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whor3ing · 2 days ago

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𝑺𝒂𝒚 𝑰𝒕 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏 | 𝑪.𝑺

Chris Sturniolo! x f!reader

WARNINGS : part one of two, lots of dirty talk and degradation, fingering with rings, grinding on his thigh, choking, semi-public, nearly caught, usage of slut,

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IN WHICH.. You meet Chris Sturniolo at a meet-and-greet, where a seemingly innocent interaction quickly turns into something more backstage. Later that evening, you post about the experience on your Tumblr blog, never expecting that Chris would find it.

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word count : 6k ♡

The moment you’ve been waiting for, dreamed about, counted to, has finally arrived.

Those words echo through your head, but they do nothing to calm the anticipation curling tight in your chest. The feeling is overwhelming, almost suffocating, as you stand amongst the crowd, your eyes scanning the room, your heart hammering harder with each passing second.

As much as it feels like a fever dream to be here, to be seconds away from meeting the Sturniolo's, the sight of their names and their faces plastered everywhere remind you just how real this truly is.

Pictures of them are scattered across the venue, some candid, some posed, their names bolded in dark black ink, all so familiar that it almost feels unreal to be surrounded by them like this.

You’ve seen these faces a thousand times before, in their videos, in edits you’ve replayed more times than you can admit.

But never like this, never with the knowledge that just beyond the crowd, just past the last few people in line, they’re actually here; about to meet you.

Every so often, you catch glimpses between the shifting bodies of your peers, an all too familiar hand running through hair, a quick turn of a head, the flash of a grin. It makes your stomach flip, a rush of nerves tightening in your chest as the distance between you and them continues to shrink. You tug at the hem of your shirt, shifting on your feet, the denim of your jeans stiff against your legs, grounding you as anticipation builds.

The line stretches ahead, absolutely packed with fans, voices bubbling with excitement, nervous laughter breaking through the hum of conversation. Their energy mirrors your own, their wide smiles, restless hands, the jittery edge of absolute shock laced with their every movement.

And then suddenly, it’s your turn.

Your breath catches in your throat as you step forward, your legs unsteady beneath you. Every second leading up to this moment had felt like a blur, but now, time slows to an unbearable crawl.

Christopher Sturniolo is right there.

Sitting at the table, arms resting lazily against it, he glances up at you, and for the first time tonight, your mind goes completely blank.

Chris looks even better in person, somehow sharper and softer all at once. His dark hair is tousled, the strands falling perfectly into place and his blue eyes are piercing under the bright venue lights, playful yet sharp as they lock onto yours, like he’s already figured you out before you’ve even spoken.

He’s wearing a hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly at his elbows, exposing his forearms as he lazily rests them on the table. His fingers tap idly against the surface, the few rings on his fingers catching the light with every slow movement.

Beside him, Matt is just as relaxed, leaning back slightly in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his lips curved into an easy smile as he chats with the fan in front of him. Nick, on the other hand, is laughing at something someone said, his eyes shining and his smile wide.

There’s something about the way he’s sitting, about the way they all are sitting—it's relaxed, confident, like they are all completely at ease despite the constant buzz of excitement around him.

The silver chain around his neck glints as he shifts slightly, and the scent of his cologne lingers in the air between you—clean, warm, something undeniably him.

His lips twitch up into that familiar, teasing smirk, like he already knows the effect he has on you, like he’s waiting to see just how flustered you’ll get.

“Yo, what’s up?” His voice is smooth, casual, like this is just any other conversation, like he’s not the one you’ve been waiting to meet for months, like he's not the one you write about, dream about.

He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, fingers idly drumming against the surface. “You doin’ good? You look kinda—” He pauses, tilting his head, eyes scanning your face before a knowing grin spreads across his lips. “Nervous as hell.”

Your stomach flips, heat creeping up your neck as you let out a shaky laugh. “I mean… yeah, kinda.”

He huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Nah, you’re good. We’re just guys, y’know? No need to be nervous.” He gestures between himself and his brothers. “Well, except maybe around Matt. He’s kinda weird.”

“Dude, what?” Matt scoffs from beside him, shooting Chris an offended glare, but Chris just laughs, his eyes flicking back to you.

“So, what’s your name?” he asks, his fingers lazily spinning the Sharpie in his hand.

You tell him, and he repeats it back, testing it out, letting it roll off his tongue.

“Yeah, that’s a cool name.” He grins, then nods toward your phone still clutched tightly in your hand. “You wanna take a picture or somethin’?”

You nod quickly, almost too eagerly, and Chris chuckles at your reaction, shaking his head as he reaches out for your phone. His fingers brush against yours as he takes it from you, and the contact is brief, but it’s enough to drive you wild.

“Alright, c’mere,” he says, shifting slightly in his seat to make space for you.

Your heart pounds as you step closer, slipping into the small space between him and Nick, Matt at your other side.

Chris slings an arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world, his grip easy, warm, familiar despite the fact that you’ve never met before. The scent of his cologne lingers stronger now, mixing with the faint hint of whatever detergent clings to his hoodie.

Matt leans in on the other side, grinning as Nick holds up the phone to snap the picture. “Alright, say something dumb,” Nick teases, hovering his thumb over the button.

Chris hums like he’s actually thinking about it before, at the last second, he rolls his eyes, “Matt’s ugly.”

The camera clicks right as Matt shoves him, nearly knocking you into Chris’ chest as everyone bursts into laughter.

“Dude, you’re literally an idiot,” Matt groans, shaking his head, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips.

You can’t even process what just happened, can’t believe how easy this all feels, how comfortable they all are. Chris is still laughing, arm still draped over you, and when he looks down, catching the dazed smile on your face, his grin seems to shift to almost a smirk.

“You good?” he teases, voice low enough that only you can hear it. His fingers squeeze your shoulder lightly before he drops his arm, wiping his hand on his jeans before turning back to the table as he reaches for a poster to sign.

Behind him, Matt and Nick settle back into their spots, effortlessly slipping back into their interactions. Matt flashes a playful smile at a girl just a few feet away, ruffling his hair before signing something for her, while Nick cracks a joke with a fan, making them laugh easily.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

He chuckles, uncapping the Sharpie with his teeth before scribbling something down, and for a second, you forget how to breathe.

It’s such a simple action, but there’s something effortlessly hot about the way he does it—his lips parting just enough to hold the cap between his teeth, jaw tightening slightly as he focuses on the paper in front of him. His fingers move lazily, gripping the marker with practiced ease, veins subtly visible beneath the skin of his forearm as he writes. He smiles, his eyes flashing up to you, "You sure about that?”

Chris slides the signed poster toward you, but instead of looking away like he’s already moving on to the next person, his eyes linger on you. He’s watching you again—really watching, like he’s trying to figure you out. Like he knows something you don’t.

“You from around here?” he asks, his tone still light, still teasing, but there’s an edge of curiosity beneath it.

You shake your head. “Nah, I drove a few hours for this.”

He raises an eyebrow, an amused sort of interest flashing across his face. “Damn. Dedication.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he leans in just a little.

“Worth it?”

You let out a breathy laugh, trying to ignore how warm your face is. “I mean… yeah.”

“Yeah?” He smirks, tapping the Sharpie against his ring covered fingers. “I dunno, you don’t sound too sure.”

Your heart is hammering in your chest, and you’re pretty sure he knows it. “No, it’s definitely worth it.”

Chris huffs a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as he leans back again. His gaze flickers down for a split second—your skirt, the way your fingers brush at the hem, grounding yourself.

He tilts his head toward the side of the venue, where a roped-off area leads toward the backstage doors. “You in a rush?”

You blink. “What?”

His smirk deepens, like he’s enjoying how easily you get flustered. “You got time to hang for a bit?”

Your stomach flips. “Backstage?”

Chris shrugs, tapping the marker against his lip like he’s pretending to think about it. “I mean, unless you’d rather go stand in the crowd again.”

It’s not a serious question. He knows the answer before you even say it.

You nod, pulse racing. “Yeah. I—I have time.”

His grin widens as he pushes back from the table, his brothers still occupied with other fans, not paying much attention. He gestures for you to follow. “Aight, c’mon then.”

Your heart pounds in your chest as you follow him, trying to keep your steps steady even though everything inside of you feels like it's on fire.

You follow close behind, your heart thumping faster with every step. The sound of your shoes against the floor is drowned by the hum of conversations and the distant music, but it doesn’t matter.

All you can focus on is Chris in front of you, the way he moves through the queue, the way his hands rest at his side as he walks, the relaxed yet confident sway in his step. He glances back occasionally, flashing you that same teasing grin, as if he’s fully aware of how you’re trying to steady your breath.

As you both make your way to the backstage area, the excitement of the venue fades, replaced by a quiet hum in the background.

The hallways here are quieter, cooler, and the lights are dimmer, casting long shadows along the walls. Chris takes it all in stride, leading the way with that calm ease of someone who’s used to this world, before leading you down the hall, stopping at a door that's slightly ajar, the light from inside spilling out onto the floor.

He nudges it open with his shoulder, revealing a small, dimly lit room.

Inside, the carpet underfoot is a muted gray, plush enough to sink into, but it’s clear it’s been well-worn, the fibers flattened from frequent use.

It contrasts with the polished wood of the coffee table and the sleek metal of the film equipment scattered around. A few stray cords snake across the floor, leading to the cameras and tripods, adding to the sense of controlled messiness in the room.

A couch sits against the wall, an old leather piece that’s seen better days but still looks inviting with its deep, rich color. A couple of water bottles and a half-empty snack bowl rest on the coffee table, along with a remote control for the TV on the wall, currently switched off, silent in the background.

Walking over to the couch, Chris takes a seat, casually throwing one arm across the back, looking relaxed. He pats the spot beside him, the gesture almost casual, but you can tell from the way his eyes lock onto yours that it’s more than just an invitation to sit.

“You sure your good?” he asks again, his voice low, his gaze never leaving you. The smirk is still there, but it feels different now, like there’s something else beneath it, something personal.

You sit beside him, feeling the heat of his body next to yours, but your mind’s still buzzing with the moment you’re actually here. Something else crosses your mind, and the words slip out before you can stop them. “Won’t your other fans miss you?”

You tilt your head slightly, your fingers tracing the edge of the coffee table, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice. “I mean, you’re kinda skipping out on the meet and greet, right?”

Chris’ eyes twinkle with amusement, a grin tugging at his lips as he leans back, one hand still draped across the back of the couch, his body angled toward you.

“Nah, they’ll be fine,” he says smoothly, almost nonchalant. “They’ll get their turn. I’m just taking a little break, y’know?”

His gaze softens as he glances down at you, that smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth. “But right now? I’m more focused on you than them.”

He leans in a little closer, his arm brushing against yours as he shifts his weight, the space between you narrowing just enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him.

Chris leans back into the couch, his eyes still locked on you with that same teasing glint, his smirk never quite leaving.

There’s something in the way he looks at you now, something sharper, as if he’s watching every little movement, every breath you take.

“So…” he starts, the word drawn out like he’s savoring it. “Why you so nervous all of a sudden? You were calm enough to follow me back here.” His voice drops, quieter now, almost too casual, like he's testing you. “Came all the way back here with me, no hesitation. But now you’re acting like I’m gonna bite your head off or somethin’.”

You swallow, heart pounding as the tension between you thickens. "I didn’t think it’d be like this," you admit, your voice quieter now, your words almost coming out in a breathless rush. "Like, I didn’t think I’d end up… here. With you. Alone."

Chris’ smirk widens, but there's something deeper in his expression now, like he’s enjoying this subtle game you’re playing. "So, what, you thought this was all just gonna stay... innocent?" His voice drops a little, the teasing edge still there but laced with something else, something more intent. "You came all the way back here with me, and now you’re telling me you didn’t expect it to get... this close?"

You hesitate for a second, your pulse quickening under his gaze. "I didn’t know what to expect."

Chris raises an eyebrow at your words, a slow, teasing grin spreading across his face. "But you knew something would happen, right?"

His voice drops even lower, more deliberate now, like he’s trying to draw you in further with his velvety tone. "You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t expect something to change." You didn’t follow me back just to sit and chat."

As he speaks, his fingers move absentmindedly, toying with the rings on his hands, twisting them between his fingers like he has all the time in the world.

The veins running along the backs of his hands stand out subtly, shifting each time his fingers flex, his knuckles prominent as he rolls the metal around. It’s distracting—too distracting—because all you can think about is how good those hands would feel against you. How easily those fingers could wrap around your wrist, your throat, your waist.

Your breath catches slightly as your eyes flicker from his hands back up to his face, only to find him watching you, smirking like he knows exactly what’s running through your mind.

"What, you’re telling me you didn’t want it to be different? Didn’t want things to get a little… closer?" His eyes catch yours again, unrelenting, like he’s daring you to say something, to make a move.

"I guess I do want it to be different," You murmur, fidgeting with your hands.

Chris leans back just a bit, his eyes glinting. "So, you’re not just here for the meet and greet anymore, huh?" he teases, his tone dripping with intent.

You swallow hard, your heart racing at the way he’s looking at you, at the way his words hang in the air between you.

You shift uncomfortably, the weight of his gaze making it hard to think clearly. "I guess not," you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you meet his blue eyes again, feeling the tension between you thicken as he smiles, his tongue darting into his cheek.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, that same playful challenge lingering in his expression. "You know," he says, his voice quiet, almost a purr, "you don’t have to act like you’re unsure. I can tell what you want."

Chris smirks as his fingers lightly circle your neck, not squeezing, just resting there—taunting. "Look at you," he murmurs, tilting his head. His thumb traces the line of your jaw before tightening just enough to make your breath hitch.

As Chris’s thumb presses gently against your pulse, you can feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, the way his hand against your neck teases you. "'All worked up already, and I'm only just talking.."

Before you can respond, his lips crash into yours, hungry and impatient. This kiss is sloppy, all consuming. Chris' hungry mouth moving against yours, his grip on your neck keeping you in place as his other hand wanders down onto your thighs, drifting to firmly hold your hip, his hands rubbing themselves against the skin just above your pants.

You can feel his tongue slip against yours, rough and demanding, his lips moving in sync with your own, his hands on your neck gripping even tighter.

"You wanna get more comfortable, sweetheart?" he murmurs, breaking the kiss, his breath hot against your ear instead, "these jeans look a little tight on you."

His grip on your hip tightens as he urges you to take them off, his thumb slipping under the hem of your pants, brushing against your lower abdomen, as if to temp you out of them, not that you need much motivation.

Chris grins at you with how fast you slip off your jeans, letting them pool at your feet as you sit on the couch with him, putting your panties on display for him.

"I knew those pants were too tight on you," he murmurs, his hand moving to rest on your thigh, his palm searingly hot against your skin, just as hot as the one against your throat.. You watch as he trails his fingers up and down your inner thigh, you can feel the cold metal of his rings against your bare skin, making you shiver against him.

"C'mere, lean against the arm of the couch ma," he murmurs, his eyes filled with absolute desire.

His words are a command you can't refuse, his tone both gentle and dominant, making your insides twist with a heady mixture of desire and anticipation. You obey, leaning back against the arm of the couch, your body arched toward him, your position leaving you completely exposed to him.

"God look at how wet that pussy is..." He trails off, "Can see it right through these useless panties.." Chris whispers, his fingers brushing against the fabric right above your cunt, the coldness of his rings pressing into you, only slightly.

"Can’t believe you were so soaked just from a fucking meet-and-greet," he murmurs, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips. "You must’ve really been holding out on me."

His smirk grows, and he leans in, his lips grazing your ear, his hands mercilessly finding the waistband of your underwear. Chris' fingers brush against the fabric as he slowly pulls them down, chuckling "I bet you were dripping the whole time, huh? Couldn’t even keep it together in front of all those people."

“You’re so fucking needy,” he whispers, voice rougher now, right next to your head, but still laced with that mocking sweetness. “Didn’t think I’d be the one to make you lose it, huh? Here you are, all wet for me before we’ve even done anything."

You can feel the way that he rubs your thighs, the muscles in his hands flexing as he moves them against you. You can feel the strength in his fingers, how they wrap around you with ease, how his veins look like they're about to pop the harder he rubs against the skin of your neck.

“You like that, don’t you?” Chris mutters, breaking your thoughts. “You like the way my hands feel on you… so fucking strong, you don’t want me to stop.”

Suddenly, before you can respond, you feel his fingers reach your clit. The movement is slow as he traces gentle circles around your most sensitive spot, his fingers toying and teasing with where you need him most.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl in your ear, his fingers continuing their slow, torturous rhythm.

“Could feel it the second I touched you. All this for me, huh?” His thumb applies just enough pressure to make you gasp, pushing you closer to the edge with every stroke, while his other hand holds you steady, the veins in his wrist and forearm flexing as he moves.

"God— Chris, oh fuck.." You moan, your pussy feeling so sensitive from his touch. Instinctively, you can feel your hands reach up to cover your mouth, remembering where you are, your moans becoming muffled through the skin of your palm against your lips.

"Yeah? You like that?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin, his touch growing rougher as he feels you shiver under his touch, his rings pressing into your mound above your pussy as his fingers work against your clit.

"You like it when I touch you like this? Yeah baby?"

Chris notices your covered mouth immediately, his lips curling into a smirk as he pulls back slightly from your ear to meet your eyes. "Don’t hide it," he murmurs, voice dark with authority. “I want to hear you. Every fucking sound. No holding back.”

Before you can protest or pull your hand to cover your mouth, his grip on your jaw tightens, his hand leaves your neck to remove your hand, and his thumb presses against your bottom lip, forcing it to part.

“You don’t get to hide from me,” he growls, eyes narrowing. “Let me hear how much you fucking like this, how much that fucking pussy wants me to make it feel good."

His demands only cause you to moan more, your mouth opening and your tongue snaking around his fingers that rest on your lips. Your tongue maneuvers around them, pulling his index finger into your mouth, your moans stifled against the skin of his finger. "God, Chris.. right fucking there—yes.."

Chris' fingers dig into your neck, pressing firmer as his fingers leave your clit. You whine, instinctively, the sound loud and laced with so much want. “Chris, please…” You barely manage to get the words out, your voice thick with need and frustration.

He leans back, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watches your reaction. “Shhh.” His finger gently presses against your lips, silencing you. “I’m not done yet,” he murmurs, voice low, amused.

You whimper, your frustration building, the absence of his touch making everything feel even more intense. You try to shift, to pull him back, but he’s not having it.

“I said, I’m not done,” he repeats, his voice like silk, but with a command in it that makes your whole body tingle. His eyes flicker down to you, seeing your desperation, and he chuckles darkly. "Patience, baby. You’ll get what you want, just not yet."

With a slow, deliberate motion, he shifts his body, positioning his thigh firmly between your legs. He presses it against you, just enough to make you gasp, but not enough to give you what you want.

“Shhh, be quiet,” he murmurs, his lips curling into that wicked smirk as he watches you squirm, his thigh resting perfectly against your pussy. "Go ahead," he murmurs, his voice low and commanding, "Rub yourself on me. I know you need it. Don't be shy." He shifts slightly, giving you just enough space to grind against his thigh, his hand resting casually on the back of your neck.

"You’re not getting away with holding back anymore," he continues, the teasing in his voice only making the whole situation more intense. Slowly, you begin to rock your hips, dragging your wet pussy against the dark denim of his jeans, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body. Chris watches you closely, his smirk never fading, his eyes dark with amusement as you begin to ride his thigh harder, unable to stop the need coursing through you. "I know you want to feel it. Go ahead, baby, take what you need."

“You feel that?” he murmurs, his voice rough as you grind against him. "You’re so fucking wet, I can feel it." His hand grips your waist, helping guide your movements, but you can tell he’s enjoying watching you take control, even if just for a moment.

You moan, your eyes closing as you feel one of his hands grip around your hips, rubbing at the skin. He bends his neck, craning to rest his lips against the side of your neck.

"You're so fucking beautiful like this, makin' a mess on my thigh," You can feel the way Chris' lips slide against your skin, the way he sucks at your neck, biting and licking at your soft skin. “You like that, huh?” he murmurs, his teeth grazing against your skin before he sucks lightly, marking you. “You’re so fucking beautiful, can’t resist leaving my mark on you, say that you're mine— fuck.."

"I'm yours—mm, yes Chris."

He smirks, "Say it again, say that you're fucking mine."

"I'm fucking yours, Chris—God, please don't stop."

He smirks, satisfied, then moves to the other side of your neck, his lips pressing harder, teeth scraping gently before his mouth opens wider, leaving a dark, purple bruise beneath your skin. "There," he whispers, voice rough. "You’ll wear this for me, won’t you? Everywhere you go, people will know who made you feel this good."

The mixture of his hands on your thighs, guiding your hips up against his, and the way that his lips suck against your neck is enough to drive you to that edge.

Your body trembles, the sensations becoming almost too much to handle as your hips moves faster, harder, pressing down just the right way onto his thigh. You try to bite back your moans, but it’s impossible.

“Look at you,” Chris growls, his voice rough as he watches you unravel. “So fucking close, huh? Don’t even try to hide it.”

"Chris—please, I'm gonna come."

“Fuck, that’s it,” he murmurs, his grip tightening on your waist, his fingers rubbing against your hips, slapping them gently, urging you to rub your cunt against him faster. “Let go for me, come all over my thigh baby."

You can’t stop it now. The buildup is too much, too overwhelming. Your breath hitches as the first wave of pleasure crashes over you, the tight knot in your stomach unraveling as you gasp for air, completely at his mercy.

As soon as you come, Chris slows your movements, his hand still gripping your waist as he pulls you gently away from him, the two of you breathing heavily. He chuckles, smiling at you, his lips detaching from your neck so that he can sit up straight, your pussy still directly in front of him, nearly twitching.

Chris tilts his head, watching you with that same cocky smirk, his fingers still teasing over your soaked skin. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with amusement. “So fucked out already, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

His thumb brushes over your clit, the sensitivity making you jolt, and he grins. “Still twitching for me,” he muses, dragging his fingers down your clit, spreading the wetness just to tease you. “You want more, don’t you?”

Your breath is shaky, your body still coming down from the high, but you can’t deny the way you ache for more. You nod, unable to form words, but Chris just tuts, shaking his head.

“Use your words,” he instructs, his fingers pausing right at your entrance, the anticipation making your head spin. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

He leans in, his breath warm against your skin as his lips ghost over the marks he left on your neck. His free hand grips your thigh, keeping you spread open for him.

“I already made you come once,” he murmurs, teasing the tip of one finger inside you, barely pushing in. “You think you deserve another?”

Chris watches you squirm beneath him, his smirk deepening as he drags his fingers all along your cunt, barely touching where you need him most. His rings are cold against your heated skin, the metal sending a shiver up your spine as they trail closer to your aching pussy.

“Still shaking,” he mutters, amused. “That sensitive already slut?”

Before you can respond, he presses two fingers inside you, slow but deep, stretching you open. The coolness of his rings contrasting sharply with the absolute heat and wetness between your legs, making you gasp, your body tensing at the sensation.

Chris groans at the feeling, watching your reaction like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers curling just right, the chilled metal pressing against your walls. “Feel that? Bet you’ve never had anything this good inside you before, and it's just my fingers, ma.” He pumps his fingers lazily, just enough to make you whimper.

His free hand grips your thigh, keeping you spread wide for him, his thumb pressing possessively into your skin. “You’re so fucking warm,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his fingers moving deeper, twisting slightly so the pads press against that perfect spot inside you. “And so goddamn tight.”

Your hips jerk, chasing the friction, but Chris holds you down with ease, his grip tightening as he smirks. “Nah,” he chuckles, slowing his movements on purpose, flicking his head to shake the brown hair out of his eyes.

“You take what I give you. Nothing more.”

He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, letting the cold bands of his rings drag against your entrance before pushing them back in again, deliberately slow, as he murmurs, “You love it, don’t you?”

“The way my rings feel inside you. Fucking you open, stretching you out, while you just lay there and take it.”

His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, torturous circles as he curls his fingers again, the mix of cold and heat driving you insane. “Come on, baby,” he purrs, his lips brushing your ear. “Give me another. I want to feel you come all over my fingers.”

"Oh fuck— I—" Chris is relentless, his fingers curling inside you with precision, his thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles over your clit.

“That’s it,” Chris murmurs, watching you, his smirk dripping with satisfaction. “You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess all over my fingers baby?”

You can barely think, barely breathe, your body tightening around him, you're so damn close you can feel it about to snap. You reach your hands up, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breath catching as he fucks you with his fingers.

But then—

“Chris?”

The voice is muffled but close, floating in from just outside the door. Your entire body tenses, the haze of pleasure shattered in an instant. Your eyes snap open, panic flashing through you as another voice chimes in.

“Yo, Chris, you in there?”

Chris freezes for half a second, his jaw clenching, his fingers still pumping inside of you. “Shhh,” he hums, brushing his mouth against your ear, pressing a kiss to your jaw before leaning back, whispering, "You gotta be fuckin' kidding.."

His eyes flicker toward the door as another knock sounds.

“Yo, Chris, come on, man!”

Chris sighs, shaking his head as he looks at you, still spread out in front of him, still trembling, still desperate. He smirks.

“Guess they really need me,” he muses, pumping his fingers into you for the last few times, sighing. "God this pussy is so fuckin' good.. I don't wanna leave without filling it all up.."

“Fuck, Chris,” you whimper, barely even aware of how loud you sound, too lost in the feeling of his fingers still working you open. You don’t care if they hear—you just need him to keep going, need him to push you over the edge before it’s too late.

Chris groans, his jaw clenching like he’s just as frustrated as you are. “Shit, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb swiping over your clit in one last, devastating motion. “You sound so fuckin’ pretty when you beg.”

You let out a desperate, frustrated whine, clenching around him, your body so close to breaking. But before you can even think about falling over that edge, he pulls his fingers out completely, leaving you empty, aching, throbbing with need.

Chris brings his slick fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean with a smirk before leaning down, his lips barely lingering over yours. He presses a soft kiss to your lips before getting up, adjusting himself, running a hand through his hair as if to wipe the sex off of him.

The knocking at the door grows more impatient, voices calling his name again. Chris sighs, shaking his head before glancing back at you one last time.

“Dunno if I’ll see you again,” he mutters, almost like he’s thinking out loud. Then his smirk returns, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving you panting, soaked, and completely in shock.

You’re still in bed, the only light in the room coming from your phone screen as you hover over the post button.

Your breath is uneven, pulse pounding in your ears. The memory is still so sharp,his hands on you, his breath against your ear, the way he left you hanging, knowing exactly what he was doing. The way he smirked before walking out that door, leaving you desperate, wrecked, ruined.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you scroll through the story you just typed out, everything so fresh in your head as if it had happened just a few seconds ago.

No one would ever think that this was anything different than your usual posts about Chris or Matt, not one of your followers would ever imagine that this all could be true, that all of this truly happened just a few days ago.

Your legs press together just thinking about him again, a dull ache still lingering between them as the memory rushes back—his thigh between yours, his fingers digging into your hips, his voice murmuring filth into your ear. The way he left you breathless, trembling, on the edge of something devastating, only to walk away at the very last second.

Your teeth sink into your lip, a shaky exhale slipping past them as your thumb lingers over the post button.

And then, before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers press that shiny blue buttton.

Post uploaded.

thank you for reading ! ♡

masterlist

first mini series! tried to make it so immersive for us tumblr girlies because god i wish this would happen to me

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viennaswcrld · 1 day ago

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stop focusing on your senses

when shifting, your physical senses are the last to shift! when you’re hyper-aware of your body, you could be anchoring yourself to your current reality.

let go.

detach from the need to feel immediate sensations and trust the process. you are in control.

focus on your intention, not on whether you ‘feel’ it happening. this is why i like to make it clear that not everyone feels physical symptoms, and that is okay!!! shifting is about aligning your consciousness, not forcing physical proof.

remind yourself: you are already shifting. every thought, every visualization, every moment spent in alignment with your desired reality brings you closer.

release the need for validation. your experience is valid, whether or not you feel tingles, heaviness, or detachment. trust in your mind’s power.

shifting isn’t something you have to ‘catch’ happening - it’s something you allow to unfold.

a/n; if anyone has any idea of what they would like me to make a post about, go ahead and use my asks <3

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kianamaiart · 20 hours ago

Note

Not an ask more a vent, sorry, feel free to ignore. Love your work and PPPIDWTBAMG looks wonderful, am looking forward to the pilot and wish you all the success

sometimes... Being a creative person, hurts. Hurts in ways I still don't come to expect despite being in my 30s. I love seeing people succeed and I love being inspired to make more things myself. But some times, I just kind of, end up with some one thing creative, that I really love and have nowhere to put it... and I just keep getting reminded that I don't. The idea still, gives me joy, but it also, hurts. Like holding, desperately, onto a piece of coal that refuses to cool. And I'm reminded of that idea a lot, looking at idwtbamg. and I hate that it hurts, and I hate that I associate that hurt with your wonderful idea, and I want your idea to succeed. and so I hold the idea tighter... and it hurts, and it brightens my day, and I look forward to your amazing work, and all the fan works born from it.

i understand the feeling for sure

sorry if this is unsolicited advice (i don't want it to come off as toxic positivity or too sunshiny either) but i don't think you should get hung up on the "nowhere to put it" part. the thing about the internet is that, for better or worse lol, you can put anything on it!

make your project! write it out, draw it out, act it out, sing it out. then post it! this project as well as a lot of indie projects is in response to networks not picking up a lot of animated shows these days so people are taking their ideas into their own hands and sharing it with the world in different ways

doesn't hurt to try~

#ask mai anything

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purlturtle · 2 days ago

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Tumblr didn't want to let me put this in the tags, so have it as an addition to this post:

I hold that it is ESSENTIAL for fan fic writers and readers to think about what the characters would think about pet names and which ones they would use if any and on which occasion.

like - Helena Wells never calls *Myka* darling; she uses it for Claudia IIRC, so maybe it isn't a romantic pet name from Helena's part but a simple English endearment like 'luv' or 'pet' (and yes those are simple English endearments!) (and I have often had Helena use 'darling' for Myka - at least in the beginning of their interactions, where it could arguably be simple rather than romantic). (But Myka doesn't know that; she (headcanon) hasn't grown up with endearments at all, and so her first instinct is to ascribe romantic intent to the 'darling' and get all flustered, before reminding herself that it's probably only a simple English endearment like 'luv' or 'pet'.) (and it is my further headcanon that later when they or at least Helena is aware that this is "love of my life" territory, she doesn't use "darling" anymore but "my love" or similar, but that's a different essay.)

And when you write fic you gotta think about these things! It will make your romance and character interactions all the better! And to hear that there are readers who don't even stop to think how those word choices carry the story, is - quite honestly - infuriating. Nothing against squicks and icks; those exist and they're fine, and if you gotta click out then you gotta click out. But can you, dear reader, just for a moment before you hit that back button, please consider that the curtains are blue for a reason?

Just saw a TikTok complaining about ‘kitten’ as a pet name in fanfiction and while I do agree with their discomfort on that one the comments were FULL of people mentioning all the other common pet names ?? Like honey babe baby sweetheart etc ?? Is your partner just supposed to call you by your name the whole time ????????

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honeyhae-svt · 2 days ago

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I luv the headcanons and would love my tiger kwon soonyoung PLEASE :))))

hoshi's headcanon when he falls for someone (you)

kwon soonyoung (hoshi) x gn!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ tags / genre: hoshi x reader, seventeen fanfiction, lighthearted romance, playful banter, mutual pining, holiday vibes, cozy fluff, heartwarming moments, reader insert, wholesome love story, gentle humor, soft romance ੈ✩‧₊˚ warnings: n/a (just lots of giggles, flirty hoshi energy, warm hugs, and soft moments that make your heart flutter. mwahaha) ੈ✩‧₊˚ wc: 3443 ੈ♡ a/n: 3/13 ! (reqsts are open for the next member !). ILYSM ANON FOR REQUESTING A HOSHI ONEE ! i loved writing this one a little too much, i might've reached a word count of 10,000 + if my friend didn't stop me. ㅠㅅㅠ (p.s. im sorry. i forgot to post this.) ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : Falling For U (Seventeen) ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮▮

ੈ♡˚ ༘ hoshi's headcanon when he falls for someone

when hoshi falls for someone, it's impossible for him to hide it. his feelings shine through in every interaction, whether it's the way he lights up when you walk into a room or the endless excuses he finds to spend time with you. his love is loud and vibrant, like him, but it's also layered with an unexpected softness that makes it all the more special.

he's the type to shower you with compliments, sometimes silly and sometimes sincere, just to see you smile. he'll call you "the most amazing person in the world" one minute and then jokingly ask if you're honored to have his attention the next. his playful nature is his way of keeping things light, but underneath, there's a deep sincerity. every teasing, every exaggerated gesture is hoshi's way of showing he cares.

you'll notice he goes out of his way to include you in his world—whether it's dragging you to try out something he's excited about or sharing random tiger facts (because, obviously, you need to know). he's full of energy, and he loves the idea of making you laugh or helping you forget a bad day. but when you're down, hoshi knows how to tone it down, offering you quiet support and reminding you he's there for you in the most heartfelt ways.

if he's jealous, it's not subtle. he'll pout and dramatically insist he's the best option for your attention, though he'd never make you feel uncomfortable. it's all in good fun—his way of showing that he cares deeply. when you reassure him, the grin that spreads across his face makes it clear he just wanted a little extra love from you.

hoshi's love language is loud, affectionate, and completely unfiltered. but when it's time for him to confess, you'll see a more vulnerable side of him. he'll still try to keep things light, stumbling over his words and making jokes to cover up his nerves, but the way his voice softens and his eyes meet yours will leave no doubt about how much he means every word.

with hoshi, falling in love isn't just a feeling—it's an experience. his love is like a sunrise, warm and full of energy, and once you're at the center of his world, you'll never doubt just how much you mean to him.

it was late, the soft hum of the night wrapping the room in a quiet stillness. hoshi sat on the couch, one leg tucked under him, a half-empty bowl of popcorn balanced on his lap. the tv was on, playing some rom-com neither of you had really been paying attention to. his eyes kept drifting to you, though you were too engrossed in your phone to notice.

you were sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the couch, absentmindedly scrolling and laughing at something every now and then. hoshi couldn't help but smile, the kind of smile that stretched across his face before he even realized it.

"kwon soonyoung," you teased, breaking his trance. you twisted around to look up at him, eyebrows raised. "what's that look for? are you laughing at me?"

he blinked, caught off guard, before shaking his head with an exaggerated pout. "me? never! why would i laugh at you?"

"then what?" you pressed, squinting at him. "you've been weirdly quiet. it's suspicious."

hoshi leaned back into the couch, suddenly aware of how warm his ears felt. he reached for another handful of popcorn, buying time to figure out what to say. how was he supposed to tell you that he wasn't laughing at you, but that just looking at you made him feel all sorts of things he couldn't explain?

"i was just... thinking," he said vaguely, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

you gave him a look, clearly unimpressed. "thinking about what? and don't say 'stuff.' i'm not letting you get away with that."

he groaned, dragging a hand down his face in mock defeat, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. "fine, fine," he said dramatically, shifting forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "i was thinking about you."

your teasing expression faltered, replaced by a mix of surprise and curiosity. "me?"

hoshi nodded, suddenly feeling shy under your gaze. "yeah, you. don't make it weird." he tried to laugh it off, but his voice was softer than usual, giving him away.

you turned fully to face him, sitting up straighter. "what about me?"

he hesitated, his fingers playing with the edge of the popcorn bowl. "just... you. the way you're always making me laugh. the way you light up when you talk about things you love. the way you're you, i guess." his voice trailed off, and for once, he wasn't cracking a joke to deflect.

the room was quiet for a moment, the tv's background noise fading into the distance. when you didn't say anything, hoshi looked down, feeling like he'd just thrown his heart out into the open.

"soonyoung," you said softly, and he dared to glance up. the way you were looking at him—like he was the only thing in the room—made his breath catch.

"yeah?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

you smiled, that soft, genuine smile that always made his chest ache in the best way. "you know, you're not the only one who's been thinking about someone."

his eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. instead, he just stared at you, waiting for you to say what he was too scared to believe.

"i like you too," you said, your voice shy but steady.

the grin that broke across hoshi's face was immediate, bright and full of relief. "really?" he blurted, leaning forward like he hadn't heard you properly.

you laughed, nodding. "yes, really. why do you look so surprised?"

"because i've been trying to figure out how to tell you for weeks!" he exclaimed, setting the popcorn aside and sliding down to sit on the floor beside you. "do you know how many times i almost said it and chickened out?"

"that sounds like you," you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

he pouted, but the way his hand brushed against yours betrayed his excitement. "hey, i'm being vulnerable here. don't make fun of me."

you laughed again, your fingers intertwining with his. "alright, alright. no teasing. but for the record, i think you're pretty cute when you're nervous."

hoshi's cheeks turned pink, but he couldn't stop smiling. "you're gonna regret telling me that. i'll never let you live it down."

"i'm counting on it," you said, squeezing his hand.

and just like that, the tension melted away, replaced by the kind of warmth that made everything else feel insignificant. sitting there beside you, hoshi realized that for all the times he'd doubted himself, this—you—was worth it. every single second.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ kisses and cuddles with hoshi

soonyoung is naturally affectionate and playful, his love for physical closeness showing in every little touch. he's the type to make you laugh first before pulling you into a hug, his bright energy making the simplest moments feel full of life. but beneath all the teasing, he's incredibly thoughtful—his gestures always carrying a deeper, quieter kind of love.

it's in the way he bumps his shoulder against yours when you're sitting close, or the way his pinky hooks onto yours absentmindedly.he thrives on moments when your laugh echoes in the space between you two, his eyes crinkling with that signature grin as he watches you.

one night, you're both sprawled out on the living room floor, the remnants of a late-night snack scattered around you. you're trying to win an argument about who gets the last slice of pizza, and soonyoung is putting up a good fight, complete with dramatic gestures and exaggerated reasoning.

"fine," you finally concede, laughing as you push the plate toward him. "you win. but only because i'm too tired to argue."

he smirks, victorious, but instead of taking the pizza, he sets it aside and leans over, resting his chin on your shoulder. "you're too cute when you're pretending to be mad," he teases, his voice soft and warm.

you roll your eyes, but the way your cheeks flush doesn't go unnoticed. "you're lucky i like you," you mutter, and he grins wider, his hand brushing against yours as he settles beside you.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ the first kiss soonyoung's first kiss with you is every bit as spontaneous as he is, yet it feels perfect in the moment.

it happens during one of your usual late-night hangouts, walking aimlessly through quiet streets with the glow of streetlights guiding your way. you're both bundled up against the chilly air, sharing random stories and laughing at each other's terrible jokes.

at some point, he stops walking, grabbing your arm lightly to make you pause too. "wait," he says, his tone suddenly more serious. "i just thought of something."

you tilt your head, curious. "what is it?"

he looks at you for a moment, his expression softening. "if i don't do this now, i might chicken out later."

before you can ask what he means, he steps closer, his hand brushing against yours before cupping your cheek gently. there's a flicker of nervousness in his eyes, but it's overshadowed by the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

then he kisses you, his lips warm and soft against yours, the kind of kiss that feels like a question and an answer all at once. it's sweet, unhurried, and undeniably soonyoung—playful yet full of feeling.

when he pulls back, he's grinning, his cheeks tinged pink. "so... was that okay?" he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

you laugh, still a little breathless. "yeah, it was okay," you tease, though the smile on your face says much more.

"good," he replies, his grin widening as he takes your hand in his, swinging it slightly as you both continue walking.

ੈ♡˚ ༘ cuddles with hoshi cuddling with soonyoung feels like being wrapped up in sunshine. he's the kind of person who makes every hug feel like a celebration, his energy and warmth impossible to resist.

it starts with him flopping onto the couch beside you, his head landing in your lap as he dramatically sighs about how tired he is. "you've been ignoring me all day," he whines, even if you've only been apart for an hour.

"have not," you counter, laughing as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair.

he hums in contentment, his arms wrapping around your waist. "this is all i needed," he murmurs, his voice muffled as he buries his face against your stomach.

on lazy mornings, he's the one to pull you back into bed, his arms tightening around you when you try to get up. "five more minutes," he mumbles, his voice still heavy with sleep. when you give in, he smiles triumphantly, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before settling back against you.

his favorite way to cuddle is when you're both lying on the couch, tangled together under a blanket. he loves resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as his fingers trace lazy patterns on your arm. every now and then, he'll look up at you with a soft smile, pressing a quick kiss to your chin or your cheek before snuggling closer.

sometimes, when he's feeling especially playful, he'll tickle you just to hear you laugh, only to pull you into a tighter hug afterward, his own laughter mixing with yours. "sorry, i couldn't help it," he says, though his grin tells you he's anything but.

with soonyoung, cuddling is more than just physical closeness—it's an extension of the way he loves. it's in the way he holds you like he's afraid to let go, in the way his presence makes every space feel a little brighter, and in the way he makes sure you always know just how much you mean to him.

┊ ➶ ｡✩‧₊˚ bonus

soonyoung has always been a bundle of energy, his personality larger than life and his affection boundless. but when it comes to the more intimate moments—the ones where the world seems to fall away and it's just the two of you—there's a quiet intensity to him that takes you by surprise every time.

it's late one evening when the two of you find yourselves curled up on the floor of his dance studio. the mirrors around you reflect the faint golden glow of the fairy lights he's strung up, the only illumination in the quiet space. he's lying on his side, his head propped up by his arm as he watches you flip through a playlist on his phone.

"that one," he murmurs, pointing lazily at a random song. but his attention isn't really on the music—it's on you. the way your face softens when you focus, the slight furrow in your brow that he wants to smooth away with his thumb.

you click on the song, the soft melody filling the studio, and set the phone aside. turning to him, you catch the way he's staring and feel your cheeks warm under his gaze. "what?" you ask, a small laugh escaping.

"you're just... really pretty," he says simply, his tone free of the usual teasing lilt. his honesty makes your heart skip, the sincerity in his eyes leaving you speechless.

you roll your eyes to hide the flutter in your chest. "don't start, hoshi."

"i'm serious," he replies, his voice quieter now. before you can deflect again, he leans in just a little, his hand reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingertips linger for a second too long, the warmth of his touch spreading like fire under your skin.

the air between you shifts, and it's then you realize how close he's gotten. your breath catches as his thumb brushes against your cheek, his gaze dropping to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your eyes again.

"can i kiss you?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, as though he's afraid the moment will shatter if he speaks too loudly.

your heart is pounding, and you manage a small nod before he closes the space between you. the first press of his lips is soft, tentative—almost shy. it's a side of soonyoung you don't see often, and it makes the kiss all the more meaningful.

but he doesn't stay tentative for long. as soon as he feels you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. the kiss deepens, his lips moving against yours with a quiet urgency, like he's trying to convey everything he feels in this one moment.

his other hand finds your waist, his grip firm but gentle, grounding you as the world spins around you. he kisses you like he's trying to memorize every detail—the way your lips move against his, the soft hum you make in the back of your throat, the way your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathless. his forehead rests against yours, his eyes still closed as he takes a moment to steady himself. "wow," he says softly, his lips curving into a small, almost dazed smile. "you're really good at that."

you laugh, the sound light and a little giddy. "you're not so bad yourself."

but he's not done. before you can say anything else, he's pulling you in for another kiss, this one less careful and more confident. his hand slides up your back, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. there's a hunger to it now, a raw intensity that makes your knees weak, even though you're already sitting.

and soonyoung? he's completely lost in you. every kiss feels like a dance, his rhythm perfect as he draws you in and leaves you wanting more. his lips trail down to your jaw, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs your name like it's the only thing that matters.

when he finally pulls away for the second time, he's grinning—his signature, boyish smile that makes your heart melt. "okay," he says, his voice playful but still tinged with that lingering softness. "now i'm definitely never letting you go."

and you believe him. because in moments like this—with the world quiet and his arms around you—it feels like you've found something worth holding onto forever.

⊹˚. what exactly are you to hoshi?

to hoshi, you're the spark in his world—the excitement he didn't know he needed and the calm he secretly craves. you're his muse, his confidant, and the one person who can match his energy without even trying. you're his sunshine on chaotic days, the person who laughs at his jokes (even the terrible ones), and the one he trusts with the parts of himself he doesn't show to everyone.

to him, you're not just special—you're irreplaceable.

⊹˚. how hoshi falls for you

hoshi falls for you like a whirlwind—fast, fun, and a little overwhelming. he doesn't realize it at first because he's too busy enjoying the moments he shares with you, whether it's your teasing banter, your shared adventures, or the way you somehow always manage to make his day better.

he falls for the way you light up a room, your unfiltered honesty, and the way you cheer him on—even when he's being extra.

for hoshi, it's not just one moment; it's a series of moments that stack up until he can't ignore how much you mean to him anymore. maybe it's the way you dance with him without hesitation, how you match his energy during the most ridiculous moments, or the way you just listen when he opens up about his dreams and fears.

example: it's late one night, and you're both sitting on a rooftop, eating convenience store snacks and laughing over nothing in particular. the city lights stretch out below you, and for a moment, hoshi glances at you as you talk about something random. your eyes shine, your laugh carries through the night, and his heart just stops. that's when it hits him: this is my person.

when hoshi confesses, it's going to be bold, a little chaotic, but so him. he might try to plan something elaborate—like a dance routine or a surprise party—but it'll probably go hilariously wrong, and he'll end up blurting it out in the middle of a laugh.

"okay, wait, i can't keep this in anymore!" he'll say, running a hand through his hair as his cheeks turn pink. "i really like you. like, a lot. and i know this might sound crazy, but... will you be my tiger?"

(ㅅ' ˘ )♡ when hoshi loves, it's big, bold, and unrelenting. he loves with his whole heart, making you feel like you're the most important person in his universe. he's the type to hype you up constantly—whether it's about how amazing you look, how talented you are, or how lucky he is to have you.

he's always planning little surprises to make you smile, whether it's showing up at your door with your favorite snacks or dragging you out for a spontaneous adventure just because he wants to see you laugh.

he leaves sticky notes in random places for you to find, each one with something sweet or funny: "did you know you're amazing? because you are!" or "you're cuter than a tiger cub. don't fight me on this."

hoshi's love is physical and affectionate—he's always pulling you into hugs, holding your hand, or squishing your cheeks. he thrives on closeness, always looking for excuses to be near you, whether it's leaning against you during movie night or intertwining his fingers with yours during a quiet moment.

when he kisses you, it's playful at first—soft pecks that turn into giggles—but when he really leans in, it's deep and meaningful, like he's trying to convey just how much you mean to him without saying a word.

and when you're upset, hoshi is your biggest cheerleader. he'll do everything in his power to make you smile again, even if it means acting like a complete dork just to hear you laugh. but he also knows when to be serious, offering quiet comfort and unwavering support when you need it most.

his love is an endless burst of energy, but it's also steady and grounding, reminding you every day that you're his favorite person in the whole world.

with hoshi, love feels like the perfect mix of adventure and home—wild, fun, and exactly where you belong.

a/n: i hope you guys enjoyed because i definitely did, myself. i love hoshi so much i think i love him a little too much and he's so cute i will die for him. idk what to say because writing this, i was 3 bottles drunk and i immediately sobered up thinking what hoshi might be. (i proofread this over and over again and honestly, im so proud of finally finishing this). i might make another hoshi fanfic soon. please, mom, i want himmmmm

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billiesbabygirleilish · 2 days ago

Note

can you write something where billie and reader arent our to the public yet but some fans have catched on and a lot of them harass and bully reader online bc they are jealous so reader gets overwhelmed and billie gets angry at the fans and calls them out ? ty if u do this ily

Virtual Vengeance

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘😈⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

The hum of Billie’s studio equipment usually filled you with a sense of calm and excitement. Being in the music room, watching her create, was one of your favorite places to be. But today, the low thrum felt like a building pressure, a constant reminder of the anxiety bubbling inside you.

Billie was humming softly, coaxing a melody out of her keyboard. You sat curled on the worn velvet couch, scrolling through your phone. Or, trying to. The screen was a blur of ugly colors and uglier words.

It had started subtly, a few odd comments on your Instagram. Vague, almost dismissible. Then, people started piecing things together– glimpses of you on Billie’s stories (a hand holding hers in the background, the back of your head in a mirror reflection), the way she seemed to light up whenever your name was mentioned in interviews. The more they saw, the angrier some of them got.

"What do you think about slowing down the tempo here?" Billie asked, tilting her head towards you, her blue eyes sparkling.

You forced a smile, trying to push down the knot in your stomach. "Sounds great, babe."

She didn't miss the lack of enthusiasm. Billie always saw right through you. She cut the music and swiveled in her chair, her brow furrowed. "What's wrong? You good?"

You sighed, finally putting your phone down, feeling guilty for letting it distract you. "Just… some stuff online."

"Stuff like what?"

You hesitated, not wanting to burden her. Billie was fiercely protective, and you knew where this conversation could lead. "Just some silly fans. They're being… weird."

"Weird how?" Her voice was low, a warning rumble that made your heart ache.

You chewed on your lip, then caved. You knew she wouldn't let it go. "They're saying things… about us."

Billie's expression hardened. "About us? What things?"

You took a deep breath and decided to just lay it all out. "They think we're, you know… together. And some of them… they don't like it."

You watched as her jaw tightened, her eyes blazing. "What are they saying?"

You hated this. You hated telling her. You hated that they were the reason you were having this conversation. But Billie deserved to know.

"Just… jealous stuff. Calling me names. Saying I’m riding on your coattails. That I'm ugly. That I'm not good enough for you." You rattled off a few of the insults, the names stinging even as you repeated them. "They're calling me 'Billie's Bottom Bitch' and making memes of me looking stupid. Someone photoshopped my face onto a pug, Billie! A pug!"

You knew it sounded ridiculous, but the sheer volume of negativity had been relentless. It felt like a constant barrage, chipping away at your confidence and making you question everything.

Billie was silent for a long moment, her gaze dark and intense. You could practically see the gears turning in her head. You could see her frustration, her anger.

"Show me," she finally said, her voice barely a whisper.

You reluctantly picked up your phone and opened Instagram. The comments section of your latest post was a toxic wasteland.

@billie_eyelashlover69: "Ugh, who is THIS?? Get out of here and leave Billie alone! You're so basic." @avocado_bae: "Billie could do SO much better. This girl probably can't even play the ukulele." @finneasfanatic: "She's just using Billie for clout. Watch, she'll drop an album in a month. Barf." @badguyismydaddy: "She's so ugly! Look at her nose! Ew! Billie deserves someone hot, like me!" @puglife4eva: "OMG ur the pug LOLOL #billiesbottombitch" @ilovebillieforeverandever"STOP PARADING AROUND WITH BILLIE WHEN YOU HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN CONFIRMED AS HER PARTNER!! YOU’RE SO THIRSTY" @haterofhaters "Ugh! Can't you all find something better to do with your time? You’re all so rude. Like leave her alone" @billieismymuse "BILLIE WOULD NEVER. YOURE LYING"

Billie scrolled through the comments, her face getting darker and darker with each passing second. When she reached the pug photoshop, she let out a low growl.

"This is… this is insane," she said, handing your phone back to you like it was a hot potato. "They're seriously harassing you?"

You nodded, tears stinging your eyes. "It's been going on for weeks. I try to ignore it, but it's hard."

"I'm so sorry," Billie said, reaching out to take your hand. Her touch was warm and grounding. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I didn't want to bother you. You're so busy with the album, and… I thought it would just blow over."

"This isn't a bother! You're not a bother," she said fiercely, squeezing your hand. "This is important. And I'm gonna do something about it."

You knew that look in her eyes. It was the look she got when she was about to unleash the full force of Billie Eilish’s wrath.

"Billie, please, don't do anything drastic," you pleaded. "It will only make it worse."

"No, it won't. They need to be called out. They need to know that this isn't okay." She stood up, pacing the room. "I'm not gonna let them get away with this."

The next morning, Billie posted a story on Instagram. It was a simple black screen with white text, but the message was anything but simple.

The response was immediate. Some fans, the true fans, flooded her comments with messages of support, condemning the online bullies and sending love to you. Others, the toxic ones, doubled down, accusing you of manipulating Billie and trying to ruin her career.

@trubillieber: "YES BILLIE!!! You tell them! We love you and YOU deserve to be treated with respect!" @billieismymuse: "WOW billie your taking her side??? She’s ruined you! You’re turning soft" @no1billiefan: "Some of us are just voicing our opinions, Billie. Can't you handle criticism?" @avacadobilliefan: "OMG Billie is the queen! These haters need to back off!" @love4billie: "WE LOVE YOU BOTH. Ignore the haters! They're just jealous." @billie_is_my_gf_4ever:"SHE’S A GOLD DIGGER! She's probably just using you for your money and fame! Wake up, Billie!!!"

Despite the continued negativity from some corners, something shifted. The sheer force of Billie’s condemnation seemed to silence some of the more vocal bullies. The support from her true fans outweighed the hate.

In the days that followed, things slowly started to improve. The comments on your posts became less frequent, less vitriolic. You still saw the occasional jab, but it didn't sting as much, not when you knew that Billie had your back.

One evening, you and Billie were back in the studio. She was working on a new track, a song about finding your voice and standing up for yourself. You were sitting on the couch, no phone in sight this time, watching her work.

Billie stopped playing, turning to look at you. "You okay?"

You smiled, a genuine smile that reached your eyes. "Yeah. I'm good."

"Really?"

"Really," you confirmed. "You know, you’re a pretty good girlfriend."

Billie grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "I try." She paused, then added, "And just so you know, if those pug-photoshop people ever come back, I'm gonna write a diss track about them."

You laughed, the sound echoing in the studio, filling the room with a lightness you hadn’t felt in weeks. You knew that the internet could be a dark and ugly place, but you also knew that you weren't alone in facing it. You had Billie, and that was all that mattered.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish x fem! reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fluff #billiesbabygirleilish #billie eilish angst #billie eilish imagine

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studio-petrichor · 3 days ago

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Little Bird

Part 7

I wanted to try to get back into graphic novel illustration a bit,,, it's been a while and I'm a bit nervous about this, I struggle a lot with perfectionism so I forced myself to make this... a little simpler than I usually would.

Post game, I thought he might change his dimension a little to be more... rural? But he'd keep the graves to remind himself of the damage he's caused. I gave him a silly cartoony house bc it seems up his alley,,

Anyway!! I might not do colour again, my apologies, it did take a lot out of me. But I wouldn't say for sure. It's soothing, in some parts. I hope you enjoy this part ^^

BTW if I were a parent, I'd be 100 percent on Aristotle's side here lol

Part 1

Next Part

#billie bust up #bbu #billie bust up barnaby #barnaby #owl baby!!#owl dad being owl dad #barnaby baby #father's day #comics #bbu aristotle #aristotle bbu #billie bust up aristotle #billie from billie bust up #bbucommunity #illustration

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weirdmarioenemies · 2 hours ago

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Name: Brolder

Debut: Super Mario 3D World

This is Brolder. What is it brolder than? I don't know, to be honest. But to make it up to Brolder, I made its name up there bolder than usual. I hope it likes it!

Brolder is one of those hexagonal-scale-patterned boulders that I'm not completely sure exist. I've only seen them in videos the game. Do they exist? If so, please tell me! I'm being lowered into a vat of acid and my kooky captor will only let me go if I get this question right!

But honestly, I don't really care. I keep finding myself lost in Brolder's beautiful eyes! They are just like the 👀 eyes emoji. Just like the emoji, Brolder's eyes convey that it is Lookin', and it is Lookin' over that way. Such wide-eyed innocence... or, I guess, tall-eyed innocence! A lot of extra distance for its eyelids to cover with each blink. Put your Pokewalker on a Brolder's eyelid! Gaming Tip!

But enough about eyes. Brolder is a spherical boulder, and that means it rolls! And actually I take it back! More about the eyes! That poor thing is going to roll right over its own eyes. Yeowch! Ok, now you can spray me with water if I mention the eyes again. But don't worry. I am not done discussing Brolder's moist biological functions.

Look at this guy on the map screen. Bro thinks he's a location. Well, he is, because he is a Blockade level! Sadly classified as World 4-A rather than World 4-Brolder, but ah well. No one actually cares that much about that. Not even me! I'm ok with it. I'm reasonable.

When jumped upon, Brolders retract their eyes and limbs, but look at that above it... sweat! These rocks can sweat! Awesome? I think Brolders travel outside of the volcanic regions to drink water, just so they can sweat it out when picked up, in hopes that their captor will go "eww" and drop them.

Perhaps my favorite part of Brolder, however, are its arms! Its very yellow arms. QUITE a bit like SpongeBob arms! That's probably why I once saw a Miiverse post of the Brolder stamp edited to have Spunch features. As you can see, I never forgot that post! The arms also remind me very much of plastic toy parts, as if they would have a peg to stick into a hole on Brolder's side. Wouldn't it make sense for the arms to be made of lava or something? That would probably go so hard.

And what do you know! Boss Brolder, the boss of the Brolders, the broldest of them all, has lava arms! And it indeed goes hard. His whole design goes hard, really! His fiery glowing eyes, his shining rock shell, his CRYSTALS... what brold fashion choices! He looks really genuinely cool, and that makes it even funnier to see the regular Brolders in front of him. His goofy bodyguards who get thrown at his face to defeat him. But he keeps them around, because he cares. He has a warm heart, but don't touch it, because it's made of magma! Much safer to touch someone's flesh heart instead, but be sure to always ask first!

#brolder #boss brolder #super mario 3d world #mario #mario enemies #mod chikako

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iwasbored777 · 2 days ago

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I've been reading posts about GUN and I know they're going to be so bad in the fourth movie. Because not only is it possible that Rockwell, you know the openly xenophobic agent, will be the leader, but we're also going to have the Metal Sonics. When GUN sees alien threats built from the image of the alien they hate the most and can't chase, it's going to be the perfect excuse to want to capture Sonic and also Tails and Knuckles for sure. Not only that, with Amy in the movie it's going to get worse! If she really can travel through time with her chaos energy, I have no doubt that GUN will want to capture her too so they don't get this insane trump card. I dare say that a Team Heroes X GUN conflict is kind of inevitable.

Thanks for this ask cuz I feel so honoured to shame GUN for everything they've done. That previous post about Shadow wasn't enough, they did so many terrible things and I can't believe I didn't write this before your ask.

I can barely list all the worst things they did but I'll try and I'll answer to your other stuff so I hope you're ready and I hope you don't mind this whole analysis 😅 but I really wanted to talk more about GUN and since you clearly hate/dislike them just as much as I do (and many feel the same way) I really want to complain about them to someone who'll listen:

They were the ones that sent Robotnik in the first place. At least at the beginning he was just doing his job.

They knew that Gerald was Ivo's grandfather and alive all these years but they chose to not tell Ivo and let him think that he has no family his entire life. They used him because he was a genius and wanted him to make all those inventions for them and when they thought that he died they just acted as if he never existed.

They hired one of their agents to seduce Sonic's aunt, propose to her, and plan the whole wedding so that they would capture Sonic (I'm sorry I'm trying to stay serious but what the hell is wrong with GUN?! I don't know if I should cry or laugh and this is only the beginning). Poor Rachel too! They didn't care about anyone whether it was humans or aliens. I kinda wasn't happy that Rachel couldn't stay mad, what they did to her was horrible.

They captured Sonic and Tails. Tails was injured when they captured him and they didn't do anything about it, they simply put him and Sonic in cages after they tased Sonic to make sure he's unconscious too, they arrested Tom too when he tried to defend his son. This scene always breaks me, poor babies 😢

They found Shadow when he landed on Earth, kidnapped him, held him in a cryo pod and were doing experiments on him. (Gee, I wonder why Tom and Maddie didn't trust GUN with Sonic and kept Sonic hidden in their house instead after the first movie).

They were responsible for the death of a child, Maria (Walters did try to protect her and Shadow but when others killed her he mistreated Shadow. He definitely had more sympathy for Maria, she was a human child after all.) This moment right here physically hurts me cuz not only that they don't seem to care about the child they just killed but also they're surrounding Shadow and Gerald with weapons as if Shadow and Gerald were the ones who did something terrible here... They didn't care about the child they just killed, they only wanted to capture Shadow, that was their priority and Maria was just a collateral damage.

Right after they killed Maria they threw Gerald, her grandfather who loved her, in jail for 50 years and forced him to make Eclipse Cannon, that can destroy the planet. He went crazy because of all that and WHO WOULDN'T?!

They froze Shadow for 50 years (would definitely stay frozen way longer if he didn't escape) because they just didn't know what to do with him and kept him awake and fully aware of what they were doing to him during the process. I'll once again remind y'all of Walters' comment that Shadow was "too valuable to destroy", because Shadow was property to them and not a young living being with feelings and trauma that they gave him. His face here breaks my heart... Look how helpless he was here...

I added as many examples of how terrible GUN is as I can remember but if there are more you can always add them in the comments. I could easily add every scene and every screenshot with GUN cuz even at their better moments, they're still really bad, but I tried to pick the most important parts.

As for Rockwell, yeah she's gonna be a handful. She's definitely worse than Walters. At least he realized in his last moments that you can trust some aliens, but she isn't going to be easy to convince. They'll probably be even worse from now on and they probably didn't learn their lesson after Shadow. They better not hurt my baby girl Amy or the Colorful Bunch. I have some theories but I'd rather wait and see what's next.

Amy was hiding her identity here from Metal Sonic but I'm not sure if she doesn't want GUN to find her either cuz she's not hiding from Sonic, she let him see her.

Either way, it's not going to be easy for our alien kids and GUN gave me no reason to trust them so far. It says a lot that Robotnik and Stone were WAY more likeable to me than GUN. I hope GUN will leave Shadow alone and if they can't, I hope he'll kick GUN's butts again.

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earhartsease · 2 days ago

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makes us wonder what percentage of truck drivers simply don't know or retain the value "height of the truck I'm currently driving" so seeing a sign saying "bridge is this height" just doesn't register in time or at all so they think "can't be me"

reminds us of getting waved down by police randomly stopping "goods vehicles" when we were driving an old post office van that we sometimes camped in the back of but hadn't converted - and they were really snippy with us about how long it took us to stop, but we genuinely didn't remember our van was a "goods vehicle" because to us it was just our big car that had enough legroom for a driver who was 6'3" - so we'd seen the sign announcing random stops but "couldn't be for us" so we needed time to check mirrors to pull in safely when they did wave us down - and they were like "you'd have a hard time convincing a judge you intended to stop" and we were like "...what?" *gestures autistically to actual stopped van*" and they made us get a fucken MOT even though we had a valid one

okay this isn't that relevant but also how many of you drivers know the height of your vehicle off the top of your head but also this bridge things is funny as fuck

was reminded of that youtube channel that records footage of that bridge that scalps trucks today. one of the fascinating developments that's happened since i last heard about it is that, in one of their many attempts to stop the trucks from being can-opened, they installed a traffic light that detects when a vehicle that's over the allowed height is coming and turns red so the driver can stop and hopefully notice the signage all around that's screaming "YOUR VEHICLE IS OVERHEIGHT TURN AROUND" and avoid an accident. However as a result sometimes drivers see the light turning yellow and IMMEDIATELY start flooring it to avoid having to stop, ensuring that the roof of their truck just gets fucking annihilated instantly. Really beautiful stuff you should check it out

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03jyh23 · 2 days ago

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✋🏻⌇touch part two┆choi san

│part of goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

│listen here

│part one

non-idol!san x fem!reader

│synopsis: you and san had always been the best of friends, but a single kiss changed everything.

│genre: friends to lovers, smut with some plot, a tiny bit of angst

│trigger warnings: explicit sexual content (consensual and unprotected sex, thick san, oral sex (both receiving), mentions of cum, neck kissing, and biting), mentions of infidelity (not between san and the reader), adult themes, strong language

│words: 5.1 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! yeah, i'm well aware that it's been like 6 months since i posted the first part but i count on your forgiveness ✋🏻😔 nonetheless hope you guys will enjoy it🙂‍↔️

love, mon ♡

It was late Saturday night. San had just returned from his gym session, preparing some protein shakes when the doorbell rang catching him off guard. He paused the music playing loudly on the speakers and went to open the door.

He unlocked the door only to have you wrap yourself around him in a second. "Hi—" he wanted to greet you, but your lips were already on his, and like a fool, he gave in. You stumbled backward into his apartment, not breaking the kiss as San kicked the door shut behind you. His hands found your waist, steadying you as you both moved through the apartment. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering traces of the gym filled your senses. You pressed yourself closer to him, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands roamed your back. The intensity of your need for him was overwhelming, drowning out any thoughts of what had led you here tonight. San pulled back slightly, his brown eyes searching yours with concern.

"Hey—" he tried to speak again, his voice gentle, but you silenced his words with another passionate kiss, your lips urgently seeking his as you pressed closer, desperately fighting for him to match your intensity and reciprocate the kiss. San's back hit the wall as you pushed him against it, desperate to keep him close to you.

He grasped your hips and pushed you back gently so he could finally speak. "Y/N, wait," he said firmly, his breath slightly ragged. "What's going on? Talk to me." He held you at arm's length, searching your face for answers. You tried to avoid his gaze as your trembling fingers worked to untie the drawstring of his grey sweatpants, your movements betraying your desperation. Before you could pull them down past his hips, San's strong hand caught your wrist. In one swift, fluid motion that left you breathless, he reversed your positions, pressing your back against the cold wall, the sudden chill sending shivers down your spine.

The abrupt change in position made you gasp audibly, your heart thundering against your ribcage as San skillfully pinned both your hands above your head, his grip unyielding yet careful not to hurt you. The warmth of his body contrasted sharply with the cool wall behind you, making you acutely aware of every point where your bodies touched.

"I said wait," he growled softly, his voice low and commanding, his face mere inches from yours. His warm breath ghosted across your lips as he spoke, "I need to know if you're okay?"

"San please no talking, just fuck me," you pleaded breathlessly, your voice carrying notes of both desperation and vulnerability.

San's expression softened slightly at your plea, but his grip remained firm. "Not like this," he murmured, "You're hurting, and I won't take advantage of that." His thumb traced small circles on your wrist as he held your gaze, silently asking you to trust him enough to open up.

Your breath hitched at his words, and you leaned forward, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Then let me take advantage of you instead." Your hands strained against his grip as you pressed your body closer to his.

San's breath caught, his grip on your wrists tightening momentarily as he processed your words. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he fought to maintain his control. "Y/N," he warned, his voice rough with barely contained desire.

"Please, San," you murmured against his skin, your lips trailing down his neck. "I need this. I need you." Your words were punctuated by soft kisses along his jawline, each one a silent plea.

San remained still for a moment, his internal struggle evident in the way his body trembled against yours. Finally, with a resigned sigh that held both concern and desire, he released your wrists, his hands sliding down to cup your face. "We need to talk about this later," he said before capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You melted into it, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as San's strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat between your bodies was intoxicating, spreading through your limbs like liquid fire. His broad shoulders beneath your fingertips made you feel delightfully small and protected, while the firm muscles of his back flexed under your touch. The overwhelming awareness of his physical strength, the way he could easily overpower you yet handled you with such careful restraint, sent waves of warmth coursing through your body, making your cheeks flush a deep crimson. Your lips traced a path down his jawline, each kiss more desperate than the last. San tilted his head back, giving you better access as your mouth explored the sensitive skin of his neck. His hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them through the fabric of your dress as a soft groan escaped his lips. His touch was both gentle and possessive, his fingers kneading softly as you nipped at the junction where his neck met his shoulder. The sensation of your teeth grazing his skin drew a deep, throaty moan from him, his fingers tightening their grip on your breasts. Without warning, he lifted you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his lips crashed against yours in a hungry kiss. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he carried you down the hallway toward his bedroom, his muscular arms holding you securely against his chest. The feeling of his lips moving against yours, combined with the gentle sway of his steps, made your head spin. As you reached his bedroom door, San pressed you against it, his body pinning you in place as one hand fumbled with the handle.

"You're so beautiful," San breathed against your lips, his voice husky. "But are you sure about this?"

You nodded frantically, your fingers digging into his shoulders. "Please, San. I need you. I need to forget everything else."

"Y/N," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your neck. "I don't want to be just a distraction."

"You're not," you gasped as his lips found a sensitive spot.

San pulled back slightly, his intense gaze meeting yours. "Promise me you won't regret this in the morning."

Instead of answering, you captured his lips in another desperate kiss, pouring all your unspoken feelings into it. San finally managed to open the door, carrying you into his darkened bedroom. He gently laid you down on his bed. His hands traced the curves of your body with reverent care, his touch setting your skin ablaze. The weight of his body pressing against yours made you forget everything else, just as you'd wanted.

Your hips jolted upward as his fingers traced along your inner thigh, a soft gasp escaping your parted lips. San watched your reactions intently as your mouth fell open in a silent plea. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders as his fingers went dangerously high, drawing a breathy moan from your lips. His fingers ghosted over your underwear, the light touch making you arch into him with a desperate whimper. San's other hand traced up your side, pushing your dress higher as his lips found yours in another searing kiss. His fingers traced up and down your clothed core with a teasing pressure that made your breath catch. Each slow stroke sent shivers through your body as he deliberately avoided direct contact with your most sensitive spot. You could feel the heat building as his fingers moved with agonizing precision, rubbing circles near but never quite touching your clit. The fabric between his fingers and your skin only heightened the sensation as he continued his torturous exploration. A soft whimper escaped your lips as his fingers pressed just a little harder, the friction of your underwear creating delicious pressure that had your hips lifting to meet his touch.

With trembling fingers, you grasped the hem of your dress and slowly pulled it upward past your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist. "I need more," you gasped breathlessly, San's warm hands joined yours, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he helped guide the dress higher. Together, you worked the fabric up over your head. The dress fell forgotten to the floor beside the bed, leaving you exposed in just your panties, your skin flushed.

"God, you're perfect," San breathed, his eyes slowly trailing over every inch of your exposed skin. His fingers traced delicate patterns across your collarbone and down your shoulders, making you shiver. The gentleness of his touch contrasted beautifully with the intensity in his eyes.

"Please," you whimpered desperately, arching into his touch. "I need you so badly." San's breath hitched audibly as your trembling hands found the hem of his shirt, your fingers brushing against the warm skin beneath.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against your neck.

"I want to feel you," you gasped, tugging at his shirt. "All of you. No more teasing."

He pulled back just enough to strip off his shirt in one fluid motion. "Like this?" he asked, his eyes locked on yours as he pressed his bare chest against yours.

"More," you pleaded desperately, your fingers trailing slowly down the defined ridges of his abs until they reached the waistband of his sweatpants. Your touch was both tentative and demanding as you traced along the elastic. "Please, San. I need more."

San caught your wrist, stopping you. "Not so fast," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your palm. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of scorching kisses, "Let me take care of you first," he whispered against your heated skin, his hands sliding down your sides with deliberate slowness. His fingers hooked under the delicate fabric of your panties, slowly dragging them down your thighs. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver with anticipation. San's fingertips traced teasing circles over your inner thighs, gradually working their way higher. When he finally reached your center, his touch was feather-light, barely ghosting over your sensitive flesh. A soft whimper escaped your lips as his fingers began tracing slow, deliberate circles near your clit, never quite making direct contact. The teasing motion had your hips lifting desperately, seeking more pressure. San maintained his torturously slow pace, his fingers moving in languid strokes up and down your folds. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more teasing, his fingers finally brushed directly over your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. The contact was brief before he returned to those maddening up-and-down motions. Your breath caught as you felt one finger slowly press inside you. He withdrew just as slowly, only to repeat the motion with the same deliberate patience that had you trembling beneath him.

"Please," you gasped, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, "I need more."

At your plea, San's mouth replaced his fingers, his warm breath ghosting over your sensitive flesh before his tongue traced a long, slow stroke up your folds. His lips pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses against you, each one sending shivers through your body. His tongue moved with deliberate gentleness, flat and soft as it explored you with broad, languid strokes. You moaned as his tongue flicked teasingly near your clit, never staying in one place too long. He alternated between those gentle, flat strokes and more focused attention, his tongue becoming firmer as he traced patterns against you. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he moved lower, his tongue pressing carefully inside you before returning to those maddeningly soft caresses. The wet heat of his mouth had you trembling, his lips creating delicious suction as his tongue continued its relentless exploration. He took his time, drawing soft moans from your lips as he varied between licks and gentle sucking, always mindful of your sensitivity. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as his mouth worked against you with increasing intensity.

"San," you whimpered, your back arching as he found a particularly sensitive spot. His response was a low hum against your flesh that sent vibrations through your core. Your thighs began to tremble uncontrollably around his head, your fingers tightening in his hair as the tension built. Every stroke of his tongue sent electric shocks through your body, making your muscles spasm and twitch beyond your control. Your back arched sharply off the bed, your body moving of its own accord as waves of pleasure coursed through you. A loud, desperate moan escaped your lips as your legs clamped down around his head, your whole body tensing as you reached your peak. Your grip on his hair turned harsh, yanking at the strands as your hips bucked against his mouth. The intensity of your orgasm had you writhing beneath him, gasping his name between broken moans. San groaned against you, the vibrations prolonging your pleasure as your body shuddered through the aftershocks. His hands held your trembling thighs firmly, keeping you steady as you slowly came down from your high. When he finally pulled away, his curved into a smirk lips were glistening. His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his eyes locked with yours.

"You taste so sweet," he murmured as he crawled back up your body. His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as his hands roamed possessively over your heated skin. You could feel his hard length pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants, his hips instinctively rocking against you, seeking friction as his kisses grew more desperate. Your hands moved to his waistband, tugging insistently at his sweatpants. San lifted his hips, helping you push them down along with his boxers. Your breath caught at the sight of him, hard and straining against his stomach.

With a sudden surge of confidence, you pressed your hands against San's chest, pushing him back. He went willingly, letting you guide him until he was lying flat against the mattress. You straddled his hips, your hands splayed across his chest as you leaned down to capture his lips in a heated kiss. San's hands immediately found your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as you rolled your hips against him. Without hesitation, you spat on your hand and wrapped your fingers around his length, drawing a sharp hiss from his lips. You stroked him slowly at first, your thumb circling the sensitive tip as pre-cum beaded at the slit. San's breath came in harsh pants as you lowered your head, your tongue darting out to taste him. His hands tangled in your hair as you took him into your mouth, starting shallow as you adjusted to his size.

"Fuck, Y/N," San moaned, his voice deep and gravelly with need. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as he watched you through half-lidded eyes, occasional groans and whimpers falling from his parted lips. Working in tandem with your hand, you gradually took him deeper, your tongue pressing flat against the underside of his shaft. Your cheeks hollowed as you sucked eagerly, drawing a deep groan from San's throat. His grip tightened in your hair as you bobbed your head, your hand stroking what your mouth couldn't reach.

"Fuck," San gasped as you swirled your tongue around his tip before taking him deeper again. "Your mouth feels so good." His hips twitched, fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth. You hummed around him, the vibrations making his thighs tremble. As you tried to take him deeper, you felt your throat constrict slightly, causing you to pull back with a soft gag. San's concerned eyes met yours, but you simply caught your breath before taking him back into your mouth, more prepared this time. The sound of your slight choking seemed to affect him deeply, his cock twitching against your tongue. After a while, you could feel San's muscles tensing beneath you, his thighs trembling as you increase your pace. Your jaw began to ache from the repetitive motion, but the sounds San was making above you spurred you on.

"Mmm, fuck," San moaned breathlessly, his voice deep. "Your mouth is so perfect... so good for me." His words dissolved into a series of low groans and gasps, occasionally punctuated by your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You alternated between long strokes with your hand and eager sucks with your mouth, your tongue never staying still as it traced patterns along his length. His grip on your hair tightened almost painfully as his hips gave a sudden, sharp twitch. A strangled groan escaped his throat, his entire body going rigid as his cock pulsed against your tongue.

"Y/N, fuck," he breathed out heavily, his voice trembling with barely contained desire as he involuntarily bucked his hips upward, pushing himself deeper into the wet warmth of your mouth. "Please- you need to stop," he gasped desperately, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "If you keep going like this, I'm not gonna last another second."

But you didn't want to stop.

You wrapped your lips around him once more, sucking him harder and deeper than before, your tongue tracing intricate patterns along his sensitive flesh. Your movements became more purposeful and intense as you hollowed your cheeks, creating a tight suction that had him writhing beneath you. His breathing grew increasingly ragged and uneven, his muscles tensing and relaxing rhythmically as waves of pleasure coursed through him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck" San's desperate moans echoed through the room, each one deeper and more primal than the last. You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs quivering with the effort to maintain control. When you finally released him, you did so with an excruciatingly slow, deliberately teasing pop that sent visible shivers through his entire body.

"You're fucking insane for this," San breathed, his chest still heaving as he pulled you up into a kiss. His hands gripped your waist possessively, fingers digging into your skin as he held you close. You rocked your hips against him, feeling his hardness pressed against you. The friction made you both gasp, your bodies moving together with increasing urgency. Your lips found his neck, trailing heated kisses along his jaw as his hands roamed over your nipples. San's hands moved with deliberate purpose, his fingers expertly teasing and rolling your sensitive peaks as his mouth found yours again. The kiss was deep and passionate, his tongue sliding against yours as you continued to grind against him. Your hands traced down his chest, feeling the defined muscles beneath your fingertips.

"Need you," you breathed against his lips, reaching between your bodies to guide him to your entrance. "Please, San."

His hands tightened on your hips, helping to position you properly. "You sure?".

You nodded desperately, sinking down onto him slowly. Both of you moaned at the sensation, your fingers digging into his shoulders as you adjusted to his size. San's hands moved soothingly up and down your sides, his lips pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone. His cock stretched you more than you were used to, the stretch causing a slight burning sensation as your body adjusted to accommodate his impressive girth. The mixture of pleasure and discomfort had you gasping softly against his shoulder, your fingers gripping him tighter as you slowly took him deeper. San pressed gentle kisses along your shoulder, his lips trailing a soothing path across your skin as you adjusted to him.

"Can I move?" he asked as your face relaxed a bit, feeling your delicate movements against him.

You nodded against his neck, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement drew soft moans from both of you, "Yes," you breathed, "please move."

San's hands gripped your waist more firmly as he began to guide your movements, helping you establish a steady rhythm. His hips rose to meet yours with each downward motion, the angle allowing him to hit spots deep inside you that had your toes curling with pleasure. His mouth found your breast, tongue swirling around your nipple as you rode him with increasing intensity.

"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back as he hit a particularly sensitive spot. Your nails raked down his chest, leaving faint red lines in their wake.

San's lips returned to yours, swallowing your moans as one of his hands slipped between your bodies. His fingers found your clit, rubbing tight circles that had you trembling above him.

"That's it," he encouraged, his voice deep and gravelly. Your movements became more erratic as the pressure built, your thighs shaking with the effort. San's free hand tangled in your hair, pulling you down for another passionate kiss as his hips thrust up to meet yours. Your rhythm faltered as San slipped out, a frustrated whine leaving your lips. Your hand quickly moved between your bodies, wrapping around his length to guide him back to your entrance. San groaned at your touch, his hips jerking forward as you positioned him properly.

San gripped your hips and rolled you both over, pressing you into the mattress as he settled between your thighs. He slid back into you with a deep thrust that had you gasping, your back arching off the bed. Your hand snaked between your bodies, fingers finding your clit as San set a relentless pace.

"Fuck, you're so perfect," San growled, his hips snapping against yours with increasing intensity. "Touch yourself for me. Want to feel you come around me."

"I can't hold back anymore," you moaned, your voice trembling. "San, please..."

San's mouth attacked your neck, alternating between gentle licks and sharp bites that sent electricity coursing through your body. Your breathing became increasingly erratic as he worked his way down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of marks in his wake. Your entire body trembled uncontrollably beneath him, every muscle tensing and releasing in waves of pleasure. Your walls clenched rhythmically around his length, drawing deep groans from his throat as you felt him twitching and pulsing inside you. Overwhelmed by the intense sensations, you moaned loudly as his name fell from your lips in a breathless cry. The overwhelming pleasure made your vision blur at the edges, your body arching off the bed as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

"Come for me," San commanded, his voice deep and rough. "Let me feel you."

"San... San... I'm- Fuck" Your words dissolved into a loud moan as your orgasm crashed over you.

"That's it," he groaned, "You're so fucking perfect." Your body shuddered with aftershocks as San continued to move inside you, his fingers dug into your hips hard enough to bruise as his own release approached, his breathing harsh and uneven.

"S-San, fuck, oh god, it's too much, fuckfuckfuck!" you cried out breathlessly, your fingers digging desperately into his flesh, making him hiss sharply at the pleasurable pain of your nails marking his skin. With a final deep thrust, he buried himself inside you, a moan escaping his throat as he came undone.

San collapsed on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress as you both tried to catch your breath. His lips found yours in a lazy, satisfied kiss, your bodies still trembling with residual pleasure. After a moment, he carefully pulled out and rolled to the side, immediately drawing you against his sweaty chest. You could feel his cum dripping down your thigh as he pulled you close, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

"Let me clean you up," he murmured softly, reaching for the tissues on the nightstand. After cleaning you both up thoroughly, San pulled you back into his arms, wrapping you in a warm embrace. You snuggled into his chest, feeling content and sleepy as his fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin. His steady heartbeat under your ear gradually lulled you into a peaceful doze.

You were startled awake by the sound of movement from the kitchen, the morning sun streaming through the windows and hitting your eyes. As consciousness slowly returned, you caught sight of the clock on the wall and felt your blood run cold. Fuck. You were supposed to be at Juyeon's in an hour. Panic seized you as you scrambled out of bed, frantically gathering your scattered clothes from the floor with trembling hands. You were halfway through pulling on your dress when San appeared in the doorway, holding a tray laden with fresh pancakes.

His expression shifted from cheerful to confused as he took in your frantic state. "What's wrong?" he called out softly, concern evident in his voice.

You shook your head, avoiding his gaze as you searched for your shirt. "I shouldn't have stayed," you muttered, your voice tight with anxiety.

San set the tray down on the desk, moving to intercept you as you continued gathering your belongings. "Y/N, please," he pleaded, "Just stay. Can we talk about... about what this means? What are we doing here?" The vulnerability in his voice made your heart clench painfully. Instead of answering, you surged forward and pressed your lips against his in a desperate kiss, effectively silencing his questions. When you pulled away, his eyes were filled with defeat. "Fuck," he whispered, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You can't keep doing this to me. I'm not just some fuck-toy you can use and discard. I'm your fucking best friend—what are you running away from?"

You turned away, unable to bear the pain in his expression. Your hands shook as you grabbed your phone from the nightstand. His words made your chest tight with panic. Without looking back, you headed for the door, ignoring his quiet "Please don't run away this time."

"I can't do this," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "I'm sorry, San. I just... I can't’’

"Wait," San called after you, "I love you. I've loved you for so long, and I can't keep pretending this doesn't mean anything."

The words hit you like a physical blow, making you stumble in your steps. Your heart pounded against your ribcage as his confession echoed in your ears. Everything you'd been running from, everything you'd been trying to avoid, crashed into you at once.

"Please," his voice was barely above a whisper now. "Don't leave. Not like this. Not again."

You stood there, frozen, as the weight of his words crashed over you. The confession hung heavy in the air between you. Your fingers trembled against the doorknob as memories of every shared moment, every lingering touch, and every meaningful glance flooded your mind. "Don't," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Please don't say that."

"Why not?" San's voice was quiet but firm. "Because it scares you? Because it makes this real?"

"Fuck you, San!" you snapped, whirling around to face him. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to make me the bad guy here!"

"Me? Making you the bad guy?" San's voice rose, anger finally breaking through his composure. "You're the one who keeps crawling into my bed and then running away like I'm your dirty little secret!"

"Because this is fucking messy and you know it!" Your hands were shaking as you gestured wildly between you. "We're best friends, for fuck's sake!"

"And that's exactly why this could be something amazing if you'd just stop being such a goddamn coward!"

The word 'coward' hit you like a slap.

"I'm with Juyeon," you said weakly, the excuse sounding hollow even to your own ears.

"Are you?" San challenged. "Or are you just hiding behind him because it's safer than admitting what's between us?"

Every instinct screamed at you to run, to escape before the walls you'd built came crashing down completely. "I..." The words caught in your throat as noticed the vulnerability in his eyes, the quiet hope mixed with resignation, made your chest ache.

"I can't keep doing this with you," San said, "Every time we're together, it feels right. You know it does."

"It's not that simple," you protested, wrapping your arms around yourself. "What if we try and it all falls apart? What if we lose everything we have?"

"What if we don't?" San took a step closer, his eyes intense. "What if we're missing out on something incredible because you're too scared to take the risk?"

"I'm not—" you started, but San cut you off.

"You are. You're terrified. And you know what? So am I. But I'd rather be scared with you than safe without you." The raw honesty in his voice made tears spring to your eyes. "Just tell me one thing," he said, closing the distance between you. "When you're with him, do you feel what you feel when you're with me? Does your heart race? Does your skin burn? Do you lose yourself completely like you do with me?"

Before you could think better of it, you crushed your lips against his, silencing his words with a bruising kiss. Then, just as quickly, you pulled away and practically ran for the door.

The cool morning air hit your face as you stumbled down the stairs of his apartment building, your heart hammering in your chest. San's words echoed in your mind, mixing with the ghost of his touch on your skin. You fumbled with your phone, hands trembling as you ordered a ride to Juyeon's place, knowing you were already late but unable to process anything beyond the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

#san smut #choi san smut #san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez x you #san x y/n #san x you #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #san hard hours #san hard thoughts

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reidrum · 9 hours ago

Text

let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes, “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home.

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy.

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t.

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No.

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them.

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here. It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck.

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.”

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction #the prophecy

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the-unidentified-author · 2 days ago

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The Lord, The Lady and The Long Winter | Cregan Stark | House of the Dragon

Chapter 2/5?: The Wolf of the North

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 - Comming soon

Cregan Stark x House Baratheon Reader

One or more parts in this story will include the following:

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW}, smut, minors DNI, new relationship, arguments, harsh words,longing, p in v, creampie, cum play, a little rough, Cunnilingus, fingering, consensual!, hes a big man, orgasm denial, one orgasm after another 🚨SLOW BURN🚨

Summary: You’re betrothed to Cregan Stark. The pair of you navigate this relationship of convenience and perhaps even find love.

Word Count: 3,317

*Not my Gif

A/N RANT: I find writing easy. I just splat ideas down on the page. It’s the editing that really gets me. I spend so much time deleting and rewriting, googling synonyms because somehow I’ve managed to use the same word 4,000 times in the last twenty sentences. Agonising over the wording and then Word for some reason trying to make me spell things in american. Then the grammar actually sends me over the edge, Word telling me that there should be a comma, so I add a comma and then no that’s wrong there shouldn’t be a comma there. It actually makes me go feral. Anyway, if anyone wonders why it takes me so long to post more parts, these are some of the reasons.

Chapter 1

It had taken a little over a month for your father and your entourage to reach the castle of Winterfell. As you journeyed, the number of layers and furs you wore in the carriage increased, each piece a necessary defence against the northern chill. It was the last day of the trip, and you were thankful it had finally come to an end, eager to sleep in the same bed for more than one night in a row. You stepped up into the carriage and turned to your father, who was already seated, his expression one of calm reassurance. "Almost there," he said, his voice steady as he attempted a smile.

You averted your gaze, sitting down and looking out at the landscape that unfolded outside. A heavy blanket of snow cloaked the ground, transforming the world into a vast, seamless expanse of white. The trees stood tall and skeletal, their branches laden with frost that sparkled like diamonds in the weak and low winter sun. Occasionally, the wind howled through the barren branches, sending a shiver down your spine and creating an eerie symphony that filled the otherwise still air.

The world outside seemed lifeless, devoid of colour and warmth—how you longed for the vibrant greens and the golden hues of the south, of home. You hadn’t seen an animal for more than a week, and the silence felt oppressive, magnifying the sense of isolation that you felt. Your mind wandered to what your sisters would be doing right now, likely studying or playing in the garden with your mother watching sewing something beautiful as she always was. A lump formed in your throat as you thought about how long it would be until you saw them again. This new landscape was as much a part of your new life as your upcoming marriage; it revealed in its stark beauty but also served as a constant reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. With the shutter closed, you felt a growing knot of anxiety within you, the weight of the impending changes heavy as the snow that blanketed the ground.

At some point, you had fallen asleep, though you couldn't recall when. The anticipation of the day had kept you awake through most of the night, and the uncomfortable seat of the carriage left your body aching. But then, the resounding blast of trumpets heralding your arrival jolted you from your sleep.

“Are we here?" you asked, glancing at your father, whose expression was distant, as if lost in thought.

"Yes," he replied, turning his gaze to meet yours.

"How long do we have before meeting the Starks?" you asked, smoothing your clothes and hoping the nap hadn’t left your hair in disarray.

"Lord Stark will greet us as soon as we step out of the carriage," your father replied, straightening in his seat.

"What? Aren’t we meeting in the hall after we've freshened up?" you exclaimed, taken aback by the immediacy, realising just how soon you'd face the man who’d share your future.

"Ah, but they're Northerners," your father said with a dismissive wave, "They'd find you lovely even in rags." The carriage lurched forward, jolting you both, as your heart raced.

You thought you would have just a little more time, a chance to gather your thoughts and brace yourself for the momentous introduction. Panic rose inside you as it became clear you had mere minutes before meeting the man who would be your husband.

Your heart raced with a flurry of questions and doubts. Would he be as the tales described—harsh and unyielding as the Northern winters—or might there be warmth beneath the layers of fur and Stoic silence? The uncertainties swirled, each more daunting than the last, wrapping around your thoughts like a relentless blizzard.

You fidgeted with the edge of your cloak, trying to calm the rising tide of unease. What if your mannerisms seemed too foreign, your presence too delicate for the rugged North? At this moment, you realised your entire future might rely on one singular, daunting introduction.

You focused on your breathing, counting each inhale and exhale slowly to five, as your mother had taught you to do in moments of unease. Her voice echoed in your mind, recounting stories of Lord Cregan Stark and how he had become the embodiment of his house’s strength. At just seventeen, he had fought for power against his uncle, rallying the North to his cause and earning the legendary title of the Wolf of the North.

Now, at twenty-five, he was widely renowned as the most powerful man in the region, with whispers even calling him the King in the North. His influence stretched far, untethered by the intricacies of southern politics. In the refuge of your measured breathing, you hoped to draw some comfort from the formidable reputation of the man who would soon become your husband. Could a man so brilliant at war be kind?

The carriage came to a rest, jolting you back to the present, you looked at your father, who attempted to give you a reassuring nod as the door of the carriage swung open. He moved through it first, giving you a precious few moments to prepare yourself before he turned and extended his hand inside the carriage to help you out and down.

The cold hit you first, making you draw a sharp breath, the icy air burning your lungs. For a brief moment, you looked around and watched as snowflakes danced in the chilled air, touching gently on Winterfell's ancient stone façade. You stepped out, the snow crunching beneath your feet, you were thankful for your father's firm grasp on your hand, worried for a moment that without it, you would slip.

The northern air was sharp and invigorating, a biting chill that seemed to permeate the very fabric of everything it touched. It was the kind of cold that, if endured for too long, would nestle deep into your bones, leaving a lingering reminder of the North’s untamed power. Pulling your thick cloak more tightly around yourself, you sought its warmth and comfort, a shield against the relentless chill.

Your father stepped forward with the practiced grace of his station, turning to address the Northerners who had assembled to witness your arrival.

"Greetings House Stark, I am Lord Borros Baratheon, of the House Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. I have come to present to you, my daughter." His voice was, steady and confident. It carried over the soft whisper of the wind, acknowledging the strength of the Northern families and the significance of the union that would soon bind Baratheon and Stark.

He turned to you and gestured for you to step forwards, and you did, curtseying to the group. Your eyes swept over the crowd of Northerners—a sea of rugged faces hardened by the winter landscape. And there he stood, amidst them, undeniably Cregan Stark. His towering form was enveloped in commanding furs, every inch the lord who embodied the unforgiving north. He looked younger than you thought he would, hearing stories of how the north aged you beyond your years made you worried about what you would be confronted with up getting here.

Cregan stepped forward with an elegant grace, offering a formal bow. Yet, the warmth in his eyes spoke an unspoken promise of understanding and curiosity.

"Welcome to Winterfell," his voice resonated, deep and steady, his accent thick.

Your father and Cregan began discussing the plans for the coming days, their voices a steady hum amidst the towering stone walls of Winterfell. You followed closely behind them, the chill of the Northern air slowly giving way to the warmth of the hall, its fires crackling and casting flickering shadows that danced across the ancient stone.

Eventually, you found your place on a chair, one of many surrounding a small table strewn with maps and parchments that detailed the intricacies of alliances and strategies. The gathering of lords settled into their respective seats, enveloping the table in a sense of purpose and gravitas. Your father leaned forward, engaged in discussions about the expectations of this union, emphasising duty and honour—the very fabric of noble life.

As they spoke, a few lords occasionally cast friendly glances in your direction, but you could sense the unspoken rules that governed the conversation. This was not the sort of assembly where women were expected to voice their thoughts; instead, you listened intently, absorbing the dialogue around you. It was both fascinating and daunting, a whirlwind of responsibilities that felt far removed from the warmth of family gatherings you had known.

You were taken aback that they allowed you to sit at the table at all, a privilege that your father would never have granted you in the South. Perhaps the customs were different in the North, a notion that intrigued and unsettled you. As your gaze wandered around the assembly, it landed on one woman at the table—until that moment, you hadn't realised she was among them.

Dressed in masculine attire, she seemed to blend right in with the lords surrounding her, sitting tall and confident as they addressed her with the same respect reserved for their male counterparts. It was a striking sight, one that momentarily pulled you from your anxious thoughts about the future.

Then, the unexpected happened; she caught your eye and offered a warm smile that brightened her otherwise stern countenance. Heat rose to your cheeks as you realised you had been staring. Quickly, you turned your attention back to Cregan, the man you were to marry, feeling the weight of the room around you as you grappled with the complexities of your new reality.

Cregan Stark was a striking figure to behold, towering head and shoulders above your father, making it instantly clear why others held him in such high esteem. His presence conveyed more than mere physical stature; as soon as he began to speak, his demeanour and the way he carried himself revealed the essence of a man of honour. Unlike the tall men of the South, who seemed like a gust of wind might send them hurtling over the battlements into the sea, Cregan's stature was built broad and firm.

The cloak draped over his shoulders only added to his impressive build, yet you could tell at a glance that this was a physique forged through hard work and rigorous training, not by indulgence in luxuries. Every movement hinted at discipline and strength, an embodiment of the Northern spirit you had heard so much about.

Your eyes focused intently on his face as he spoke, captivated by the way his shoulder-length brown hair framed his features, catching the light to highlight the rugged lines that undeniably spoke of his Northern lineage. Cregan had a strong jaw, lending a chiseled quality to his visage that perfectly complemented the air of unyielding determination he exuded.

But it was his piercing blue eyes that truly drew you in—striking and deep, they seemed to hold an entire world within them. In contrast to the often stark demeanour he carried, those eyes contained an unexpected warmth, like a flickering flame against the cold backdrop of winter. There was a kindness in their depths, a silent promise that perhaps beneath the fierce exterior lay a man capable of tenderness and understanding. With every glance, you felt the pull of his gaze, an invitation to see beyond the bravado and discover the complexities that made him who he was.

He turned and met your eye, and it took you a second to realise that he had asked you a question, you looked around the room at the lords. All poised to listen to your response. You looked to your father for guidance.

"You'll have to excuse my daughter, the journey north has been long. However, I do think that she has enough strength left to accept your suggestion of a tour of Winterfell." he smiled at Lord Stark, who looked from you to your father, an understanding smile playing on his lips as he worked out you hadn't been paying attention.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t expose your lapse in concentration, just stood and shook your father's hand. You stood too as all the other lords stood and moved towards the door. You watched as they filtered out of the room, your father and Cregan being the only two aside from yourself still left in the room.

"Well, I would say that no chaperone is required, it is said that no one in the realms have as much honour as the Starks." your father said, resting his hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked between the two of you.

He nodded and gave you a small smile and turned to leave the room, the guards at the door opening and closing the door. You felt the resounding boom of the door closing in your chest as it seemed to echo around the entire room. The room seemed smaller as you looked from the door to Lord Stark, he looked so much more intimidating now it was only you in the room.

"My Lady, what part of Winterfell would you like to see first?" he asked stepping towards you.

"I- I don’t know." you whispered, finding it too difficult to look him in the eye.

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to your cloak which you had removed and placed on the back of your chair.

You nodded, he carefully picked it up and placed it over your shoulders, you moved your hands to do up the buckle that would secure it to your body and turned to Lord Stark. The massive sword slung across his back caught your attention, its hilt visible above his shoulder—a symbol of the strength and legends whispered in the halls of your childhood home. It seemed a natural extension of him—an embodiment of Cregan Stark, the warrior and the lord.

He smiled down at you, warmth and friendliness lighting up his features. With a gentle tilt of his eyebrow, he extended his elbow towards you, inviting you to take it.

"Well, I shall show you my favourite parts of the castle, and then we'll join your father and the other lords for a late tea," he said, his deep voice smooth and rich, like honey.

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, as you took his hand and allowed him to guide you out of the room. Agreeing to marry someone you had never met was undoubtedly a gamble, fraught with uncertainties. Yet, with this match, a sense of hopefulness stirred within you—a feeling as if you had struck gold in a world tarnished by rusted steel.

Your thoughts drifted back to the moment you first learned of your betrothal. That night, your mother had remained by your side, holding you close as you cried, part of you mourning your childhood and the other terrified of the future. She assured you that everything would be alright, words you initially dismissed as just the comforting words you say to someone when they're crying.

But now, with time and distance, you started to see that moment in a different light. There was a certainty in her voice that had been unwavering, and it made you wonder if she had played a part in your match with Lord Stark. Her confidence lingered in your mind, suggesting that perhaps this match carried more promise than you dared to imagine in those initial, tear-filled moments.

Winterfell was a beautiful castle, said to be one of the oldest still standing. As Cregan showed you around, you noticed something different in the way he spoke. Unlike most men, who seemed more interested in proving themselves smarter than you by belittling or over-explaining, Lord Stark had a unique approach.

His way of speaking about the castle and its history felt more like listening to a passionate teacher than a rehearsed lecture. He engaged you with stories, making each tale and detail come alive, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of respect and curiosity grow within you. It was refreshing and made you appreciate not only Winterfell, but also the man guiding you through its storied halls.

He had suggested that the two of you look out over the battlements before retiring to the great hall for something to eat. The climb up to the battlements was more challenging than you had anticipated. The stairs were far narrower than any you had navigated at Storm's End, making you marvel at how men clad in armour could swiftly manoeuvre them during times of war. Yet, as you reached the top, the sight that greeted you was nothing short of breathtaking—a vast, snowy landscape stretching as far as the eye could see. There was a vast expanse of forest in the distance, but even that was coated in snow.

Your home back in Storm's End prided itself on its massive walls for protection against invaders. However, here at Winterfell, the tall walls paired with its isolated, formidable position in the North presented a different kind of strength. The harsh, unforgiving landscape surrounding Winterfell seemed an ally to its defenders, an icy gauntlet capable of claiming the lives of unprepared southern soldiers long before they could even reach the walls. The beauty and latent power of the scene sent a shiver through you, a reminder of the resilience required to thrive in this raw and rugged part of the world.

"There is a small moat hidden by the snow at the bottom of the wall," Cregan began, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he was sharing a secret of the North only a few were privy to. "If aren't aware of it and attempt to climb the wall, you sink into snow taller than a man."

You withdrew your hand from the warmth of your fur muff, moving to grasp the metal handle fixed to the wall, hoping to steady yourself for a better view over the battlements. The chill of the metal immediately shot through your fingers, contrasting sharply with the cozy warmth of the muff.

"Agh," you gasped, yanking your hand away from the frigid metal.

Before you could even check for injury, Cregan Stark's gloved hand enveloped yours with a surprising gentleness. He looked down at your hand, his thumb softly brushing across your palm, sending a tingle through your skin. "Careful, My Lady," he murmured, his voice carrying a deep, soothing timbre. "Warm hands stick to cold metal. You could lose some skin if you're not careful."

You grimaced at the thought and glanced back at the metal, reassuring yourself that none of your skin lingered there. "It burns,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the red mark on your palm.

Cregan's gaze met yours, holding a mix of concern and something unspoken. He raised his hand to his mouth, biting the finger of his glove and pulling it off, his breath misting in the cold air. He placed his large, now bare hand over yours, its warmth seeping through your skin, soothing the sting of the cold. His touch seemed to linger longer than necessary, then he removed his hand from yours and pulled the glove from his mouth.

"Careful my Lady, the cold burns sometimes more than fire." He remarked, eyes locked on yours, before slipping his hand back into the glove with deliberate care. "We ought to get you some gloves." His voice carried both practicality and an undercurrent of tenderness that surprised you.

He offered his arm once more, and this time, as you looped your arm around his, the touch felt more intimate, more charged. You tucked your hand back into your fur muff, your hand still feeling the ghost of his.

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