#am i overthinking it? is it even that big of a deal?

[tricksteroftheheart]

found and joined an objectified server and accidentally joined at the worst possible time i guess? im so bad with servers i dont know why i keep joining servers :sob: i either lurk and never talk or . lurk and never tal

[ghostfixedsysknight]

Just had a realization about Fairly OddParents: New Wish’s finale:

It’s centered around Hazel wishing her millionth wish but- a million is A LOT. Like A LOT A LOT

If we’re being generous and say Hazel has had Cosmo and Wanda for a whole year, 365 days, she would have to have made 2,739.7 WISHES EVERYDAY

Hazel rarely makes wishes! That’s what makes her different and a pretty interesting protagonist for this franchise, she tries to be independent and solve problems on her own. She makes like, 2 wish per episode, one main wish and one to undo the damages, maybe like 8 wishes if she wants to keep an act up like at Hotel Wellsington. She often goes about her everyday without making a wish! How is she averaging 2,700 wishes a day?? That’s 112 wishes per hour! 2 wishes for every minute of a year!

If it was Dev, yeah I can believe that. He keeps repeating wishes and would ask for magic to help with everything, I can see him wish bombing and knocking out 500 wishes in an hour (8 wishes/min). But Hazel? I feel like she’d feel bad asking for so much.

While I get why they didn’t go for the ‘keeping your fairies a secret for a whole year, here’s a muffin that grants any wish’ since they haven’t gotten to do a Christmas, Halloween, Easter or Hazel’s birthday episode yet. But that just makes thinking about the logistics of Hazel making 1,000,000 wishes all the more baffling.

It took Timmy years to reach 1,000,000 wishes (Poof existed when Timmy hit a million) and he wished willy nilly! Thats not even mentioning the whole million wish thing came from Timmy’s Secret Wish, aka the episode where it’s revealed Timmy wished for time to stay still for 50 years. It took Timmy more than 50 years to get a million. And it took Hazel a year or less???

[lxvi-gloria]

Drabble Prompt: Post-canon Levi, struggling with chronic pain and mourning his dead loved ones, being visited by his still alive loved ones

Anon, you knew how to talk pretty to me <3

hihi requests are still open btw

I feel like I gotta put a disclaimer or something lmao. So, the length of my drabble requests is usually something between 100-400 words. This request is just an incredibly unexpected exception. it just happened to fit into this idea I already had been thinking of, which was how the remaining 104th would ask Levi to be part of important events in their lives because well, they like the dude lmao, so expect that sort of one-shot soon. Additionally, since I kept reminding myself that this was supposed to be a drabble, I might have glossed over the chronic pain and mourning bits so I'm sorry about that ;;

that being said, 2.4k words of Levi and Gabi be upon ye <3

Now on Ao3!

The angry hissing of the kettle makes him flinch. It brings a loud ringing to his right ear. Instinctively, he places his right hand over it, and gives his ear a couple of gentle taps; it's more of a grounding gesture, a distraction from the buzzing. He usually keeps watch over the kettle, so that he can lower the heat just right before it gets a chance to scream at him. 

He realises then that he must have spaced out while waiting. It’s alright, he thinks. It’s been like that a lot, recently. He’s been like that. Lost in thought-- lost in time, if he allowed himself to be precise. The last days, weeks even, as the temperatures started to drop, blended into each other. There’s a little calendar on his bedside table, it had been a birthday gift from Armin – or had that been Mikasa’s? He isn’t sure, he had received an absurd number of presents from the kids last year, it had been hard to keep track of who gave him what and now the fact escaped him. Turning the pages of the little calendar, with its delicate botanical illustrations on each day, quickly became part of his morning routine, and so he was sure that time was passing at all. The stillness of the routine, he guesses, made him like this.

His vision blurs momentarily while he scoops the tea leaves into the teapot. He squints, trying to will his good eye to focus, but all he gets in return is a throb in his right eye. After putting the tea canister away, he presses the inner sides of his wrists to both eyes, placing just enough pressure to relieve the discomfort. When he opens his eyes again, he is pleased to find he can read the small print on the canister an arm’s length away. 

There’s a loud slam coming from the front of the house, followed by footsteps coming further into the house.

He quickly recognizes the heavy stomping as Gabi’s gait. She’s always been so loud.

Gabi crosses the arch into the small kitchen and dining area. 

“Don’t slam my doors,” he says as a greeting, slowly turning his head to his left side, trying to catch a glimpse of her in his periphery.

“Aye, aye,” the kid waves her hand, shoots him a teasing grin, “someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Levi hums in response but doesn’t say anything else. He busies himself with placing everything they need for their morning tea and coffee on a metal tray on the counter, which Gabi takes from him as soon as it’s ready and sets it on the table.

He grabs his cane from where he had hooked it on one of the kitchen drawers. He has been leaning against the counter, his right leg supporting most of his weight all this time. He braces himself for the sharp pain that will surely surge from his bad knee, through his left hip and up his spine. Cold mornings like this one and being still in one place for long will do that to him. It’s not so bad. It could be worse.

It takes 4 steps to get from the stove to his chair, which Gabi has already pulled out for him. It sits at an angle that allows him to easily slide down on it and rest his right elbow on top of the table, leaning back and against his good side.

“I have something that will cheer you up,” she holds a couple of envelopes in her hand and waves them at him, “You’ve got mail!”

He nods at her in acknowledgement but does not take his attention away from preparing his first batch of tea of the day. There’s a ritual to it, it almost feels like, and he doesn’t want to mess it up. Not when the ringing in his ear is still there, the building pressure in the upper back part of his eyeballs, and the cold air seeping into his bones through his thick jumper. Oh, how he needs a good cup of tea right now.

While Levi waits for it to steep, he grabs the papers that she had shoved in his face, squints his eyes at the first envelope and finds that he is unable to make out much of the handwriting. He brings it closer to his face, squints harder, steals a quick glance across the table and hopes Gabi isn’t paying him any mind, too preoccupied with choosing from the bag of pastries she brought with her. It is with an impassive expression that he hands the stack of envelopes back. 

“Read it for me.” A beat and then he adds, a little reluctant: “Please.”

He knows Gabi prefers coffee in the mornings, and black tea in the evenings, so he makes sure to have a fresh brew of the former whenever he knows she’s coming over; so, with shaky hands, Levi gets to prepare her cup of coffee. While he enjoys the aroma of it, he remains faithful to tea; at first, he thought he didn’t like it because he had butchered his first attempts at brewing it. But even after Onyankopon had taught him how to do it properly and he had enjoyed his cup, it didn’t bring the same comfort as tea. It just never hit the spot.

She shoots him a mischievous grin, “Oh, you sure? What if I read something personal, hm?” 

Levi just shakes his head, scoffing at the idea of Gabi finding his junk mail fascinating.

“Is this how I find out you have a secret lover you’re exchanging raunchy love letters with?” Gabi teases, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

He lets out a tired sigh and rolls his eyes, “just wanna be done with it, ” he stirs the milk into Gabi’s coffee, which now has turned into a cup of milk with coffee. “We have a lot to prepare for tonight.”

She clicks her tongue at him, but still rips the first envelope open, “Mr. Levi, your reading won’t improve if you keep doing that,” she jokingly scolds him.

Although Levi mentally recognises handing her and Falco stuff he couldn’t be bothered reading before, that’s not the case this time. He’ll let her think that for now, though, because he doesn’t want to mention the pressure building in the back of his bad eye, it’s not important and she, a kid, doesn’t need to know his newly found ailment of the week. He can see just fine around him right now. He can see Gabi’s big eyes and playful smile at the other side of the table, and that’s good enough; smaller details, he doesn’t feel he can do them, not without making himself go dizzy with a migraine.

Levi slides the cup of coffee to her and is pleased with himself when she approves of the colour of her drink.

“It’s from Armin,” she announces as she scans the letter. 

From this angle, the soft morning light illuminating her face and thanks to his faulty vision, Gabi’s image stirs his memory. His heart faintly constricts as he is reminded of the many times Hange read their research reports to him during breakfast in the mess hall before presenting them to Erwin. Levi always wondered how they could read so fast, sometimes he even doubted they were actually reading at all, their words barely being able to catch up with her eyes; he never asked about it, maybe reading came easy to them as numbers did to him.

A high-pitched squeal from Gabi startles him, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Oh… ohh, Mr. Levi,” she starts, her smile widening by the second “This is good news!”

Gabi makes a show of clearing her throat and then starts reading “Dear Captain, I hope this letter finds you well and in good health.” 

Levi can’t help but let a sardonic huff at the irony of the greetings but doesn’t let himself be bothered by it. He has written only a handful of personal letters throughout his life, and by now he knows it’s just something you’re supposed to say because jumping straight to the point isn’t acceptable, or so that’s what he had been told. 

Gabi continues reading Armin’s words to him. For the most part, it’s a standard letter coming from him: he asks Levi how he’s dealing with the changing of the seasons, how Gabi and Falco are faring, if business at the tea shop has been good, if there’s anything Levi needs that he can’t get in town so that Armin or the others can get it for him. He tells him a little about the country he’s writing from, he even includes a photograph. Then, after the expected pleasantries, Gabi can barely hold her excitement and starts reading faster, trying so hard not to trip over her words.

“If I’m being sincere, we would prefer to ask you in person,” Gabi stops for a second to look up at him from the paper, gauging for a reaction and finding nothing, she continues. 

Armin apologises for not being able to visit him before the holidays, Annie included, and so it is implied that he won’t be attending tonight’s reunion. 

Sometime during the last five years, the Alliance brats had decided to make showing up at Levi’s doorstep together once a year a sort of custom; the first time it happened was during an early winter, a blizzard had stopped them from leaving Levi’s until the next morning. It had been a really nice evening despite the awful weather, Levi remembers, after everyone pitched in one way or another, they all shared a simple but hearty meal together. It was Connie who jokingly said they should do it every year. The following year, Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco joined them. 

This year would be their fourth, and the first someone wouldn’t make it. That fact sits heavily in Levi’s chest, stealing the spotlight from his throbbing eye.

“...Annie and I have decided to get married. The both of us would like you to officiate our ceremony!” unable to contain her excitement, she tears her eyes away from the paper and looks at Levi. “Huh?! This is good news! What’s with the constipated face?!”

That doesn’t sound right. It figures that Annie and Armin would be the first to marry; in a way, he is happy for them, they clearly care for each other. No, that part is easy to understand. Their union is logical to anyone who knows the couple. What Levi can’t figure out is why they are asking him such a thing.

He clears his throat, assumes it’s been 3 minutes and his tea is ready to be poured and so he distracts himself with that.

When he doesn’t answer Gabi, she picks up where she left off. 

He isn’t… well, he isn’t that close to either of them. He’s sure Annie must have other relatives that could step in his stead. Maybe a brother, a cousin. Even Jean or Reiner would be better options than Levi. He isn’t good with words or people like they are, he couldn’t possibly give them a speech about something foreign to him as it is that kind of love, that’s what people expect, right? His title of Captain is obsolete in this new world, so it can’t be that either. Hell, he has never been to a fucking wedding. 

Just… why him?

As expected, Armin doesn’t really go into the details of their choice but does let Levi know they do not expect a fast answer and that they do not want him to feel pressured to accept it, despite how much it would mean to them if he did. Armin asks if there’s anything in particular that he would like for his birthday, as it is a month away, and closes the letter by saying he looks forward to seeing him and everyone then.

When the letter is closed and put back into its envelope, silence falls around them. For a moment the only sound that can be heard is the clinking of tableware as Levi places the teacup back on its saucer.

It bothers him, that he knows he will be letting Armin down by refusing something that any other well-adapted person would consider an honour. But the thought of embarrassing him and himself, because he gave an awkward, most likely insensitive, speech, mortifies him. No, he can’t put them and their guests through that. He will find a way to make it up to the couple, maybe he can… he doesn’t know yet, but he will come up with something.

As he finishes his first cup, Levi realises that at some point while he was lost in thought, the ringing in his ear has subsided and now it’s back to that muffled, cotton-in-ear sensation he’s used to and he doesn’t feel his eyeball pulsating anymore. Glancing at Gabi, he notices she is trying really hard not to say something, her brow furrowed as she takes a sip of her own drink, followed by a big bite of her pastry. Flakes stick to the corner of her mouth and for once it doesn’t disgust him. Instead, it makes his lips twitch as if going into a smile.

“I can help you... if you want,” she says eventually, sounding uncharacteristically careful and small of her.

Levi quirks an eyebrow “Help? with what?” 

She shrugs, “How to… tell them you don’t want to,” she avoids looking at him for the first time, finding the flakes on her plate more interesting. She shrugs again and tilts her head to the side, a thin line of a smile appearing on her face. “...or prepare for the ceremony.”

Not unlike many times before, Gabi’s words render him speechless, if only for a moment. He spares his tea a glance and he thinks: it’s bold of her to be so upfront about offering her help to him, and had it been any other morning, one where he couldn’t think past the constant ache in his body, he would’ve chewed her head off for simply trying to help him because he himself doesn’t know how to accept that kindness.

This kid is trying her best and he can’t help but feel somewhat proud of that.

“You have shit on your face. Here,” he points to where the flakes would sit on his own face and picks his refilled teacup back up.

Gabi quickly wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, getting most of the flakes off. Levi gives her a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I’ll think about it,” he finally concedes and tries to ignore the little happy dance she does in her seat.

This time, when the amber liquid touches his lips, it’s remarkably sweeter than before.

[mars-ipan]

my fellow anxiety havers what is one of your mundane day-to-day tasks that should by no means be anything remarkable but feels like you are being hunted for sport. i’ll go first: putting all of your groceries on the conveyor belt during checkout is like a long series of quick time events to me

[ultimateaclrecovery]

I am trying to figure out what to get my bf for his birthday. And I am especially struggling because I feel like he got me something really nice for my birthday (a full purple stone dishware set that is like 135 dollars (I looked it up because I have no impulse control he did not leave the price tag on) which was sweet because I previously only had plastic plates and obviously everything I own needs to be purple). But the only things I can think of for him are like little cheap things. I want to get him something nice but like anything nice that he would enjoy I feel like he’d be better off getting himself. Like he knows more about nice cookware than me so I feel like I have no way to pick out something that he’d like and use. And than anything with clothes feels out because sizing is hard and I don’t understand mens fashion. I thought like maybe a nice a wallet? But he has one that seems fun and idk how to evaluate wallets anyway.

I am knitting him a hat that he’ll hopefully like because he does wear that style beanie while hiking and camping sometimes.

And then I am thinking of getting him the conjuring 2 dvd because we watched the first one together and the second is available for streaming. And I keep protesting that it’s too scary for me ( I would not watch it single but it’d be fine for his birthday)

And then I was thinking maybe some sort of Japanese cookbook since he likes to cook and is currently obsessed with japan since we’re going in three weeks. There’s a cookbook by jiro ono on sushi that we watched his documentary together, but I’m not sure if he’s already read it. And then there’s a studio ghibli book that would be cute since we watched a lot of the movies together and will probably go to museum in Japan. But I’m not sure how much he really likes them, or if it’s more he likes them fine and it’s the narrow overlap of movies we both like.

And even then it’s like I’m getting him a bunch of little things and it feels like I’m being cheap but I also just can’t think of anything better. He likes cooking and outdoor things and horror movies and currently Japan but generally all things Asian. He likes good art and books but none of those interests making for easy shopping ideas! He seem doesn’t have any horror based decor so I probably can’t even go that route

I also need to get my mom a birthday present but she is much less stressful to shop for. (I don’t know what to get her either but there’s zero danger of even worlds worst present damaging my relationship with my mom even the slightest)

[chocolate-cream-soldier]

/

[zephyr-mew]

me staring at all these yakuza thoughts in my drafts and wondering if they're worth posting

[dollishmehrayan]

# “WOULD YOU DO ANYTHING FOR ME?, BUY A BIG DIAMOND RING FOR ME?” ── .✦ ( how batboys act when they’re engaged w reader )

dollish note ౨ৎ: I lowkey crashed out over losing Americans on tiktok but this woke up to post on tumblr but hey, also can we talk about how trump used that as a pr stunt && thought we wouldn’t notice wtf like omgg the way many americans caught on, alsoo please leave some motivation for me because I just kinda lost motivation for this app after the tiktok thingy went down 🫠 tags: (batboys x engaged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Over the moon and not afraid to show it. Dick tells everyone the second you say yes. Alfred? He knows. Random stranger in the grocery store? The metro security guy?, Yep, they know too. He’s got that goofy, lovestruck grin plastered on his face 24/7.

Wedding planning enthusiast. You thought you’d do most of the planning? Wrong. Dick’s fully invested, showing you Pinterest boards of venues, color schemes, and “Do you think Nightwing blue (dollish note: I think ‘#3366CC’ perhaps?) would be tacky for the napkins?”

Gets sappy at random times. You’ll catch him staring at you with a dreamy look, and when you ask why, he just shrugs. “I’m just thinking about how lucky I am.”, “Dick calm down you only proposed like 2 weeks ago.”

Brags to the Batfam constantly. “Guys, I’m going to be a husband! Can you believe it? Me! Richard Grayson!” Bruce pretends to be joyful a bit but he’s done hearing it for the 777x time but even he cracks a small smile when Dick won’t shut up about you.

Practices saying his vows in the mirror. You walked in on him once, and he was mortified. “Okay, but you didn’t hear the good part yet!”, “You literally finished the whole paper !!”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Acts like it’s not a big deal, but it’s huge for him. He’ll play it cool at first, saying something like, “It’s just a ring, babe.” But deep down, he’s nervous, excited, and trying not to let it show.

Keeps the engagement low-key. Jason’s not one for flashy announcements or grand gestures. He wants this to be something special between you two, not the whole world.

Protective x10. Now that you’re officially going to be his spouse, Jason is extra watchful. He’s already looking into ways to keep you safe and makes sure you’re never caught in the crossfire of his vigilante life.

Wants you to be 100% comfortable. He checks in with you constantly about the wedding plans. “We don’t have to do anything big, okay? Just say the word, and it’s done.” He’ll let you take the lead but secretly loves when you include him.

Teases you with the whole “fiancé” thing. “Hey, fiancée. Can you grab my coffee? Oh, did I mention you’re my fiancée now?” It’s his way of hiding how excited he really is.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Nervous wreck but totally in love. Tim overthinks everything after proposing. Did he pick the right ring? Did he say the right words? Is he even ready to be a husband? But every time he sees you smile, it calms him down.

Keeps it practical. Tim doesn’t want a huge engagement party or a grand wedding. He’s more focused on what your future together will look like your shared goals, finances, and making sure you’re both on the same page.

Researches marriage like it’s a mission. He has books on successful relationships, listens to podcasts, and even makes a checklist for wedding planning. You find it adorable when he starts using color coded spreadsheets.

Loves when you call him your fiancé. The first time you said it, he blushed so hard he had to look away. Now he’s low-key obsessed with hearing it. “You don’t have to keep calling me that… but don’t stop either.”

Gets emotional when he thinks about the future. You once caught him staring at the engagement ring on your finger, looking teary-eyed. When you asked what was wrong, he said, “I just can’t believe you’re actually mine.” (I would’ve smacked the shit out of him for that, I don’t do romance 🙄💪)

[ssentimentals]

prompt: this is reader’s first relationship & she’s just a little unsure of herself & how to be in a relationship?

seungcheol + inexperienced!reader

it's not a big deal. thats what you've been trying to tell yourself since seungcheol became your boyfriend. your very first boyfriend in your very first relationship. it's great, amazing and it's not.a.big.deal. if only your mind was so easy to trick.

'baby?' seungcheol calls over and you turn so quickly, you give yourself a whiplash. he raises one eyebrow at you, frozen with a big bowl full of popcorn in his hands. 'is everything okay?'

you gulp. you're doing a horrible job of not showing your insecurities if seungcheol can tell that something is wrong by standing five feet away. 'everything is fine,' you lie and it sounds so fake that you can't stop yourself from grimacing.

that, of course, only worries seungcheol even more. your boyfriend comes over, carefully placing full bowl on the floor before climbing on the sofa next to you. he doesn't get anywhere in your personal space and instead reaches out to take your hands in his. 'what's wrong?' he asks in such an earnest tone that you feel bad.

you almost want to tell the truth. your mouth almost opens, your tongue almost curves and forms the words that haunt your mind. almost. you draw back, swallowing hard. how can you tell the truth to someone like seungcheol? someone so confident and sure in himself, someone for who this relationship is not anything new; how can he understand you? you know that you're overthinking it. so many people told you that it's not a big deal and you agree, but what can you do if your mind always comes up with hundred and one ways to make you unsure in this whole thing? seungcheol's thumbs caress your skin gently and he waits so patiently for your answer that it makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. it also serves a good reminder - this is seungcheol. same seungcheol who held your bag and chaperoned you to every single class. same seungcheol who memorized your food allergies and favorite snacks, always checking labels of everything for any allergens and surprising you with sweets whenever you're least expected them. same seungcheol who took his time to know you, kept respectable distance till you got comfortable, waited for you to develop feelings for him as well. same seungcheol who looked the happiest when you agreed to be his girlfriend. it's the same seungcheol and you breathe out, willing your whole body to release the tension you've been holding.

'it might be a bit stupid, you warn, biting your lower lip.

seungcheol shakes his head. 'it's not, it won't be. share with me, baby. i can help, i promise. and if not then it at least will feel good to get this thing out of your chest.'

you smile. somehow he always knows what to say to make you at ease. 'i'm just worried, i guess.' you let out slowly, being careful with words. seungcheol nods, urging you to continue. 'like- ugh.'

it's unexpectedly hard. how do you tell him that being in relationship for the first time makes you nervous? that even during simple movie night you feel unsure on how to act? that your mind is clouded with 'what should i do' and 'am i suppose to do this' more often than you'd like to admit it? in the end, what ends up coming out of your mouth is: 'you're my first boyfriend and i'm just worried about... this.'

seungcheol waits for a little but when it becomes clear that you're not going to elaborate, he carefully asks: 'i'm not making you uncomfortable, am i?'

you shake your head, gripping his hands. 'no-no, cheollie. you don't.'

'alright,' seungcheol sighs in relief. 'but if i do - please tell me, okay? this is new for me too, i need to know if my actions somehow upset you. it's not going to work without a good communication.'

you blink. this is new for me too leaves you breathless. god. of course it's new for seungcheol too - he never dated you. you are a new person and it's new for him too, he doesn't know everything about you. he is also in this for the first time with you and this realisation makes you want to laugh. 'i had the most ridicilous thoughts,' you confess, chuckling a little. 'like- like how i can be good girlfriend.'

seungcheol looks so confused and baffled that this time you laugh for real, letting your head fall forward on his shoulder. 'are you serious? babe, looks at me. c'mon, show me your pretty face.' he makes you look up, cradling your face in his hands. 'are you serious?' when you nod shyly, he groans. 'oh my god. what on earth- baby. i am with you. i am dating you. we are together. i am so happy, why are you even thinking about this?'

you blush under his stare. 'cause you know that this is very new for me, i don't want to fuck up or something like that.'

'just be yourself.' seungcheol says it with so much conviction that you don't doubt his sincerity. 'just be you, i fell for you, i don't need anything else. we will move on your pace, don't worry about it. you can do whatever you want to do, act however you like - just be you.'

it takes a gigantic effort from you to not cry. you hug him tight and seungcheol hugs you even tighter right back, plastering himself all over you and leaving tiny kisses on your shoulder and head. his words fill you with so much warmth and relief, you sag in his arms. 'thank you,' you mumble.

'you don't have to thank me,' seungcheol whispers. 'just be you and you'll be the best girlfriend on this planet.'

it's cheesy and it makes you giggle and feel all of the butterflies in your stomach. you kiss his cheeks, sighing happily. 'okay.'

seungcheol smiles, caressing your back lovingly. he lets you two enjoy this moment, only pulling back when you move. 'now let's go back to our movie night, yeah?'

you nod. 'cuddle?' you ask shyly.

seungcheol's answering grin is blinding. 'of course, princess.'

a/n: is it very obvious that seungcheol is in my top3 of the members to write for? :') hope you enjoyed this one! - nini

my other seventeen works are HERE

[sunfairiess]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐣𝐣 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tropes: 3rd person narration | soft boy jj | best friends to lovers | comfort | fluff

synopsis: reader’s battling against anxiety, and during one of her anxiety attacks jj’s there to help her.

warnings: heavy depiction of anxiety, anxiety attack.

wc: 2.1k

writing this as someone who suffers from anxiety and deals with it on her own, was really emotional; if you find yourself in this position too, please don’t be afraid to ask for help. mental health matters <3

song rec: breathin - ariana grande ♡

everyone fights their own monsters, some are physically visible, others are perceived. some people have to fight against their families, some against their friends. but one of the biggest and worst challenges, was to fight against your own head.

everyone is tormented by their own monsters. hers is called anxiety, the beast who had ruined her life.

at school, her grades started to drop because she was just so tired all the time she couldn’t even bring herself to open the textbook; half of the foods she used to love were cut out of her daily routine because she would get constant heartburn and stomach problems to the point where she wasn’t able to consume a full meal for days.

when it came to sleeping, she couldn’t fall asleep because her mind was always racing with awful thoughts. what if i don’t wake up tomorrow? do my friends hate me because i didn’t go out with them today? is my heart supposed to beat so fast? my back is hurting, is this a health condition? am i going to be alone forever? usually she would go on for hours, reaching three or four in the morning, until she either cried herself to sleep or she almost passed out because of how tired she was.

going out of the house became hard. she became afraid of taking public transportation because what if someone tried to rob her or kidnap her. she couldn’t take long walks anymore because what if something happens and i’m alone. she even had to stop going to parties because she couldn’t stand big and loud crowds of people anymore.

her mental pain became physical: constantly having back problems, her chest and throat always felt too tight to breathe, her body tingling out of nowhere all the time.

it would’ve been a lie to say all of this didn’t reflected onto her relationship with others; she never told anyone about her own problems, not that they could help anyway. so when she started to hang out less with her friends, she always had to lie. i’m grounded, i can’t go out. sorry, i have too much homework to do. i have the flu, i can’t come. my dad needs my help, i’ll come next time. eventually though, she would run out of excuses, and that’s how she ended up for the first time in a month at the château, surrounded by her best friends.

“girl, we haven’t see you in forever, i almost forgot your face.” kiara joked, nudging her a bit with her elbow.

“i know, i’m so sorry guys. past month has been crazy.” which wasn’t a lie per se, she had spent the last weeks having constant anxiety and panic attacks. in the morning, in the afternoon, at night. and every single time she felt like she was about to die, the impending fear of doom creeping inside her. it really started to become unbearable, to the point where she didn’t even notice how many days would go by.

“well you’re here now, that’s what matters.” pope chimed in, giving her a smile. somehow that made her feel a little bit more lighter, knowing that her friends didn’t actually hated her. anxiety made her overthink every little detail of her life.

even though she tried to appear relaxed the whole night, she still felt like she was being chocked by an imaginary hand, pressing harder every time she breathed. she was grateful that none of her friends noticed the stiffness in her body, it would’ve been to hard to explain everything.

at least she thought no one noticed. jj noticed, he always did. he would observe every little detail about her. and from the moment she stepped into the château he hadn’t been able to keep his gaze off of her, not even for a second. he missed her. he hadn’t seen her in weeks and he had become restless. day and night he would think about her, what she was doing, if she missed him, if she too dreamed about him like he did about her. that’s how it felt being in love with your best friend.

jj knew something was up with her. she was always full of joy and energy, but bow it seemed like she had lost her spark. he knew there was something wrong, especially when he saw her fidgeting with her rings, gazing anxiously around her. he knew something was wrong when she got up, excusing herself from the conversation, and almost running to the bathroom.

following her wasn’t probably too good of an idea, but jj was impulsive, so he did it anyway. amen to that, he would’ve dealt with the consequences later, like his confused friends asking him what the heck was going on.

as he entered the bathroom, she was sat on the toilet. her face so pale you would think she was about to pass out.

he sees her as she stares into the wall, her eyes fixed in front of her, full of fear. he notices as she bring her right hand to her throat, sliding slowly down her chest and pressing hard. he hears her breathing going faster and heavier, like she couldn’t catch a full breath. her hands shaking as she tries to ground herself and not slip into the arms of her anxiety.

jj had no idea of what an anxiety attack looked like, he had been fortunate enough to never had one, but he always thought they had to feel awful for whoever got them. but seeing her, his sweet little sunshine, shaking all over the place and being surrounded by a cloud of darkness around her, made his heart break into a thousand millions pieces. he wanted to help her, but he didn’t know how to do it in the right way. he just wanted to do something, and so he did.

“sunshine, hey. baby, look at me. c’mon lemme see your pretty eyes.” he kneeled in front of her, placing both of his hands on her knees and gently rubbing his thumbs against them.

everything was spinning around her, thoughts racing with all the emotions she bottled up and all the fears she always had. she couldn’t stop them, it felt like she was going to be swallowed up by a black vortex. but then she heard his voice, it was like hearing an angel talking. her gaze slowly shifted from the white wall to his eyes, his gorgeous blue eyes, usually shining like stars when they looked at her, but now they were the depiction of concern. she felt a sharp feeling of guiltiness running through her your veins, because the last thing she wanted was to make him sad.

“that’s it, baby. you are so pretty, my pretty girl.” he gave her a soft smile, slowly moving his hands from her knees to her thighs. he wanted to pull her close and hug her, but one time— and thank god for him and the one time jj actually listened to what he said— pope told him that when people had anxiety or panic attacks, most of the time they didn’t wanted to be touched. so, instead of being the usual impulsive jj he was with everyone, he took baby steps with her, not wanting to scare her or make her even more anxious.

her breath was slowly calming down, but the aching in your chest and the lump in her throat were still there, still feeling like she was going to suffocate any moment now, but jj pulled her out of her thoughts again.

“alright pretty girl, i need you to do something for me, ‘kay? i need you to take deep breaths with me, i know it’s hard but i’m here. you’re safe, i won’t let anything happen to you. breathe with me, baby.” his voice was so sweet and gentle, she actually thought she was going to cry because of how soft he was speaking to her and how he was trying to handle the situation. she nodded slightly, following his example as he took one deep breath and then exhaled. one deep breath and exhaled. inhale and exhale. and they went on, and on, until the tension she felt before started to leave her body, making her shoulders and back relax and her hands stop shaking.

jj didn’t say anything this time, he just looked as she regained consciousness of her surroundings. even though the attack was gone, it usually took hours before she could actually calm down completely. it was hard and she always handled them alone, but this time having him with her felt like a blessing from heaven.

feeling like she had just been pulled out of a dark hole, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck. he let out a sigh as soon as he felt her flesh touch his own, his arms reaching for her hips and his face buried deep into the crook of her neck. they stayed like this for a almost twenty minutes. he only pulled her in tighter, not wanting to let go of her because he knew as long as she was into his arms, she was safe.

30 minutes later they were laying next to each other in the hammock, her head resting on his chest, the sound of his heart beating calming her, like a lullaby. his hands were both placed on her back, rubbing small circles against the thin fabric of her shirt.

jj really didn’t want to break the peacefulness that surrounded them, but he had to ask her why she never told him anything. he felt like he was failing at being her best friend. “why did you never tell me?” his voice was low, sounding almost like a whisper.

“i- i don’t know. i didn’t want to bother anyone, didn’t want to be a burden.” jj stopped moving his hands on her back, instantly lifting his head to look at her.

“okay, know that i’m not mad, but, firstly, i’m not anyone. i’m your best friend, you would never be a burden to me.” his hands moved to her cheeks, lifting her face. “i’ve been through hell and back these past weeks. not seeing you, not talking to you for more than 5 minutes on the phone, not touching you. it nearly killed me, y/n. i was always on the edge of a breakdown, constantly snapping at everyone because i didn’t know how you were doing. were you safe? were you alright? not knowing made me go insane.”

he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. he was pouring his heart out, which he never do, but he just felt like he had to do it now. “and i’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, that’s the last thing i want. i just wish for you to know how much you mean to me. you’re the most important person in my life, you’re my best friend, my ride or die, my partner in crime. you- you’re my first love, and hopefully you’ll be my last one too.”

her eyes went wide at his words, and honestly she thought she heard him wrong. “jj, what- what are you saying?”

“i know the night wasn’t perfect, but please just lemme say this now because i don’t know when i’ll get the same courage again. i love you, y/n. i love everything about you. i love that weird sound you make when you laugh too much, i love how your eyes shine when you’re talking about things you like, i love how after surfing your hair become all curly. hell, i love even the things you do that should piss me off, like when you throw away my joint because i’ve been smoking too much or when you scream at me because i got in a fight with some kooks again. i love you so much it physically hurts.”

her eyes were watery now, tears threatening to coming out in flows. she didn’t know what to say. because seriously, what do you say to someone who sees you as the most incredible human being, when you can’t even love a quarter of yourself?

you say nothing. but you can do something.

that’s why, in the quietness of the night, under the stars and while she was feeling at peace for the first time in weeks, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against it.

she wasn’t magically healed, she still had things to deal with. but now, she wasn’t on her own anymore.

[wendichester]

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ ☁️་༘ a big deal,

summary. sam will always come when you call.

pairing. sam winchester x reader

wordcount. 422.

The clock on your nightstand glows a soft 3:14 AM, and the quiet of your home feels stifling. You sit curled up on the couch, your hands gripping a steaming mug of tea you made but haven’t touched. The TV hums low in the background, playing a rerun of some crime show you aren��t really watching.

You’ve tried everything—reading, pacing, even counting sheep—but nothing shakes the unease that’s been crawling under your skin since you woke up from the nightmare.

Your fingers hover over your phone, debating. It’s late. You shouldn’t bother him. But the thought of his voice, steady and sure, is too tempting. Before you can overthink it, you dial his number.

The phone barely rings twice before Sam picks up.

“Hey, everything okay?” His voice is steady but laced with concern, the kind he tries to mask but never quite manages when it’s you.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say quickly, not wanting to worry him. “I just… I needed to hear your voice.”

There’s a beat of silence, and you can practically see the way his brows knit together, that soft furrow he gets when he’s trying to figure you out. “Where are you?” he asks, his tone shifting, low and determined.

“I’m at home,” you admit, feeling a little silly now for calling. “I just—I don’t know. I had a bad dream, and I didn’t want to be alone.”

“You should’ve started with that,” he says, and there’s the sound of movement on the other end. Keys jangling. A door opening.

“Sam, it’s late,” you protest, though your chest tightens with relief at the thought of him coming. “You don’t have to—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he cuts you off gently but firmly. “You’re my priority.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, and you press your lips together, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re gonna spoil me, you know that?”

His soft chuckle comes through the line. “Too late for that.”

Not even thirty minutes later, there’s a knock at your door. You barely make it to the entryway before he steps in, his hair slightly tousled, jacket half-zipped, and his eyes scanning you like he’s making sure you’re okay.

You don’t even wait for him to speak. You step forward and wrap your arms around him, and he pulls you close, holding you like he has no intention of letting go.

“I told you it wasn’t a big deal,” you mumble against his chest, though you don’t let go.

“It’s a big deal if it’s you.”

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery

[missarchive]

american jesus³ ☆

spencer reid

part one part two part three part four

summary; The delicate veil of secrecy is torn, unraveling a truth neither were prepared to face.

A fleeting mistake reveals their intertwined worlds, forcing them to confront the forbidden desire that binds them. Love and restraint wage a quiet war, their connection teetering on the edge of discovery, threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

cw; angst, spencer yells at the reader, age gap, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, big big feelings = big big argument, lots and lots of yearning, student/teacher relationship (ezra and aria who?) no smut in this part (i know, disappointing), you'll have to wait for part 4 ;)

an; as always, thank you for taking the time to read my work, i hope you all enjoy. please consider leaving feedback in the form of a comment or an ask if you did enjoy, i always love hearing from you <3

“Can’t believe how lucky I am,” Spencer murmurs, his voice low and steady, almost like he’s thinking out loud. He’s not saying anything groundbreaking, just a simple truth, but you can feel the sincerity in every word.

You’re lying next to him, the warmth of his body pressing gently against yours, the world outside his apartment fading away. There’s no rush, no urgency. It’s just you and Spencer, the quiet hum of the city muted by the walls of the apartment. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm, the touch both soothing and reassuring, like a silent promise.

You turn your head slightly to look at him, catching his gaze, and his eyes soften when they meet yours. “Lucky?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips. “Why’s that?”

He shrugs, his expression relaxed, but there’s something in his eyes that you can’t quite place—something that makes your chest tighten in a good way. “I don’t know. You’re... everything. You just get me, you know? You always know when I’m overthinking or when I need a minute, and you’re there without making a big deal out of it.”

You chuckle softly, rolling onto your side to face him more fully. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of mind reader.”

“I don’t know how you do it,” he continues, his hand resting lightly on your hip now, fingers gently tracing along your skin. “You’re so... intuitive. So much more than I ever expected.”

You’re not sure why, but something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world he could say that to. It feels real—genuine, even. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you say, your voice quieter now, the smile still lingering on your lips.

Spencer laughs softly, his fingers brushing over your hair. “I don’t know about that,” he says, though the affection in his voice is undeniable. “But I’m definitely glad you’re here. Glad it’s... us.”

“Me too,” you whisper back, settling a little closer to him, resting your head against his chest. It’s easy, this thing between you. Comfortable in a way that doesn’t need to be overanalysed or explained. You both know where you stand, and that’s enough.

He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I really like being with you. More than I can say.”

You close your eyes, letting the simple words wash over you, content in the quiet of the moment. The world outside can wait. Here, with him, everything feels just right.

So as you crossed the campus the next morning, your bag tucked tightly against your side like a fragile secret, you couldn’t help but think of him. The air was crisp, carrying the faint tang of autumn, and the hum of the campus buzzed around you. Laughter echoed from a nearby bench, the scrape of skateboard wheels over concrete punctuating the morning stillness. It was a world in motion, but for you, each step felt heavier, each breath tighter.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, jolting you from your spiralling thoughts. A welcome distraction. You stepped into the shadow of a quiet corner in the quad, your back leaning against the cool brick of a building as you pulled it out. The message preview glowed softly on the screen, taunting you with its simplicity. Just a few words, but enough to make your stomach twist. You hesitated, the pad of your thumb hovering over the notification, before swiping it open.

@ thefourthdoctor; Big day today, right? How's it going so far?

You smiled to yourself. He had a way of grounding you, even when the chaos of life seemed overwhelming. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard as you typed back quickly.

@ laceandliterature; Surviving so far. One more class. Supposedly the professor is a genius or something.

@ thefourthdoctor; Genius professors are overrated. Bet you'll end up teaching them something.

You let out a soft laugh, earning a curious glance from the student beside you. You put your phone away as the chatter in the room began to quiet. The door at the front of the classroom opened, and a tall, slightly disheveled man stepped in.

"Good afternoon," he began, his voice smooth and steady, carrying just enough authority to quiet the murmur of the room. "My name is Dr. Spencer Reid, and I’ll be your professor for this semester."

A cold shiver ran through you, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. For a moment, your brain refused to process them, to connect the dots. It was like a veil had dropped over the classroom, the world outside of him fading into a muffled blur. He was your Spencer—your secret, your late-night confidant, the person who had slowly crept into your thoughts, into your heart.

And now, as you looked up, there he was. Dr. Spencer Reid. The very thought of it made you freeze.

The world around you seemed to tilt, gravity losing its hold, as if the earth had somehow shifted beneath your feet. The air in the room thickened, and your pulse hammered in your ears. You could feel every eye in the room, but all you could focus on was him—on the way his gaze flickered over the crowd, on the moment he paused as if feeling your presence before his eyes locked onto yours.

It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.

Recognition flashed in his eyes, swift and sharp like a lightning strike, followed by something darker—something that mirrored the panic rising in your chest. His steps faltered, a momentary loss of composure. For an agonizing second, he looked like he might trip over his own feet, his hand reaching instinctively to grip the edge of the podium, as though it were the only thing keeping him from falling apart. His lips parted, as if he meant to speak, but the words didn’t come.

The room around you blurred, every sound drowned out by the rushing roar of your heart, by the sudden weight of the truth crashing down on you. Dr. Spencer Reid, the man you had been talking to for weeks, the one you had come to trust with pieces of yourself you’d never shared with anyone, was standing in front of you—your professor. The line between you had just dissolved into nothing, and the implications hit you all at once.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes were filled with something raw and unsettled—confusion, maybe even disbelief, a look that mirrored the one you felt inside. You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were so close to something, to something more, to a feeling you’d been fighting to define, but now… now it all felt tainted. The connection you had with him was something that had blossomed in the quiet, the secrecy, and now it felt so exposed, so fragile, hanging on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

You watched him struggle to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his brow furrowed with tension, but there was something else beneath it—something deep, something that had been there all along, though you hadn’t dared to name it. The reality of the situation hit you with crushing force: the late-night conversations, the casual affection, the way he made you feel seen and heard… It had all been real. But so was this.

He opened his mouth again, but it wasn’t to speak to you—not directly. He cleared his throat, pulling himself together with shaky breath, and in that instant, you knew that everything had changed. He was no longer the man you had been texting, the one who had shared things with you that felt impossible to tell anyone else. No. Now, he was your professor, the person whose authority you were supposed to respect, the person who had the power to affect your future in ways you hadn’t even considered.

You tried to steady your racing thoughts, but the reality of what was happening, what had just happened, pressed down on you. This wasn’t just an awkward surprise. This was a violation of all the boundaries you thought you could keep between your personal life and the rest of the world. You felt your chest tighten as the dread crept in.

You had been so close. So close to something real, something that had started to feel like it could actually be more than just a fleeting connection. But now? Now, you were staring into the abyss of what could only be a mess. His eyes kept flicking to you, but he didn’t speak directly to you again. Instead, he turned his attention back to the class, clearing his throat one more time before continuing, his voice more composed but still carrying an undercurrent of something strained.

"...I’ll be teaching cognitive development this semester," he said, his tone firm but not quite steady. "It’s a challenging course, but I’m confident you’ll all be able to keep up."

His words felt hollow, detached, as though he were going through the motions, but every syllable felt like an echo of everything you could no longer ignore.

You stayed rooted in your seat, a cold heaviness settling over you, your heart racing, your mind reeling. The world had just shifted, and you weren’t sure how to catch your breath.

"Uh," he stammered, his voice betraying a crack of unsteadiness. "As I said, I’m Dr. Reid. I, uh, specialise in behavioural psychology and philosophy. If you need anything, my office hours are listed in the syllabus, which you should have received by email."

He spoke too quickly, the words tumbling out like they might shield him from the reality of the moment. His hands gripped the podium tightly, and though his eyes swept over the room, you could tell he was avoiding looking directly at you. His composure was a fragile thing, threatening to crumble with every second that passed.

Your stomach churned as the implications of this impossible situation sank in. The air in the room felt stifling now, too warm, too heavy. You were hyperaware of him—of the way he stood just a little too rigidly, the faint flush creeping up his neck, the way his voice had wavered when he said anything.

This was the man who had been your confidant, the one who made you feel seen in a way no one else had. And now, he was standing in front of you, holding a position of authority that made every shared moment, every word exchanged, a dangerous secret.

He risked another fleeting glance in your direction, his expression unreadable. The air between you felt charged, like the space before a storm, filled with things left unsaid and too many emotions packed into too little time.

Your mind raced, a tangled mess of shock, dread, and something heartbreakingly close to longing. How could this possibly work? Could it even work at all?

Spencer turned back to his papers, his shoulders tight as he forced himself to continue. But the damage was done. The moment had shattered the fragile wall between your two worlds, and now you were left to navigate the wreckage.

And now, he was standing here, just feet away, your professor.

You could still feel his eyes on you, even when he wasn’t looking directly your way. You knew he felt it too—the electricity, the undeniable tension.

As the class dragged on, each word Spencer spoke felt like it was coming from miles away. You couldn’t focus, couldn’t absorb anything except the overwhelming weight of the truth. Dr. Spencer Reid. The realization kept replaying in your mind like a broken record, the echo of it rattling your thoughts until everything else faded into white noise. You tried to look at him objectively, tried to see the professor in front of you, but all you saw was the man who had become your secret, your late-night refuge. The man who, just hours ago, you had felt yourself slipping closer to, only to have the ground ripped out from under you.

When the lecture finally ended, the final bell a dull thud in your chest, you stayed in your seat for a beat too long, uncertain. The others filed out, chattering and laughing, their voices lost to you as if you were underwater. You debated, internally torn between confronting him—demanding answers—or simply running the other way and never looking back.

But before you could decide, before you could move, you caught his eye. Just for a second. It was brief, fleeting, but in that shared glance, you saw it—the acknowledgment, the silent recognition that you were both trapped in the same web of confusion and unspoken desire. His gaze held something more: a question, a plea, a silent call for understanding. You weren’t sure which one it was, but you felt it.

Neither of you said a word, but the air between you grew thick with it, with everything you weren’t saying. It hung there, heavy and suffocating, the invisible barrier that now separated you. You wanted to speak, to ask him what this meant, to demand the answers that both of you seemed too afraid to say aloud. But you didn’t. And neither did he.

This was going to complicate everything.

The days after that first class passed in a blur. The initial shock had dulled, but it had left behind an uneasy tension, a strange sort of tightness in the air between you and Spencer. Something had shifted between you both, but neither of you knew how to handle it, how to navigate the mess of emotions and risks.

In lectures, Spencer kept his gaze trained firmly ahead, rarely letting it wander to your corner of the room. When he did glance in your direction, it was quick, as if he feared even that brief moment of connection might undo him. The smooth flow of his lecture, once so natural, now had a stutter to it when you raised your hand, your voice, anything. The usual rhythm was broken, disrupted by the constant awareness of each other. Every word you spoke seemed to have the weight of a thousand unspoken things behind it, like every sentence was a landmine that could blow everything apart.

Outside of class, things were no easier. The messages between you and Spencer, once frequent and filled with ease, had become painfully measured. You had both learned to carefully choose your words, as if a wrong one could expose everything—the feelings you were hiding, the longing you couldn’t keep at bay, the dangers that now clung to every thought and touch. Every interaction felt like it was wrapped in a shroud of what ifs—what if someone found out? What if this all fell apart? What if it was too late?

But despite the careful distance, despite the impossible situation you found yourselves in, you couldn’t stay away. There was something magnetic between you, a pull that neither of you could resist. Each encounter, each brief exchange, only made it worse, only made you want him more.

And yet, you couldn’t have him. Not like this. Not with the risk of everything unraveling in an instant. But every part of you screamed that you couldn’t walk away, that you couldn’t let go of the thing that had begun to feel so real. And every part of him seemed to feel the same way.

There’s something almost sacred in the way he moves, the way he speaks, each word falling from his lips like it’s meant only for you, like you’re the only one who can truly hear it. You can't help but trace every line of his face, from the sharp curve of his jaw to the faint scrunch of his brow when he's lost in thought. His every gesture seems like poetry, something you could study for hours, even days.

You idolise him in a way that feels almost holy, a quiet reverence in the way you let your gaze linger on him, not just as your professor, but as someone untouchable. Every time his eyes sweep the room, you hold your breath, hoping, praying that maybe this time, they’ll land on you—just you. But they never do.

And still, you can’t stop. He’s your obsession, your quiet prayer whispered to the stars. You don’t just listen to him; you drink in every syllable, every inflection of his voice, as if his words are the only truth worth knowing. And in those moments, the world falls away, leaving only you and him—alone, even if you’re not.

It started in whispers, in moments so small they were almost imperceptible. A lingering glance after class that held for just a second too long. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed back a graded paper, the touch fleeting but electric. You told yourself these gestures didn’t matter, that they were coincidences or figments of your imagination. But you knew better. You felt it in your chest, in the way your breath caught each time his eyes met yours and lingered.

Then one evening, as you packed up your notebook and pens after a lecture, his voice stopped you mid-motion.

“Y/N,” he said softly, careful not to draw the attention of the few students still milling about. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

You froze, your heart skipping, then nodding as you tried to keep your face neutral. His eyes darted around the room, scanning for onlookers, before he gestured toward the hallway.

The atmosphere in Spencer’s office was tense, a quiet unease pressing down on both of you. The faint hum of the overhead light mixed with the distant sounds of the campus outside, but neither did much to distract from the gravity of the conversation.

Spencer sat behind his desk, his fingers lightly drumming against the edge as he stared at the scattered papers in front of him. His gaze was unfocused, the weight of what he needed to say pulling at his normally composed demeanor. You leaned against the closed door, arms crossed, your posture guarded.

“This isn’t just risky,” he said after a long silence, his voice steady but low. He glanced up at you, his eyes serious. “If anyone finds out, it could ruin both of us.”

You straightened, arms dropping to your sides. “I know the risks, Spencer. But walking away isn’t an option for me, and I don’t think it is for you either.”

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a quiet sigh. “It’s not. But that means we have to be careful—really careful. We need rules. Boundaries. Something to protect us.”

You stepped closer to his desk, pulling a chair to sit across from him. “Okay,” you said, keeping your voice even. “Let’s figure it out. What’s non-negotiable?”

He hesitated, his fingers lacing together as he thought. “First, no public displays of affection. Not even subtle things. On campus, we have to act like nothing’s going on. No lingering looks, no casual touches—nothing.”

“Agreed,” you said, though the thought of keeping that distance stung. “We can’t give anyone a reason to suspect us.”

“And no communication about us through email or official channels,” he added. “If we need to talk, it has to be in person or through something secure.”

You nodded. “There are private apps we could use, encrypted ones. Only for emergencies, though. No casual texting.”

The practicality of it all settled over you both, the careful parameters of what you could and couldn’t do drawing a stark line around the relationship.

Spencer looked at you, his expression softer now, though no less serious. “If at any point this feels like too much—if it starts to put pressure on your life or your future—you have to tell me. I don’t want you to feel trapped in this.”

You met his gaze, holding it firmly. “That goes both ways. If you start to feel like this is putting your career in jeopardy, you need to tell me.”

He nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Deal.”

The conversation felt clinical, like drawing up a contract, but it was necessary. The risks weren’t hypothetical—they were real, and you both knew what was at stake.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked after a pause, your voice quieter now.

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he looked at you. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I know I’m willing to try. For you.”

His honesty grounded you, cutting through the uncertainty. “Then we’ll make it work,” you said simply.

You found ways to navigate the tightrope of your relationship, though every step felt like it could be the one that sent you both tumbling into ruin.

You started meeting in places where no one would recognise you. A quiet café on the outskirts of town. A secluded bench in the park. The conversations were tentative at first, but the connection between you refused to fade.

One night, as the rain pattered softly against the windows of his apartment, you found yourself curled up on his couch, your head resting on his shoulder.

“You know this is insane, right,” he muttered, though his arm tightened around you.

“Probably,” you admitted, tilting your head to look up at him. “But doesn’t it feel worth it?”

His gaze lingered on yours, conflicted but warm. “It does,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. “And that’s what scares me.”

The line between you and Spencer was razor-thin, a fragile, trembling thread neither of you dared to define. It felt like standing on the edge of a precipice, the dizzying height both thrilling and terrifying. You both knew the fall was inevitable, yet neither of you could step away. Instead, you lingered there, savouring the tension in those fleeting moments before gravity claimed you.

One late afternoon, as the sun dipped low and painted the campus in gold and shadow, you found yourself outside his office door. The brass plaque bearing his name gleamed faintly, a stark reminder of the boundaries you were about to cross. Your pulse quickened as you raised a hand and knocked softly, the sound barely louder than your breath.

“Come in,” he called, his voice muffled, distracted.

You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet click. Spencer sat hunched over his desk, papers sprawled across its surface like a chaotic map of his thoughts. His tie hung loose around his neck, and his hair fell untamed over his forehead, catching the fading light.

When he looked up and saw you, the tired lines of his face softened. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, one that chased away some of the tension in his shoulders. “You’re here,” he said, his voice warmer now, but still tinged with a nervous edge. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” you admitted, stepping closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

He stood slowly, his movements hesitant as though torn between his delight at seeing you and the weight of the risks that lingered between you. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he confessed, his hand moving to the back of his neck. “But this... it’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” you replied, your voice steady but gentle.

He shook his head with a quiet laugh, though it lacked humor. “You make it sound so simple.” His gaze dropped to the floor before returning to you, his expression earnest. “I’m glad you’re here—I always am—but... we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you said, your tone softer now. “But I needed to see you.”

He exhaled, taking a step toward you, the space between you narrowing. “This is dangerous,” he said, though the warmth in his eyes betrayed the firmness of his words. “For both of us. You understand that, right?”

“Yes,” you replied, your gaze locking with his. “I understand. But that doesn’t change how I feel.”

The honesty of your words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed. Spencer’s breath hitched, and he hesitated for a moment before closing the remaining distance between you.

His hands came to rest gently on your waist, his touch light but steady, as if testing the limits of how close he could let himself be. “You make it impossible to think straight,” he murmured, a faint, self-deprecating smile on his lips.

“Then don’t think,” you whispered, your hand rising to cup his face. Your thumb brushed against the stubble along his jaw, the touch grounding. “Just let yourself feel, Spencer.”

His resolve faltered, and after a brief, wavering pause, he gave in. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both tender and urgent, as though trying to convey everything he couldn’t say aloud.

When you pulled back, your breaths mingled in the space between you, your foreheads resting together. His hands tightened slightly on your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“This is reckless,” he murmured, though his tone lacked any real conviction.

“Then tell me to leave,” you said softly, challenging him with your eyes. “If you really believe this is a mistake, say it, and I will.”

Spencer’s silence stretched, his gaze searching yours for an answer he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Then, instead of pushing you away, he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—slower this time, more deliberate.

In that moment, the rest of the world faded away. It didn’t matter that this was risky or complicated. All that mattered was the way his arms felt around you, and the way he whispered your name like it was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

But even as you clung to him, the weight of reality loomed just beyond the door. You both knew the balance wouldn’t hold forever. Every stolen moment brought you closer to the edge, but neither of you was ready to let go. Not yet.

The weeks that followed were nothing short of surreal, a delicate haze of stolen moments and whispered confessions that felt like they existed outside of time. For a brief, golden sliver of your lives, the rest of the world melted away. The tension and danger that had once defined your relationship softened, and in its place grew something that felt achingly close to normal—a fleeting illusion of safety in a house of cards.

During the day, Spencer was every bit the professor. His lectures were sharp, his insights unmatched, and his demeanour coolly professional. He kept his distance, his gaze skimming over you with the same neutrality he granted every student. But in the evenings, when the classroom emptied and the cloak of twilight fell over the city, those carefully maintained facades slipped away.

You found solace in the quiet intimacy of those stolen hours, the shared secret between you and Spencer feeling like a delicate, shimmering bubble that shielded you from the outside world—if only for a little while. His apartment, modest and unassuming, became your sanctuary. Under the cover of darkness, you would arrive, greeted by the soft, golden glow of a desk lamp that bathed the room in warmth. The light cast long, flickering shadows across the walls, giving the space an almost dreamlike quality.

He’d sit at his desk, his slender fingers skimming over pages of handwritten notes or flipping through the well-worn pages of a book. Papers were scattered in controlled chaos before him, but his focus would inevitably drift to you. Meanwhile, you lounged on his worn, olive-green couch, the fabric soft from years of use, a book resting in your hands. The faint scent of old paper mingled with the subtle aroma of his cologne, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket.

One evening, the air felt particularly still, broken only by the soft scratch of his pen against paper and the occasional rustle of pages as you turned them. The tension between you wasn’t heavy—it was something quieter, more tender, like the gentle pull of a tide.

“I’m starting to think you’re only here to distract me,” he teased, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes flicked up from his notes, catching yours across the room. A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and affection.

You looked up from your book, tilting your head with a playful grin. “Maybe I am,” you replied, your tone light but laced with an unmistakable warmth. “But you don’t seem to mind.”

He leaned back in his chair, the smirk softening into something more vulnerable, more honest. “I don’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, carrying a sincerity that made your chest tighten. His gaze lingered on you, filled with a kind of unspoken gratitude, as though you were the one thing anchoring him amidst the chaos of his thoughts.

The moment stretched between you, delicate and unbroken, like the fragile stillness before a storm. In that space, with only the golden lamplight and the quiet hum of shared presence, the world outside faded away.

Some nights, you’d find yourselves in his small, modest kitchen, an intimate space that seemed to wrap around you like a cocoon. The countertops were cluttered with mismatched utensils and a few carefully chosen cookbooks, their spines cracked from frequent use. The narrow layout forced you close, your movements effortlessly weaving around each other, as though this was a dance you’d been perfecting for years.

You’d stand at the counter, chopping vegetables with a focus that was occasionally interrupted by his amused glances. Meanwhile, he’d hover over the stove, stirring something fragrant and humming softly under his breath. The warm, savoury scent of simmering herbs and spices filled the air, mingling with the faint crackle of oil in the pan.

“Reid, you’re a genius, not a chef,” you teased, pausing to nudge him gently with your elbow. The touch was casual, yet the closeness sent a subtle thrill through you.

Without missing a beat, he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “I think genius qualifies me for multitasking,” he retorted, his tone light and laced with dry humor.

The way he spoke, so earnest yet teasing, made you laugh—an easy, carefree sound that filled the small space. His smile widened at the sound, the fondness in his expression unmistakable. He turned back to the stove, stirring the pot with careful precision, as though the act of cooking together was as much about the process as the meal itself.

Occasionally, his arm would brush against yours, the fleeting contact as natural as it was electric. He’d reach over you to grab a spice jar, murmuring an absent “Excuse me,” though his hand would linger just a moment too long against yours.

He told you stories about the BAU, his voice animated as he recounted Morgan’s relentless pranks or Garcia’s exuberance. You’d laugh until tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, your sides aching from the joy of it.

“This feels too good to be true,” you murmured one night, leaning against the counter as you watched him stir a pot of pasta.

“It does,” he replied, glancing at you with a small, almost shy smile that made your chest tighten. “But I don’t want to think about that right now. I just want to enjoy this.”

And you did. You savoured the moments as though they might slip through your fingers at any moment. But beneath the surface, there was always a quiet awareness—a faint, unspoken dread. You both knew this fragile peace couldn’t last forever. The bubble you lived in was too perfect, too delicate, and the outside world was never far away.

The nights were the best, the moments you cherished most. Wrapped in his arms, the world outside ceased to exist. Time itself seemed to slow down, fading into the background as everything else fell away. The warmth of his skin against yours was enough to make the chaos of the day disappear. He’d trace lazy patterns across your back or along your arms, the soft rhythm of his touch sending a sense of peace through you, grounding you in the present moment. His voice would hum softly, a low murmur that carried the oddest mix of comfort and distraction. He’d recite obscure facts with the same earnestness he applied to everything else, his words a strange lullaby that somehow felt both educational and intimate.

“Did you know that octopuses have three hearts?” he said one evening, his body pressed close to yours, limbs tangled together like the quietest dance. His voice was warm, the amusement in it making your pulse quicken slightly.

You laughed softly, feeling the slight vibration of his chest against your cheek. You buried your face against his skin, closing your eyes for a moment to soak in the sense of peace that only seemed to exist here, with him. “And here I thought you didn’t have one at all,” you teased, a playful smirk pulling at your lips.

His fingers brushed against your cheek, a soft, almost reverent touch that stilled your teasing. His expression shifted, becoming something quieter, something that caught you off guard. The warmth of his breath against your skin softened, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade.

“I do,” he whispered, the words a soft confession, barely audible but filled with weight. “And it’s yours.”

The words hung in the air, more potent than anything he had said before. The way he said them, so sure, so vulnerable, made your heart skip a beat. You wanted to respond, but the truth was—there was nothing to say. The vulnerability in his voice, the sincerity in his touch, said everything you needed to know.

The bubble burst on an otherwise ordinary evening. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm with Spencer, your shared secret giving you a sense of intimacy that felt almost unbreakable. But the thing about bubbles is that they’re fragile, no matter how much you want them to last.

It started with a message.

Spencer had been quiet all day, his usual goodnight text conspicuously absent the night before. When you finally worked up the courage to check your phone, there it was.

@ thefourthdoctor; We need to talk. Can you come over?

Your heart sank as you read the words. “We need to talk” was never a good sign.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, your mind racing with all the possibilities of what he might say. By the time you arrived, your hands were trembling as you knocked on the door.

He opened it quickly, stepping aside to let you in without a word. His expression was tense, his usually warm eyes clouded with something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely steady.

He closed the door, running a hand through his hair. “Something happened,” he said, his tone clipped.

The weight of his words settled heavily in your chest. “What do you mean? Did someone—”

“Someone knows,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “Or at least, someone suspects.”

You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How? Who?”

“I don’t know who,” he said, pacing the small living room. “But today, a coworker asked me why I’ve been acting distracted. He didn’t say anything outright, but I could tell he’s suspicious. And if he’s suspicious, it’s only a matter of time before someone else starts asking questions.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. “What did you say to him?”

“I brushed it off,” he said, his voice strained. “But this isn’t just about the team. If the school finds out…” He trailed off, his hands clenched into fists.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating.

“So, what are you saying?” you finally asked, your voice trembling.

He stopped pacing, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m saying we need to stop this. Whatever this is, it’s not worth the risk.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. “Not worth the risk?” you repeated, your voice rising. “Is that all this is to you? A risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, but the damage was done.

“Then what did you mean, Spencer?” you demanded, your voice cracking. “Because it sounds a lot like you’re saying I’m not worth it.”

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his silence louder than any words he could have said.

“Unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. “I thought—” Your voice broke, and you had to swallow hard before continuing. “I thought this meant something to you.”

“It does,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You mean something to me. But this—us—it’s reckless. It’s dangerous. And if we keep going, we’re both going to get hurt.”

“So, what? You’re just giving up?” you asked, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re walking away because it’s easier than fighting for me?”

“I’m trying to protect you!” he snapped, his voice louder than you’d ever heard it.

“Protect me from what?” you shot back. “From caring about you? From wanting to be with you?”

“From yourself!” he yelled, his words cutting through the air like a knife. “You don’t think things through! You’re impulsive and immature, and you don’t understand the consequences of your actions!”

The room went still, his words hanging heavy between you.

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your chest heaving as the weight of his words crushed you. “Is that what you really think of me?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His face softened for a split second, regret flashing in his eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“Maybe we should’ve never started this,” he said quietly, the words like a final blow.

You felt something inside you shatter. Without another word, you turned and walked to the door, your movements mechanical as you grabbed your coat.

"I'll write you a check, Spencer," you spat, your voice trembling with anger and hurt. "You can have every cent back, every single dollar you ever gave me. I don’t want it anymore—I don’t want any of it. Not the money, not the memories, not you.”

“Wait,” he called, his voice desperate now. But you didn’t stop.

As the door closed behind you, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway as you walked away.

This time, you didn’t look back.

Spencer stood frozen in the middle of his living room, staring at the door you had just slammed shut. The silence in the apartment was deafening, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

He felt hollow, like the argument had carved out a piece of him and taken it with you when you left. His chest ached, and his hands hung uselessly at his sides, still trembling from the heat of the fight.

Anger flickered in him—not at you, but at himself. The words he’d thrown at you echoed in his mind, sharp and bitter. Impulsive. Immature. Reckless. He had said them to push you away, to make you understand the gravity of the situation. But now they tasted like poison, regret seeping into every corner of his mind.

What have I done?

Spencer ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He sank onto the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His mind replayed the look on your face when he had yelled at you—the way your eyes had glistened with unshed tears, the tremble in your voice when you asked if that was what he really thought of you.

He didn’t mean it. Not any of it.

The truth was, you weren’t reckless. You weren’t immature. You were brave in a way he couldn’t comprehend, willing to take risks for what you wanted, for what you believed in. And Spencer admired you for it, even if he couldn’t admit it aloud.

But admiration wasn’t enough to protect you.

That was what haunted him the most. He had been terrified—not of you, but of what your relationship meant, of the potential fallout, the consequences that could ruin both your lives. He thought pushing you away was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. But now, sitting alone in the empty apartment, all he felt was loss.

Spencer’s throat tightened as he leaned back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to call you, to apologize, to take it all back. But the rational part of him held him back. You were right to leave, he thought bitterly. I’m no good for you.

Still, the thought of never seeing you again, never hearing your laugh or feeling the warmth of your touch, was unbearable.

The apartment felt colder, emptier, without you in it. Spencer closed his eyes, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he had said and everything he hadn’t.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, devastatingly alone.

You got me red, white, and blue

Pledging my allegiance to you

Tell me you believe in me too

next part

[jinhyun]

—one touch.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

genre: fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s brother au

word count: 3.5k

summary: when simply flirting wasn’t enough for you to notice that hyunjin was hitting on you, he knew he needed to move on to some physical contact for you to realise. unfortunately for him, the first touch ended up being way harder to achieve than he had intended.

author’s note: it’s hereeee! of course i needed to write how everything went down for hyunie trying to initiate physical contact with y/n :’) it might’ve been hard at first but thankfully he pulled through lol. i hope you guys enjoy! and as always i would love to read your opinions on it<3

“If I said I was craving hotteok right now,” your voice caught Hyunjin’s attention, making his eyes travel from the TV in front towards you next to him in a heartbeat. “Would you go buy some with me?”

He smiled, shaking his head in amusement. “Do I even have another option? Like, what else am I supposed to do? Wait here for you to come back?”

“I mean, you could…” you agreed.

“As if I’d let you go out alone at night”.

“Nothing I haven’t done before,” you pointed out with a shrug of shoulders. “There’s this stall a couple of streets from here, I won’t take long. Although I guess there is also the chance for you to talk me out of it and just stay here”.

“Nah, you already made me crave hotteok as well now” he sighed, throwing a playful glare at you, which could only have you chuckling the next second. “Let’s put everything away and we can go”.

Agreeing with his small condition, you began to grab the cutlery you’d been using minutes ago, while Hyunjin shoved the empty takeaway boxes into the bags they’d come in, in order to clear the coffee table that had been serving you both as a dining one.

Hyunjin followed right behind you when you made your way to the kitchen, leaving the bags on the counter as you told him to, and then just leaning against it while he stared at you quietly —and rather quickly— washing the dirty dishes.

He couldn’t help his eyes from focusing on your mouth, admiring it for longer than it’d be considered normal, before they travelled down to your waist. Just like him, you’d decided to wear something on the lighter end inside your place, given that the heater was on and, up until then, you had no intentions of going out that night. A white t-shirt had been your go-to that evening, and although it was quite loose, he could still see the curve of your waist under the fabric.

Touch her. Jisung’s words popped up in his head for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

Hand on her back when you pass her by.

Hyunjin’s eyes went to the already dried dishes he supposed you’d washed earlier that day and forgot to put away. If he offered to put them away right then, he’d have to go behind you to get to them, and since your kitchen wasn’t the most spacious one, he guessed he could gently place his hand on your waist to make his way over there without it being suspicious.

It would seem natural. You probably wouldn’t even notice.

It wasn’t that big of a deal anyway, right? He had touched you before. Like at new year’s eve when he placed his hands on your shoulders to guide you through the crowd, or when you fell asleep together on your couch and ended up cuddling. You didn’t protest when it came to the first —had you even noticed he was touching you back then?—, and with the latter you had explicitly told him it didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.

No, of course touching you wasn’t a big deal. But then why the hell couldn’t he bring himself to move?

It had been like this ever since he stepped a foot inside your place earlier that evening. It was his first time seeing you in person since Han planted the idea in his head, and he couldn’t help but take too long overthinking every single chance he’d get to have some physical contact with you, to the point of self-sabotage.

Just like it happened now, because before he could even get away from the counter, you were done washing the dishes and guiding him towards the entrance to your place, so you could put your shoes on and get ready to head out.

When Han brought the idea of having some physical contact with you, Hyunjin didn’t think it would be this hard, not when he had touched you a few times before. But there was a difference between all those previous times and now: the purpose of his touch.

Before, he’d seldom touch you just to feel you close, because he felt the need to and it just felt right, natural. They were all very casual little touches that anyone else could try without it meaning anything. Unlike now, that he needed them to be more frequent, and for you to be able to tell them apart from just a friendly touch.

Now, it was to send a message — the one of him being into you.

Now, he wanted you to question his touch, and although it was a very fine line when it came to both purposes, what was at stake for the second one was so much more. Because what he wanted was for you to take a hint at his feelings for you, and, even though there was a chance for you to accept them and allow yourself to try and fall for him as well, there was also a chance for you to turn him down without a second thought. And it was your rejection what terrified him the most.

By the time you made it out of your building, he was already growing frustrated, not to say hopeless.

Not even the snowdrops that started to fall the next minute could cheer him up, for the moment his eyes travelled down to your hands and then to the slippery floor, making a lightbulb light up in his head to reach for your hand and pull you closer, with the excuse of preventing you from slipping over on the icy sidewalk, you were already shoving your hands inside your pockets to keep them warm.

Still, he did the next best thing he could think of: walk closer to you, causing the fabric covering your arms to rub against each other with every step you took. Just in order to get some body warmth, and to stay close enough to you in case the sidewalk did become too slippery at some point. You didn’t seem to mind, after all.

Truth was, flirting with you was so much easier through texts, for he didn’t have those pretty eyes of yours staring into his soul and making his knees go weak before he could utter a single word out. And touching you was so much easier when he didn’t think of the romantic implications that came with it; not because he didn’t want there to be any romantic implications —fuck, he wanted nothing but for it to be romantic—, but because he could only then make it seem natural and not overthink the possibility of you turning him down.

One touch was all he needed. One simple first touch, to test the waters and figure out whether he could do it again without feeling like his heart would rip out of his chest any minute at the thought of you pulling away.

“I think I’m just going for the OG this time,” your voice brought him back to reality. “But they also have red beans and cheese, I think”.

“Huh?”

“Hotteok? The filling?” You clarified with a teasing smile, motioning with your head towards the stall that was now only a couple of meters away on the street. “Earth to Hyunjin?”

“Ah, yes… sorry” he apologized, feeling his cheeks begin to heat up — and then straight up burn when you looped your arm through his to pull him towards the hotteok stall.

You made it seem so easy. Was it really that easy? Just grab his arm in yours and go? Like his heart wasn’t going wild over that simple little contact you initiated?

“Hello~” you sweetly greeted the old woman once you reached the stall, earning a gentle smile from her and a very loving one from Hyunjin. “We’ll be having an original one and…” your eyes travelled up to Hyunjin, realising he hadn’t told you what he was having before. “Hyunie?”

“A traditional one and a red bean one, please” he completed your previous sentence.

With a nod of her head, the lady in front grabbed two cups to place your orders in.

“Red bean?” You scrunched up your nose.

He scoffed. “Am I really being judged by the carrot cake girl right now?”

“Not judging” you denied; much to his disappointment, removing your arm from around his so you could hold both your hands up in surrender. “Just saying… choosing red beans when the original one exists is just…”

“Here you go~” the lady announced, handing you both your orders.

“Oh, thank you” you received Hyunjin’s first, handing it to him before you turned back to her to grab yours and hand her the money. “Be careful, they’re hot”.

He smiled at your warning, watching you blow on the hot pastry for a few seconds before you took a bite and he did the same.

“What?” You asked when you could no longer ignore the smile he was staring at you with.

“Nothing,” he shook his head, still with a smile adorning his lips. “You’re cute”.

“Must be the snow giving me some kind of angelic look” you playfully batted your eyelashes for him.

“No,” he denied once again. “If anything it makes you look cuter, but you already look cute all the time”.

The sudden shy look in your eyes with a mixture of adoration in them as you silently stared at him, reminded him why it was easier to flirt through texts. Still, he loved getting to see your reaction after he did. He wanted to believe you were flustered enough to realise he wasn’t saying it as a friend.

“Your cuteness won’t save you from trying the red bean hotteok, though” he added when you wouldn’t reply anymore.

Your protesting whine sounded like music to his ears. “I’ve tried it before though?”

“When?” He pushed it.

“Like… I don’t know, two years ago?”

“If you made me try carrot cake years after my first impression of it, then so are you trying this one again”.

“Ugh, do I have to?”

“I’m afraid you have to” he taunted with a pout, bringing his hotteok up to your mouth. “Now open up”.

Glaring at him, yet knowing well enough there was no escaping from it, you opened your mouth as told and took a bite of it.

“You call that a bite?” He called you out, this time earning a small laugh from you as you chewed the small piece you took. “You didn’t even get any of the filling!”

“Yes, I did?!”

“No, you didn’t, Pinocchio”.

“Hyunie…” you pouted.

“Nope, being cute won’t help you out of it”.

Letting out a heavy sigh, you grabbed the cup of the pastry he was still holding up for you and brought it once again up to your mouth, this time taking what he considered to be a decent bite of it.

Looking down to it and seeing that you had gotten some of the filling this time, he smiled. “So?”

You rolled your eyes at the teasing look in his face, rushing to swallow it down so you could give him your final verdict. “Okay, maybe it is better than I remembered…”

“See?!”

“Still wouldn’t choose it over the traditional one, though”.

“It’s a nice change from time to time” he nodded to himself, taking another bite.

“You wanna try this one, though?” You offered, bringing yours up to his mouth just as he swallowed.

Hyunjin nodded effusively, opening his mouth for you to feed him. Laughing at his cute antics, you brought your hotteok even higher up, for it to go inside his mouth.

“Aigoo, what an adorable couple you two are”.

Only then, right as he bit into your pastry, you were both reminded of the fact that you were still standing in front of the hotteok stall, acting like that in front of a very oblivious woman who mistook the whole scene going on before her for a romantic one.

Thank God it was snowing and there was no one else in line appreciating the whole thing.

Your cheeks burned in an instant, looking at Hyunjin next to you rushing to swallow before you focused back on her. “Oh, we—”

“Thank you, ma’am” Hyunjin interrupted you before you could finish your rather panicked sentence, making your head snap in his direction in surprise, right as he gently leaned towards you. “Isn’t she the prettiest?”

When the woman agreed with him and commented on how good-looking the two of you were, he saw his hundredth chance that night and finally took it before it was too late, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers, just like he had wanted to minutes ago.

He almost laughed at himself right then. All night he had spent figuring out how to touch you in the subtlest of ways, looking for the spots of your body that would raise little to no suspicions in your head, and then inevitably chickening out before he could even reach for his goal. Yet here he was now, holding your hand on a whim.

In his defense, a chance as good as this one wouldn’t show up a second time, and he’d be an idiot not to take it — regardless of the possible consequences.

Maybe he should act without thinking more often. Then he’d be able to hold your hand and feel the softness of it as many times as he wanted.

With you being still too stunned to speak, he lifted your interlocked hands up to thank the old lady once more and wave goodbye to her, before he pulled you to him as the two of you began to walk away.

“Thank you, ma’am?” You mocked him when you were far enough for her not to hear.

“She would’ve been embarrassed otherwise,” he explained, fighting against his wishes to rub soft circles on your hand with his thumb. “There’s no need for her to know we aren’t a couple. We know we aren’t, after all”.

Unfortunately.

“You calling me the prettiest surely did the trick” you laughed under your breath.

“Well, you are”.

You lowered your head, with a shy smile curving up your lips. And, for a moment there, he swore he made you blush.

“And holding hands was absolutely necessary?” You questioned, holding your still interlocked hands up for him to see.

“Oh, absolutely” he smiled, trying his best not to show just how terrified he was now that you pointed it out. “Gotta make it look believable”.

The next second felt like an eternity. With your hands still intertwined, he could feel you ponder whether it was okay or not.

Whether he had crossed a line or not.

Most importantly, whether you would pull away —and with that set a clear boundary for him to stick to from now on— or not.

“Okay, I’ll allow it”.

His heart jumped. “You will?”

“Mhm…” you nodded, completely unaware of the way his heartbeat skyrocketed when your hold tightened around his fingers. “We’re not far enough from her yet, can’t have her think it was all an act”.

God, he loved it when you played along with his nonsense.

“Besides,” you added. “It’s cold, I didn’t bring gloves, and your hand is warm”.

“Oh, so you’re just using me”.

You chose silence, taking a bite of your hotteok instead.

“Wow, so this is how I find out?” He squinted his eyes at you in feigned offense.

When the corners of your mouth curved up in a smirk, he dramatically let go of your hand, speeding up his pace in order to make it known he was not having it.

And maybe for a second there he regretted letting go of the opportunity to hold your hand for a little bit longer, but the sound of your laugh as you begged him to come back and rushed to catch up with him, was enough for him to enjoy this moment altogether.

“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin” you followed hot on his heels, ignoring just how slippery the floor was as you tried to keep up with him. “Wait for me, your legs are too long”.

“Great, so now you insult my legs as well”.

You giggled behind him, making him laugh under his breath as well. “It’s not like t—holy fuck!”

As expected, it was only a matter of time before you slipped.

Thankfully for you, you had just caught up with his pace and Hyunjin’s reflexes were no joke, managing to catch you just as your body leaned back.

“Are you alright?” He asked, unable to hide his concern.

You nodded rather effusively, feeling his arm on your back keeping you from falling down, and having your eyes travel down for a second to the firm hand of his holding your waist.

One look into his relieved yet still worried eyes, and the realisation of you being safe and in his arms, was all it took for you to hide your face in his chest as a laughing fit took over.

“Oh, God, I’m so embarrassed” you somehow managed to say in between laughs, refusing to look up. “I’m sorry”.

With your laugh being so contagious, Hyunjin couldn’t help but laugh as well, pulling you closer to him and helping you to stand up straight, as your face remained hidden in his chest.

“It’s okay” he reassured you with a laugh, gently running his fingers through your hair.

You shook your head no, taking a deep breath in order to stop your laughter before you finally pulled away from him. “I almost dropped my hotteok” you half laughed, half pouted, making Hyunjin throw his head back as a throaty laugh escaped his mouth.

“I almost dropped mine trying to catch you” he admitted.

“Please no, I would’ve felt so bad” you lamented, wiping a couple of tears from the corners of your eyes.

“Don’t, we could’ve just gone back to get some more,” he reasoned, gently removing a few loose strands of hair from off your face and then using his thumb to wipe a single tear you had missed rolling down your cheek. “Wouldn’t mind hearing what a good-looking couple we are once again anyway”.

“I doubt she’d point it out again…” you mumbled timidly.

“Wanna go check?” He smirked.

You chuckled, shoving him off before you shook your head in both amusement and disbelief. Had he always been this bold?

“Let’s go back to my place already,” you suggested. “This night has been way too k-drama coded and I’m scared a tragedy might happen now”.

He laughed incredulously. “What kind of k-dramas have you been watching for you to be this traumatized?”

“Just the normal kind” you shrugged nonchalantly. “You’d be surprised over how many tragedies there are”.

“Well then, I’m still offended but I guess I’ll let you use me and hold my arm on our way back” he offered with a dramatic sigh, holding his arm out for you to wrap your own around it.

“Why thank you, that is so chivalrous of you” you playfully cooed, wasting no time in doing as told.

Feeling you hold on tight to his bicep, he smiled, shoving his hand into the pocket of his jacket as the two of you resumed on your walk for once and for all.

“Just to avoid the tragedy of you might slipping again” he made it clear, trying to cover the smirk curving up his mouth by taking a bite of his pastry.

“Oh, totally” you agreed, unlike him, not even trying to hide the big smirk taking over your face. “Wouldn’t want to make you catch me again when you’re oh-so-mad at me”.

Funnily enough, whether mad or not, he would always run to catch you anyway. And now that he discovered how nice it was to hold you close to him, and just how perfectly your hand fit in his, he was afraid he’d have to stop looking for a reason to touch you every time he wanted to and just do it instead, because he couldn’t keep waiting around for someone to point out how cute the two of you looked in order to hold your hand again, or for you to —God forbid— almost fall down for him to hold your waist once more.

The one touch he needed to test the waters had already happened, after all. More than one touch had happened that night, actually, and you didn’t seem to hate it in the slightest. If anything, the way you leaned closer against his body as you held on tight to his arm, told him just how comfortable you felt being so close to him.

And he’d be damned not to let loose from now on and get as physically close to you as you’d let him — as many times as it’d take for you to figure out his feelings for you, and as many more as you’d allow him to.

tag list: @jehhskz @iknowyouknowminho @doohnut @saintcosette @lailac13 @kayleefriedchicken @rikibun @yongbokkiesworld @seungzsmin @beautifulcolorgarden @hyunetopia @velvetmoonlght @automaticpersonabatpaper @httpdwaekki @brinnalaine @wondering-out-loud @feelikecinderella @nujeskz @amarecerasus @liknws @nhyunn @midsoulz @tirena1 @tinyelfperson @thatonexcgirl @iovecb97 @hynier @phenomenalgirl9 @your-favorite-pirate @jin-from-the-block @yearofthetiger25 @quokkacidal @stayconnecteed @kwanisms @yoonguurt @143hyunes @iiriam @cookielixie @hyunlvrs @allyrarara @machaandlofi @mehli-00 @justiceforvillains @minhosprettywife @whats-my-question @armystay89 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @hyeon-yi @skzstannie @onlyhyunjin @shyshyshytwice @nicoleparadas @​broken-glowsticks

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

hii I don’t know if you are doing requests but if you are could you please do one with toto Wolff x wife reader where she’s just given birth and her in-laws make fun of her or give her mean comments and she gets all upset but doesn’t tell toto to keep the family peace but he finds out and gets a tad upset at her for hiding it but he rips his family a new one please please!!

Unconditional Support

Word Count: 999

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader

Summary: Y/n shares her vulnerability after giving birth, revealing the hurtful comments from Toto's family that make her question her worth, prompting Toto to confront them with fierce protectiveness

I don't speak Polish so if something isn't right pleas let me know so i can change it.

Also my requests are still open

______________________________________________________________

Toto stood at the window, the hospital room filled with a serene quiet. You rocked the baby gently in your arms, trying to focus on the peaceful moment, but your mind kept drifting back to the things his family had said. Every comment felt like a dagger, cutting deeper than you’d let yourself admit. You’d spent so much time second-guessing your own reactions, wondering if you were being too sensitive—just like your ex-friends and ex-boyfriend had always claimed.

But this felt different. You had just given birth. You were vulnerable, exposed, and instead of support, all you got was veiled judgment.

Toto turned around, sensing your unease. He crossed the room in a few strides, sitting beside you on the bed, his hand resting on your knee. "What’s wrong?" he asked softly, his dark eyes filled with concern. "You’re not yourself."

You tried to smile, to push it down, but the weight of it all was pressing on you too hard. "I don’t know," you whispered. "I don’t want to make it a big deal. Maybe I’m overthinking things. Maybe I’m just being sensitive."

Toto frowned, his grip on your knee tightening slightly. "Sensitive about what?"

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. But the memory of Eva’s voice, sharp and critical, wouldn’t leave your mind.

"Your mom…" you started slowly, "she said, *‘Ach, du siehst müde aus’* (Oh, you look tired), and I know I *am* tired, but the way she said it—it wasn’t just concern. It was like I was already failing somehow. Like I should be doing more, looking better. I’ve just had a baby, and instead of asking how I feel, she’s telling me I look bad."

Toto’s jaw clenched, but you continued, the words pouring out now.

"And then Katharina, she didn’t even say congratulations before she looked me up and down and said, *‘You’ll want to lose the baby weight quickly, right? There’s a Pilates instructor in Vienna…’* I know I’ve gained weight—of course I have, I just carried a child—but she made me feel like it’s a race to get rid of it. Like my worth is tied to how fast I look ‘normal’ again."

Your voice wavered, but you pushed on. "And Margit—she took the baby right out of my hands and said, *‘Das ist nicht richtig. Soll ich es dir zeigen?’* (That’s not right. Should I show you?) I was trying my best, and she acted like I didn’t even know how to hold my own baby. I already feel like I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and she just made me feel… useless."

Toto stood up, his face dark with anger. He started pacing, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?" he demanded, his voice sharp. "Why did you let them say those things to you?"

"I didn’t want to cause problems," you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the floor. "I thought… maybe I was just seeing it wrong, like I always do. Maybe I was interpreting everything too negatively again. But the more I think about it, the more I realize… it wasn’t okay. They made me feel small. Like I wasn’t good enough."

Toto stopped pacing, his expression hardening. "You were right. They were out of line. I’m not letting this slide."

Before you could stop him, he grabbed his phone, his fingers flying over the screen as he found his mother’s number.

"Toto, wait," you pleaded, "don’t make this worse—"

But his face was set, determined. He brought the phone to his ear, speaking in rapid Polish as soon as his mother picked up. "Mamo, musimy porozmawiać." (Mom, we need to talk.)

You could hear the faint sound of his mother’s voice on the other end, but Toto’s expression didn’t soften.

"Nie, nie później. Teraz." (No, not later. Now.)

He glanced at you, his eyes blazing with a protective fury. "Dlaczego mówili takie rzeczy do Y/n?" (Why did they say those things to Y/n?) His voice was cold, demanding answers.

You watched, feeling torn between relief and anxiety as Toto continued to tear into his mother over the phone. You couldn’t understand everything, but the tone was unmistakable—he was furious, and he wasn’t going to let this slide. He paced back and forth, his voice low and dangerous as he spoke in quick bursts of Polish, likely recounting every hurtful comment you had shared with him.

After a few moments, his voice softened slightly, but his anger was still clear. "Nie obchodzi mnie, czy miały dobre intencje. Nie pozwolę, żeby tak traktowali moją żonę." (I don’t care if they meant well. I won’t let them treat my wife like that.)

He paused, listening to his mother’s response, before he sighed, rubbing his hand over his face in frustration. "To musi się skończyć. Teraz." (This has to stop. Now.)

He hung up the phone, his face still tense, and turned back to you. "I’ve told them," he said, his voice softer now but still firm. "They won’t be speaking to you like that again."

You looked down, guilt flooding through you. "I didn’t mean for this to turn into a big thing…"

Toto knelt beside the bed, taking your hand in his. "It’s not your fault. They were out of line, and you deserve better. I’m sorry I didn’t see it sooner."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "I just didn’t want to cause problems. I was so scared I was overreacting."

Toto cupped your face gently, his thumb wiping away a tear that slipped down your cheek. "You’re not overreacting. You’re not being too sensitive. You’re my wife, the mother of our child, and no one gets to make you feel less than the incredible woman you are. Not even my family."

You let out a shaky breath, finally feeling the weight of their comments lift just a little. You had doubted yourself, but Toto was making sure you’d never have to doubt him.

[weird-is-life]

Rockstar!tasm! Peter meeting Shy!reader on one of his shows? Invites her backstage to meet the band and he's just real flirty w her? Please

Hii, lovely!🫶 thank u so much for this request. This was fun to write. If you have anymore rockstar!Peter requests send them my way!!!! Hope this is okay. Warnings: fluff, use of y/n and pet names, mentions of alcohol, concert, flirting, mentions of big crowd, (2k)

Your best friends drag you to a concert of some upcoming band they love. Honestly, you don't know a thing about them only that they are allegedly pretty good, and that your friends are paying for your drinks tonight.

The whole place is packed with people, because it's not just one band playing, there are multiple bands playing throughout the whole night. The pretty big venue, but it still does nothing to make it more spacey. There's barely any place to move.

You thought you didn't mind so many people at one place, but as you try to get to the bar through the sea of sweaty bodies, you don't feel very happy that you're there.

You've lost your friends on the way to the bar as well, so you're on your own to get through the crowd. You hope that you'll meet your friends there.

You're almost at the bar when suddenly there's something cold and very very wet going down the front of your t-shirt. And by the smell of it, you can tell it's alcohol.

"Shit. I'm so sorry," the person panics in front of you," I didn't see you, like at all."

You slowly look up from your cold, wet t-shirt to the person speaking. It's a extremely handsome guy. Like 'your breath gets knocked out' handsome type. And no, you aren't even being dramatic.

He's dressed in all black, sleeveless t-shirt, black baggy jeans and black eyeliner. You don't think you've ever seen such abpretty and cute guy. He seems a bit familiar too, but you can't pinpoint where you've seen him before.

But you're t-shirt is still very much wet as you respond," it's-it's okay. There's just too many people, i know you didn't mean to."

You don't know what to do next. You don't have anything else to wear but this t-shirt. And your friends are still nowhere to be seen.

"Still, I'm very sorry," he apologetically looks at you, soft smile on his face. "Do you have anything else to wear?"

"I don't," you reply with a sigh.

"Shit," he curses looking around frantically. He looks like he has places to be, so you honestly don't want to keep him more than you've already had.

"It's whatever, I'll survive the few more hours, I guess. I'm sorry about your drinks tho," you give him a small, sheepish smile, and start going towards the bar again to find your friends.

You don't get far because he gently catches your hand, "as much as I think some guys would enjoy the wet t-shirt contest look, I would be an asshole to let you stay like this. Please let me get you a new t-shirt?"

Your cheeks go red at his words.

"It's really not that big deal-" you start.

"It is to me." He tells you. "Please, let me get you a t-shirt that doesn't reek of beer and vodka," he offers again with a chuckle.

You think it over for a few seconds as he looks hopefully at you, there's something else in the way he looks at you, but you can't quite name what it is.

"Okay, yeah," you say, and he smiles big at you," but where can you find a shirt here. There's nothing here."

He gives you the cheekiest smirk as he says, " don't worry about that. I'll get one for you. Just come with me."

He points to the doors you know lead to the backstage. You shake your head in disagreement, "we can't go there."

"We can, I know the people, so let's go," he starts to head thar way, but you don't budge. Overthinking it too much.

"Am I getting kidnapped?" you worry lightly. Even if you have a strong feeling, that you can trust this guy,

He laughs at your question,"no, definitely not. But if you want to wait here, it's okay, too. I'll bring it to you."

You think it over, and decide that you'd rather not stay in the middle of this pit of sweaty people. And also because you've never been backstage before, so you're curious.

"No, no, it's alright. I'll come with you."

He nods happily, "great. I'm Peter by the way."

"I'm y/n."

He starts to walk again, and this time you follow him. You have a hard time keeping up with him. With his long legs it's not easy to get through the crowd as he does.

Peter notices it, he stops, and suddenly there's his big, warm hand around yours.

Calloused fingers like guitarist's holding onto yours tightly, so he doesn't loose you. It makes the butterflies in your stomach go crazy.

He tugs you after him with an ease, and in no time you're in the backstage area.

Peter doesn't drop your hand, though, and he leads you even farther to some dressing room. He walks inside it so casually, and to your horror he pulls you inside with him.

There are 3 more guys in that room, all of them similarly dressed to Peter, looking very much like some rockstars. Peter finally drops your head, "give me a second, I'll find some clean t-shirt in my bag for you."

He leaves you standing in the middle of the room with your cheeks very rosy at the attention of the three other boys.

"I'm s-sorry, I didn't mean to intrude. I'll...I'll go wait outside," you point at the door.

"You're not intruding," Peter says softly, " these are my boys..." he names all of them, and each of them gives you a warm smile and a nod.

Fuck. You suddenly realise. They must be some kind of band playing tonight.

"It's nice to meet you. Do...Are you playing on the stage tonight?" You question curiously.

"Yeah," Peter finally finds you a t-shirt, and walks back towards you. "We are the last band playing tonight," Peter hands you the clothing, and you thank him. Still very shy at the thought that you are currently standing in the middle of some band's dressing room.

"There's a bathroom right here, you can go change, yeah?" Peter suggests carefully, he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything.

He thinks you are really, really pretty, and that it must be fate that you bumped into each other tonight. Peter only knows your name, and he knows he's fucked already. Like full on crush.

You only take a few seconds to clean yourself up, and change into Peter's t-shirt. When you come out of the bathroom, the guys are all standing, readying for the stage already.

"Hey, look at you, my t-shirt looks great on you, even if it's a little big," he compliments you with an easy smile, and you, once again, blush at his flirty tone.

"Thank you," you tell him," and thank you for the t-shirt, I really appreciate. I'm gonna go now though, i don't want to bother you anymore. I'll see you around. And thanks again."

You give him a wave with the intend to dissappear quickly out of there. Your friends are definitely wondering where you are by now. And also because your legs would probably give out if you had to endure one more flirty smile from Peter.

"Hey, hey, hey, wait up," Peter runs after you," I-I was wondering, if you would want to come listen from the side of the stage?

He looks unsurely at you. He has some kind of paper in his fidgeting hands.

"I can't, I'm sorry. I'm here with two of my best friends, so I can't even if I'd love to." You look regretfully at him.

"Then they should come, too! Please, it's the least I can do for spilling my drinks all over you." Peter blurts it all out way too quickly then he means to. Not keeping his cool composure near you like at all.

"Are you sure? We wouldn't want to bother," you ask quietly. Even if you'd really, really love seeing the band from the backstage. Because you don't want to go back into the messy crowd of people.

"You definitely won't bother anybody. It would be my pleasure actually to have you there. I can at least have some pretty girl like you there to dedicate our songs to," he winks at you. Flirting without much thought about it with you.

You can't say you don't like it. You do. Way too much than you probably should. So you say, "okay, yes. I'll text them right now."

"Great," he says with a big beam," and here, take this before I leave. Dave will escort you to the side of the stage." Peter pushes the paper from his hands to yours, and points at the bodyguard.

"Wait, Peter, what's this?"

"It's an address. If you could mail me the t-shirt back, it's my favourite," Peter tells you carefully, not wanting to sound like a dick.

"Oh, of course. That won't be any problem," you immediately assure him.

He nods at you, and leans in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek. Don't worry, he gives you the time to push him away, but you don't. You would never. He just couldn't say goodbye to you without ever kissing your pink cheek in his lifetime.

"I'm so glad i bumped into you," he tells you breathlessly, "I'll see you on the stage," and with that he's off. Leaving you a blushing mess as you scramble to text your friends to come to the backstage.

When they finally arrive, you follow Dave to the side of the stage as your friends stare around them in huge awe.

It's even worse when you finally get to the stage. "How the fuck did you manage to get us in here?" Your friends question.

"It's a long story, I'll tell it to you later." They just shake their heads at you, not able to believe where they are.

They eyes, and yours, go impossibly wider once the band shows up, and they start playing.

Peter immediately looks your way, grins at you and sends you a wink. You just smile bashfully at him.

Your friends eyes are instantly on you, "um excuse me, why is Peter Parker unabashedly flirting across the stage with you?" They squeal as they ask that.

Your face goes white. You didn't realise that Peter was Peter freaking Parker. Lead singer of that upcoming band your friends dragged you here to see. You almost pass out at the realisation.

You can't believe that the future rockstar is openly flirting with you across the stage, and your friends can't either.

Your friends demand to know what exactly happened, so you tell them. They go even more crazy after that.

When the concert is eventually over, you and your friends get escorted away from there by Dave, so you don't even get the chance to say goodbye to Peter or even be bold enough to ask for his number.

It's later after you spend a few days moping about your wasted chance with Peter that you finally get the strength to send him his t-shirt back.

You find the crumpled paper that Peter gave you, and only then you realise what's really written on it. Your mouth goes wide open.

Dear y/n,

I lied it's not my favourite t-shirt. You can keep it. I wanted to ask for your number, but I didn't want to pressure you into thinking that you had to give it to me just because I got you backstage (or just because I'm a handsome rockstar). So here's my number +xxxx xxx xxx, I liked you, like a lot, so please feel free to text me or you can ignore me, both is totally fine. Even if I may end up heartbroken, and write sad songs about you if you do decide to ignore me. Just kidding......maybe

With love,

Peter P.

You squeal so loudly that probably the whole neighbourhood hears you. You make a few laps around your apartment as you try to calm yourself down. You can't really believe it. You even read it a few more times just to make it real.

Once you do calm your racing heart, you call your best friends over to help you figure out what to text Peter. They very gladly agree to come.

And let's just say Peter is just as enthusiasticly waiting for the text from you as you are to write it to him.

[ginax0916]

°‧★ 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 ★‧°

Matt Sturniolo x fem!reader

Genre: Angst & fluff

Synopsis: What happens when they’re both jealous with feelings for each other, but won’t admit it?

(It starts off with texts but it’s a regular story after)

༺☆༻

༺☆༻

Y/n pov:

Why does he care so much? It’s not even like we’re dating. Plus he brings girls over all the time why’s it such a big deal that I have a date. It’s like he’s purposely saying all these bad things about him so I’ll cancel the date. I truly don’t get what he means, Jason is a nice guy every girl simps over him. Not to mention he’s captain of the football team. But I mean what can go wrong, we’re just going out to dinner then coming back to my place and there, done.

But part of me feels regret. I don’t know why but I feel regret for not listing to Matt now that Jason is only 5 minutes away. What if he’s right? What if he really is just putting an act on to get into my pants? No he would never. Matt’s just jealous and trying to scare me. After all we’re just roommates.

*knock knock*

Oh fuck. Jason’s here. Suddenly my nerves are increasing. My hands are sweaty and my dress is too tight. What the fuck do I do.

“Hey Jason”

“Hey pretty, you read to go?” He says. But for some reason it feels weird when he says it.

“Uh yea let me just grab my coat” I say as I walk to my bedroom and put it on. Before I walk out I see myself in the mirror. Is the dress too short? Too slutty? Suddenly I’m overthinking everything.

“Ok let’s go” I saw as I walk back to him.

“You look beautiful by the way” Jason says. Yet it still feels weird.

“Thank you. You look good too” I say trying to convince myself that he does.

We get in the car and he starts driving, about 5 minutes into the car ride I feel his hand creep onto my knee. And it keeps moving up till it rests on my inner thigh. I wanna push his hand off but I don’t want to be rude.

“Is that fine?” He asks.

“Uh yea” I could’ve said fucking no.

The rest of the ride is filled with an awkward and uncomfortable silence.

The whole dinner was extremely awkward. We barely agreed on anything and he kept making weird comments about how good my body looked in the dress. I just wanted to be done with it and go home.

“You read to go?” Jason asked. Fuck yes I am.

“Yea let’s go” I say.

Gladly he payed for the dinner which was nice of him, but it still doesn’t change the fact that the night was extremely uncomfortable.

We get in the car and I expect him to turn it on but he doesn’t.

“Are you gonna turn it on?” I ask trying to sound as nice as possible.

“You look so pretty” He says as he puts his hand on my thigh, too far up for my liking.

“Oh uh thanks” I saw trying to move away from him.

“That dress makes you look so good” Jason mumbles as he gets closer to me.

“I bet it would look even better if it was on the floor”

“Wha-” I get cut off my his lips on mine.

“What the fuck” I raise my voice as I push him off of me.

“Come on don’t be a brat” He grabs my face and attempts to kiss me again.

“Get the fuck off me” I scream as I try to unbuckle my self.

“I said don’t be a fucking brat” Jason raises his voice as he grabs my body and tries to pull me over to his side of the car.

“I said get off me you jackass!” I scream and I push him hard enough so he lets go and I get out of the car.

As I’m walking away from the car I hear the engine start and before I can move away he drives by me speeding through the puddle that was on the ground, making it splash all over me.

“You’re fucking kidding”

I sit on the curve of the parking lot, soaking wet in disgusting water and pull out my phone to text the one person who warned me this was going to happen.

He’s gonna kill me.

I stay here where he told me freezing because of the water and my jacket is soaked so it’s not much use. But soon enough I see Matt’s car pull up in front of me.

“Oh baby what happened? Why are you soaking wet” Matt says the second he gets out of the car.

“You were right. I should’ve listened I’m sorry” I sniffle as I feel tears swell up in my eyes.

“Hey hey it’s ok don’t cry. You did nothing wrong” He says while wrapping his arms around me holding me close.

“But you warned me and I was bitch and didn’t listen” I start to cry, keeping my head on Matt’s chest.

“No you’re not a bitch. You just made a mistake and now you can learn from it yea? You didn’t know this was gonna happen don’t bring yourself down for it” He comforts me.

“Here put this on and I’ll take you home and then you can tell me everything that happened how does that sound?” Matt asks as he wraps his coat around me.

“Mhm yea” I nod.

“Come on let’s go sweets I don’t want you to get sick” He grabs my hand helping me get up and we get into the car.

Instead of there being an awkward silence, there’s a comforting silence.

I look over to Matt and I feel butterflies in my stomach. The way the moonlight shines through the window lighting his face up. The way his blue eyes reflect the stars in the sky. The way his jawline is so sharp and defined and his cheekbones more prominent than ever. The way his nose compliments his face oh so well. I shouldn’t be having these thoughts about my roommate, it’s not right.

But what if I don’t wanna be just roommates with Matt anymore?

Should I make a part 2 for this or no??