now, his notebook tucked back into his bag, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to leave. you catch glimpses of him through the window as you move around the cafe—leaning back in his chair, his gaze wandering over the trellis above, as though he’s letting the stillness soak into his skin.

when he finally stands, the scrape of his chair against the concrete draws your attention. you watch as he stretches, arms reaching high above his head, his movements slow and unhurried. his suitcase, still sitting neatly beside him, serves as a quiet reminder that this is temporary—that he doesn’t belong to this place the way you do.

he adjusts the strap of his bag and slips the folded napkin with your number into his pocket. the motion is deliberate, careful in a way that makes your pulse flutter, though you try not to let it show.

he lingers by the table for a moment, his gaze sweeping over the patio as though trying to memorize it. when he turns, his eyes find yours through the doorway, and that faint, crooked smile of his returns—softer now, less teasing but no less disarming.

“thanks for the coffee,” he says, his voice low and warm, carrying easily through the space.

“anytime,” you manage, though the word feels flimsy under the weight of his gaze.

he nods once, his expression calm and steady, before turning toward the street. you watch as he pauses at the curb, his head tilting slightly as though deciding which direction to go. the sound of his suitcase wheels clicking against the pavement feels louder than it should, each step pulling him farther away.

just before he disappears around the corner, he glances back. his eyes find yours again, and the curve of his mouth deepens into something warmer, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to name. he lifts a hand in a casual wave, his movements easy and unhurried, and you lift yours in return, your heart racing as you watch him disappear from view.

the rest of the day passes in fragments—orders taken, tables cleared, polite conversations carried out without much thought. but his words linger, echoing softly in the back of your mind.

by the time you lock up for the night, the patio is empty, the chairs stacked neatly under the trellis. the air is cool now, carrying the faint scent of ivy and coffee grounds, and for a moment, you let it all settle around you.

[parasolladyansy]

hi!! i'm the same anon from the languages ask. (thank you for answering btw!! it was very interesting!) i've been having thoughts about pokemon languages for a WHILE, and i'd like to know what do you think was the expansion of "japanese" (let's say hisuian) from hisui to the other regions. if the pearl/diamond clan speaks "japanese", then the galaxy corps learned it from them, yeah? or were they settlers from before that were ALREADY speaking "japanese" (therefore there is no conflict with kanto, johto and hoenn speaking "japanese" too, even if it might have evolved slightly differently)? i have this headcanon that celestica people (who were there even before than the clans) spoke our equivalent "russian" instead, what do you think of that?

also THE LAST CHAPTERS OF THE D&P REWRITE HAVE BEEN HEARTBREAKING AND AMAZING THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE SMALL REUNION I LOVED IT ;;;

also if i am annoying feel free to tell me to stop i am Sorry ;; i just like languages a lot.

Hm! I would imagine they were all speaking Japanese, if we were to believe that they all came from “Japanese” regions originally (which I find very likely - there are a couple who have descendants further out in the world like Unova or Kalos, but for the times, I think it makes more sense for them to be from Kanto, Johto, or Hoenn).

I would actually guess that the Celestica people would have spoken “Ainu”, as I think the Celestica people are supposed to represent the indigenous people living in Hokkaido, the Ainu (the story of Legends Arceus being based on the colonization of Hokkaido in the mid-1800’s).

Another thought is that they could be speaking the Pokemon equivalent of an ancient Hellenistic language like Latin, as all the ruins & the Temple of Sinnoh are more styled like ancient Grecian / Roman architecture:

If so, my memories of Art History make me wonder if it’s a reference to the Silk Road at all? Though honestly, I think it’s to communicate that the Pokemon world is a lot more multicultural & diverse than ours is / was (like people who live in “Japanese” regions don’t seem to necessarily be genetically Japanese you know? Ikrit’s an example of that, being white rather than asian) &/or it just “looks ancient” lol.

As for Russian - the Ainu people lived (live?) in Russia as well as northern Japan, so maybe? I could see it being a substitute for Ainu, seeing as it’s an almost dead language, & could make sense in universe? Depends on the direction one wants to go in I guess! If it were me, while I COULD try to excavate my old memories of high-school Latin lol, I’d want to try including Ainu in some way, even if it’s a couple words or a phrase. ;u;

Thank you very much! I hope you keep enjoying the story (lol it’s all good - I love world building, & languages are a part of it!)

PS: Oh! I forgot - while all the “Japanese” regions probably speak “Japanese”, different parts of Japan have their own dialects, much like how different parts of the US have their own words, phrases, & accents.

This showed up in Legends Arceus when Kamado had a moment of losing his cool - in the US English, he seemed to have an almost Southern / country accent, but in Japanese, he talks in a Kansai accent (aka Johto accent). It’s also worth noting that the fire caused by Ho-Oh in Ecruteak City happened about 150 years ago, & as of PLA (set about 150 years ago), Jubilife Village is only 2 years old…

[mimisempai]

It's just a risk to take 2/2

Chapter Summary

The long-awaited evening is here. Will the feelings held back for years finally be revealed?

Notes

A little Human AU of them getting together

On Ao3

Rating G - 3279 words

Chap 1

On the night of the ball, they had decided to go their separate ways and meet at the front door of the complex where the reception hall was located. 

Aziraphale paced back and forth, waiting, for of course he was so excited and nervous at the same time that he'd arrived almost half an hour early.

"Oh, that tall man with the red hair, isn't that Mrs. Crowley's son?"

"Oh yes, he looks just like her!"

Aziraphale stopped dead in his tracks and followed the direction the two old ladies in front of him were looking. His heart leapt at the sight of Crowley, and then again at the bright smile his friend gave him when their eyes met.

Then Crowley walked toward him, quickly closing the distance between them.

God, he had missed him.

It had only been a month, but still.

"Hey."

Despite missing Crowley, it was all he could think to say as he found himself face to face with his dear friend.

It had to be said that the other man's appearance would have taken the wind out of anyone's sails. Crowley was a sight to behold under normal circumstances, but in a tuxedo he was simply dazzling, even when covered by a coat that rested on his shoulders.

"It feels like it's been forever."

His friend's voice snapped him out of his thoughts and Aziraphale nodded.

"For me, too."

An unfamiliar expression crossed Crowley's face as he leaned in before saying, "Then I think the circumstances deserve more than a nod of the head, don't you?"

Aziraphale didn't have time to react as his friend leaned in closer and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.

Okay. Now it was certain that Aziraphale would not survive the evening.

As Crowley straightened up, Aziraphale felt a slight burn where his lips had rested, but he didn't have time to think about it because his friend had grabbed his arm and was dragging him toward the entrance.

"I must say, I was pleasantly surprised that you accepted my invitation so easily."

Aziraphale chuckled softly.

"Not as surprised as I was at your invitation. Pleasantly surprised, of course." He smiled and received a sincere smile of relief in return. Perhaps he wasn't the only one with doubts.

"I think all this ridiculous fuss is our goal."

Crowley led Aziraphale to the glass doors that opened onto the reception hall. Aziraphale marveled at the decor, expecting the usual autumnal touches, but in fact it was all tastefully done, there was something enchanting about the decor, and it all served to give the atmosphere an intimate note, which was not to the bookseller's displeasure.

"Anthony, there you are. Welcome, Monsieur Fell."

Though in a different way, Crowley's mother was as beautiful as her son. Aziraphale shook her outstretched hand in greeting before saying, "Please call me Aziraphale, Mrs. Crowley."

"You are adorable, call me Lilith. You deserve it for being the one who brought that big idiot here."

"Mother!"

Aziraphale laughed slightly as Lilith added, "It really is a pleasure to see you both. Make yourselves at home."

She leaned over to Aziraphale and whispered in his ear, but so that Crowley could hear.

"I'm really infinitely grateful to you, because not only did you get him to come, but he's smiling."

"Aziraphale, would you like a drink?"

Crowley had interrupted his mother, pulling Aziraphale away before she could say the word. Which didn't keep him from feeling his mother's amused gaze on his back.

With a hand on Aziraphale's lower back, he pushed him toward the dining area. A waitress appeared and took their coats, and once they were near the buffet, sipping their appetizers, Aziraphale asked hesitantly, "Your mother calls you Anthony. I've never thought to ask you in all this time, but what would you prefer?"

"You want to call me Anthony?"

It was just like Crowley to answer one question with another, knowing that Aziraphale was afraid to ask him directly what he really wanted.

Aziraphale swallowed and then said quietly, "I would like to... Anthony."

He saw his friend gasp, but had no time to analyze the situation as his gaze was drawn to a group of old ladies who were watching them, murmuring and giggling.

Crowley, who had followed his gaze, leaned over and said, "These are friends from my mother's bridge club. She must have alerted her whole group to tell them I was coming and that I was coming with someone."

Aziraphale turned to him and, raising an eyebrow, said, "Is this really the first time... well, I mean that..."

"I've never had a relationship serious enough to introduce to my mother."

"Oh..."

Aziraphale raised his glass to his lips to compose himself, trying to ignore the storm of questions his friend's words had unleashed. Their eyes met for a long moment and Aziraphale searched desperately for something to say, but the spell was broken when someone nudged him awkwardly and he almost dropped his glass. 

Then Lilith's voice rose over the gathered crowd.

"Welcome, my friends, to the fifth edition of this Autumn Gala. As you all know, for the past five years this gala has raised funds for the local homeless shelter. Enjoy the music and dancing once our musicians arrive, and the little surprise that awaits us all as night falls. In the meantime, savor the banquet and the feast.

"I suggest we wait until the first wave has passed," Crowley whispered in Aziraphale's ear.

Trying to ignore the shiver that Crowley's breath on his neck had caused, Aziraphale readily accepted and let himself be pulled to one of the tables, which was in a quieter corner than the rest of the room. Once seated, they watched the people come and go, eager to enjoy the buffet, Crowley making Aziraphale laugh with his sarcastic comments about the people passing by.

Eventually, the crowd dwindled to a small line, and they both quietly filled their plates before returning to their table, eating while watching the other guests and chatting in the easy manner of two friends who had known each other for a long time. Lilith wandered between the tables, chatting with a small group here and there in perfect hostess fashion. At one point, she spotted them and made her way toward them, but one of her friends stopped her by whispering something, so she smiled briefly and simply waved from a distance.

The musicians arrived, and Aziraphale noted with astonishment that it was a full orchestra. Crowley chuckled at his stunned expression.

"For as long as I can remember, my mother has tended to do things big, no matter what the occasion."

Then, stealing a petit-four from Aziraphale's plate, he added, "Although this gala is far more entertaining than any I've attended."

Aziraphale couldn't help but retort, "It must be the company." 

"Absolutely."

Crowley's gaze was incredibly direct and open as he continued, "But I'm still surprised you didn't have anything planned, considering I caught you a bit off guard."

"Aside from nights at the Dirty Donkey with the girls and Muriel, I don't get out much. The theater once or twice, but that's about it."

"Alone?"

"Most of the time."

"Ah?"

"Is this an interrogation?"

Crowley replied sheepishly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

Aziraphale smiled and reassured him, placing a hand on his forearm, "I'm kidding. When I'm not alone, I'm with Muriel. Although now that they have a boyfriend, Eric, they come with me much less. And I don't blame them."

Aziraphale looked dreamy as he added, "It must be nice to have someone like that..."

Blushing slightly, he coughed before continuing, "Anyway, most of my evenings are spent in my armchair with a good book or some good music."

Once again he noticed a strange look on his friend's face, when suddenly his expression changed and he muttered, "Beware, trouble's coming."

Aziraphale followed his gaze and saw the reason for Crowley's words.

"Mr. Brown."

The bane of Whickber Street. And what Crowley didn't know, had been Aziraphale's bane for some time. Brown had invented every excuse to come into his bookshop, or to invite him to dinners and other appointments that Aziraphale had always managed to avoid.

"Aziraphale, what a pleasure to see you here."

Brown stood at their table, openly ignoring Crowley's presence as he continued, "May I invite you to dance?"

Aziraphale shook his head and replied coldly, "No, thank you," then turned his head back to Crowley, thinking the other would turn and leave, but Brown did not and continued as if nothing had happened.

"It's a shame to sit here and talk when there's this great orchestra."

Crowley intervened and said flatly, "Aziraphale obviously doesn't feel like dancing with you." 

The mustachioed man turned to him with a grin.

"What does that have to do with you, Mr. Crowley?"

Aziraphale, feeling the anger rising in him, replied, "It has everything to do with him. I'm here with Crowley. He invited me and I accepted. Because I wanted to be with him." 

On fire, Aziraphale didn't notice Crowley's surprised look. 

The other snorted, "Is that true? You expect me to believe that Crowley here is really your date? When you've turned down every single one of my invitations. How could he be any better?" 

Aziraphale stood and approached the man, hissing in a low voice, "He's billions of times better than you could ever dream; I don't care what you think. Just as I don't care about your invitations. But there is one thing you need to know, and that is that I will not hesitate to use some of my connections if you don't leave immediately. Like Crowley's mother, who's organizing this gala." 

The man opened his mouth to protest, but seeing the anger in Aziraphale's eyes, he decided to turn and walk away.

Aziraphale didn't take his eyes off him until he was sure he wasn't coming back, and it was a chuckle from Crowleyle that made him turn around. His irritation melted like snow in the sun at the sight of his friend's broad smile. 

He was about to sit back down when Crowley shook his head and stood up, holding out his hand, "Will you dance with me?"

Aziraphale took his friend's hand, a warmth building inside him as soon as their hands joined.

"With you? Of course."

Crowley led him to the center of the dance floor as the orchestra began a new piece.

In the distance, Lilith watched them enter the dance floor with a smile, and after a brief instruction to the conductor, the orchestra began to play a slow, romantic waltz.

Crowley, not fooled, murmured, "Mom..."

"Hm?"

Aziraphale lost his confused expression and forgot all about it the moment Crowley's hand came to rest on the small of his back, pressing him to his chest, while his other hand gripped Aziraphale's, intertwining their fingers as they began to turn gently to the rhythm of the soft music.

They twirled and twirled, one song and then another, and as one song followed another, they drew closer, Crowley's arms now wrapped around his waist and Aziraphale's around Crowley's neck. Every part of their bodies touched and their eyes were locked.

Aziraphale felt every fiber of his being react to the music and the feeling of Crowley so close, so real. Never in a million years would he have dared hope for this outside of a dream. Even better, the music clearly had the same effect on Crowley, who did nothing to create distance between them, but on the contrary, did everything to reduce it. 

Aziraphale smiled gently and dared to put his hands on Crowley's lower back and his head on his shoulder. The dance, such as it was, required no concentration or skill, so he closed his eyes and simply swayed in Crowley's arms, breathing in the warm, sensual scent of his skin where his neck met the collar of his shirt. He could feel his friend's heart beating steadily against his cheek and sighed with satisfaction, thinking that he wouldn't mind if they stayed like this forever. 

Unfortunately, Lilith's voice over the loudspeakers broke the spell.

"It's midnight, my friends. It's time."

“Time for what?” murmured Aziraphale, drowsy with contentment. He looked up at Crowley's face without removing his hands from his back, and saw a strange expression there again. His friend's lips were close to his face as he replied, "Fireworks, I suppose."

Crowley continued to hold him for a moment before slowly pulling away until Aziraphale's hands slid down his arms and landed on his hands, pulling him a little farther away.

Indeed, everyone headed for the large bay windows and the first shower of colorful rockets drew all eyes skyward with oohs and aahs of delight. Lilith had clearly outdone herself in impressing her guests, and the sky quickly filled with a thousand fleeting stars and deafening noise.

Aziraphale watched with wondering eyes as he felt a hand take his. Forgetting the spectacle outside, he turned to Crowley. His friend didn't bother to speak over the cheering and crackling and nodded to a slightly out of the way corner, a window embrasure hidden by heavy velvet curtains. Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley immediately pulled him by the hand to the spot he had just shown him. They stopped in the window embrasure, hidden by the curtains but illuminated by the glow of the fireworks they could see on the other side of the window, Aziraphale's hand still in Crowley's.

Aziraphale looked at Crowley, whose face was very close. There was enough light to see his eyes, his gaze more intense than ever. Aziraphale's pulse quickened when Crowley didn't look away, and he held his breath when a hand came up to rest on his cheek.

Aziraphale couldn't help but whisper, "Are you going to kiss me?"

Crowley laughed slightly, his voice deep and sensual as he replied, "Yes, unless you stop me."

"Never."

That was all it took for Crowley to lean in gently until his lips brushed Aziraphale's, so softly that it sent Aziraphale into a kind of agony. A sweet agony.

The kiss quickly became more intense and lingered, their lips slowly getting to know each other.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's waist to press against him, erasing any hint of distance, and in response, Crowley parted Aziraphale's lips with a gentle flick of his tongue, deepening the kiss until there was nothing left but them.

Fireworks, music, crowds, lights - all had disappeared, leaving only them. 

When Crowley's mouth left his, Aziraphale whimpered, but the warm lips landed on his cheek, leaving a trail of searing kisses down his neck before returning to his half-open lips, which let out small gasps. 

"Anthony..."

"Say it again..."

"Anthony..."

As if starved by all those lost years, Crowley's lips picked up the whisper of his first name on Aziraphale's lips, leading to another kiss that lasted until they had no choice but to separate to catch their breath.

Between gasps, Crowley asked, "When did it start?" 

"For me? The first day. It was always there, but it just got stronger."

Crowley murmured, "So long. We're both idiots."

Aziraphale raised his hand and gently stroked his lover's cheek, "But we're here now, that's all that matters."

Anthony leaned his cheek into his lover's hand and nodded.

"Yes. It is."

Gradually, still entwined, they made contact with reality, sounds and light, but it was as if they weren't part of it.

Crowley asked in a playful tone, "This sounds cliché, but...your place or mine?" 

Aziraphale replied in the same tone, "It doesn't matter where, as long as we're both there."

"My place then. I'm the closest."

Aziraphale nodded and immediately Crowley took his hand and pulled him behind him, they quickly grabbed their coats under the astonished looks of the waitresses, the fireworks weren't over, the entrance was deserted and they could leave quietly without being noticed.

It would have taken them less than five minutes to get to Crowley's if they hadn't stopped every few seconds to take advantage of a darker corner to kiss. It was as if, now that they were both letting their desires run wild, it was impossible for them to control themselves. 

Arriving at Crowley's, Aziraphale hesitated slightly for the first time.

It hadn't even been an hour.

What if they ruined everything by rushing in?

What if...

A hand gripping his chin snapped him out of his spiral as Crowley said quietly, "We don't have to do anything tonight, or tomorrow, or even a week from now. In fact, I don't care what we do or when. I just don't want us to part tonight."

A sigh of relief escaped Aziraphale's lips as Crowley's thumb gently caressed his kiss-swollen lips.

"Neither do I. I don't want us to part tonight. But..."

"But?"

"If we could just slow down a little."

"Whatever you want, my angel."

"My angel?"

"You call me Anthony so I can call you my angel."

Aziraphale murmured, "Say it again."

"My angel."

"Again..."

Crowley smiled and leaned forward, murmuring against his lover's half-open lips, "My angel."

Then they said nothing more as he captured Aziraphale's lips in a kiss that was both sweet and passionate. They didn't know who moaned first as Aziraphale's tongue brushed along Crowley's lower lip, but it didn't matter. In the seconds that followed, their tongues intertwined in a wild, feverish dance, both finally giving free rein to the passion that had inhabited them for so long. 

When they had to pull away to catch their breath, Crowley bit Aziraphale's lip before gently releasing it. 

Forehead to forehead, they gasped for breath.

Then Aziraphale raised his hand and, tucking a lock of Crowley's hair behind his ear, said with a breath, "We've waited so long. I don't want to wait any longer. Take me to your bedroom now."

"Aziraphale, you-

"Yes." Then, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he said softly, "But only if you keep calling me your angel."

Crowley laughed, took his lover's hand, and they were both still laughing when he closed the bedroom door behind them.

The next morning, they awoke to each of their phones vibrating insistently on the nightstand.

With a synchronized sigh, they extricated themselves from each other and picked up the phones to read their messages.

"My mom asks me if I'm going to refuse to come to next year's gala now that I have a partner. Then she tells me to say hello."

"Give her my best. As for me, I have three messages, do you want to know?"

"Even if I say no, I know you'll read them to me anyway."

"Um, Muriel asks me if the evening was everything I hoped it would be, Maggie asks me to fill her in on all the details, and Nina...ahem..."

Crowley turned and then slid over Aziraphale, his elbows framing his face as he said teasingly, "You're making me very curious now, my angel."

Blushing, Aziraphale replied, "Nina asks if we broke the mattress..."

Crowley leaned over and, after planting a kiss on his lover's nose, said, "Answer her that we almost did."

Aziraphale's eyes widened, then they both laughed as he texted Nina exactly what Crowley had suggested. 

At the same time, at Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death, the coffee shop on Whickber Street, Nina, phone in hand, threw her cleaning rag in the air and exclaimed, "They did it!"

Word spread like wildfire that the bookseller and his handsome, longtime friend were finally together.

The Whickber street gossips would have to find another target.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[daisymbin]

Hello!! Can I request suggestive prompts 7+14 with soonyoung where he’s the one staring pls?

of course!! <3

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // soonyoung's m.list

suggestive prompt #7: "come closer, I won't bite—unless you want me to." +

suggestive prompt #14: "you've been staring at my lips for the past five minutes."

you could feel soonyoung’s gaze on you, lingering and intense, but every time you glanced at him, he quickly turned away, his eyes darting to anything but you. he was being overly obvious about it, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. the way his lips tugged into a teasing smile, the way his fingers tapped nervously against his knee, like he was trying to hold himself back.

you couldn’t help it. you just had to call him out on it.

“you’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes,” you said, your voice light, but there was a challenge behind your words. you leaned back on the couch, eyes narrowed in amusement as you caught him in the act. “trying to figure something out?”

soonyoung froze, his eyes widening in surprise, and he opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. instead, he cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i—uh—i wasn’t—i mean... maybe i was,” he admitted, a slight blush creeping up his neck.

“mhm,” you hummed, raising an eyebrow as you shifted your position, suddenly feeling bold. you leaned forward slightly, not too far, but enough that he had no choice but to look at you. “come closer, soonyoung, i won’t bite—unless you want me to.”

your voice dropped into something more suggestive, a playful edge curling around your words. the second they left your lips, soonyoung’s eyes flickered to your mouth, the intensity growing as he hesitated, taking a small step forward.

you could see it in his eyes—he was just as nervous as you were, but he couldn’t deny the chemistry between you two. there was something magnetic in the air, something that had been building for weeks, and now it was too much for either of you to ignore.

“you sure about that?” soonyoung finally whispered, his voice low but filled with the playful teasing you were used to. but even in his words, you could hear the tension. the nervousness hidden behind his usual cockiness.

you bit your lip, still leaning toward him, watching as his breath hitched. “i don’t know, maybe,” you said, barely above a whisper, “but i guess you’ll never know unless you try.”

his lips parted, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to slow. the distance between you and him seemed to close with each passing second, until he was finally close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. he hovered there, just inches away, his breath mingling with yours, his gaze flickering back to your lips.

“are you always this bold?” he asked, voice barely audible, like he was almost afraid to hear the answer. his hand slowly reached for yours, his fingertips brushing against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

“only with you,” you replied softly, your eyes locked on his lips, the temptation almost too much to resist.

the next thing you knew, soonyoung’s lips were on yours, his kiss gentle at first, like he was testing the waters, making sure you were okay with it. the moment your lips met, a spark ignited, the fire between you two flaring up as you both deepened the kiss, urgency flooding your bodies. his hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, his other hand threading into your hair, tugging you in with a new sense of need.

your heart raced, the feeling of his lips moving against yours like a drug, addictive and consuming. the way he kissed you was different—tender but with an underlying hunger. every touch, every movement, seemed to amplify the electricity between you both. it was almost as if he was afraid to be too forward but also couldn’t help himself.

you shifted slightly, your hand sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulder as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your lips parting as his tongue gently brushed against yours. he groaned softly, the sound making your pulse quicken, and you could feel the tension between you both grow.

you pulled away for just a moment, breathless, your lips swollen from his kiss, and you couldn’t help the teasing smile that tugged at the corners of your mouth. “do you always kiss this well?” you whispered, your voice low and sultry, filled with the playful challenge you were now used to giving him.

soonyoung chuckled softly, his hand still resting on your waist, his thumb stroking your skin gently. “only with yoh” he echoed your words, his voice rough and full of desire. his eyes searched yours, and for a moment, there was silence, a quiet understanding passing between you two.

then, without another word, he kissed you again, this time with more passion, more urgency, as if everything around you had faded away, leaving just the two of you tangled together. his lips were everywhere—on your mouth, your jaw, trailing down your neck, making you gasp softly as his hands roamed, pulling you even closer.

the kiss deepened, your bodies pressed together, and all you could feel was him—his hands, his lips, the heat radiating from him. you couldn’t deny the pull anymore, the need, the hunger you both shared. and as the kiss became more heated, you knew there was no turning back.

[cufff-it]

À DEUX PAS

Part IV: DÉPART

a/n: This chapter is short but the next one will be longer

June 2016

Kylian had always been determined and ambitious, but this time, his silence felt different. Ever since he had announced his departure for Monaco to his loved ones, he had withdrawn, as if avoiding facing their reactions. Though this move had been expected, it left a bittersweet taste in Bondy. His friends and family knew this was an extraordinary opportunity, but for those who loved him, his departure felt more like a breakup.

For Y/N, this departure made no sense. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t spoken about it sooner, why he had chosen to keep everything to himself. That wasn’t like him. They had grown up together, weathered so much. So why was he pulling away like this, without a word? She needed answers, but Kylian seemed unwilling to give them.

At the farewell party organized for Kylian before his departure, everyone who mattered to him was there: close friends, family, even a few acquaintances from the neighborhood. Y/N, of course, was among them, but she felt more like a spectator than a participant in the celebration. She watched Kylian, constantly surrounded by people and wearing his usual smile, but she could tell he was playing a role.

As he laughed with a group of friends, Y/N approached him. She hadn’t planned on speaking to him that night, but something inside her was bubbling over. She couldn’t let him leave without having a real conversation.

“Kylian, can we talk?” she asked softly but firmly.

He looked surprised but nodded. “Of course.”

They moved a little away from the noise and laughter to a quiet corner of the garden, where the string lights cast a soft glow over their faces.

Y/N crossed her arms, more for protection than defiance. “Why didn’t you say anything? You knew you were leaving, and you didn’t tell anyone. Not me, at least.”

Kylian ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his whenever he felt cornered. “I… I didn’t know how to say it. Everything happened so fast. The training sessions, the talks with Monaco, everything. And… I knew it would be hard to hear. So I avoided it.”

“Avoided it?” she repeated incredulously. “You think that’s an excuse? You think it hurts less because you avoided telling me?”

He dropped his gaze. “I’m sorry, Y/N. It wasn’t about you. I thought it would be better this way.”

“Better for who? For you? Because I feel like I’ve been pushed aside, like I don’t matter.”

Her tone was harsh, but her eyes shone with sadness. Kylian looked up and took a step toward her. “You matter, Y/N. You matter more than you think.”

Her heart tightened, but she didn’t want to let it show. “Then why are you leaving like this, without saying anything? Why are you acting like none of this matters?”

He seemed to struggle for words. “Because I have to do this. Not because I want to. I have to leave if I want to chase my dream. But that doesn’t mean I’m forgetting you or that you don’t matter.”

The silence that followed was heavy. They looked at each other, their emotions raw but impossible to express fully. Y/N felt her defenses slowly breaking down.

“You could’ve at least told me, Kylian,” she murmured.

“I know. I messed up,” he admitted in a low voice.

He stepped closer, and now they were so near she could feel the warmth of his body. He lifted a hand as if to touch her but hesitated. “I’m coming back, you know. This isn’t goodbye.”

Y/N looked up at him, and in that suspended moment, anything seemed possible. Their gazes locked, and the air around them felt charged. Kylian tilted his head slightly, and she felt her heartbeat quicken.

But before anything could happen, a loud voice broke the moment.

“Kylian! There you are—I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

Inès.

Kylian stepped back abruptly, and Y/N felt a wave of frustration and disappointment wash over her. Inès approached, beaming, and hooked her arm through Kylian’s with a familiarity that made Y/N’s teeth clench.

“I’ve been looking for you for a photo! You can’t disappear like that,” Inès said with a calculated smile.

Kylian gave Y/N an apologetic glance but allowed himself to be pulled away by Inès. The laughter and teasing began as the guests noticed their closeness. “Oh, Kylian and Inès, that has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” someone joked.

Y/N clenched her fists, struggling to keep her composure. She forced a smile, but inside, she was seething.

Later That Night

When it was time to leave, Y/N made her way to the door quickly, hoping to slip out unnoticed. But Kylian caught up to her before she could step outside.

“Wait, Y/N!” he said, stepping in front of her to block her path.

She looked up at him, her brows furrowed, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. “What do you want?” she asked sharply.

“I want to talk,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading, but she refused to be swayed.

“Talk? Now? After all this time?” she replied with a bitter laugh, stepping back slightly. “Kylian, there’s nothing to say.”

“There’s a lot to say,” he insisted, stepping closer. “I know you’re mad at me, but I don’t want to leave things like this between us.”

Y/N shook her head, crossing her arms like a shield. “I already told you, there’s nothing to say. You made your choices, and I made mine. Good luck in Monaco.”

Before he could respond, she opened the door and stepped out, leaving Kylian standing there, the words he wanted to say dying on his lips.

A Few Weeks Later

The silence of the night enveloped Bondy as Y/N returned home, her heart heavy. Kylian had been gone for a few weeks, and his absence felt heavier with each passing day.

She slammed the door a little harder than intended. Her little brother, comfortably seated on the couch, barely glanced up from the screen.

“Y/N, you’re so loud,” he mumbled.

She sighed, dropped her bag beside the couch, and sat down.

“Why are you still up?” she asked, noticing the game on the TV.

“I’m watching Monaco,” he replied casually, not taking his eyes off the screen.

She frowned.

“And?”

“Kylian’s playing. It’s his first pro match,” he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Y/N’s heart tightened slightly, but she masked her emotions. Crossing her arms, she tried to appear disinterested.

“You’re serious? You stayed up for that?”

“Obviously!” he grinned, pointing to the screen. “Look, there he is!”

Despite herself, her eyes drifted to the television. There, in the center of the field, was Kylian. He looked focused, his silhouette slightly more muscular than she remembered. The red-and-white jersey gave him a professional air that felt strangely foreign.

Minutes later, the ball landed at Kylian’s feet. Y/N held her breath as he maneuvered past a defender and struck the ball cleanly into the top corner of the net.

Her brother jumped up, cheering. “Goal!”

Y/N, however, sat frozen. On the screen, Kylian smiled, his teammates surrounding him in celebration. Then, looking straight at the camera, he placed a hand over his heart and made a subtle gesture forward, as if sending it to someone specific.

“Did you see that? That’s for you, Y/N!” her brother exclaimed, excited.

“Stop making stuff up,” she muttered, turning her gaze away, though a warmth spread through her cheeks.

Even as her brother continued rambling about the match, his words faded into the background. Her thoughts were consumed by Kylian’s gesture. Could it have been meant for her? Or was she just imagining things?

As the match ended, her brother went to bed, leaving her alone in the quiet living room. But even in the stillness, her heart and mind were anything but calm.