#and I wonder if he would even realize he's doing it.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

(didn't even get to the part where Ford comes in, but I loved the idea of a sentient Mystery Shack that grows to love Stan - mostly because Stan ends up treating the place more like a home than Ford ever did and goes through all those years alone with him and wrote a drabble)

At some point, Stan realizes he should clean the house. The epiphany comes around the same time he realizes he should also take care of himself��eat, probably, since he can't recall when he last did that. Shower now that he has access to one—even though the thought of using Ford's shower because the man himself can't makes his skin crawl so much he wants to peel it off.

He'll start with the house, then. It feels less like stealing a space that shouldn't be his if he convinces himself it's for Ford's sake—tidying the books and washing out the mugs growing their own ecosystems as some kind of apology. 

As soon as he starts cleaning, though, the mess seems endless. He wonders again at the state his brother had been in—at the barbed wire and panic, at the blood stains in the bathroom—and he wonders if the fear had come from Ford knowing what was beyond the portal, if he'd known the nightmare Stan was dooming him to, if he was even still—

He loses a few hours cleaning the kitchen, scrubbing everything from the floors to the inside of the fridge, but that's a few hours not spent tearing his hair out over the portal, and it feels nice to succeed at something for once. Even the house seems to breathe a little easier in the space he clears—though he can't really explain what he means by that. 

It's just a building, obviously, but it seems…happier. Like it's proud of the changes he made. Whatever, grief is weird, he knows that—their Ma had hit denial so badly after their Bubbe passed it took a full two months for her to even admit she'd died. If he feels better because he tells himself Ford's house is happy he cleaned it up, who cares.

 At least it will help him get out of bed tomorrow. 

-------

About two months in, Stan realizes there are probably bills of some sort he's ignoring. He's never owned a place of his own, but he remembers the whole song and dance with his parents, pouring over electricity and water bills at the kitchen table and debating which ones would be easier to argue—arguing with each other about who had dropped the ball on making enough sales that month.

Considering his new business is based out of the house, he can't risk losing power, which leaves him hunting around Ford's stuff for old utility bills—with no luck. His brother is probably the least organized person he knows, and it looks like that hasn't changed much. Somehow the man can keep up a meticulous system for his bookcase that doesn't make sense to anyone else but can't keep important documents in a folder somewhere. Hell, Stan would take a messy drawer.

He practically tears the house apart but can't find anything, getting increasingly pissed with every upturned cabinet—pissed at Ford for not taking better care of his house, pissed that he's not even here to deal with this, pissed that Stan's now actively seeking out bills to pay like some kind of lunatic. By the time he finally finds a number for Gravity Falls' one electricity company in the yellow pages, he's mad enough to curse out the employee on the other end when he informs him they have no record of an account for Stanford Pines.

"Then how the hell do I have power?!" he yells before realizing it's probably in his best interest to not reveal the fact that Ford has somehow slipped through the cracks and ended up with free power this whole time.

When the guy tries to talk Stan into setting up a new account, he quickly hangs up. 

So it's a mistake, probably—one actually working out in Stan's favor. Or Ford set up a generator somewhere he's yet to find. Either way, he just has to hope whatever's keeping the lights on doesn't decide to crap out on him soon; he could use the extra money he'd waste on bills right now. The Hut isn't that successful.

"Please," he says weakly, not quite sure who or what he's talking to. The concept of electricity itself, maybe. "Just—don't go out."

Maybe it's just his imagination, but the light above him seems to burn a little brighter in response.

Whatever. Grief works in weird ways.

–

It becomes harder to shake it off as just grief. 

Sometimes when the endless slog of the portal is getting to him, the lights burn brighter. Despite never paying a gas bill of any kind, the house stays warm around him. He never seems to lose anything, either—no matter how many times he misplaces something, it turns up right when he needs it. Sometimes it's not even something he's looking for: painkillers on the kitchen table after he smashes his fingers, Around the World in Eighty Days sitting innocently on his bed just when he starts thinking he needs to take his mind off of things for a bit. Once, he mentions missing the ocean out loud and turns the corner to see a painting of just that where he knows it wasn't before.

Terrifyingly, the first thing he thinks of are ghosts. Maybe Ford hadn't even made it to whatever lay on the other side of that portal. Maybe he'd just stuck around where Stan couldn't see him anymore.

He dares to ask one night, sitting in the kitchen where he'd first felt the feeling of not being alone, almost too scared to get an answer. The room ripples around him in reply. The light above him flickers. Stan watches it, trying to swallow down the sudden dryness in his mouth.

"Blink once for yes, twice for no," he says.

No, the house flickers.

He drops his head into his arms and just breathes. Squeezes his eyes shut so they stop feeling so wet. "Okay," he says. "Not the weirdest thing I've seen, I guess."

The way the light flares feels almost like a laugh.

Sentient Mystery Shack, who is really biased towards Stan, so when Ford tells Stan he has to give it back after the summer it’s on sight.

Ford keeps tripping over nothing, nothing is where it's supposed to be and somehow he keeps running into closets when he tries to go outside.

But the worst part, the WORST part is that Ford's lightbulb just won't. Work. No matter what he does it keeps flickering and exploding.

Ford is spiraling. 

There is no reason why it shoudln’t work. All his trial runs work perfectly. He’s already checked the Shacks wiring three times and relearned this dimensions science from the ground up. 

Nothing works.

The Rift? Bill? The impending apocalypse? Eating? Sleep? Who cares about that. 

WHY. WONT. THE. LIGHTBULB. WORK???

It doesn’t help that Stan keeps laughing at him.

“Then you do it!” Ford eventually snaps at Stan.

Stan shrugs and with a little song under his breath screws his own lightbulb in. It works perfectly.

Stanford screams.

[kitbunnyroo]

thinking about...abandoned android boyfriend....

lemme apologize from now...this is a looong one. it could be structured better, but it's literally just me updating this over the course of some hours/days (?). hope you enjoy this ridiculously long tidbit thooo! <3 (help y'all hit that 30 fast....tyyy!)

also omg thank you all for all the love on the centaur man post??? we love big strong bby fr, 100% will bring him back if y'all wanna see more of him 🤍🤍 (also, not proof read nothing i write is, so forgive any errors plsss)

like picture it, you just find him in a scrap yard cause your pet ran into it or something right...and you can tell that he's functioning, so you're confused as to why he got put for scrap? considering these things are crazy expensive, and the people who threw him out were ever so kind enough to leave all his original packaging, you took him back home.

it did take a while to get his station set up in a little corner, but it wasn't too bad, especially as you looked into the illuminated green eyes of the android who stood a good head or two taller than yourself once you figured out how to get him up and running again.

after you explained in even greater detail how he came to be in your possession, you could almost hear the mechanics in his brain recalibrating all the missed system updates as he now addressed you as master/mistress. not ideal, but who are you to complain once he fixes the drip in your sink that almost cost you hundreds of dollars. maybe having an android in your home wouldn't be so bad.

time flies and you come to find out he was scrapped cause beyond functionality, he had somehow developed a conscious of sorts. which when you think about it, anybody else would be freaked out by their machine suddenly smiling and showing human emotions. was it freaky? hell yeah. was it bad?....not so much.

there was lots of reassurance to be done...he thought that once he started to slip and his consciousness shone through again you'd dump him to be scrap metal too...well, after they remove the scarily realistic skin-like material that outlines his hardware. "So...you're not going to power me off and box me up like the last family did..?" he'd find himself asking after long conversations about how you don't really care he got more human-like as the days went on. living on your own it isn't that bad to feel like you have extremely helpful company rather than a machine in your empty halls. and when he looks at you oh so sweetly? how can you not tell him this is his home too.

android housemate, doing his best to make sure you're always happy. always stress free. always well taken care of. always healthy. always satisfied. so when he's cleaning your room and finds a vibrator, he's everything and appalled. why would you have this when he's right here? was he not good enough? did you not want him to help you? was it his fault? but he simply places it on it's charger and closes your door. when you get home that day you can tell something's off, it's the same air as the early stages when he thought you'd throw him out. so you just make sure to be extra sweet to your caring housemate.

android housemate, now doing research on human pleasure, watching porn, reading all sorts of articles and Quora forums. this seems easy enough to do...he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't ask him to help. darling android housemate realizing that his fans start to go double time when the pixels start to look like you instead of whoever is actually in the videos...even more so when he realizes that's what an imagination is like and that his is picturing himself with you in these videos...he wonders if that can happen....

yandere (???) android housemate who's suddenly gotten all clingy once you're home. as usual, dinner is hot and plated, desert already lined up, but as you shower you can hear him making the time to pick out your outfit from your drawers instead of double checking all is well in the rest of the house...odd, but you don't pay the particularly revealing choice of clothing much mind. dinner goes as usual, till he offers you a much more...inviting? smile after you tell him about your grievances of the day. his eyes never leaving you, even as you eat and he updates minor software...you ask if he can close the windows cause there's a much too warm of a breeze coming in, and he's suddenly glad he has the capabilities to hide the blush that threatened to rise to his fabricated cheeks since it was just his fans. he was getting a bit too much enjoyment from the sight of you wearing an outfit he had picked, enjoying his meals that he makes you everyday, you chose him from the scrap yard that he's convinced held many other androids...

yandere (??) android housemate that's gotten cold to you since you brought home another human and claim that they're your partner. he'd thought that he was being clear with his consecutive months of flirting since his research began, but apparently not clear enough. now he's forced to watch as you bring this human over, it is nice to hear you brag about how lovely he treats you though, especially when he sees them almost shrink where they sit, obviously he can already tell they won't be able to treat you better than your housemate. how could they? they're just a weak human, and he's an android that's learnt every last one of your tastes.

yandere (?) android housemate that's gotten over his chilly attitude in favour of comforting you after your breakup and every proceeding one from then on. on one hand he doesn't enjoy seeing you hurt, but on the other hand he knows the only one meant for you is him, so he'll continue to let these humans know that they won't ever hold a candle to him when it comes to your affections. you don't have to be in pain, you just have to realize he's the one for you. and you can go back to your blissful life.

yandere...android housemate who's worried after you stumble through the door after a work/college party, clearly intoxicated out of your mind. he effortlessly picks you up and takes you to your room, laying next to you when you refused to let him go cause his generated warmth was nice compared to the cold of the air conditioned room. he listens to you babble on about who knows what, and then about your latest break up, and then he's shocked when you blurt out that he'd make such a good boyfriend if he wasn't an android...and somehow, somewhere in his wiring, that hurt? but it also lit something cause you went on to praise all he does for you, especially highlighting his advances and he comes to the conclusion that you only started looking for a human partner because you had assumed that although he had a conscious, he couldn't feel romance. and boy was he now determined to prove you wrong.

yandere. android housemate, now doing everything possible after that night to display romantic affection. sensual massages after particularly aggravating days where his fingers work wonders to the tension coursing through your body, at first you don't think much of it, but when you feel the spikes of breeze specifically from him after every one of your moans, you try to keep your voice down. he downloads them to his software though, and is quickly researching the different modifications available for his kind.

yandere android housemate that gets tired of being referred to by his model name and demands you give him a proper one. and you do. and he loves it. thankfully, he's still linked to the cards of his previous family, so he can make purchases using their money instead of yours without suspicion. he gets his "personal" modification made under their card, leaves right after you do for school/work, and he's back before you're home, already getting things sorted for when you're back. now he just has to hide the tent that forms whenever you call him by the name you gave him....

newly named yandere android...you're not sure anymore. after walking in on him far too many times since you're used to him usually being smooth, but now he has an...enticing, length of dick just hanging between his legs now, it's kind of awkward. even more so when you find yourself outside his newly appointed bedroom to ask him to do something, and end up overhearing his whiney voice floating through the air. now you can't help but wonder how it feels if the rest of his skin feels like regular human skin...maybe an android boyfriend won't be so bad after all...

your android housemate, putting in extra work to keep you happy once he realizes you're not bringing home any more humans. even the vibrator and any other toys you might've had are stored away rather than readily available near your bed. maybe if he does a good enough job, you'll finally ask him for help. you swear you see a subtle throb in his pants sometimes when the thought runs through his not so little android brain.

your android boyfriend with fans so loud when you finally ask him to touch you, that you could've sworn you misread his intentions. but as soon as you try to back out of the situation he's pulled you against his chest with one of hands deeply entangled in you hair while the other hugs you close to him, if you didn't know any better, you'd think he was desperate for that moment...that and the fact that once you're finally in bed he takes initiative to slip under your blanket next to you instead of going to his own room, his hands finding their way snugly around your waist to cuddle you but surely making their way lower down, quicker when he realizes that not only are not trying to stop him, but you're basically leaning into his touch. the frenzy he goes into when you whisper his name that you gave him has your legs quivering on his shoulders, toes pointed every which way as those same illuminated eyes stay glued to your body, confusingly realistic tongue moving more enthusiastically with every sound you make.

your android boyfriend. who now takes any chance he can get to ask if he can fuck you. if his tongue game was this good...what else was he capable of? the thought barely has time to run across your mind because as soon as you agree he's gonna have you folded in half and stuffed full of the most realistic dildo you've ever felt. it didn't feel fabricated in the slightest. from the throb of the veins in your walls to the way it drags so fucking good inside of you, and he makes sure to study your body as he goes. this particular spot made your eyes roll? he's going right back there. you like having you sensitive bits teased while his balls are slapping your skin so hard you can hear them through the wet mess? he's abusing them. by the time he's done you've came enough times to lose count, and best believe he makes sure to endlessly thank and praise you through every bit of it. comments of how good you make him feel, the dimming of his eyes enough to let you know he really does feel it, thanking you for letting him be this close to you, begging you not to go when you try to squirm away from the overstimulation (he calms down a bit so you can catch yourself whenever it's really too much), not to mention the starved kisses he gives you whenever the position allows (all the time). he'll have your back against the wall and hold you up so the only place you can go is further onto his cock while his tongue finally gets to explore your mouth. you'd never believe an android could be so adorably vocal. the moans, the whimpers, the whines. (he can't bring himself to degrade you though, sorry </3)

your android boyfriend making sure he puts the utmost effort into after care. if you let him hit, he's sure to run you a shower or bath of your preference, and trust that when you're out he's already got you a freshly made meal with an accompanying drink. he always makes sure to ask if he was too rough with you, gently massaging your muscles while you relax after your meal. if there's anything, anything at all you desire, he already does it for you, but now he'll go the extra miles if it means you'll be even happier.

your android husband, proposed after years of taking you out on the most wonderful dates, planned more of the wedding than you did since he only wanted you to worry about looking your best, he does let you help if you want though <3. android husband who can't cry, but you almost swear you see him sobbing as you walk (or he walks if you'd prefer) down the aisle, the tears slowing down but never to a complete stop till it's finally time for the "I do"s. your android husband who takes you on a splendid honeymoon of nothing but relaxation, good sights and food, and even better sex. he knows he can't get you pregnant, but that doesn't mean he can't try extra hard once the topic of children roll around. if you do want children though, he's not against adoption (or a sperm donor once their background checks out)

(for his family he invited his previous family, who were surprisingly chill with him using their cards to fund your vacations and now wedding...talk about rich rich)

your android husband <333.

this totaled to 2,264 words (woah??), and i can NOT lie?? i like it. hope you enjoyed this terribly long read and tysm again for all the support like hello!!🤍✨

[whos-the-seme]

Shen Qingqiu was doomed.

He stood still, fluttering his fan nervously and trying to avoid catching his counterpart's, the real Shen Qingqiu, glaring eyes from across the room. Instead, he idly observed the other Cang Qiong Mountain Peak Lords, trying to spot the differences between the ones he knew and their alternates.

Liu Qingge had brought back a strange artifact from one of his hunts to the monthly Peak Lord meeting. It was a mirror, rimmed an ugly tarnished gold, topped with a decoration that was shaped into an unidentifiable creature with ruby red eyes.

[Important Artifact Detected: Red-Eyed Sphinx's Mirror! Quest starting...]

Shen Qingqiu had been trying to remember where it might have appeared in PIDW when the surface of the mirror suddenly began to glow a dull yellow. It quickly brightened until it obscured everyone's vision.

And then, there stood another set of peak lords across the room, facing them down.

System, what on earth is going on???

[Quest started: Lost Long Spirit in My Reflection! Other characters have been transported to this universe. Host must find a way to send them back without revealing his identity as a transmigrator.]

WTF? I didn't agree to this!

[Good luck!]

System??? Get back here!

While the two Yue Qingyuans and Xu Qinglis conversed together to try to understand what had happened, the other peak lords had begun to mingle with each other, curious about their counterparts.

Shen Qingqiu tried to suppress his panic, sticking close to Shang Qinghua. His Yue Qingyuan occasionally flicked his softened gaze towards the alternate Shen Qingqiu, likely noticing that the other still acted as he used to before his qi deviation. In fact, several of the peak lords he had gotten to know over the years were sending some looks at the other Shen Qingqiu.

With the original goods right there, how long would it be before something exposed him as a fraud?? What if he was confronted about why he acted so differently?

[Host must avoid having his identity exposed. Being revealed as a transmigrator will result in Host being immediately sent back to his old body.]

Yeah, yeah, same shit as always!

Looking to his side, Shang Qinghua seemed to be experiencing the same threats, desperately looking away from the more dead-eyed Shang Qinghua across the room who, luckily, was barely paying him any attention.

Fuck, what do we do?

---

Shen Qingqiu continued to glare at the Other Shen Qingqiu in the room. The other Shen Qingqiu was so obviously a fraud, he could tell within minutes of being here. While his alternate seemed somewhat familiar, he didn't act like him at all, his mannerisms were all off, and despite the attempt at keeping a poker face, Shen Qingqiu could tell that he was nervous. Probably at being caught out.

His alternate self had likely been replaced with a bodysnatcher or some sort of spirt, if they truly were supposed to be the same person. Was everyone else stupid, or had they had their brains sucked out by a Heart Mouthed Lobster-Squid?

Or maybe they simply like the bodysnatcher better and didn't bother to investigate.

Shen Qingqiu's face became stormier, turning his glare to the Other Yue Qingyuan, wondering if he had felt happier once his precious Xiao-Jiu had vanished. The other Yue Qingyuan's face grew even more pathetic. Tch. Typical.

"That stupid System--" Shen Qingqiu nearly snapped his neck in looking at the bodysnatcher upon hearing his murmur. The fraud, upon noticing his sudden attention, clammed back up and looked away. But Shen Qingqiu knew what he heard.

Xi Tong.

He hadn't heard those words in years, not since--

He stepped forward, scanning the other once more. Upon a second, more thorough look, Shen Qingqiu realized that he grew more familiar. He wore his hair in the way that Shen Qingqiu wore it, but looser and less severe. His eyes were clearer and lighter, with hints of a smile, despite his nerves. He occasionally quickly glanced up and to his left, as if seeing something there, before bringing his attention back to the room at large.

No. It couldn't be. He was long dead, despite Shen Qingqiu's best efforts. Even if the fake had some similar things about him, that doesn't mean--

Shen Jiu had once had a brother, besides Qi-ge. Slightly smaller than him, despite the fact that Shen Jiu passed him along as much food as he could when on the streets. He smiled so much despite their circumstances, and was so kind despite Shen Jiu constantly telling him that he was making himself a target. But he looked so, so similar to Shen Jiu himself. They could have switched their clothes and looked exactly the same, if one didn't notice the difference in their demeanors.

His brother has also always been a little odd, talking to himself and arguing with an imaginary friend that only he could see named Xi Tong. One of the reasons that they survived as long as they did on the streets was due to the inexplicable knowledge that his brother seemed to have. Somehow, his brother knew about the various plants or small animals that they could hunt and sell for a pretty coin in the markets. Shen Jiu never asked, not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

But his brother was dead. He had died years ago, in the time during when they were in Qiu's manor. During a punishment for Shen Jiu's attempt to get them both to join Wu Yanzi; he had switched their clothes and taken Shen Jiu's place and died for it. That had been the final catalyst that made him set the manor ablaze and escape, mourning his brother's death as his fault for daring to be free. Cursing Qi-ge for not coming back for them.

Dazed and his vision dim, Shen Jiu took another step forward, and another. Hope, something he thought he had killed off long ago, slowly rose in his chest.

Had his brother survived in this world? Had he managed to escape alongside Shen Jiu? Or had Shen Jiu died in his place? Dimly, he can't help but think that the world would be far kinder if that were the case. If his brother had made it to Cang Qiong Mountain and became a peak lord all on his own and still managed to keep his smile. If he didn't have Shen Jiu dragging him down with him.

The other Shen Qingqiu, not having noticed his approach, laughed at something the other Shang Qinghua said ("Wonder if Shang Qinghua is a traitor here, too," Shen Jiu thought dimly). His laugh was the same. He rose his fan to hide his face, but Shen Jiu noticed how his nose crinkled, and his eyes nearly closed in delight, exactly like--

"A-Yuan?"

[reidmarieprentiss]

Grass is Always Greener

Summary: based on this ask. Reader is in love with Spencer, he moves on while they're dating. Then reader gets kidnapped and Spencer has some monumental realizations.

Pairing: bi!Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: kidnapping, typical CM violence, emotional cheating, bi-sexual Spencer, heartbroken reader

Word count: 7.5k

a/n: i really loved this prompt!! thank you for asking :) there will be a part two by the way don't worry heheh

main masterlist

For the past six months, you and Spencer have been inseparable, caught in the kind of love that novels fail to describe adequately. It isn't just affection—devotion, a deep-rooted adoration that feels like it has existed long before you met, as though you were meant to be intertwined from the start.

You love him in the way you always wished to be loved. You show it in every trim, thoughtful act—baking his favorite pastries just because, ensuring that breakfast is warm and waiting for him before he even wakes up, making sure dinner is ready when he returns home, exhausted but comforted by you.

You bring him flowers, because why shouldn't he receive them too? You find books you know will capture his mind, wrapping them in delicate paper just to see the soft wonder in his eyes when he unwraps them. You plan excursions he'll adore—museum dates, guided historical tours, moments where he can lose himself in the past while you stay anchored beside him.

Your love isn't just spoken—it's lived, woven into every gesture, every detail, every careful thought put into making him feel cherished. Because that's what he is to you—irreplaceable, essential, the other half you never realized was missing until he was there, filling every space with something more profound than connection, something that feels like fate.

If only Spencer felt the same way about you.

—

Your heart stopped. Your lungs refused to work, your breath catching somewhere in your throat like a broken sob that refused to form. The room around you blurred at the edges, your vision tunneling in on Spencer—Spencer, the man you had given everything to, the man you had loved so deeply, so purely, that it had consumed every part of your existence.

"What?" The word came out strangled, barely audible, your voice cracking as tears welled in your eyes. You didn't want to cry in front of him, didn't want to give him that power, but your body betrayed you.

Spencer still couldn't look at you. His hands, which you had held so many times, trembled at his sides. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt. "I thought it was the right thing to do," he muttered, as though that was supposed to make sense, as if that explained anything.

Your stomach churned with nausea, fury, and disbelief. "The right thing to do?" Your voice wavered between a whisper and a scream. "The right thing to do was to fuck someone else?"

Spencer flinched at your words and their vulgarity, but he didn't immediately deny it. That silence spoke louder than anything.

Finally, he swallowed hard and said, "I did not—" he hesitated, knowing every word he chose would dictate what happened next. "—I did not sleep with him."

Him.

It hit you like a freight train, a new layer of betrayal unfolding before you. You stepped back as if distance would protect you from the shattering of your heart inside your chest.

"Then what, Spencer?" You forced the words out, your entire body trembling. "What did you do?"

Spencer's face twisted in pain, in something that almost looked like guilt but didn't quite feel like enough. Not for what he'd done. Not for the way he was shattering you into pieces so small you weren't sure you'd ever be able to put yourself back together.

"I fell in love," he admitted, his voice quiet, like saying it any louder would break him too.

But it wasn't him breaking. It was you.

Your scream ripped through the room before you could stop it. "Spencer, that is so much worse!" Your hands clenched into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms, grounding you against the overwhelming rush of devastation, betrayal, and fury. "How long?"

Spencer blinked at you, thrown off by the question. "How long?" he echoed as if he didn't understand or know what you were asking.

You took a step closer, the force of your heartbreak pushing you forward even as your body begged to run in the opposite direction. "How long have you been in love? How long have you been emotionally cheating on me like a pathetic, scared loser?"

His breath hitched, his mouth opening and closing like he struggled to find the right words, but there were none. There was no correct answer that would make this better.

Then he said it. "Is this because it's a man?"

You froze, stunned by how wildly he had missed the point. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped you, and you could barely recognize the sound of your voice when you spat, "I don't give a shit what mouth you want to put your tongue in, Spencer." Your hands shook, and you hated it, hated how weak you felt when all you wanted was to be furious enough to drown out the pain. "I care that you didn't respect me enough to tell me sooner! I'm not homophobic; I'm heartbroken!"

That finally made him look at you. Really look at you.

His lips parted slightly, his brow furrowing as if he were just now realizing the gravity of what he had done. As if the wreckage he had left in his wake hadn't been evident from the moment he opened his mouth.

"I didn't—" He stopped himself, inhaled sharply, then exhaled as he could barely hold himself up anymore. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

It was a pathetic attempt at an apology.

"Well, congratulations," you choked out, voice thick with unshed tears. "You did."

Spencer nodded, his expression solemn, the weight of his decision pressing down on him like a physical force. He swallowed hard, and for the first time, he looked humiliated. "I'll have my things gone by the weekend," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Something inside you snapped.

"Fuck you." The words tore from your throat, sharp and unfiltered, dripping with the kind of pain that no amount of time could ever truly erase. "Get it all out tonight and give me the key."

Spencer flinched. His eyes darted up to yours, desperate, pleading, as if something was still left to salvage. "Y/N—"

"Now, Spencer!" you screamed, your voice cracking, breaking under the sheer weight of the moment. Your body was trembling, fists clenched so tight your nails bit into your palms, but you didn't care. You didn't care that tears blurred your vision or that your chest ached like someone had physically reached inside you and torn your heart apart.

Spencer didn't argue.

For once, he didn't try to explain, didn't try to rationalize, didn't try to make this something it wasn't. He simply nodded, defeated, and turned on his heel.

You watched as he moved through the shared space, the home you had built together, now nothing more than a place he needed to evacuate. Every step he took, every moment that passed as he quietly gathered his things, felt like a knife twisting deeper into your already shattered heart.

You wanted to stop him.

You wanted to scream at him to stay, to tell him he could fix this, that you could find a way back to the love you had so freely given him.

But he had already thrown that love away.

And so, instead of begging or breaking any further, you turned your back on him. You wiped your face with shaking hands, steeling yourself against the overwhelming grief threatening to consume you.

When he returned, his bag slung over his shoulder, the key to your apartment sitting in the palm of his hand, you refused to look at him.

Silently, he placed it on the table.

Silently, he turned toward the door.

Silently, he walked out of your life.

And the second the door clicked shut behind him, you collapsed, sobs wracking through your body as you mourned a love lost.

—

It had been an ordinary evening. Spencer had been at the library, fingers trailing along the spines of well-worn books, his mind half-distracted by the text messages you had sent earlier—something sweet, something thoughtful, the way you always were with him. You had made dinner and were waiting for him. He had told you he'd be home soon.

But then he had walked in.

Robert.

It started with a discussion—something about Dostoevsky, of all things. A casual remark Spencer had made under his breath, something about The Brothers Karamazov and moral determinism. He hadn't expected anyone to respond, let alone engage with him in a way that made his brain spark like a live wire.

"You know," Robert had mused, leaning against the bookshelf beside Spencer, "it's funny how people always think Dostoevsky was just arguing for free will. There's a case to be made that he was just as much a determinist as Tolstoy."

Spencer had turned, brows furrowed in curiosity, and he had looked at him for the first time.

Robert had sharp eyes, the kind that saw too much. He was well-dressed but not ostentatiously so—just a crisp button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows and dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. He looked like someone who belonged in the pages of the books they discussed.

The conversation had spiraled from there, shifting seamlessly from Russian literature to philosophy to quantum mechanics. It was effortless. Easy in a way Spencer hadn't expected, in a way he hadn't even realized he had been missing.

And then—then there had been the moment.

Spencer had laughed—actually, he had laughed, full and unrestrained. When he glanced up, he found Robert watching him with a warm, unreadable gaze.

"Do you ever have moments when you feel like you were meant to meet someone?" Robert asked suddenly, his voice quieter and more thoughtful.

Spencer's stomach had twisted—not in guilt, not yet, but in something else. Something dangerous.

He should have said no. He should have left then and there and gone home to you, to the person who loved him and was waiting for him with dinner, affection, and unwavering devotion.

But instead, he had stayed.

And that had been the beginning of the end.

—

"Who's Robert Nelson?" you asked absentmindedly, flipping through the stack of mail on the counter. Your fingers lingered on the envelope, the name printed neatly in the return address, unfamiliar but seemingly unimportant—until you felt Spencer tense beside you.

It was subtle, the way his entire body went rigid, but you knew him well enough to notice. The way his breath hitched for just a fraction of a second and his fingers twitched before he suddenly snatched the letter from your hands with an almost defensive speed.

"A friend," he said quickly. Too quickly.

You blinked, startled by his reaction and voice, which sounded too tight or too careful. You tilted your head, studying how his fingers curled around the envelope as if he were trying to shield it from you.

"A friend?" you echoed, your curiosity morphing into something heavier, something uneasy. "Since when have your friends sent you letters?"

Spencer hesitated for just a breath too long.

"Since—uh, since he moved out of state," he said, but his voice lacked its usual certainty, the effortless confidence that usually accompanied his explanations. He wasn't looking at you, his eyes fixed on the paper in his hand as if it held the answer to whatever silent questions you were beginning to form.

You frowned, your heart beating a little faster, that gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. "Why haven't you mentioned him before?"

Spencer finally met your gaze, but something in his eyes unsettled you—a flicker of something unreadable, which looked a lot like guilt.

"You never asked," he said softly.

And just like that, an invisible wall settled between you.

—

"Spencer?" you called out from the living room, glancing at his buzzing phone. The name flashing on the screen sent a strange feeling through your chest. Robert Nelson. Again.

Your fingers hovered over the device before instinct took over, and you answered. "Hello?"

There was a brief silence. Then, a smooth, unfamiliar voice. "Oh—uh, hi. Is Spencer there?"

Before you could respond, Spencer was there. He practically ripped the phone from your hand, his grip too aggressive. His fingers nearly fumbled as he clutched it like a lifeline.

"Why are you answering my phone?" His voice was sharp, defensive, almost panicked.

Your breath caught in your throat, stunned by the hostility in his tone. "I—It was ringing. I thought it might be work," you said, your voice quieter now, weaker.

But Spencer wasn't paying attention anymore.

His entire demeanor shifted in an instant.

"Hi, Robert!" His tone was bright and warm in a way that you hadn't heard from him in weeks. His body relaxed, his posture unwinding as he turned away from you slightly as if shielding the conversation from your ears.

And that was when it happened.

The slow, aching fracture of your heart.

You didn't need to hear the conversation. You didn't need to piece together the puzzle. It was already evident.

Whoever Robert Nelson was, he had already taken something from you.

—

"Hey, Reid," Derek called out as he stepped out of JJ's office, stretching his arms over his head. The bullpen was winding down for the day, the usual chatter filling the air. "You gonna invite that little number of yours to 'team bonding' at O'Kieffe's?"

Spencer looked up from his paperwork, brow furrowing slightly. "Robert?"

Derek's expression flickered with confusion, his head tilting. "Who's Robert?"

Before Spencer could answer, Elle interjected, her curiosity piqued. "Wait—who's Robert?"

Spencer adjusted his tie absentmindedly, utterly oblivious to the way both of his coworkers were staring at him now. "My boyfriend…"

A beat of silence.

Derek blinked, his mouth slightly open as if he'd misheard. "What?" His tone was a mixture of shock and something else—concern, maybe. "Since when? What happened to Y/N?"

At that, Spencer finally hesitated, his fingers tightening around his pen.

There it was—that fleeting look of guilt, so quick that anyone who wasn't trained to notice microexpressions might have missed it.

Elle's eyebrows shot up, catching on to the shift instantly. "Yeah, what did happen to Y/N?" she echoed, crossing her arms, her sharp gaze locked on him.

Spencer opened his mouth to answer, but no words came out. He hadn't prepared for this conversation and hadn't thought about how it would sound when he finally said it out loud.

That he had left someone who loved him more than anything.

He said that he had fallen for someone else while still wrapped in the warmth of Y/N's love.

Her name, which Spencer used to say with so much affection, now felt like a reminder of what he had destroyed.

His silence lingered just a little too long.

And that was all the answer they needed.

—

"Round table. Five minutes." Hotch's voice carried across the bullpen, his usual no-nonsense tone making it clear there was no room for delay.

The team exchanged glances, some groaning about Monday morning's abruptness, others silently gathering their things and making their way toward the conference room. Spencer followed, clutching his coffee; the bitter taste ground him in the early morning haze.

Once they were seated, JJ took her usual spot at the front, but something about her demeanor was off. Her shoulders were tense, her expression pinched in a way that wasn't just professional concern—it was personal.

She clicked on the projector, and the screen illuminated with a digital map of Virginia. Red markers pinpointed locations across the state—too many markers.

"A string of kidnappings has taken place here in Virginia," JJ began, her voice steady but strained. "All within the last two months. The victims all match the same victimology."

As she spoke, she clicked on the next slide.

A series of photos appeared on the screen. The faces were of women in their twenties with similar features and build. This pattern should have been just another set of behavioral data points in the grander scheme of the case.

But Spencer's stomach plummeted.

His grip on his coffee tightened involuntarily, his breath hitching in his throat. His heart slammed against his ribs in recognition, dread coiling in his gut like a living thing.

The victims—they all looked like you.

It's the same hair color. Same facial structure. They have the same soft smile in some photos and the same sharp glint in their eyes in others. They weren't you, but they might as well have been.

His pulse pounded as JJ continued speaking, words blurring together as the room suddenly felt too small.

"The unsub is abducting women who fit this profile, holding them for an unknown period, and then—"

Spencer barely heard the rest.

All he could think about was you.

You—who had barely spoken to him since he left. You—who he had destroyed. You—who he no longer had the right to check in on, to protect.

But as his vision swam, his chest tightening painfully, only one thought cut through the noise.

Were you safe?

…

The answer came quicker than Spencer could have ever prepared for.

No. You weren't safe.

Once the team broke off into their assigned pairs, the case had already begun unraveling alarmingly fast. The latest victim's body had been recovered, their time of death recent—too recent. It meant the unsub was either already hunting for a new woman… or they already had one.

By the time Spencer and Elle arrived back at the BAU, the tension in the air was palpable. The office's usual controlled chaos had been replaced with something far heavier. He could feel the urgency with which agents moved in the hushed voices and sharp exchanges. Something had shifted.

Then he saw it.

His first clue was the woman sitting at JJ's desk, shoulders shaking, her face buried in her hands as she sobbed. It took him a second to recognize her—your best friend.

His second clue was even worse.

His entire body locked up as his gaze landed on the case board. The details of the investigation had changed.

And there you were.

Your picture.

Your face.

Pinned in the center of the board, more significant than any other victim's. A fresh missing persons report was tacked beside it, and the timestamp was barely hours old.

The breath left Spencer's lungs like he'd been punched in the gut.

His vision blurred at the edges, the words and numbers on the board becoming nothing more than meaningless static.

His hands clenched, the phantom memory of holding you flashing through his mind. His brain, the same brain that could recall statistics, equations, and case files with perfect clarity, was failing him now, drowning him in nothing but cold, raw terror.

You were missing.

And Spencer had never felt more helpless.

The room around him faded into a blur of voices, movement, and urgency—but none mattered. Only you mattered. His feet moved before his mind could catch up, pushing him toward JJ's desk, toward your best friend who was still crying into her hands.

"When?" The word tore from Spencer's throat, rough and desperate. "When was the last time anyone heard from her?"

Your best friend lifted her tear-streaked face, eyes red and swollen. "L-last night. We were supposed to meet for brunch this morning, but she never showed up. She—she wouldn't just disappear. She wouldn't—" Her voice broke, fresh sobs wracking through her as JJ placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Her phone's off," JJ said, her face tight with emotion, her voice barely steady. "Local PD found her car still parked outside her apartment. No sign of forced entry. Her purse was left behind."

Spencer clenched his jaw, his stomach twisting painfully. He knew what that meant. She was taken from inside. The unsub had been watching you, had known your routines, and had waited for the perfect moment to strike.

And he hadn't been there to stop it.

A hand clamped onto his shoulder. "Reid." It was Hotch. His voice was firm, grounding, pulling Spencer back into reality. "I need you to focus. We will find her, but we need to move fast."

Elle spoke up, flipping through the case file. "Unsub's pattern suggests he holds victims anywhere from 48 to 72 hours before…" She didn't finish the sentence, but they knew how it ended.

Before he killed them.

Spencer had 48 hours to save you.

He swallowed hard, forcing his mind to snap into place, to work past the terror and focus on finding you.

"Where was her last known location?" he demanded, stepping toward the board, his eyes locking onto your picture, committing every last detail of your presence to memory. He knew he would never forgive himself if he failed and lost you.

JJ pointed at the map. "Er, apartment. The surveillance cameras didn't catch anything obvious, but we're combing through traffic cams now. We need to figure out where he took her."

Spencer's hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white.

"Then let's start there," he said, his voice steady now, ice-cold determination replacing the panic.

He had failed you once.

He wasn't going to fail you again.

The search was relentless. The entire team moved unyieldingly, combing through evidence, footage, and witness statements with the desperation that came when one of their own was in danger.

But for Spencer, it was different.

It was you.

He felt it in his bones, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest, an overwhelming tide of guilt that gnawed at him with every passing second. He should have never left you. He should have never chosen something else, someone else.

Because now, as he stared at the grainy traffic cam footage of your last known whereabouts, he realized the truth.

Robert was never going to replace you.

He had been a distraction, a fleeting novelty, someone new and engaging in a way that had tricked Spencer into thinking he was feeling something more. But what was new had worn off, and emptiness had remained.

You were never dull.

You were home.

And he had walked away from it—walked away from you.

And now, he might never get to tell you how wrong he was.

"Reid," Hotch's voice cut through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Spencer turned sharply, his eyes burning, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

"We have something," JJ said, her face tight with restrained emotion. She motioned to the screen. "Traffic cams picked up an unfamiliar van near Y/N's apartment. No plates, but it made three passes before stopping."

Spencer's pulse hammered as he stared.

There.

In the grainy footage, a dark-colored van sat idling just across from your apartment, a shadow behind the wheel. And then—a figure.

You.

You stepped out of your building, completely unaware. His breath caught in his throat as he watched the scene unfold, knowing precisely what was coming next but unable to look away.

The van door slid open. A person—the unsub—moved fast, grabbing you before you could react. You fought, your body twisting, struggling—but you were outmatched.

Then, just like that, you were gone.

Spencer's hands curled into fists.

"We need to identify that van," Hotch ordered. "Garcia, get into the city's surveillance system—track that route. Find me where he took her."

"I'm already on it, sir." Garcia's quick and focused voice came through the speaker.

Spencer barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on the screen, on you, on the last moment before you had disappeared.

He had spent so much time thinking you would always be there, that there would always be time to fix things and make things right.

But time was running out.

And if he lost you—if he never got the chance to tell you how much he still loved you, how you were the only person who ever truly mattered to him—

He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to live with himself.

Garcia worked fast—she always did—but this time, Spencer could hear the urgency in her voice, the rapid clicking of her keyboard through the speaker, and the barely restrained panic beneath her usual rapid-fire delivery.

"Okay, sugarplums, I got something,” she announced, voice tense. "That creepy, unmarked van? It popped up on a traffic camera near an abandoned industrial site about fifteen miles from Y/N's apartment. There are no stops between the two locations. I'm sending you the coordinates now."

Spencer barely waited for Hotch to give the order before he was moving, grabbing his bag and gun and shoving past the concerned glances of his teammates.

This was it.

This had to be it.

The drive was agonizing. His fingers twitched on his knee as he stared out the window, mind racing with every possible outcome. If you were there—if they got to you in time—he could still fix this. He could still tell you the truth.

He had made the biggest mistake of his life, confused comfort with monotony, and was a fool to think there was something better than the love you had given him so freely, so wholly.

That you were the only one he had ever truly wanted.

The convoy of SUVs screeched to a halt outside the factory, tires kicking up dust and gravel. Guns were drawn, and orders exchanged in hushed, precise tones. Spencer's pulse hammered as he fell into formation with Morgan and Hotch, his grip on his weapon too tight, his breathing too shallow.

They breached the building in seconds.

The air inside was stale, thick with the scent of rust and decay. Spencer's stomach twisted as they moved swiftly through the darkened corridors, his ears straining for any sound—any sign of you.

But there was nothing.

No muffled cries, no scuffling footsteps, no you.

Then—

"Clear!" Morgan's voice rang out from another room, frustration cutting through the tension.

"Clear," Elle echoed from the opposite side.

Spencer's heart plummeted.

The space was empty.

Empty.

No unsub. No van. No, you.

They only discarded debris, a few rusted chairs, and the lingering, suffocating feeling they had just lost time they didn't have to spare.

Spencer stood frozen in the center of the room, his mind struggling to process what had just happened. The futility of it all hit him like a brick wall.

His knees felt weak.

"No, no, no," he murmured under his breath, his gun lowering as his vision blurred. "She was supposed to be here! He took her here. She—she was supposed to be here!"

"Reid." Morgan's voice was cautious, but Spencer barely heard it.

He couldn't—not over the deafening roar of panic, regret, guilt.

His hands were shaking. His chest was tight. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force himself to breathe, to focus, but all he could see was your face, your picture pinned to the board, the footage of you being taken—

And the realization that he might never see you again.

"Reid." This time, Hotch's voice was sharper, more commanding. Spencer snapped his head up, his breath ragged.

"We'll find her," Hotch said firmly. "But we need you to keep it together."

Spencer's breath hitched, his pulse pounding so loudly in his ears he could barely hear anything else. They were wasting time. Every second spent standing here, every moment spent catching their breath, was another second you were still out there, terrified and alone, waiting for someone to save you.

And he had promised to love you.

And he had failed.

"Oh, you need me to keep it together?" Spencer snapped, his voice shaking, his entire body shaking. His vision was blurring at the edges, rage and fear coiling so tightly in his chest that he could barely contain it. He turned on Hotch, his heart hammering against his ribs like a wild, desperate thing. "Well, Y/N needs me to find her! She needs not to die!"

The words tore from his throat, raw and broken.

Morgan's eyes widened slightly, JJ flinched, Elle turned away—but Hotch didn't waver. He stood firm, unyielding, his sharp gaze locked on Spencer with a kind of patience Spencer didn't deserve right now.

"And we will find her," Hotch said, voice calm but edged with authority. "But not if you lose control."

"Lose control?" Spencer let out a short, bitter laugh, his fingers digging into his arms as if to ground himself and keep from completely unraveling. His throat burned, his head spun, and all he could see was you. You, you, you. "She's out there, and we don't even know if she's alive! We don't know if we have hours or minutes before she—before—"

His breath caught.

Before you died.

The word sat there, a looming specter he couldn't bring himself to say out loud.

Morgan stepped forward, voice softer this time. "Reid, listen, man—"

"No!" Spencer cut him off, wild-eyed, frantic. "You don't get it! None of you get it! I—” His voice cracked, his body swaying slightly, the weight of his guilt pressing so heavily on his chest it felt like it was crushing him. He tried to steady himself, but he felt like he was drowning. "I—this is my fault."

A thick silence settled over the room.

Spencer's vision blurred with unshed tears, and his breath ragged.

"She loved me." His voice was quieter now, almost hollow. He clenched his jaw, blinking rapidly, his nails digging into his palm. "And I—I walked away. I left her for someone who meant nothing." He let out a shuddering breath, his chest tightening so hard it physically hurt. "And now I might never get to tell her that she was—is—the only person I've ever truly loved."

A lump formed in his throat.

"I don't—I don't deserve to find her," he whispered, the truth burning as it left his lips. "But I need to. I have to. Or I'll never—I can't—"

He couldn't finish.

If he didn't find you and fix this, nothing else would ever matter.

Elle had been watching Spencer unravel since they returned from the failed lead, her sharp gaze tracking every minute detail of his breakdown—the frantic pacing, the erratic breathing, and his hands wouldn't stop shaking. And now, after his outburst at Hotch and how he looked like he was about to self-destruct right in front of them, she had had enough.

She moved fast.

Before Spencer could react, Elle's palm cracked across his face.

The sharp smack echoed through the room, cutting through the tense silence like a gunshot. Spencer's head snapped to the side, his breath hitching in shock as pain bloomed hot and fast across his cheek.

For a second, no one moved.

Elle wasn't finished.

She grabbed him by the collar, yanking him forward, forcing him to look at her. "Get your shit together, Reid!" she hissed, her eyes burning with something more than anger—something more profound.

Spencer froze.

His chest heaved, his mind scrambling to catch up, to process what had just happened. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the tidal wave of rage, frustration, and unrelenting guilt that had been crushing him from the inside out.

"What the hell was that?" he gasped, staggering back, touching his face like he wasn't sure the pain was real.

"That," Elle said, voice low and dangerous, "was me snapping you the fuck out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest, stepping closer, invading his space, making sure he couldn't look away.

"You're losing it, Reid. And you cannot afford to lose it right now."

Spencer opened his mouth, but she wasn't done.

"You think you're the only one who's scared?" Elle seethed. "You think you're the only one who wants to tear this city apart to find her? We all do. But guess what? You spiraling like this? It's not helping. It's making it worse."

Spencer's breath hitched, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I—"

"No, shut up," Elle snapped, cutting him off, her voice sharp enough to wound. "I don't want to hear you start whining about how guilty you feel, about how this is all your fault, about how you were an idiot for letting her go."

Spencer's throat closed up.

"You screwed up," she stated, flat and brutal. "You got bored. You wanted something new. And now you've realized you had something irreplaceable and threw it away."

His eyes widened slightly—because, fuck, she knew.

Elle saw right through him.

"But guess what, genius?" Elle leaned in, her voice dropping just enough that the words hit like a punch to the ribs.

"None of that fucking matters if you don't find her."

His stomach dropped.

Elle's gaze was unrelenting, her expression hard as steel. "You want to feel sorry for yourself? Fine. Do it after we bring her home." She stepped back, releasing her grip on his collar. "But right now, Spencer? You need to be the smartest damn person in this room."

Spencer exhaled sharply, still reeling, his cheek throbbing, his pulse raging.

But he understood.

Elle wasn't slapping him because she was angry. She was slapping him because she refused to lose another teammate. Because she refused to lose you.

Because she knew that he was the best chance you had.

Spencer straightened, inhaling deeply, forcing his mind to clear. His face still burned, his chest still ached with remorse, but for the first time since seeing your picture on that board, he wasn't drowning in it.

Elle watched him closely, her shoulders relaxing slightly as she saw the shift.

"Good," she said, giving him one last firm look. "Now, let's go find her."

Spencer nodded, jaw tight, mind finally sharpening into focus.

Because Elle was right. None of his regrets, self-loathing, orlizations meant anything if he didn't bring you home.

"Damn, Greenaway," Derek mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he shot Elle an amused glance. "What's a guy gotta do to get a little love tap?" His smirk was wide, teasing, attempting to lighten the crushing weight pressing down on all of them.

Elle, still standing firm after knocking some sense into Spencer, turned her head slightly, giving Derek a slow, deliberate once-over. "Keep talking, and it'll be a lot more than a tap," she shot back, a smirk of her forming. Then, with a playful wink, she turned back to the case, already flipping through files as if she hadn't just physically assaulted a coworker for his good.

Spencer barely registered the exchange, his brain already re-firing on all cylinders. The sting in his cheek was nothing compared to the fresh surge of determination flooding through him. And so, the team buried themselves back into the investigation, working with precision, intensity, and the desperate, unyielding need to bring you back.

Morgan and Hotch went back through the victimology, looking for any deviation in the unsub's pattern that could hint at where he had taken you.

JJ and Elle were in the batcave, working with Garcia, pushing for more footage, leads, and anything else to tighten the search radius.

Spencer was at the board, staring at your photo, the location pins, and the scattered details. His mind ran every scenario, analyzing every variable. His hand hovered over the map, tracing each route the unsub could have taken.

Think, Spencer. Think.

He had 72 hours.

Time was running out.

And he wasn't about to lose you.

And then he heard it.

Garcia's sharp victory cry rang through the speaker, cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Oh, hell yes! Gotcha, you sick son of a—"

Spencer's head snapped up, his heart slamming against his ribs as the bullpen erupted into movement.

"Garcia?" Hotch demanded, already reaching for his earpiece. "What do you have?"

"I have him, sir; I freaking have him!" Garcia's voice was a mixture of triumph and pure adrenaline. "Okay, listen up because I found this guy's most incriminating, unsub-like, foolish mistake—his utility bills."

Spencer's pulse skyrocketed.

Garcia barely took a breath before launching into explanation mode.

"So, I was cross-referencing every possible known location the previous victims were held in—warehouses, abandoned buildings, private properties, all that jazz—but something wasn't adding up. All of those places had been searched already, right? So, I started looking at nearby structures that weren't in use but still had active utilities. Gas, electricity, even just running water, because let's face it—no creepy serial kidnapper is taking sponge baths in a rusty bucket."

"Garcia," Hotch cut in, his patience thin, "where is he?"

Garcia let out an excited, breathless laugh.

"There's an abandoned farmhouse thirty miles outside town, just off an old service road. It's been off the radar for years, but someone's been paying the bills—sporadically, inconsistently, just enough not to raise alarms. And guess what, my sweet crime fighters?"

Spencer gripped the edge of the table.

"The latest bill?" Garcia continued, triumphant. "It was paid yesterday."

Spencer inhaled sharply.

That meant he was still there.

That meant you were still there.

Morgan was already reaching for his gear, his movements quick and efficient. "That's it. That's our guy. Let's move."

Hotch didn't hesitate. "Gear up. Now."

—

"Can you shut up for the love of God?!" the unsub snapped, his voice cutting through the cold, damp air of the farmhouse basement. His patience had worn thin, and the roughness in his tone carried more frustration than malice.

You hiccupped through your tears, your body trembling—not from fear, but from overwhelming exhaustion. Your wrists ached where they were bound, your face was sticky with dried tears, and yet, despite everything, you couldn't stop talking.

"I'm sorry," you sobbed, sniffling dramatically. "It's just—" Another sniffle, another watery gasp for air. "He left me, and then I get kidnapped, and now he's probably gonna save me, and then I'll go home to an empty house, and he'll go home to his stupid boyfriend."

Your captor's eye twitched.

"For the last fucking time," he growled, turning toward you with visible irritation, "they're not going to find you!"

You barely reacted, too caught up in your despair.

"You don't know that," you muttered, your voice wobbly but oddly conversational. "I mean, he's like a genius or whatever. And his team is good at their jobs. They always catch the bad guy." You sighed dramatically, tilting your head back against the wooden beam. "So, yeah, I'd say the odds aren't exactly in your favor."

The unsub's jaw clenched. He paced in frustration, his hands raking through his unkempt hair.

"You should be scared," he spat, though there was less conviction now.

You sniffled again. "I'm too heartbroken to be scared."

Your voice cracked on the last word; it wasn't just for show this time.

The unsub laughed, a cruel, condescending chuckle that grated against your nerves. "You're pathetic," he sneered, shaking his head.

You let out a soft, bitter huff, your fingers twitching where they were bound. "And you aren't?" Your voice was steady now, sharper than before. "You have to kidnap women just to get one to talk to you."

The unsub's face twisted with rage. His hand shot out, grabbing the back of your head roughly, yanking it back so you were forced to look up at him.

Then, cold metal pressed against your temple.

"I could fucking kill you right now," he snarled, his breath hot against your skin, his fingers digging into your scalp.

You blinked up at him. Not flinching and not pleading.

Just looking.

"Okay," you said simply.

For a long, tense moment, he didn't move.

Your heartbeat was steady, even as the seconds stretched between you. His grip was tight, his breathing heavy, the gun unwavering against your skin.

But you didn't break.

Because, honestly? You didn't care.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. It could be the sheer emotional devastation of everything leading up to this moment. Or maybe it was the painful, gut-wrenching realization that even if Spencer saved you, he wouldn't stay.

That hurt more than anything else.

The unsub groaned, exasperated, and after a few lingering moments, jerked back, lowering the gun.

He paced, rolling his neck like trying to shake off whatever he had just felt.

"You don't fear death, do you?" he muttered, more to himself than you.

You let out a small breath, watching him, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Not really."

—

The farmhouse was empty.

It was abandoned.

And that realization hit like a freight train.

As the team swept through the decrepit structure, their boots crunching against the dust-covered floorboards, the air grew heavier with every room they cleared. The farmhouse was utterly vacant—there was no sign of you, no sign of the unsub, no proof of where you had been taken next.

And then Spencer's world crashed down. Again. He didn't know how much more he could take.

His knees hit the ground before he could stop them, his whole body wracked with sobs. The grief that had been building inside him for hours, days, weeks—since the moment he walked away from you—exploded all at once.

Morgan was there instantly, his strong arms steadying Spencer, pulling him into a solid, grounding hold as Spencer fisted his hands into his vest.

"No, no, no," Spencer choked out, shaking violently. "We're too late, we're too late."

"Hey, hey—stop that." Morgan's grip tightened, his expression strained with worry. "We don’t know that."

But Spencer's mind wasn't listening.

Because the only explanation for an empty farmhouse was that the unsub had already killed you.

That he had already moved your body.

And Spencer would never get to tell you.

I never got to say he was sorry. Never get to tell you that he loved you, was a fool for leaving, and would have spent his entire life making it up to you if he could.

That you were his heart.

And now you were gone.

The team stood frozen, the weight of failure settling over them like a suffocating fog.

And then Spencer's phone rang.

His breath hitched, and his fingers clumsily fumbled for the device. His whole body felt numb, and the ringing pierced his grief. It was JJ.

He barely had time to answer before her voice rang through the line, breathless, disbelieving, urgent.

"Spencer—she's here."

His heart stopped.

"What?"

"Y/N just—she just walked into the precinct." JJ sounded just as stunned as he felt. "She's unharmed. She's safe."

Spencer felt his entire world tilt so violently that he nearly collapsed again.

He was on his feet in seconds, his head spinning, his chest heaving.

"She's alive?" The words tumbled out of him wild and frantic, like he feared saying them out loud would make them untrue.

JJ exhaled sharply. "She's alive, Spence. She's okay."

Spencer's legs nearly gave out.

Morgan caught him before he could crumble.

The team exchanged stunned glances, their exhaustion, and devastation shifting into something else entirely.

Hope.

Relief.

Victory.

Hotch's voice cut through the moment, commanding but urgent.

"Let's go. Now."

Spencer was already running.

—

Practically stumbling into the precinct, his breath ragged, Spencer's heart slamming against his ribs as he scanned the room in a frenzy. His eyes darted wildly, looking for you.

And then he saw you. Alive. Standing near JJ's desk, your arms crossed, your expression completely unreadable as you answered one of the officer's questions with a nod. No visible injuries. No signs of distress. Just… there.

Breathing.

Existing.

He felt like he was going to collapse.

The relief hit him so hard that he nearly forgot how to move, breathe, and function. His vision blurred, his pulse roared in his ears, and for a second, he could only process that you were here and safe.

Then you turned, and your gaze met his.

And everything inside Spencer froze.

Because there was no relief in your eyes.

No joy.

No desperation, no tears, no emotion at all.

It's just tired indifference.

His lips parted, and his feet moved toward you instinctively. His hands itched to touch you, feel you, hold you, apologize, beg, and break at your feet if he had to.

But before he could say anything, you exhaled deeply, turning back to JJ, dismissing him entirely without a second glance.

Like he was just… some guy.

Some stranger.

Someone who meant nothing.

The rejection was like a blade to the throat.

Spencer finally found his voice, but it was weak and hoarse. It was filled with exhaustion, guilt, and everything he had wanted to say to you but had never had the chance.

“Y/N—”

You barely spared him a glance.

"I just want to go home," you said flatly, your voice drained, emotionless, like you had nothing left to give—not to the case, Spencer, or any of it.

And that hurt more than anything.

Because he had prepared himself for your tears, he had braced himself for anger, for screaming, for you shoving him away, slapping him, hating him outright.

But this? This emptiness? This indifference? This was worse.

This was so much worse.

Spencer stood there, stunned, feeling himself shatter in real-time as you sighed, rubbing at your tired eyes, before quietly saying to JJ,

"Can someone take me home?"

And just like that—

You were gone.

And Spencer had never felt more alone.

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

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[befallenstars-archive]

EVIE!!!

It's been a while since I last read some fics and I saw this waiting in the drafts so I just had to pick it. Having your work as smth to get me back to reading is a very nice thing. I feel like I'm gonna have fun with this one!

As usual, looooots for yapping under the cut— bc it's me. When did I ever NOT yap?/lh

Dan Heng

"He wonders if this was truly the best course of action."

It's 3AM rn so lemme make sure I don't wake up my neighbors. I just know I'm in for an interesting ride.

“Hey.... stranger?” You're mumbling now, eyes locked on the floor, and his breath is stuck in his throat.

I had no idea alcohol induced memory loss. How do you forget a guy like that? Ouch. Poor Dan Heng/lh

“Here,” he turns around, lowering himself onto a knee to gesture for you to climb on. “I'll take you to your boyfriend.”

Aweee...I expected this is to be more comedic but I got a tad of comedic and some heartwarming vibes. Dan Heng's such a sweetheart!

Jing Yuan

“My boyfriend taught me how to fight, so don’t you even dare.”

The snort that I had to stop myself from letting out. No bc I'm thinking a reader that's completely flushed from being so drunk swaying to and fro while having their fists up in the air— HAHAHAHA THAT'S SO ADORABLE BYEEE

He blinks, once, twice — the hand gently patting your head a moment ago now entirely frozen in place. “Oh?”

The absolute mixed feelings I have for this man never seems to go away.

His hand finds its way back to you again, slower this time — traces over your cheek until he gently cups it in an effort to feel the warmth radiating from your skin. A chuckle almost betrays him and slips out at the sight of your eyes nearly fluttering shut, subconsciously leaning into his touch until you abruptly come back to your senses and swat at his hand.

IT'S TOO EARLY FOR ME TO JUST GO DYSFUNCTIONAL LIKE THIS. IM SHAKING YOU RN EVIE BC THIS IS JUST—

He smiles at you. “Hm. Your boyfriend — is that right?”

Is it wrong that I think THAT was attractive. Also bc his voice is just chef's kiss.

Your eyes narrow at the amusement in his voice, likely wondering why a stranger would be speaking to you so familiarly. “My boyfriend. The one with a suuuper heavy weapon that …. that you probably couldn’t pick up … with help.”

I— HAHAHAHAHA

PLEASE??? THIS IS TOO ADORABLE OF THE READER

You huff before deciding to face the opposite direction, all whilst scooting a secondary inch away from him. Perhaps a third, for extra measure.

Where are they even sitting at this point? Maybe I skipped it but I thought of a bench?? Like how long is that bench with the way reader is scooting away. Part of me is actually mentally preparing reader just accidentally falls over at the very edge HAHAHAHA

Mydei

(Ah, the infamous guy that has caused dysfunction to just about everyone on my dash)

Mydei only huffs in response before glancing over his shoulder from where you’re draped over his left like a sack of potatoes, quickly confirming that … as of now, you still seem content, at least.

I'M SORRY WHAT??

Where's the hi? Hello?? My name is??? Why is the reader just hoisted over this guy's shoulder like that—

So, he lets you talk, opting to silently listen to you ramble on about your day (aside from the occasional glances over his shoulder to check on you). It’s only when he hears a sudden shift in your voice that he stiffens.

I love yappy reader. The scenario is just so adorable??? Mydei who's just casually carrying the reader over his shoulder. Reader who's subjected him to listen to drunked yapping like it's just another regular night for her

He huffs. “No. He wouldn’t be mad. Not at you.”

Aweeee...okay, this made me wanna catch up with the game ngl

Phainon

(Yet another one of the hsr men that has caused some chaos on dash)

“Oh.” You hug your knees in disappointment to let out another heavy sigh, one far too telling of your emotions — practically seeping back into your lonely puddle when you realize that this person who had found you in your corner was also in fact… not your boyfriend.

THE WAY THAT I WAS READY TO THROW HANDS WITH HIM FOR MAKING THE READER SAD??? Like how dare he— and then the last part made me go "oh...she's just drunk" BUT HE BETTER DO SMTH

“Hmph,” you leer at him from where your head is halfway buried in your arms, knees hugged tightly against your chest. “I wanted to see my boyfriend, not some random person. I’m tired, y’know.”

Reader is simply too adorable (T ^ T)

“Obviously I’m certain,” You huff, ignoring the way he seems to look happier at this and hugging your knees even tighter against your chest. “I like being around him. A whole lot, actually.”

Awwweee...adorable AND sweet. Such a lovely combination quite honestly. Especially with the part where he looks a bit happier? Yeap, tugged right on my heart strings.

Sunday

“..Forgive me,” his eyes flicker from your hand to your eyes — then back to your hand. As if there may be a slim chance that you’ve simply forgotten about the ironclad grip on his wrist and would release him from his confinement, soon. Surely. “Then perhaps I should go get you a glass of wa—”

BAHAHHHAHAHAHA

POOR GUY???

I love how he's both unsure what to do but still doing his best. Also the way halovian wings flap!! Such an adorable imagery hehe

“You’re stuck with me until we find my boyfriend.”

NOT THE READER THREATENING (??) HIM—

TRYING TO TAKE YOU HOME WHEN YOU DON’T RECOGNIZE THEM. ft. dan heng, jing yuan, mydei, phainon, and sunday.

sfw. f!reader. in which the hsr men try their best to convince you that they really are your boyfriend and not a complete stranger trying to take you back home after a long night out.

cw for implied alcohol consumption. not mentioned otherwise — just the silly scenario where reader seemingly doesn’t recognize them upon first glance. prompt from anon on prev blog! fem!reader for all.

— DAN HENG.

He wonders if this was truly the best course of action.

“Give me back my jacket, you jerk...” your words come out slurred, barely mustering the strength needed to keep your hold on his sleeve as you trail behind him down the street.

His jacket — he'd usually correct you — but he doesn't this time, lest you eventually come to the conclusion that the mentioned jacket isn't even yours and therefore holds no importance.

“Soon. The agreement we settled on was that if you don't make a scene, I'll give it back.”

It sounds like a threat.

And if someone were to spot him now, this would certainly paint his image in a light that he would much rather not be perceived in, if given the choice.

He knows this all too well — apparent from the nervous sweat collecting along his temples and the frequent clearing of his throat whenever your grip begins to loosen, but you seem to only giggle at the statement now, eagerly nodding along.

“Really? You pinkie promise, stranger? I'll be reaaall quiet then.”

“Yes,” his brows furrow — from either stress or a sense of urgency that you don't seem to have, “I give you my word. So, please, keep your voice down and follow me.”

You respond with a cheerful hum before eventually falling silent again, the street quiet aside from the patter of your clumsy footsteps following closely behind his own.

Though it’s short-lived, much to Dan Heng’s misery.

Only about a minute or two goes by until you start to tug on his sleeve, and his heart nearly stops beating in his chest. Perhaps you’ve already realized. Or perhaps you’ve pegged him as a dangerous type of guy — which wouldn’t surprise him, given the circumstances.

“Hey…” you tug once more, even harder now, and then stop walking entirely — shifting your weight backwards to avoid being pulled straight into him.

Uh oh.

“Hey.... stranger?” You're mumbling now, eyes locked on the floor, and his breath is stuck in his throat.

“I'm sleepy.”

“You.. you want to sleep,” He repeats, still uncertain — his words coming off a bit too similar to that of a question. “Right now?”

You nod, hands coming to rub at your eyes, as if doing so could wipe away the sudden wave of drowsiness that has overtaken you. Though, your efforts prove to be futile in the end, with each blink becoming slower than the last.

“Yes,” you murmur, “Here. I'm going to nap … and then .. and then I need to find my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. A part of him is relieved you remember, at least. Perhaps the other critical piece of information will find its way back to you soon as well.

Your eyes flutter back open when something familiar is draped across your shoulders. “Don't sleep here.”

“Here,” he turns around, lowering himself onto a knee to gesture for you to climb on. “I'll take you to your boyfriend.”

— JING YUAN.

“My boyfriend taught me how to fight, so don’t you even dare.”

He blinks, once, twice — the hand gently patting your head a moment ago now entirely frozen in place. “Oh?”

It makes sense as soon as you turn to glare at him. While he’s rather certain he hasn’t done anything to warrant such a look, another part of him — his heart, skips a happy beat over how adorable you look, even if you’re not smiling at him like usual.

“I see,” Jing Yuan continues again, only a moment later, taking a seat beside you (and choosing to ignore the way you make the conscious effort to scoot an inch away from him). Sassily so, he might add, similar to the way you so endearingly turn your body away from him and puff your cheek out when he’s teased you just a bit too much for your liking.

His hand finds its way back to you again, slower this time — traces over your cheek until he gently cups it in an effort to feel the warmth radiating from your skin. A chuckle almost betrays him and slips out at the sight of your eyes nearly fluttering shut, subconsciously leaning into his touch until you abruptly come back to your senses and swat at his hand.

He smiles at you. “Hm. Your boyfriend — is that right?”

Your eyes narrow at the amusement in his voice, likely wondering why a stranger would be speaking to you so familiarly. “My boyfriend. The one with a suuuper heavy weapon that …. that you probably couldn’t pick up … with help.”

“Ah, how admirable he must be. You have no need for worry — I would never dream of wielding such a weapon.”

You huff before deciding to face the opposite direction, all whilst scooting a secondary inch away from him. Perhaps a third, for extra measure.

“This boyfriend of yours,” he speaks again, holding back a chuckle when you dramatically sigh at the sound of his voice once again, “surely he wouldn’t mind someone like myself keeping you company until he returns, wouldn’t you think?”

“I have grown quite curious. Perhaps he would allow me to see this impressive weapon for myself.”

— MYDEI.

“Actually, you’re rather comfy, stranger.”

Mydei only huffs in response before glancing over his shoulder from where you’re draped over his left like a sack of potatoes, quickly confirming that … as of now, you still seem content, at least.

“I’ve told you before. I’m no stranger.” The singular arm currently holding your thighs to his chest tightens, and you only giggle against his back, arms freely dangling beneath you. “Yeah, yeah.”

You’ve been surprisingly cooperative. In fact, he thinks he should make a mental note to remind you about being less trusting of strangers tomorrow — because .. surely, it should not have been so easy to convince you that he could simply carry you to your ‘boyfriend.’

Even now, when he’s seemingly been reduced to nothing aside from a mere stranger, you’re as inviting and friendly to him as ever — mumbling something about his strength, followed by a worried “Hey but — let me know if you get tired or anything, okay?”

So, he lets you talk, opting to silently listen to you ramble on about your day (aside from the occasional glances over his shoulder to check on you). It’s only when he hears a sudden shift in your voice that he stiffens.

“Say…” you start, drawing patterns along his back with a finger, as if nervous about his response. “Do you think Mydei’s worried?”

“I don’t want to worry him,” he lets you continue, eyes shifting back to the path ahead of him. “What do you think, strong stranger? He won’t be mad, right? Or sad, maybe?”

He huffs. “No. He wouldn’t be mad. Not at you.”

— PHAINON.

“Oh.” You hug your knees in disappointment to let out another heavy sigh, one far too telling of your emotions — practically seeping back into your lonely puddle when you realize that this person who had found you in your corner was also in fact… not your boyfriend.

“‘Oh?’ Well, someone doesn’t sound very excited to see me.”

The stranger decides to approach you anyway, taking a seat on the tiles beside you before letting out an exhale himself, back of his head coming to lightly rest against the wall. “What’s on your mind?”

“Hmph,” you leer at him from where your head is halfway buried in your arms, knees hugged tightly against your chest. “I wanted to see my boyfriend, not some random person. I’m tired, y’know.”

“Your boyfriend? How strange.” The confusion starts to leave his face the longer he looks at you — lips curling ever so slightly at the idea that suddenly comes to mind.

“He must be cruel … to leave you here all by yourself.”

He almost slips and calls you cute when you stick an arm out to weakly jab a finger into his shoulder, turning your head to the side again to mutter a “Hey. He’s not cruel.”

Truly too cute — the way your eyes have narrowed into something resembling a glare — the same one you always give him whenever you scold him for being too careless. Though, it tends to fade as soon as it comes, replaced with soft kisses against the crown of his head as you lull him back to sleep.

“Aw,” He’s smiling now, “You’re certain he’s not cruel?”

“Obviously I’m certain,” You huff, ignoring the way he seems to look happier at this and hugging your knees even tighter against your chest. “I like being around him. A whole lot, actually.”

The way his eyes begin to soften at your (unintentional) affection most definitely wouldn’t go unnoticed by you, he’s sure, nor the way his hand twitches — wanting nothing but to extend in your direction to pull you in for a hug. Though, luckily enough for him, you’ve settled on resting your head in the comfort of your own arms again, oblivious to the lovesick one seated beside you.

“I’ll make sure to tell him again … when I see him. So let me be, you weird stranger.”

— SUNDAY.

If someone happened to be wondering whether a halovian’s wings flap awkwardly when rendered completely speechless — this would be their golden opportunity to witness it firsthand.

“M-my apologies,” his wings flutter again, then a third time when your hand only tightens around his wrist, eyes narrowing at him in suspicion. “Please excuse me. I was only checking for your temperature, since you seem to be rather…”

“No.” You don’t let go. In fact, you hold onto him as if you’ve just now captured a crook attempting to steal March’s snacks.

“..Forgive me,” his eyes flicker from your hand to your eyes — then back to your hand. As if there may be a slim chance that you’ve simply forgotten about the ironclad grip on his wrist and would release him from his confinement, soon. Surely. “Then perhaps I should go get you a glass of wa—”

“No.”

“…”

“I… I see.” The nervous flutter of his wings shifts to something more sheepish — one wing moving to cover his mouth, as if deep in thought. Which wouldn’t be far from the truth, for even someone such as himself is left dumbfounded by your current behavior. “Then.. is there anything you’d like for me to help with? Someone like March may be better suited for..”

“My boyfriend…” he falls silent as soon as you speak, noting the softness of your words now — barely above a hushed whisper (though the familiarity has him quickly perking up in response). “I want my boyfriend.”

His head tilts at this. Subtly. Truly confused — and even more so when your brows furrow only a second later, followed by a tug on his wrist. “I want my boyfriend.”

“You’re stuck with me until we find my boyfriend.”

[huginsmemory]

Really can't get over the CAN WE TALK? stickynotes. And I mean I think part of it really kinda clicked when I've seen some fanart about it. We really see in TBOB that Ford after beginning to hear voices slipping through the cracks and questions Bill, to learn what Bill really intended, ENTIRELY shuts down his communication with Bill. And you see Bill when he gets questioned in that moment responds with a heavily implied dialogue along the lines of "haha, yeah I tricked you, I'm here to overtake your dimension". But Bill still expects Ford to respond to him in some way, and it's very clear that Bill is shocked when Ford REFUSES to talk to him. And what's interesting is Bill doesn't just IMMEDIATELY begin with threats; he actually leaves stickynotes first, before Bill realizes he's FUCKED UP big time and gets really nasty. There's something pleading with the CAN WE TALK? sticky note. There's a point where Bill does realize he's not getting what he expected, that he's missing Ford, and that he's willing to possibly even smooth some things over, explain things better (maybe even the part that the nightmare dimension is unraveling perhaps) or persuade Ford into Bill's plans. But Ford refuses, and it's already too late for Bill because just like with Stan, Ford feels betrayed and when Ford feels betrayed he'll mercilessly cut the person out of his life. Ford deeply, deeply holds hurt and betrayal and as a result he has zero desire to speak with Bill again (and also uhhh big red flag to take over the world, so also. Yeah).

And it's interesting because it's a slower ramp up until Bill is desperate and threatens, uses violence, because that's what he's always used when it comes down to it, and an ultimatum is given. It wasn't just threats out of the gate; Bill DID try to speak to Ford (btw this is not me being like Ford should have spoken to Bill and it would be magically healthy, cause no matter how you slice it it's just a toxic mess tbh). Threats out of the gate would have been faster; there's over three weeks in the timeline, before Ford goes through the portal (althought we don't get too much context around exactly when everything occurs). That's a lot of time! But Bill didn't threaten Ford immediately. And I think part of that reason is because Bill expected Ford to speak to him, expected their relationship or at least their project to mean enough to Ford that Ford would speak to him and then continue their work, once his anger cooled off. And I think also part of it is because Bill cared about Ford, not that he'd admit it in the moment; but he'd rather Ford willingly be alongside him, then have to force him through threats to do the work on the portal. You see that, even after Ford spends 30 years trying to kill him and nearly even does, when he offers him during wierdmageddon to be a henchmaniac. Bill cares about Ford, wants Ford beside him. But then Ford continues to refuse to engage with him at all, and Bill realizes he's lost Ford, and progressively gets more desperate and angrier as he's still refused, and falls into the violence he usually uses, to get Ford to cooperate.

Anyhow it's one of those things that you wonder what would've happened if they DID speak, but that would ultimately be defying a big part of who Ford is... So in a way it's a juicy juicy tidbit to chew on, the implications beyond the writing on the sticky note.

[honeybeefae]

Capture The Flag (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: Slight suggestiveness? No smut though!

(Wow, it's been what, a year since I last wrote? I hope you enjoy this small drabble! <3)

Summary // After losing to the Illyrian babies for the fourth time in a row, you swore to yourself that this time would be different. Strategies were made, and routes were planned, but as each of you got picked off one by one, you had to throw caution to the wind and prepare to fight dirty.

A game. That is all this was, right? Just a fun, chill, absolutely not in any way competitive game.

A gust of wind almost knocks you on your ass as a large shadow momentarily blocks out the sun, Cassian's laughter echoing across the forest.

Damn Illyrians.

"Nesta! Feyre!" You shout, feeling the sweat drip down your face and back as you take a sharp turn to the left. "I thought you said we would win this time?! Where is my team?"

This was the fifth time this game had been played in the last month, and the three of you had lost every single time. You had foolishly believed that this capture the flag activity could be played respectfully, the focus more on fun rather than rivalry.

A loud scream followed by Nesta using every swear word she knew proves just how wrong you were about that. "You'll regret that, Cassian!" She shouts, hair sticking to her face as she runs past you in a near sprint. "Hold this for me!"

Before you can react, something is tossed at you, which you are barely able to catch. Your heart stalls momentarily as you realize what exactly Nesta has given you as she goes to get revenge on her mate.

The flag.

Fuck.

"Feyre!!" You yell out, not even bothering to hide the fear in your voice as you frantically look around. In all the games before, you had never been the one to hold the flag, but you knew you had to get it to your home base. However, that would be a much simpler task if you had the protection of the High Lady of the Night Court.

Also, a Valkyrie, but by the sounds coming from a nearby clearing, she was busy fighting. Or fucking. Actually, probably both.

"Come on!" You hear Feyre's soft voice beside you, her hand wrapping around your wrist as she starts to run. "Base is just past those trees! All we have to do is-" A whirl of mist, the smell of sea salt and citrus, and suddenly, the High Lord himself is leaning against a nearby pine. His arms are crossed over his chest, a nonchalant smirk on his lips as he looks at the two of you.

"Ah, I was just wondering where that pesky thing had gone to..." He chuckles, nodding towards the flag, which you instinctively tighten your hold on.

"No, come on, Rhys, please?" You whine, looking towards Feyre as she regards him with an icy stare.

"Do you think it would be fair of me to let you girls win based on pity?" He taunts, raising an eyebrow. "Look, you two are clearly outnumbered, so if you would just surrender-"

"Your general is off frolicking in the woods," Feyre suddenly speaks up, taking a brave step forward as she raises her chin up in defiance. "And your Spymaster is nowhere to be seen. Right now, darling, you are the one who is outnumbered."

"Is that right?" Rhysand purrs, his violet eyes now entirely on Feyre as she smirks. You roll your eyes and sigh despite the circumstances, knowing that this play is going to end much the same as Cassian and Nesta.

Unless....you look at Feyre, with her hands behind her back, and see her motion for you to run. Ah, a trap. Well, she was definitely the best bait for him, after all.

You immediately take off and run towards your home base, hearing Feyre easily intercept Rhys before he can snatch you back, and you laugh. This is it! Cassian and Rhys have both been neutralized, all you have to do is-

A long, muscled arm wraps around your torso and all but slams you into the moss-covered ground right before you can touch the finish line. You gasp, the air was stolen from your lungs, and blink up to see Azriel looming over you with mischievous eyes.

"Hi." He murmurs, voice gravely, as he examines you underneath him. "Were you heading somewhere?"

"Fuck you." You laugh breathlessly, the flag still held tightly in your fist, as he licks his lips. "You know it's not fair to camp out at the end and wait. It's plain cheating."

"Sounds like you're just jealous that you are about to lose. Again." He snarked teasingly. "Though I was surprised to see that you weren't taking the same...approaches, if you will, as Feyre and Nesta."

You feel your cheeks blush at his alluding words, suddenly very aware of the way his body was pressed against yours. It hadn't been that long since the two of you had found out you were mates, less time than that since the mating ceremony.

Actually, this game was what had pulled you guys out of your shared home to spend time with everyone. You think that is why the boys won so quickly the last few times, as within minutes of victory, Azriel was dragging you back to the house without so much as a goodbye.

"You sound disappointed, my love," You coo, pouting out your bottom lip as he grins boyishly. "I think it might be a little late, but...if you let me up and win, I can promise you more than a simple romp in the woods?"

Azriel poked his cheek with his tongue at your suggestive tone, and you could feel just how your words affected him. It was just the two of you out now as if you were in your own bubble, and it wasn't lost on him just how easy it would be to indulge each other.

"Please?" Your voice turns softer, quieter, and you know you have him hook, line, and sinker when he leans in, and his eyes flutter close. His lips ghost over yours, his scent wrapping around you in a dizzying chokehold, and you have to force yourself to fight through the fog of promises.

His fingers loosen around your wrists, his body lifts just the slightest bit, and you give him a kiss of betrayal before twisting his arm back and rolling away to freedom.

Adrenaline kicks in as you claw your way up and run as fast as you can to home base. The sound of cursing and wings flapping quickly fills your ears, and you let out a terrified shriek, jumping with all of your speed and closing your eyes as you crash to the ground.

Your mouth fills with dirt, your arms and legs scrape against twigs and rocks littered on the ground, but your hand...it's touching the giant oak by the stream. The flag still firmly grasped within.

Azriel is quick to help you up, his eyes wide with concern as he looks you over and scolds you for risking a broken arm for a game, but you barely hear him. No, all you can hear is the trumpets in the distance as you loudly whoop into the forest air.

"WE DID IT!!" You crow, throwing the flag down at Azriel's feet. "GUYS WE WON! WE BEAT THEM!"

There was no answer, of course, but you knew it, and you were proud. You turn to fully face Azriel, grinning wildly, only to see him assessing you with a dangerous glint in his eye. It made your elation quickly turn to fear as he straightened his spine and stretched out his wings, only giving you a small jerk of his chin for a signal before reaching for you.

You were quick to dodge, forgetting the crumpled flag as you laughed and took off in a different direction. It seems you would be getting your fun in the woods after all.

[eviesaurusrex]

tale as old as time | X. Riorson

Xaden Riorson x Aurelia Melgren (OC)

summary: Usually, he’s the dangerous, unapproachable wingleader in public, but since a few days, Xaden Riorson can’t bare to be apart from Aurelia Melgren.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: none really, mentions of past injuries, dragons, Xaden being touch-starved after admitting his feelings, Xaden’s shadows, Tairn being Tairn, two idiots in love, childhood friends-to-lovers, not entirely proofread

author’s note: Lately, I really am all over the place with my writing for fandoms lol. This could turn into a series of oneshots if people are interested—I can also switch this up into a typical reader-insert starring YN, just let me know!

divider by @enchanthings-a

It started right after Threshing.

First, she almost didn’t heed it no mind, not even realizing a change in his daily routines. Sometimes, she felt his eyes lingering on her whenever they passed one another in the hallways of Basgiath on their way to classes or formation in the morning. Other times, she felt him walking closely next to her, the backs of their hands brushing against one another, letting sparks of electricity travel through her bones, dancing on her skin.

All of those incidents, Aurelia categorized as mere blips in reality—undoubtedly enjoying them, but knowing they would not be present for the remainder of their days at the War College.

But then, the shadows started to act up.

Rea knew how masterfully Xaden wielded his signet, being in total control of it; she had watched him train with Garrick and the others and had even gotten a taste of his skills herself. So, for them to act up all of a sudden as soon as she was near a particularly dark corner?

Highly unlikely.

The day on which she woke up with one of those shadowy, smoky tendrils almost lovingly wrapped around her wrist like a delicate bracelet? She knew something had shifted, that something was certainly different than prior to Threshing. And she started to notice more and more:

Xaden casually walking down the hallway of her dorm floor by utter coincidence when she opened her door to head out for breakfast? The way his hand almost naturally found its spot on the small of her back, resting heavily and comfortingly there until they reached the door to the dining hall, his fingers pressing softly into the fabric of her uniform before letting go?

His long-lingering glances across the tables atop the leader platform now so obvious, she had to be blind (or dead) not to notice them?

The way they sat in comfortable silence on the parapet on a particularly starry night because he knew how much she loved stargazing? Hands brushing against one another on the withered stone, one finger wrapped around the other’s? The heavy feeling of his gaze on her profile while she watched the spectacle in the dark-tinted sky in awe and wonder?

She really had to be blind not to see it.

On this particular morning, Aurelia cradled a cup of coffee between both her hands, eyes focused on the dark-haired wingleader as he ate his scrambled eggs while being in deep conversation with Garrick. Taking a revitalizing sip, she patiently waited, smiling softly as Tairn seemed to wake up and growled in her mind. “Your thoughts of the wingleader disturbed my sleep, Stormy One. Keep this up, and I might not be inclined to continue to tolerate him near me.” The Melgren rolled her eyes at that. “Oh, please. I wouldn’t wager my marital bliss because I keep on fantasizing about incinerating the rider of my mate,” she shot back with a humorous tone down their bond, still letting her smile like a fool.

It was exhilarating to be chosen by a dragon, and Aurelia was sure she would keep on grinning like an idiot until the day of her last ride.

The black dragon huffed into her mind. “First: The bond of mates is far more superior to the human concept of marriage, girl. And second: Do not dare think of your last flight—already. We have years upon years, Stormy One. Your skills are too refined to be wasted on an early death. Instead, continue to dream of the rider who is now staring at you—it’s far less insulting.” It was almost as if Tairn chuckled deeply as her eyes fell on Xaden again, watching his onyx eyes soften ever so slightly as he reveled in the attention she granted him.

A small smile danced across her lips as she took another sip of her cooling coffee, her eyes never leaving his handsome face, remembering his whispered words after Threshing when the healers had worked on her bruised and battered body, thinking she wasn’t conscious enough to recall any of it. Until the day before, she had accounted those words to the delirious state she had been in due to the blood loss, but now, with the shadows accompanying her and the expression on his face? The evidence of his shift in person toward her? Aurelia was sure she didn’t dream up his confession.

They held each other’s gazes locked until most of the cadets had left for classes and training, and only then did the woman rise and leave for Battle Brief herself, waiting for him in the hallway. Leaning against a wall, she had her arms crossed loosely in front of her black-clad chest, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as he finally made his way out as well, spotting her instantly. Xaden walked over to her with long, purposeful strides, graceful and lethal as ever, fingers gently twitching as his stare fell from her eyes, raking over the lower part of her face.

“How are you feeling? Is the soreness bearable?”

His question was asked quietly, his voice soft and filled with a warmth barely anyone would receive within these walls, and that knowledge made the butterflies in her stomach whirl like a tornado. He had always been soft to her, ever since their first meeting as children, and he had continued to be like that until they had been separated by fate. Perhaps he still was the boy she once knew—just buried beneath everything he had to be for everyone else.

“Good. Better. It still somewhat aches when I get up too fast, but other than that…” She trailed off when his hand crept closer and touched the spot right next to her navel where she had been run through with a sword during Threshing, a scar now left behind. “But…,” she started again, making him look her directly in the eyes, a teasing smile creeping onto her lips. “I would feel much better if you’d explain this.” And with that, she pulled one of her arms out of their hold across her chest, holding up the wrist with the shadow still in place.

She watched Xaden swallow, eyes lingering on the black, translucent bracelet before he stared down at her again. A hand rose and softly wrapped itself around her fingers, pulling her hand close until it landed on his chest, right above his steadily beating heart. It pushed all the air out of her lungs; her breath hitched as she witnessed the vulnerability the fearsome wingleader showed her at this particular moment.

Xaden watched her intently as he murmured: “Do you mind it? Do they… disgust you? Bother you?” Without having to think about it, Aurelia slowly shook her head, never leaving him out of sight. “Why would you think that? I think they’re beautiful. Immaculate. Watching you wield them is like watching art,” she confessed, still slightly breathless, eyes wide with curiosity and… doubt. Did she never show him what she thought about him, about his talents and skills? Perhaps it had been drowned out by everything happening around them, and a pang of guilt settled in her chest. “Art, hm?” Blinking, Aurelia watched his smile grow, and the guilt lessened for now, making her slap his broad shoulder playfully. “Don’t tease me about my choice of words.”

The Riorson chuckled quietly before his arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her flush against his high-towering form. “So, you want an explanation?” His voice had turned into a raspy whisper, and all Aurelia could do was to nod, eyes enthralled by his gaze, her heart beating against her ribcage, trying to escape. “I wanted to make sure you’re all right, Rea, day and night, when I’m here and when I’m not. I wanted to feel close to you at all times, reminding myself every hour of the day that you’re still here, with me.” The fingers pressed against his chest gripped onto his uniform, burying themselves into the midnight black fabric, holding herself up at his steady confession. “Threshing made me realize something I have forgotten for a while: I cannot lose you. I cannot live without you, Aurelia Melgren. If you wouldn’t have made it, it’s safe to say I would have succumbed alongside you. You…” He took a steadying breath with closed eyes before he bent at his waist, coming closer and closer until their foreheads were gently pressed to one another, onyx black crashed against periwinkle blue.

“You are the keeper of all that I feel, of all that I am. One word and I will never speak of it again. One word and I will lock everything away, remaining your friend as I have always been. But…” And with that, he pulled her even closer. “But if your feelings have changed over the years and I was too stupid or blind to see it… Please, tell me and put me out of this… this… misery.” His voice broke at the last word, and it almost hurt her physically to hear his suffering she never knew about.

When has everything between them changed? Aurelia knew when it had changed for her—years ago during a sparring session with him and Garrick back in Aretia when no one had thought about needing to separate. Yes, her father never liked her association with the Riorson’s, but her mother had been from Tyrrendor and called Fen Riorson one of her oldest friends. And on that day, when Xaden had beamed at her proudly for shooting her first arrow successfully, she had known and protected that little secret of hers until… today.

Softly, almost lovingly, Aurelia let the tip of her nose rub against his, staring into his deep eyes and seeing all the emotions she had always hoped to witness on his face, swimming there, freely visible. “Perhaps stupid, perhaps blind, perhaps a bit of both,” the Melgren chuckled, making him roll his eyes at her but turning serious for this particular moment. “You were never just a friend to me, Xaden. You were never just my most trusted companion and confidant—there was always something different between us. I felt… safe with you, protected even. I could be who I was, not the one others desperately wanted me to be. I was… free. You gave me freedom.”

And freedom was the one thing Aurelia had longed for her entire life.

Xaden stared at her unmoving; he almost didn’t dare to breathe when one of her hands cupped his cheek, the pad of her thumb caressing his cheekbone.

“I have always loved you, Xaden Riorson, and I will always love you until my last dying breath as a dragon rider. If you’ll have me…—”

She couldn’t ask the question, not with his lips crashing against hers without restraint, without fear. He was as wild in his claim as he was in his fight, making her his then and there, incinerating every trace of every other man she had allowed to touch her in her life. He unraveled her in a dark corner and put her back together, infusing her with love, passion, and freedom with every move of his lips, with ever raspy sound escaping his throat when her fingers tangled themselves in his dark strands, tucking him closer and closer, until they where almost one.

With a gasp for air, Xaden parted with a heavy breath, chest heaving and heart galloping under the palm of her hand. “If I could, I would make you a Riorson on the spot,” he mumbled, lips pressing kisses to her cheeks and her swollen lips with utmost tenderness. “Slow your dragons, love,” Aurelia’s chuckled words followed. “Let us survive this death sentence of a War College first before we enter a far less superior bond they will most definitely mock.” The man started to grin at her words, pulling her close into his chest. “Did you already get that lecture, hm?” Nodding, she gently pushed back his hair, trying to make it presentable again. “Oh, I have. And I imagine there will be more coming sooner rather than later now that we…” She didn’t dare say the words, but Xaden wasn’t as hesitant—not in the slightest.

“Now that we are in a relationship, mo chroi? You can say it—the title won’t bite you.” Shoving him away, Aurelia showed him her tongue, but letting him take her hand in his, allowing him to hold onto it. “Whatever. Those dragons are menaces, and I’m afraid he will take over the fatherly talk in lack of a present father to do that. And I’m not sure what alternative I would prefer.” As if Tairn had only waited to share his input, his voice echoed through her mind. “I do not know what you dare to imply there, Stormy One, but mind you, I would only propose exceptional measures in order not to procreate ahead of your time. We have goals to accomplish, rider, battles to win, wars to end. No time for… frolicking with your shadow wielder.”

She couldn’t hold back the laugh at the growled words and let go of Xaden’s hand in order to wrap her arm around his waist, claiming her spot at his side, his arm instinctively snaking around her shoulders. “Tairn warned me not to frolic with you, shadow wielder,” she explained at his cocked eyebrow and smiled with closed eyes as he bent down to press a kiss to the crown of her head. “I will keep that in mind, but don’t you think I won’t put my hands on you, Stormy One.”

Walking beside him felt good. Freeing. Empowering. It got into her head, she thought, but it did not matter. She had rarely felt this wonderful.

“Has Sgaeyl spilled Tairn’s secret?” Xaden chuckled humorously as they walked the empty hallways toward Battle Brief. “She did—unintentionally, I think. But it is fitting. You are a tornado, a force of nature to be reckoned with. And with that dragon at your side now? With me? We will be unstoppable, love.” Teasingly, Rea nudged his hip with hers as they stopped in front of the massive double doors leading into the largest classroom Basgiath offered. “Do not over-exaggerate, Xaden darling. You sound like you have an appetite for conquering the world,” she whispered as he bent down again, lips ghosting over hers. “Oh, I have an appetite for many things, mo chroi. And I’ll show you each and every single one of them.”

Kissing Xaden, Aurelia silenced him with flushing cheeks before opening the door to slip inside the now-settling-down cadets. She intended to make her way down toward her usual seat next to her best friend, Merope. Xaden had different plans, though.

His hand snatched hers, and without uttering another word, the tall man tugged her after him, making his row scoot up a seat to create room for her next to Garrick, who watched the interaction with gleaming interest. His cheeky grin was oh so prominent, Aurelia hit his cheek with the flat side of her quill, shaking her head slowly, almost threateningly. “Don’t you dare utter a single word,” she whisper-hissed at him, cocking an eyebrow when he dared to open his mouth, watching him reconsider his next move. “I just wanted to say I told you so, but whatever.” Grinning triumphantly, Garrick winked at her, chuckling when her hand hit him multiple times on his shoulder. “You are unbelievable,” was all she huffed in slight annoyance, forcing herself to look in front, trying to ignore all the stares and the whispers at her new spot. They seemed to increase in volume when everyone bore witness to Xaden Riorson moving his hand in her direction, grabbing her thigh under the small table each seat had sat in front of it, squeezing it tenderly, and leaning in her direction.

“Forget about them, all of them. It doesn’t matter what they think, okay?” He knew her too well, but in their case, she couldn’t give a fuck. Leaning closer herself, Aurelia pressed a lingering kiss to his jawline—it was the only part of his handsome face she could reach without making a fool out of herself—and smiled with a teasing gleam in her eyes. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, Riorson,” the Melgren promised, making him hum in contentment, his hand settling heavily on her thigh—and it would stay there for the remainder of this class and every other they shared.

“I intend to keep you, Melgren. I intend to keep you for a very long time.”

Thank you all for reading! Please consider leaving a like, a comment, and a reblog. Tell me your thoughts about this fic and/or ideas for potential new fanfictions ♡

[thatnerduknow98]

There were lots of things that tipped me off about Jake’s replacement doopelganger.

First it was his more gentle manner, which my husband of 31 years has never had. Jake was always angry at himself, angry at the world, angry at God, and he took it out on me.

It wasn’t physically violent or even manipulative by any means. He never laid a hand on me in a way that wasn’t caring; that said, he rarely ever touched me at all. He never cheated on me either.

Rather, his words were crass, crude, and harsh. Jake was mean, to put it simply — but he was mean in a beautiful poetic way with combinations of words that glistened with brilliance; and I, being a writer, was so attracted to that. When I first realized I’d married a miserable man, I drew the line for divorce at physical violence. Yet here we are, 30 years later.

Jake often sputtered illustrative insults, not just at me but at the world. The monumentos corn stalks eluded his vision at various intersections, and their harvesting thickened the air with the suffocating dust of nutrient deprived soil, for example (I would’ve just said the damn corn was too tall to see oncoming cars).

This new Jake thinks everything is beautiful. He is observant and rarely speaks at all, often expressing his awe and wonder through his body language by tilting his head and very gently grazing his fingers over whatever it is he is studying.

At first I thought he’d hit his head and checked his scalp. Old Jake would’ve called me a paranoid harlot and cursed at me through the process, though he would’ve reluctantly let me do it. New Jake was silent and closed his eyes as I ran my fingers through his scalp. I wondered if he was experiencing ASMR or having some sort of mindfulness moment.

Old Jake would bitch about my cooking in the most eloquent manner, especially when my skillet dish would smoke up the kitchen and dining room: “You ignorant child, you’re cloudying up my refuge!”

New Jake sits at the kitchen island, patiently watching how I make his dinner. He compliments the food every time, even says thank you when I hand him a plate, and has since asked me several times to show him how to make something he liked. He enjoys a good pork chop in the skillet and likes to watch the vegetables roast in our oven. We have a gas stove, and the blue flames just mesmerize him. I have to remind him to turn the burners off or our cat will set himself on fire.

The attitude toward the cat also set off a flag in my brain. Our 13 year old orange kitty is an indoor and outdoor cat, often preferring to lay outside on the deck in the sun then come in at night to lay near my feet in bed. If Mr. Oranges wasn’t inside by dark, and I didn’t intervene, Old Jake would leave him outside all night. Mr. Oranges is particularly plump, so if we were out of cat food Jake would let him starve rather than try to find him something else to eat (we always have canned tuna) or stop at the store on the way home to pick up cat food. Old Jake never interacted with Mr. Oranges at all.

New Jake loves Mr. Oranges. He’s bought him way too many treats and new toys. He plays with him. He snuggles with him. He even naps with him. And Mr. Oranges seems to like this version of Jake better too, constantly rubbing up on his legs and laying on his chest when he sits down.

But the real thing that let me know my husband was replaced is that New Jake is left handed. Old Jake is not. People don’t just switch their dominant hand unprompted. I asked him about it. He swears he’s always been left handed. I checked his head again for a bruise.

It’s been like this for three months. New Jake knows everything about me and us, so whoever replaced him must have studied really hard to pass this test. Our 32nd anniversary is coming up next week and I’ve already received surprise roses and chocolates and tickets to see a play. Old Jake would’ve never done that. I’m so confused.

But I’m also being treated not just properly, but well for the first time in three decades so I don’t want to say anything to the people who could find my original husband. I might even be able to get laid for the first time in forever and it not be seen as a chore.

Perhaps I’ll continue to keep this a secret.

Your "friend" has been replaced by a doppelgänger. You aren’t sure where it came from or what it is under the disguise. But you know one thing; you prefer it over the original.

[delugyu]

okay, i relent, here’s part two for the beomgyu drabble, you insatiable freaks!!!!

(wc: 3.2k / warnings: absolutely no jealousy anywhere at all, beomgyu being mega pathetic, oral (m rec.), masturbation, virgin!reader, okay maybe a smidge of jealousy)

beomgyu can’t lie and say that he didn’t jump a little when he got your text. who knew that a simple can i come over? would be enough to stir his cock to life. he’s thought about you every day this week with his hand shoved down his pants, playing back the memories over and over again of kissing you and having you touch him. you’ve become the fog inside his brain, haunting him and keeping him from ever being normal.

his legs bounce in anxiety and impatience as he waits for you. if it didn’t make him look like a pathetic bitch, he’d be kneeling by the front door, ready to tend to you from the moment you come in. you wouldn’t even be able to get two steps into his place before his head would be between your thighs.

he waits on his bed instead, still trying to convince himself he’s tougher than he is. he feels the way he jitters though—he’s not fooling himself. his body reacts before his brain does when he hears his apartment door open. he tenses and swipes his phone into his hands, so when you open the door he doesn’t look like he’s been sitting here waiting.

his eyes dart to you the second you’re entering his room. he’s never seen you in a skirt this short before. are you doing this on purpose? did you want to make him snap? your perfume fills the air, that sweet and warm fragrance that suddenly has beomgyu feeling like some dog.

“hi,” you say, closing the door behind you and standing politely by his bed. beomgyu shuts his phone off to give you his full attention—you already had it anyway, but he just wanted to look cool. he smiles at you and makes room for you on the bed, patting the space next to him.

“what’s up?” his eyes linger on your skirt as you situate yourself on the bed. the expanse of your thighs start looking like uncharted territory for him to mark up. his gaze returns to your face once he realizes how pervy he must look, not wanting to look like some freak.

“not much,” you answer. you look away from him, and he thinks maybe he was staring too hard.

“no? what brings you here then?” he can’t hide his grin, he just thinks it’s so cute when you try to hide your motives. you both know why you’re here.

you look at him with a bit of surprise when his hand falls on your thigh. it’s at a respectable distance from your core—it’s really not even close enough to seem raunchy—but it’s still enough to have you looking all scandalized. beomgyu bites his tongue to hold back a laugh; he doesn’t want to be mean and embarrass you.

“i wanted some advice,” you say, shifting a bit in place.

beomgyu raises a brow. “advice?” you nod. “on what?” he asks.

you hesitate for a second. “taehyun,” you answer. beomgyu has to fight the immature instinct to roll his eyes. he takes his hand off your thigh, and he tells himself that it’s definitely not because he’s bitter.

“okay. what about him?” it’s not jealousy burning in the pit of his stomach. he doesn't care that you’re thinking of taehyun when you’re sitting right next to him. he hopes taehyun’s the best fucking thing in your life, that he’ll want you even half as much as beomgyu does.

so no, it’s not jealousy. beomgyu’s perfectly content with only getting secret, stolen moments with you, while taehyun gets to flaunt you on his arm like some accessory anywhere he wants.

“i was wondering, how do you give a blowjob?” your question cuts through him like a knife. you want to give taehyun a blowjob?!

he hates how his dick strains in his pants when you say that. he’s been hard before you even got here. he spent his nights fisting his cock, milking himself dry thinking about you, and here you are doing all this for some other guy.

your eyes hold all the brightness they always do, and it works to at least melt him enough to get over himself. he gives you a smile and leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “i’ll show you. get on the floor for me, okay?” he brushes your hair back with a considerate hand, then gives you one more lingering kiss.

watching you kneel before him makes beomgyu feel feral. he has to stop himself from whipping out his cock now and using your pretty mouth like some toy. he stands in front of you, looking down at you with a grin. he pats your head, thinking that you look so adorable when you look up at him like this.

he thinks he could cum just from this—you kneeling in front of him, listening to him so well—it makes him ache. you’re so eager, so willing, so trusting. he wonders if you’d still trust him if you knew all the things he wants to do with you. would you still let him teach you everything if you knew he wanted to take you in front of taehyun, make him listen to you moan out beomgyu’s name? or how he wants to steal your panties and shoot load after load into them, using them until he’s spent and the lacy material is useless?

your fingers linger at the hem of his sweatpants, blinking up at him for permission. he’s not sure why it makes his heart skip a beat—he’s kind of more focused on the way it makes his cock jump.

“you can take them off,” he says, watching as you slide his sweatpants down. he tries not to get too heady or let some power rush get to him, but it’s a hard task when you look so perfectly usable right now. he hisses when you lay your hand over his erection, still confined by his boxers. he rakes his fingers through your hair and smiles down at you.

you peel his boxers off slowly, and beomgyu might’ve thought you were teasing him if he didn’t know you’re a virgin. he wonders if you’re nervous. you’ve never sucked a dick before, so he knows not to expect you to be a pro. he’s honored enough to be the one who gets to teach you this.

you bring a hand to his cock when it springs free, just holding it and staring at it for some time. you take a deep breath like you’re stressed and preparing yourself.

“you okay?” beomgyu asks, searching your eyes for any discomfort. you send him a small smile.

“sorry, i’m still getting ready,” you say. you jerk him a little, letting your thumb spread the precum at his tip. it makes him groan and throw his head back. where the hell did you learn that?

“take your time, we’ll go at your pace,” beomgyu says, keeping his voice as still as he can, focusing hard to not stutter or trip over his words. you continue to slowly stroke him, and it’s taking all of beomgyu’s self control to not push his hips forward and fuck your fist as he pleases.

your lips are in a pout now, and beomgyu suppresses the urge to coo at you. “what’s wrong?” he asks, looking down at you with pitiful eyes. you look like you’re deep in contemplation.

“i don’t know if it will fit,” you say as you stare at his cock. it kills beomgyu how you don’t know what your words do to him, unless you register the way his dick twitches in your hand.

“just take what you can,” he says, running a hand down your face and brushing your cheek with his thumb. he really, really wants to feel your mouth around him, but he’ll let you do that when you’re ready. he reminds himself over and over again to not go too far, no matter how bad he wants to use you like his own little doll.

you shift closer to him, face right by his tip now, and it makes beomgyu bite his lip in anticipation. he nearly feels his legs shaking. fuck, he’s been thinking about this all week, he needed this for so long.

“y-you can start with just licking, if you want,” beomgyu offers. your tongue meets his tip the next second, swirling around it and making him whine. holy shit. he bites his tongue until he almost tastes blood. that was so embarrassing. he needs to keep his cool.

you hold up his dick by the base to lick a stripe down his shaft, looking up at him for approval. god, beomgyu wishes he was sitting down. he feels weak in the knees.

��doing so good, keep going,” beomgyu praises, stomach clenched tight at the pleasure. he won’t be able to last if you put your mouth around him. he almost hopes you save that for another day, when he actually has enough willpower to not cum immediately from it.

you run your tongue back up to his tip, pressing kitten licks to his slit. his fist tightens in your hair, needing to grip onto something and keep his legs from giving in. not even biting his lip can hold back his moans when you just barely wrap your lips around his tip, sucking experimentally.

“t-take it slow, baby,” he says, moreso for his sake than yours. he’ll be blowing his load in an embarrassingly short amount of time if you keep this up. he swears he’s not a minute man usually, he doesn’t know why he keeps making himself look like one with you.

you go back to licking his cock, looking so delicious that beomgyu’s having trouble keeping his eyes on you without his balls tightening. he wonders if your panties are slick with your arousal, if they’re sticking to your folds, if he’d see a nice wet outline your pussy if he just pushed your skirt a little higher. he’s feeling dizzy at the thought.

you make matters worse when your mouth envelops his cock again, going down a little further this time. “fuck!” he moans out, fist returning to your hair. he’s almost shaking from how hard he’s holding back. you pull back after a few seconds to catch your breath, granting him enough of a reprieve to collect himself.

you continue to take him just a little further each time, but never quite getting that far. he doesn’t even want to give you advice, too scared of cumming and having this all be over with. he’ll let you figure it out; you seem really receptive to what makes him moan and shake anyway.

when you pull off again, a string of saliva connects his tip to your lips. it’s so crude and dirty—he burns the image into his mind to use for later. your hand works over his cock, spreading your saliva down to the base so it’s all slick.

“how is it?” you ask, seeking his approval yet again. something about it makes beomgyu feel insane.

“perfect,” he says breathlessly, appreciating the winning smile that spreads across your face at that. you place a cute little kiss at his slit, making beomgyu swoon.

you return your lips around him, getting almost halfway down now. your mouth is so wet and warm around him, and he thinks you might’ve been made for him. you’re learning so well, doing everything just right. you’re so good—too good to let go, too good to let run back to taehyun.

you moan around his cock, the vibrations sending a shiver down beomgyu’s spine. his brain stops working completely when he sees your hand move between your legs, rubbing your fingers against your clothed pussy for some relief. his grip on your hair tightens, and his hips jolt forward to thrust further into your mouth. he assesses you to make sure you’re okay before he keeps going, letting himself fuck into your welcoming little mouth. he can be selfish this one time.

“shit—suck a little harder, baby,” he says, panting as he continues fucking into you. the extra suction almost makes his knees buckle. watching your fingers circle desperately and clumsily against your clit is making him spiral; he thinks about pulling you up and showing you how it’s done. your pussy must be aching so bad for him.

your tongue swirls against his tip, and he cums before he can stop himself. his hips buck further into your mouth as he lets out a moan, cock twitching as he feels himself hit the back of your throat. he knows he should pull back and let you breathe, but he’s out of his mind and barely thinking straight.

“fuck, take it, god, you’re so good,” he rambles as he soothes his hand through your hair. you look up at him with watery eyes, and he can’t believe how good you’re being for him. for being a virgin, you really do make for a pretty little slut.

once he’s emptied, he pulls out, catching his breath and staring at your fucked out face. you remove your hands from between your thighs, suddenly looking all shy.

“why’d you stop?” he asks, urging your thighs back open with his foot. he has enough decency to not drop to the floor and stare at the junction of your thighs, even if that’s all he wants to do right now.

“i—you finished,” you explain, looking up at him with a confused pout. beomgyu thinks he might be feral. you have him acting like a dog.

he pulls you up and sits you on the bed, kneeling in front of you on the floor. adrenaline rushes through his veins, unable to take it anymore. he really needs to see your cunt.

“will you let me touch you this time? please?” beomgyu finds out today that he’s a begging man—something he previously considered himself above being. you look at him with wide eyes that scan him like he’s lost his mind.

his head rests on your thigh, eyes flitting to your skirt to see if he can see beneath it, to no avail. he looks at you with all the hope and urgency he could possibly convey, trying to make you see how serious this is for him.

“can you at least touch yourself for me?” he asks. you gasp, scandalized at his words, and he can’t act like he cares how perverted he’s being. he’ll do anything for just a peek. his hands find your thighs, ready to pry them open whenever you let him.

“why?” you ask. beomgyu doesn’t have a good reason. this isn’t to teach you anything. he’s just being selfish.

“cause i need it,” he answers. you bring a hesitant hand back to your center. “yes, thank you,” beomgyu says, watching with diligent eyes as he spreads your legs open to invite your hand in. he could almost cry when he sees your ruined panties. they’re soaked through, practically useless now. he wants to lean forward and run his tongue over it.

“like this..?” your voice is so shaky, hand so uncertain as it rubs down your slit. beomgyu can’t rip his gaze from your cunt, eyes blown out with lust as they follow your fingers through your folds.

“a little harder,” he instructs, unblinking as he watches you obey. you press down with more force, and beomgyu feels it when your thighs start to tremble. he thinks about pushing your panties aside and dipping his finger in knuckle deep. you must be wet enough to accommodate that easily. he’d do everything right, touch you just like you want.

you gasp and run your fingers on your clit, and beomgyu can’t help it when his hands start inching up your thighs. he wants more, he needs to be the reason why you cum. he’s getting greedy, squeezing your thighs and kissing your legs. it’s all he can do to keep himself from pushing your hand away and showing you how it’s done.

“can’t i do this for you?” he asks, inching his hand up even further. his fingertip grazes the hem of your panties, tracing it lightly. he thinks he’s being amazingly patient for how desperate he is.

you bring a fingertip to tease your clothed entrance, palm resting on your clit. beomgyu whines at the sight. you’re going to cum before he even gets his hands on you. how is this fair?!

you don’t even answer him, you’re too far off in your own world, pleasuring your virgin pussy like he’s not even here. he licks your thighs, kisses a trail that gets dangerously close to your cunt, holds your legs open with a grip that’s a little too forceful, but none of it gets your attention.

he doesn’t want to be bitter. he doesn’t want to be mad. the words just leave him before he can stop himself. “i bet you let taehyun touch you.”

your eyes finally open, and a part of him is glad to have your attention back. “i don’t,” you answer. his words only seemed to deter you for a second, because you fall back into your rhythm before beomgyu could do anything with the three seconds of attention you spared him.

he nips your thigh, licks up and up and up until he can smell your arousal, nose practically touching your busy hand. he can tell immediately when you cum—your thighs fight against his grip, moans roll off your tongue shamelessly, your hips roll up into your hand.

this is so stupid. he would’ve had your thighs shaking way more, would’ve had you spewing out nonsense as he fucked you into the best orgasm of your life. you should have tears rolling down your cheeks. you should be worn out and exhausted. you shouldn’t be able to just get up and go like it’s nothing. beomgyu watches with a pout as you readjust yourself in the mirror.

“thanks again, gyu,” you say when you turn back to him with a smile. he’s sitting on the bed now, and you press a kiss to his cheek. he wishes it didn’t make his heart flutter. he still wants to be mad at you.

“when are you coming over again?” he asks as he grabs your hand.

“why?” you giggle.

“there’s more i want to show you.” he’ll think of whatever excuse he can. he just needs more of you.

“like what?”

shit. how does he word this without making it about him? “like what to do when a guy goes down on you.”

you laugh at his words, then look down to check your phone. “maybe next time,” you say. “i’ll see you, gyu.” you’re gone before he can stop you.

this is some cosmic joke. when the hell is ‘next time’ gonna be?! you’re testing beomgyu’s patience here. he holds onto hope that you mean it when you say that, reeling at the idea of getting to eat you out. he prays the universe doesn’t torment him again with fantasies of you in your absence. he doesn’t think he can handle another week of this.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Late Night Questions /concept/

AN: this idea came to me after watching that viral clip from a tiktoker named avery woods podcast where she shamed vaginal births. i instantly thought of y/n watching that and maybe feeling insecure about her vaginal births and confiding in harry. i hope you enjoy. its super short but so very sweet. remember to leave your feedback. requests are also always open, even if it takes me a while to write it. xoxo

This story contains: mentions of c-sections, mentions of vaginal births, insecurities, comfort, fluff

{ dadrry - husband!harry - softrry - au!harry }

word count: 586

After viewing a TikTok where a woman shames vaginal births, you feel a surge of insecurity and decide to wake Harry from his sleep to confirm whether or not he would've preferred you to have a c-section to ensure your vagina remained in optimal condition for your sex life.

(Photo above is ai, it's not real. Got it from pinterest. I didn't create it either.)

You and Harry had settled into bed one night when a sense of curiosity enveloped you. Earlier, you'd watched a TikTok that suggested women who've had vaginal births are never the same 'down there' after childbirth, and that a c-section is the key to staying in 'pristine' condition.

You have given birth to two children, both through vaginal delivery: Lucy, aged five, and Harris, aged two and a half. Thankfully, you didn't face any complications that required a c-section.

As Harry spooned you from behind, you whispered, breaking the rooms silence, "Harry, would you have wanted me to have c-sections?"

He was half asleep already, so when he heard your question, he's thoroughly confused. Your question was super random. "Mhm, what?" Harry muttered behind you, his face against the back of your head.

"Would you have wanted me to have c-sections with our kids?"

"Baby," Harry begun as he shifted to hold you tighter, "why on earth are you even askin' me that as we're tryin' to fall asleep?"

You turned in his grasp so that you could face him, though you could only see the shadow of his body. "I watched a tiktok earlier where a woman mentioned her gratitude for having had only c-sections, saying it helped her maintain a 'pristine' condition 'down there' for her husband. So I was wondering whether my vaginal births with Lucy and Harris have caused my vagina to not be as good as it use to be, making you wish I had c-sections."

Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Harry replied, "Sweetheart, that's undoubtedly one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Had a c-section been necessary, sure, I would've wanted you to have one. However, since neither of our children required one, I can't say I wished you'd had c-sections simply for the enhancement of our sexual relationship. And for - your - information, I must say that your vagina feels just as good as it did before we became parents. In fact, I may love it even more now, knowin' the incredible role it played in bringin' our two wonderful children into this world."

His words nearly made you want to cry. You have the sweetest husband any women could ask for. So kind and thoughtful, and always worshiping your body. Every insecurity you've ever had, whether it's the stretch marks on your tummy and thighs, the mole on your back, or the scar on your left arm, he makes sure to kiss and love on all your insecurities whenever you make love. Harry doesn't just love you, he loves every single part of you.

In a meek voice, you spoke, "Thank you for your kind words, H. You make me realize not everyone has a perfect husband like I do. Kinda feel sorry for all these women who think they need to be perfect for their husbands, when I'm not perfect but you love me just the same."

Harry let out a sleepy laugh. "You're welcome, baby. It's sad that some husbands shame their wives for things they can't control. Though I'm not perfect by any means, I try to be good to you. Love you so much, and even more after watchin' you give birth to our amazing children. As well as makin' me a dad. Thank you for that."

Once Harry finished speaking, the room went silent again. You stayed nestled up to his chest, his arms wrapped securely around you, holding you close, and you both fell asleep in each others arms.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! some people who've requested to be added doesn't allow me to @ you. please check your settings first.)

taglist: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar // @devilsqueen722 // @mema10 // @harryswifee // @jewelaponte // @fruity-harry // @triski73 // @chronicallybubbly // @prettygurl-2009

My Masterlist Masterpost

[solxamber]

Hi, Sol! I saw an anon asking whether it's possible to send more than one request for the Valentine's event, and I was glad to see you answer that we can send 2, since I also struggled to choose between multiple songs that I like. My second request would be: [Lilia, romantic, song: Carrousel by Amir ft. Indila]

It's a beautiful French love song, and there's an English lyrics video for it that you can watch here

I love Lilia so much, I just can't get enough of that gorgeous bat fae!💘

love the song!! made me so giddy

"Until life's final breath" || Lilia Vanrouge

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Carrousel by Amir (ft. Indila)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 680

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Realisation of feelings

The first time Lilia met you, he thought you were a dream. A fleeting wisp of moonlight, a whisper of laughter on the wind, something too enchanting to be real. The second time he met you, he realized with a start—you were real, and more dangerous than any dream could ever be.

Because you never let him rest.

You met his games, his riddles, his flourishes, and mirrored them back tenfold. When he bowed low and spun charming lies, you danced circles around him with a knowing smile.

When he spoke of fleeting pleasures, you made him yearn for something that would last. He has spent centuries flitting from one amusement to the next, and yet, somehow, you have made him linger.

It is maddening. It is intoxicating.

It is like spinning on a carousel that never stops.

“Another dance?” Lilia purrs, offering his gloved hand with a smirk. The ballroom is empty save for you two, bathed in silver moonlight streaming through towering glass windows. The music has long since stopped, but that has never mattered before. He has no need for an orchestra when he has your laughter.

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” you say, slipping your hand into his. Your grip is warm, steady. Dangerous.

The world tilts as he pulls you into the first step, guiding you into a waltz that belongs only to the two of you. There is no one watching, no audience to perform for, and yet Lilia still plays the role of the roguish prince. He twirls you, eyes glinting with mischief, feeling the rush of the dance, the rush of you.

He has spent lifetimes on countless stages, spinning stories and weaving illusions. But when you look at him like this, with eyes that see through all his artifice, he wonders if he is the one who has been enchanted.

“Are you truly enchanted by me,” he murmurs, voice teasing, playful—because it must be, because if it isn’t, then he might have to admit he is afraid of the answer. “Or do you just love the fantasy?”

Your step does not falter. You meet his gaze, unshaken, unblinking, as if you have known the answer all along. And when you smile—soft, knowing, devastating—he feels his entire world slow to a halt.

“Does it matter?” you whisper. “I love you either way.”

Lilia stills.

For the first time in this never-ending carousel, his heart misses a beat.

He dips you low, hands steady even as his mind races. And when he leans in, pressing his lips to yours, he tastes every moment of longing he never dared name. Every stolen glance, every teasing word, every heartbeat that was never meant to quicken so traitorously in your presence.

You have bewitched him. And he has let you.

The world spins on. The carousel does not stop.

But for the first time in centuries, Lilia does not want to get off.

He finds you later that night, perched on the edge of a balcony, gazing at the stars as if they are whispering secrets just for you. The wind ruffles your clothes, catching in your hair, and for a moment, Lilia is struck silent.

Resplendent.

The word does not do you justice. Nothing could.

“You look troubled,” you say, tilting your head. “Regretting that kiss already?”

Lilia huffs, stepping beside you, resting his arms against the railing. “Regret? I’ve lived far too long to waste time on such things.”

“Oh?” You smirk. “Then what is it?”

He watches you, feeling the carousel turn once more, faster and faster, dizzying and endless and terrifying. His answer comes so easily that it almost startles him.

“I wish to stay with you forever.”

You blink, but your surprise is brief. Then you smile, eyes bright, as if you had been waiting for him to say it all along.

“Then stay.”

And he will.

He will spin with you for as long as you let him, forever caught in the dazzling, breathless waltz of your love.

He does not mind the dizziness anymore.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[xiepheer]

Hey I was wondering if you could do how candy apple cookie\ black sapphire cookie would be around shadow milk cookie significant other

sorry if this is to much to ask for I just really like your work:(

Hi! It's okay dww I love yall anyways >:3

How Shadow Milk cookie's apprentices be around with his s/o

S/o is also pronounced as they/them! You can change the gender of the s/o (you) any gender you want!

Candy Apple cookie and Black Sapphire cookie around his s/o?

First of, Candy Apple cookie vowed to herself to be the one with Shadow Milk cookie.

Shadow Milk cookie couldn't even trust her around his s/o and has to depend on Black Sapphire Cookie to watch over his s/o incase she does something to them.

But of course, she tried everyways possible to try and get rid of them.

She tried to trick her master but she was seen as a fool and a nobody by him.

S/o always knows that Candy Apple cookie hates them for being with Shadow Milk cookie.

Candy Apple cookie would cry and whine to her master but he would just scoot away.

Candy Apple cookie wanted to destroy S/o so bad that she lured them out of his spire and dimension.

When he found out, he of course got mad and ordered Black Sapphire Cookie to retrieve S/o.

He turned Candy Apple cookie into a tarot card as punishment for luring his love out.

Candy Apple cookie HATED being in a tarot card. Being all flat and can't even move.

Yet she didn't stop the chronicles of trying to get rid of s/o.

She tried so many ways.

Yet Black Sapphire Cookie made her think twice by telling her how their master would think towards them if she lures his love away.

Black Sapphire Cookie always watch over s/o.

Making sure Candy Apple cookie wouldn't do anything to them.

Black Sapphire Cookie knew what the consequences would be if they did something to his s/o.

Yet Candy Apple cookie just don't listen.

She doesn't care.

All she cares is her master being hers.

Even though Shadow Milk cookie made it clear that he doesn't even want her.

He only sees her as a apprentice. Nothing more.

Which made her fuming even more.

"SHADOW MILK COOKIE IS MINEEEEE!!!!" she would yell everytime she gets jealous of s/o.

"Oh quit it!! Give us a break!" Black Sapphire silenced her.

Even though Black Sapphire Cookie watch over them, he would sometimes agree that they also needed a spotlight of their master's attention but doesn't intend to do things Candy Apple cookie did.

After their Master gets sealed away, they were stuck in disguises. Apple Faerie cookie (Candy Apple cookie) leads s/o away from the spire.

When Black Sapphire found out, he was livid.

Shadow Milk cookie is gonna KILL them for sure.

When Candy Apple cookie realized the consequences of her actions, she joined Black Sapphire Cookie to find s/o and bring them back.

When they retrieved them, they sighed a breath of relief.

Alas, they're not gonna die.

And since then, Candy Apple cookie decided to keep her own jealousy and thoughts to herself.

Not exactly to herself, she tell Black Sapphire Cookie.

Anyways guys! Sorry if it was short! I've been busy lately!

Anyways I hope it is for your liking and I hope you enjoyed reading this! To people who support my work, I LOVE YOU GUYS!!!

[mixingandmelting]

hi hii <3 take as long as you need to get to this request or even ignore it if you want to <3

i was wondering what thoughts you have on the batboys dating a reader with a story like jason’s? like they died, maybe they worked for some group of assassins as a kid and died one mission. they get revived and obviously find that weird - also, they’re an adult? - and go back to the hometown of gotham and try to settle down. they actively go out as a ‘civilian’ undercover at night and save a few people from getting mugged maybe but they no longer kill. probably meets the boys because of this and then? i dunno i’m not a writer sorry 😭

A/n: did three of the five since Duke and Damian aren't adults yet 😔

Dick: Gradually Dating

If he had a nickel every time someone close to him was dead then revived using the Lazarus Pit, he’d have four nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened four times: Jason, Cass, Damian, and, now, you. It took a while for him to get closer to you, initially because he was impressed by your skills when taking those muggers only for him to be hook, line, and sinker for you. You’re everything he needed including all the ways he didn’t know he needed. He would be yapping and you would be listening to everything he says and keep it in mind. He could be in the foulest or darkest mood and somehow you’d be able to pull him out of it where he gets flustered when realizing he’s getting spoiled by you. 

He is very much pleased to say he, successfully, got together with you and is the happiest man in all of space and time. It’s a habit for him to pester you constantly with the goal being you cringing at the puns and word play he does. His hands are always on you, no matter the place, time, occasion. In your hands, on your shoulders, around your waist- 24/7 unless he’s on a long-distance mission. He’ll simply bombard you with texts on how much he misses you and asks if you miss him. All because he loves you and you’re cute but that talk is for another day.The only problem he has developed recently is not liking how Jason’s rubbing off on you ever since you met him. Blue will always be better than red and his discowing costume is a masterpiece what do you mean :( 

Jason: Buddies to Dating

The two of you hit things off right from the start when he first met you. Sure, trying to chat with you as you beat up a group of muggers wasn’t the greatest way to begin a relationship but hey. By the end of the night, you both bonded over having similar pasts and became trauma buddies. Having a person who understands what it's like to go through a crappy past like his made you become his go-to person whenever he’s in the dump and going through an episode. You laugh along and share his dark humor. You know the best ways to comfort him. You accept all of him including his flaws with no bias or judgement. Add all that to him thinking you’re stronger than him where you choose not to resent but rather overcome your past- his admiration developed into adoration for you. 

Nothing has changed once the two of you became official, other than him enjoying how he gets to physically hold you more to his heart's content. Really, he’s never been into showing affection but here he is, being the physical affectionate one out of the two of you because he likes making you flush from the simplest things like kissing you on cheek, rubbing circles on the back of your hand when holding hands . Especially in public, which he teases you about all the time. He’s definitely more tamed than Dick though, where he’s not constantly all over you 24/7, though at home, cuddling is a must. So is making sure everyone knows he’s yours and you’re the best person alive. Anyone who argues you’re not can suck it and talk to his fist. 

Tim: Denial to Acceptance

It was from investigating why the rate of mugging during the night dropped that led him to meeting you, after doing a background check on you prior. But color him surprised when you don’t like a certain group of people he knows that’s dipped in the Lazarus Pit. He thought it was out of curiosity and making sure you weren’t planning to become an underground crime-lord that he followed you around and chatted with you whenever he got caught (which was 90% of the time). It seemed like you were struggling and with how nice and kind you were towards everyone and him, he was only trying to help by leaving things you need after he leaves. Then you smiled and- oh shit, he actually likes you. 

It’s still a work in progress in terms of being more expressive in public where recently the two of you successfully hold hands comfortably without either of you getting too self-conscious. Same with the occasional hugs and pecks on the cheek. At home is a different story. He’s completely clingy. Working in your lap or you in his arms always wrapped around you as he follows you around the house, of course helping you out as he does. Displays every form of affection and the fact you reciprocate it makes everything even better. Not that he’s good at hiding it from others at the beginning when he’s always on his phone, texting you, and getting flustered when someone mentions you or you’re with him.

[wtfaniii]

Okay firstly hi. I saw u take req for wlw stuff so wondering if u could do like In-ho's daughter (reader)also joining the games with him and they're stayed together most of the time until in mingle where when it was two players in a room reader first didn't know with who she should go with so she was playing on staying alone since nothing would happen to her but then she got pulled in a room with 380 (Se-mi) where she totally falled for her and now has an identity crisis because she still believes she's straight

Ok I made this right after seeing a pov with her and I was inspired, I hope you like it

I Wanna Be Yours

Summary: You, a girl with many problems from the life you were leading, decide to follow your father on a mission as an infiltrator, at first you are not very interested, you just wanted to get out of your comfort zone, but suddenly your eyes meet... ¿her?

Warning: typical violence of the series, internal conflicts, In-ho going out of character to be emotional support

Se-mi player 380 x fem reader blonde¡! (wlw)

English is not my original language!

master list!¡

When you infiltrated these games you had low expectations, you had already seen before through cameras and a mask but doing them yourself, being another player certainly awakened the adrenaline in your body.

You already knew that they would play, you had helped the frontman organize them and choose each one but now you regretted a little for having given the brilliant idea of ​​having the lights turn on and off constantly just to increase the fear in the players.

The platform turned and turned under your feet, your heart was beating normally but for some strange reason your breathing became more intense, once again adrenaline began to flow through your system as you heard the children's music echo throughout the place.

—¿What do you think the next number is? —Jung-bae asked next to you with notable nervousness.

—Dos —respondiste sin pensar mucho.

—¿How do you know?

—The number of players and the number of doors —Young-il said quickly, you hadn't noticed the small mistake that could have put your identity at risk —There can only be two players per room, the first to arrive will be saved.

You nodded in agreement and continued looking forward, knowing that your father would reprimand you later for that mistake.

"Two"

The robotic voice rang throughout the place and in a matter of seconds each player grabbed his partner and ran without looking back.

You ran through the crowd without knowing exactly who to grab because the rest of your group had already grabbed their respective partner and only you were left, "great dad" you thought rolling your eyes but he had his reasons for leaving you there, anyway they weren't going to kill you even if you lost.

Despite the disturbance, you walked calmly through the place looking for an empty room so you could go in alone, you didn't realize that the counter was about to reach zero.

Ni siquiera te diste cuenta cuando un jugador corrió hacia ti, simplemente sentiste que alguien tiraba fuerte y firme de tu brazo y te introducía en una sala verde.

As soon as you heard the "click" of the door close you looked up to see who had dragged you there, at that moment, you were sure that your eyes shone like they usually do in the fairy tales that mom told you when you were little.

—A thanks is enough —Se-mi said with disdain while taking deep breaths.

Her short black hair caught your attention, it fit perfectly with his features, his skin looked so soft and shiny from the sweat that adorned his face, your eyes landed on his lips, pink and thin, pretty.

—Stop seeing me like that —She demanded and you immediately looked away.

Hearing her voice for the second time was like music to your ears, it sounded so firm, confident, the complete opposite of the expression that was forming on her face, you frowned, ¿why did you feel this? Damn.

You reviewed her words mentally, you hadn't even realized that you completely ignored the life or death situation that should torment you and the sound of gunshots coming from outside, it was as if she had stolen your brain and rational sense just by looking into her eyes.

¿What the hell was happening you?

—Thank you —You said, feigning more anguish —You saved me

Se-mi remained silent this time but looked at you curiously, ¿why did you seem not to be afraid? ¿Were you very brave, very stupid or were you hiding something?

For the first time you felt the room around you suffocating, it was strange, you wanted to get out and get away from her because of what she was making you feel but at the same time you didn't want to do it, her aroma filled your nose, a sweet mixture, traces of the perfume she used before coming here, mixed with the adrenaline that her body emanated.

The seconds felt eternal, for the two girls who were there, and as soon as the door opened you were the first to leave at full speed.

However, as you let your feet guide you back to the huge room with the other players, your mind still wandered to the features of that girl with the number 380 emblazoned on her clothes.

—¿Are you fine? —Your father's hand on your shoulder brought you out of the thoughts.

You nodded.

But you didn't feel good.

You had never before experienced these mixed emotions that accumulated in your stomach, you had not had a boyfriend or girlfriend, you had arrived on this island since you were a girl and therefore your social life only focused on masked soldiers and your father.

In-ho was a busy man, you knew it, therefore you had never talked to him about love or relationships between couples, incredible, you knew how to handle all kinds of weapons and hand grenades but you didn't know what people felt when they liked others.

—Not really —You decided to correct your previous answer, it wasn't the time but you needed your father —¿What did you feel when you saw mom for the first time?

Your question caught him off guard, he stopped walking down the endless stairs and turned to look at you with a raised eyebrow.

—¿Really? ¿Now?

You raised your shoulders and put your hands in the pockets of jacket, the other players behind you complained about having stopped the line and continued moving forward with him telling you that would talk about it at lunch time.

As you continued walking you felt a pair of eyes on you so turned your head a little to discover who was looking at you so much but instantly regretted it when you met their 380 gaze.

Once again your heart beat with speed

¿Why was she looking at you? ¿Did you catch her attention the way she caught yours? ¿Was she having the same doubts? Without realizing it your hands were sweating inside your pockets.

—Well… talk to me —In-ho sat next to you, a little apart from the rest of the group because they didn't know what your family bond was or your respective true identities.

Cautiously and without omitting any details, you told him exactly how that person made you feel since you saw, how his eyes captivated you and his aroma attracted you like a mouse to hot bread.

After a couple of minutes in which he listened to you attentively and in silence, he finally spoke with a soft smile.

—I'm glad you experienced the attraction for the first time —He paused and his smile diminished a little —but I don't like that you did it in this place... You have to keep in mind that if he dies…

—She —You interrupted him, looking down at your food —It's not he… it's, She...

In-ho looked at you in silence for a few seconds, increasing the anxiety in your body until he spoke again calmly and confidently.

—Listen… I know you lived under rules and orders for several years but this is not like that… For love there are no rules or a guide and in this case, you don't have to worry if it's a he or a she, but here…

—I know —You said with slight frustration running your hands through your golden hair, you didn't want her to die, whatever the reason she was here you didn't want her body to end up in a gift box.

—Just don't do something reckless.

And with that short conversation your father stood up and left again with Gi-hun to continue with his plan, you were grateful for the little time he gave you but you still felt confused.

During the next few hours you were not focused, you cast fleeting glances around the huge room looking for her and you did not see her until the votes, she voted by scratch, she wanted to leave, strange, when you saw her you noticed the blue circle on the left side of her chest.

The votes had been tied so they would repeat the votes the next day but you could feel the tension between both sides and the last straw was a fight in the men's bathroom where five players died.

You knew what was coming now, you had seen it several times before, the special game

At night this place would be a battlefield full of blood, hatred and death, the forks in your food would be weapons and the players themselves would become killing machines as soon as the lights went out.

Gi-hun gathered a small number of players on his side to come up with a plan, they would form a rebellion to get out of here, how naive, if they knew they had the leader of this place among them maybe would have won this fight, you thought silently.

But your head was also thinking about someone else, about a certain black-haired woman who was in her bed playing with the rings on her fingers.

Your eyes looked at her analytically, she looked so calm but at the same time worried, there was something that worried her, immediately your eyes moved to the opposite side where you saw player 124 looking at her with hatred, contempt and other negative emotions that only meant one thing in this place.

Kill.

"Don't do anything reckless"

Your father's words resonated in your head, you lowered your gaze and continued listening like 456 but occasionally you turned to look at her once more.

So until the lights of the emorme room went out, the glow of the figures on each side was the only thing visible among the darkness and the soft murmuring mixed with soft breathing became present, you followed the plan and the instructions and went under the bed to just watch as the players killed each other.

But you heard a scream that caught your attention, you saw 124 attacking the girl who had taken over your head and without thinking twice you came out of your hiding place despite hearing your father's protests, here he couldn't protect you, in this game you could die like any other player but you didn't care.

You ran until you reached them and with a kick you pushed him away from Se-mi who fell to the ground exhausted from the confrontation, if it hadn't been for you she would already be dead.

—Get away from her —You hissed, watching him with disdain as he stood up again with a broken glass bottle in his hand.

—¡This is not your business! —Nam-gyu raised the bottle and tried to stab it in your face but you skillfully moved away and hit him in the chest with a strong, concise movement.

As a result, he lost his breath and his balance for a few seconds, but being highly drugged, the adrenaline was in his favor and he managed to throw himself at you once again, this time managing to make a cut on the side of your abdomen.

A stab of pain invaded you and you stumbled back, he was going to attack you again but Se-mi took him off of you and pushed him down the stairs, she was barely going to ask you if you were okay when you took his hand and pulled away from there, both ran through the chaos and hid under a bed.

—You're bleeding —She said seeing the wound in your abdomen, it was not lethal but it was scandalous.

—I'll be fine —You responded with a soft smile.

The closeness between you and her was great, you could now see with perfection and fascination each of her facial features, her bright eyes, her thin lips, the piercing that decorated her nose and the black ribbon that hugged her neck.

You could practically hear your heart beating.

And you knew you weren't the only one, she also kept her gaze fixed on you.

—Thank you for saving me... —She murmured close to you to the point where you could feel his breath hit your face.

You didn't answer anything but millions of words crossed your head, you wanted to tell her many things "you are beautiful ¿what did you do to me?" maybe even kiss her but you knew this wasn't the right time and you still weren't sure what you felt or if she felt the same.

When the lights came back on and the guards came in to remove the bodies, you ignored the plan that 456 had said, you just stayed with her, you wanted to do it.

Even when Young-il talked you into going with them to the rebellion you refused and stood by Se-mi's side, receiving an unreadable look from he.

But he didn't insist and left you with the other players while he betrayed his entire team.

—¿Won't you go with them? —She asked you curiously as she bandaged the wound on your body, her hands felt like heaven on your skin but you kept your face serene throughout the entire process.

—No, I'm where I should be.

You had changed sides, you would not be a soldier again, you just wanted to be with Se-mi, get her out of there alive and pay any debt she owes.

Incredible the things someone can do for love.

And In-ho understood that which is why he gave you full control over the decisions you would make from now on.

[mistressofthemanor]

masterofthemanor : Her statement had peaked his interest and he arched a brow at her curiously, eager to hear what exactly she had in mind when claiming that she had more to offer. He listened to her with bated breath and groaned lightly in response to her taking his lip between her teeth, which never failed to make his blood rush with excitement. "Well... I guess an eternity with you will have to suffice... somehow" He responded with a feigned disappointment after releasing a dramatic sigh and giving her a nonchalant shrug, though he couldn't keep up his act for even a good moment as the corners of his lips curled up, specifying the nature of his words. Content with where they've ended up, he reached up and brought her in for another kiss and right after she'd pulled back and repositioned herself, he could tell from the look on her face that she was up to something, so he watched her and waited for her to speak her mind... and she didn't disappoint him. Unable to help himself, he started chuckling at her sudden question, and despite her not expecting him to take wild guesses, he'd joined her game and decided to give it his best. "That you've changed your mind and you'd be willing to offer me your next life as well? *he asked with an ear to ear grin, then took it further* Either that or you're cold and you thought fetching a blanket would be a wonderful idea" He added jokingly, but he'd genuinely assumed that the chilly air was starting to bother his notoriously cold-sensitive wife. "So the latter" He commented softly, trying to keep up a calm façade, however, the sound of a nice bath - completely naked - with her made him anxious. He'd have loved to join her, in fact, he'd have given anything to be able to sink into the steaming water with her and hold her while they soaked, however, he just couldn't allow himself the luxury of that, for her knew the moment he'd get out of his shirt she'd catch a glimpse of the bandage around his arm and would start asking questions. He needed to come up with an excuse or a distraction... fast. "I... don't know... I-m... I don't really want to get out of bed right now... It's so comfortable... I'd hate to get up... *clears throat* You can take a bath if you wish" He added as an afterthought, unsure what excuse he could come up with that'd be good and believable enough.

With the corners of her lips turning upward into a pleased smile, Narcissa tilted her head to the side in a surprised manner. "Now that's something I hadn't considered. However, that can come into the terms and agreements at a later date. I'll make sure to add that into the paperwork that you'll be signing. You don't mind doing that, do you?" Pressing another kiss to his cheek, she teased in a grateful manner that they could find themselves joking around with one another like they used to do. Back when things were lighter and the word was easier. "And yes, I am getting cold. Hence why I suggested the bath." It was clear he recalled with ease just how cold she could become at times and the cool air to her exposed skin was not helping at the current moment. As much as she longed to be close to him and she hoped he felt the same, she knew the warm waters of the bath would ease her shivers. She fully expected him to jump at the idea or perhaps even circle back to trying to fetch a blanket for them to cuddle underneath. However, something changed in him that she was not expecting. Uncertainty? Uneaseness? Embarrassment? Narcissa couldn't quite put her finger on it but it was odd all the same. What made it more odd was that they had just been intimate, they were laying practically naked together but he didn't want to bathe with her? Normally she would question his manner and push against what was going on and she opened her mouth to protest but she realized that the change within one another was apparent in this situation. Maybe he no longer liked baths or like to wash at this time of day. "Alright. If you insist," she breathed out with a disappointed sigh. "Perhaps you can get something started for dinner? I never had a chance to eat a thing and I didn’t know if you had already eaten but it would be in my best interest to eat something before I go to sleep tonight." It wasn't that she wanted to be separated from him; rather it was quite the opposite. But if he didn't want to bathe with her, she wasn't going to ask him to sit in the washroom while she bathed and she was getting rather hungry after such a trying day.

Bones of Contention