#and i’m not going to downplay what she did

[breakmeoff]

The Boy Next Door

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader

warnings: none I don’t think… angst?

word count: 5.3k

synopsis: you babysat him when he was 7 years old, and he’s had a crush on you since you met, despite the 8 year age gap.  between moves to other places and time, it’s been 14 years since you’ve seen each other even though your dads are still best friends, still live next door to each other, and keep up to date about each other's family.  you surprise chris at one of the skz shows, and he’s shocked to see you, and even more surprised that he still has a massive crush on you.  if only he could convince you to look at him in any other way than the boy next door.

note: so this is my first fic ever and this could be total garbage so please be gentle.  ages, timelines and relationships are adjusted for story purposes and this is all a work of fiction.  thank you for reading!

ONE WEEK AGO

“Happy Birthday, Squirt” you said with a mischievous smile, handing your 14 year old half-sister a bright pink envelope.  The living room was hideously shrouded with obnoxious decorations, and crowded with what seemed like a hundred teens, your dad, and your step-monstermother.  

Mia barely acknowledged you when you handed her her gift, engrossed in gossiping with her friends nearby.  Between the loud music and deafening teens, the volume in the room was enough to make you wish you’d brought earplugs.

The moment Mia opened her gift from you though, she immediately froze, speechless, eyes nearly bulging out of her head and she held her breath.  After a few seconds of silence from her, you furrowed your brows in question with a confused look on your face until… “OH MY GOD, STRAY KIDS TICKETS?!”  The high pitched shriek that followed caused the adults to wince, and the other kids in the room to crowd Mia immediately in pure envy.

Barely audible over the chaos, you squeaked out “yeah, we’re flying to Japan next week to see them.  Oh, and there’s backstage passes in there too.”  

You glanced over to your dad who was just smirking over the drink in his hand and shook his head.  With a subtle wave of his arm, he motioned you over to the side of the room away from the mayhem.  

You came up beside him, rested your head on his shoulder and took a sip of the drink in your hand.  “Well, I guess she liked it.”  You paused before sighing out, “...this is a terrible idea isn’t it?” 

“Yep,” was all he replied with a quick kiss to the top of your head.  “Better you than me.  Did you tell the Bahngs that you were going to do this?”

“No, I don’t want to bother them or be another person hounding them for access to Chris.  I figure it could be kind of fun to surprise him too when we get to go backstage.”  Standing back up straight and leaning against the wall behind you, you exhaled in realization.  

“Geez, it’s been what… almost 14 years since I’ve seen him?  I’m sure he won’t even remember who I am,” you said with a nervous laugh.

“Ohhh we both know that’s not true, that kid had the biggest crush on you growing up,” your dad said, glancing over at you beside him.  You scoffed, “pretty sure he had a crush on anything with boobs at that age.”  

Of course, this was the moment your step-mom decided to eavesdrop on your conversation.  “Y/N!  Language.”  Rolling your eyes, you took another sip of your drink.

The next thing you overheard was Mia downplaying the tickets, bragging to her friends “oh it’s really not that big of a deal, Chan is basically my oppa.  I go to their house all of the time.”  With a flick of her hair, the other girls in the room were gasping with jealousy and fangirling so hard you couldn’t help but drag a hand down your face.

-------------------------------------------------------------- 17 YEARS AGO

After several weeks of inadvertently doing yardwork at the same time, and a few heated discussions over the pros and cons of planting winter grass, your father quickly befriended your next door neighbor, Jack, and his young family.  Your mother and Jack’s wife, Jessica, became fast friends and bonded over emigrating from South Korea to Sydney, and how difficult it was to find decent hotteok anywhere.  More than anything, Jessica was thrilled to find out that your mother had a responsible, teenage daughter who could babysit.  

You were, not surprisingly, unhappy when your mom burst into your bedroom one morning and voluntold you that you’d be babysitting the three new kids next door; Christopher (7), Hannah (4) and Lucas (2 ½).  

At 15, and much happier curling up in your room alone with your headphones on, you would rather have been hung upside down by your toenails than spend your precious free time watching some snotty nosed kids.  

That was…  until you found out how much Mrs. Bahng was willing to pay for a few hours of reprieve every other weekend.  

Sure, at first it was definitely about the money, but over the next few years you actually became fond of the 3 Bahng kids, and genuinely started to enjoy spending time with them. 

Growing up an only child, you had always held a quiet jealousy of those who had a bigger family.  Now you could almost pretend that they were your own siblings; bickering and relentlessly teasing each other.

However, shortly after your 18th birthday you received your acceptance letter from The University of Melbourne and priorities began to shift.  At the end of the summer post graduation, and a ton of tearful goodbyes later, you packed up your life and moved to Melbourne, 9+ hours from everyone you loved.  

For the first few years, you still came back home to Sydney for holidays and extended breaks, but the longer you were away, the more immersed you became in your studies and were setting down roots, building your new life.

During your sophomore year at UoM, your parents separated and quickly divorced, recognizing they had nothing in common except their adoration for you, and you had proved you no longer needed them as much as they needed you.  A few months later, your mother moved to Melbourne to be closer, but your father stayed in the house next door to the Bahng’s.  

While your mom showed no interest in remarrying, it didn’t take long for your father to meet the “true love of his life,” a woman 15 years his junior.  Less than six months into their marriage, your half-sister Mia was born, not even a full 24 hours before your 21st birthday.  Your relationship with your dad always remained strong, but your birthdays slowly got overshadowed by the new addition to the family.

Five years after your move to Melbourne, you graduated with your Masters of Biomedical Sciences, and got a job working at a nearby hospital in their research department. Since then you’ve earned your tenure at the same hospital, managing a small group of researchers, and making more money than you ever anticipated.  

-------------------------------------------------------------- EARLIER TODAY

You and Mia had settled into your hotel room and were getting ready for, what she was declaring would be, the concert of the century.  Despite the significant age gap between you, and the distance of where you both lived, you had always made an effort to stay a part of Mia’s life and establish a solid relationship with her.  Her teenage energy was exhausting, but seeing the unadulterated excitement on her face was worth it. 

“I cannot believe I let you pick out my clothes...” you mumbled, looking at yourself in the mirror, wearing the new pieces that you let her select during your shopping spree earlier that day; a black mini skirt, a white tank top, tattered mesh leggings, platform black mary janes, and chunky black jewelry. You felt so uncomfortable, not because the outfit wasn't cute, but because it was so far from your normal style.

“We had to make sure your fit was snatched for when we see Channie later!,” Mia replied while putting on her shoes.

Glancing over your shoulder at your little sister you smirked and replied “Oh, no cap?  Bet.”  

Mia groaned loudly and threw herself down on the bed.  “Oh my god I HAAAAATE when you try to talk Gen A with me.”

You walked over and grabbed a pillow, lightly hitting your sister with it, torturing her even more as you continued to talk.  “What, I’m just trying to be a baddie GOAT that slaps for you!  I’m gonna be mewing and wiggling my gyatt all over the place, flexin’ my rizz all night!”  

Mia grabbed the pillow from you and screamed playfully into it before pulling it away and laughing up at you with a big smile.  “You are literally the worst.”  

“Yep, and you’re stuck with me.”  You smiled, helping her up from the bed and walked arm in arm together out of the room, ready to let your night begin. 

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

Two hours later, you found yourself in a group of roughly 30 others being guided backstage to a green room for the meet and greet with the boys from SKZ.   Once settled in the room, Mia’s eyes were glued to the door, bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet, just waiting to see her favorite idol again.  

As soon as the group walked into the room, Mia bolted straight for Chris, screaming “CHANNIE!!!!!” and flung herself at him before he could barely register what was going on.  

With a quick glance down to the crazed fan clinging to him, Chris instantly recognized the younger girl and wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.  “Mimi!  My favorite Stay!  What are you doing here?  There’s no way your Appa brought you here,” he said with a chuckle, looking up for the familiar faces of her parents.  

Mia pulled back just slightly, still not letting go of his waist, looking up at him with a huge smile on her face.  “No, Y/N brought me!  She got me tickets for my birthday and we wanted to surprise you!”  

Blushing deeply at her little sister’s over the top reactions, you walked over to the two of them and sheepishly waved your hand in greeting as you made eye contact with Chris for the first time in over a decade.  “Surprise…?,” you laughed nervously.

Chris blinked at you a few times, trying to wrap his brain around who was actually standing in front of him, and slowly let go of Mia.  “Noona?”  He asked incredulously, closing the distance between the two of you to pull you into a tight hug.  

“Oh, ooof,” you said as he almost knocked the wind out of you, gingerly wrapping your arms around him in return.  “Hey there… long time no see.”

By this point, most of the people in the room were looking at you all with quizzical looks on their faces.  Fans were staring, jealous of the way that you were getting to touch the idol.  The other SKZ members were glancing in question, wondering who Chan was talking to so familiarly and making him smile like that.

Ever the skeptic, Lee Know strolled over to the trio with a raised eyebrow, “Hyung… what’s going on over here?”  Finally dropping his arms from you, Chris glanced between his bandmate with a light blush on his cheeks, and looked back to you before speaking.  “This is my old babysitter, Y/N.”  

Lee Know opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out Mia chimed in, walking right up to him and giving him an overzealous hug, “and I’m his favorite Stay, Mia!”  

After studying them for a minute, Minho finally spoke with a tight lipped smile “it’s nice to meet you both,” he paused before looking back to you, “...please tell me you have embarrassing stories about him peeing his pants.  I beg of you, anything humiliating I can hold over him.”  

You laughed a little bit, and Chris quickly looked at you with a pleading look in his eyes.  “Please, please don’t…” he warned with a nervous laugh.  Looking back at Minho, you smirked playfully, “for the right price I am sure I can come up with something.”

A minute later, Lee Know looked over to Mia again, “do you want to come meet the other members?”  With a quick gasp, she nodded her head emphatically and said “YES!” before he led her away from you and Chan.

Now standing alone, you looked back up to Chris, lifting a hand to lightly tug at the fabric of his tank top.  “What, stylists can’t afford to put you in something with sleeves?”  Looking down at your hand that grazed his torso and back to your face, he chuckled lightly.  “Yeah, budget cuts.”  

After a beat, he motioned over to you.  “But… look at you!”

Glancing down at yourself with a sigh, you jokingly shook your head back and forth, “yeah, I know, pathetic trying to dress like someone 20 years younger.  I told Mia this was a bad idea,” you laughed lightly meeting his eyes again.

Chris simply shook his head, “no, I was just going to say you haven’t aged.  You look the exact same as you did when I last saw you.  Just… more mature.”

You smirked, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand, totally unsure of how to handle this interaction.  “It’s ok, you can call me old, I accept it.”  

With another chuckle, he smiled brightly at you and with a teasing wink added “you don’t look a day over 25.”

Rolling your eyes, you took another breath and were about to speak again before Chris’ manager walked over to him.  “15 minutes until show time.”  He nodded his head to the staff member before looking back over at you.

“I gotta go get ready but I’d love to catch up with you after the show?  Where are you staying?”  

Not wanting to bother him and his busy schedule, you shook your head “no, seriously you’re busy, it’s fine.  Maybe we can see each other when you’re back in Sydney next time.”

Chris grabbed your hand to emphasize his point, “no seriously, I have time later tonight and it’s been way too long.”  You nervously looked down at your hand clasped in his, which caused him to look down at them and quickly let go awkwardly.  Glancing back up at his face, you peered over to Mia laughing with Han while showing him something on her phone.  

With another breath, you looked back at Chris and told him where you were staying.  “If you aren’t exhausted and really do want to come by, there’s a bar down in the lobby where we can go get a drink after Mia’s settled in the room.”

Chris smiled again and exhaled a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he was holding.  “Yeah, that sounds good.  I’ll see you after… I hope you enjoy the show!”  Giving you one more quick hug, he went over to Mia who fiercely hugged him again, and begged for a quick selfie before the boys left the room.

Mia wandered back over to you as the band waved their goodbyes and thanked their fans, and excitedly grabbed your hand to pull you out of the green room.  “Let’s goooooooo!!! I wanna get to our seats and you have to buy me another SKZOO plush before the concert starts.  I think Han is my new favorite and I don’t have Quokka yet!”  

As you and Mia walked the opposite direction from the stage, Chris looked over his shoulder and watched the two of you disappear.  He’d meant it when he said that you hadn’t changed since he last saw you.  Well, maybe you had changed just a little.  He didn’t remember you being that beautiful before.

Minho followed his hyung’s eyes before looking back to his face, absently fiddling with his mic pack.  “Someone’s got a new crush on their Noona,” he said with a knowing smirk.  Chris glared over at him, defensively muttering “...do not.” 

Truth be told, Chris’ crush was anything but new.

-------------------------------------------------------------- TONIGHT

Walking back into their hotel room after the concert of the century, Mia was on cloud nine, still dancing and singing “LaLaLaLa” at the top of her lungs while you trailed behind her quietly, trying to shush her.  “Shhhhhh… there are people sleeping next door!”  

Mia rolled her eyes, shrugged her shoulders and began humming to herself instead, still completely lost in her own world.

You on the other hand were still trying to comprehend what you had just witnessed.  Sure you’d seen clips of SKZ shows before and obviously listened to their music, but seeing it in person was a different story.  

“I still can’t believe they dance like that in public…” you mumbled, mostly to yourself before Mia chimed in again.  “Oh my god, right?  They’re soooo hot!!!”  You looked over your shoulder at your sister and deadpanned at her.  “Gross.  On that note I’m going to go shower.”

45 minutes later, you had washed the evening off of you and put on a pair of joggers and a simple tee, threw your hair into a messy top knot, and glanced at your phone, noting it was about time Chris said he’d be at their hotel.

Not wanting to overly excite Mia who was almost passed out in her bed, you told her you were going to go hang out in the lobby so she could sleep undisturbed, and to text you if she needed anything.  With a dismissive wave from the teen who buried herself under the comforter, you turned to walk out the door.

Once in the lobby, which was not surprisingly pretty empty for the time of evening, you glanced around seeing no sign of Chan and wandered to the bar.  Pulling out a stool at the completely vacant bartop, you perched yourself on it and began scanning the cocktail menu.  Just as you were about to order, you heard a familiar voice.  “There she is.”

Turning your head to the side, Chris’ handsome face and bright smile came into view as he walked straight up to you and gave you another hug.  Over his shoulder you could see his security team find a couch in the lobby to wait in; far enough to not hear any of their conversation but close enough should there be a risk of any kind.

After he let go of you, he pulled out the stool beside you and sat down, unable to take his eyes off of you or wipe the genuine grin from his face.  Focusing your eyes back to him, you let a smile spread over your features.  “You know, I should call your Eomma and tell her that her son was gyrating in front of thousands of people.”  Chris barked a laugh and said “oh trust me, she knows, and she hates it.”

Grabbing the drink menu from your hand, Chris began perusing the options and when the bartender came back over he waited for you to place your order before asking for his.  Once alone again, he lightly drummed his hands on the bartop with a smirk.  “So what did you really think?”

Keeping quiet for a moment with a skeptical look, you finally spoke again with a small shake of your head.  “You guys were really good, Chris.  Like.  I almost understand why people like you.  I mean, you should definitely advise parental discretion for younger viewers but,” you paused with a quiet laugh, “you guys are really talented.”

“Why do you sound so shocked?”  He playfully narrowed his eyes at you, challenging your statement.  “You can’t tell me that that was the first time you heard our music?”

“No, definitely not, but I don’t know, I assumed it was maybe auto-tuned?”  You admitted.  “I mean, everyone else is these days so I thought you were too!”

“Auto-tuned??  How DARE you…” Chris laughed in response.  “No, I mean, obviously we do, especially in songs with a lot of dancing.”  

“Right but I was talking about the ad libs and the acapella portions.  You have a really nice voice!” you insisted, looking him in the eyes in an attempt to show you meant what you were saying.

“I feel like I should be offended by how surprised you are, but I will just take the compliment and say thank you,” Chris said with another flash of his brilliant smile.

The bartender dropped off both of your drinks, but before turning away he sheepishly.  “Um, excuse me, Mr. Bahng… could I get your autograph for my girlfriend?  She’s a huge fan…”

Chris smirked and grabbed a cocktail napkin as the bartender handed him a pen.  “Definitely, just please don’t ever call me Mr. Bahng again,” he said with a laugh, scribbling his name as requested and handed both the pen and napkin back to the bartender who whispered a thank you and wandered off.

You quietly observed the whole interaction, slowly shaking your head and sighed out as Chris’ attention was directed back to you.  “This is so weird…” you mumbled, picking up your glass.  

“What is?”  He innocently questioned, lifting his own glass, watching you.  

“This.  You.  You’re famous.  And like an adult.  A whole human being now,” you said, gesturing towards him as you spoke.

Pausing in reply, Chris lifted his glass to cheers yours.  “To being adults?”  He offered with a laugh, to which you clinked your glass against his before taking a small sip.  “Sure, let’s go with that.”  

After that, the conversation began to flow more naturally as you caught up on the gossip with your families, the ongoing concert tour, your life in Melbourne, and old memories.  The two of you sat comfortably laughing and reminiscing with each other in the otherwise empty lobby bar, and as the bartender handed you both your third drinks, you began to feel more relaxed with your old friend again.

“So,” Chris paused, taking a small sip from his fresh cocktail, “tell me.  You still with that doctor that I heard about through the grapevine?”  With a deep sigh and roll of your eyes, you leaned against the back of the stool and shook your head.

“No, turns out he took the phrase having good bedside manner too close to heart.  With a few of the nurses that work in the hospital with us.”  Chris winced at that new information, just as you raised your glass as you were remembering.  ‘Oh!  And the new research assistant on my team.  I get to see her face every day still.”

With a dry laugh, Chris gave you an apologetic look and shook his head.  “Well, from what I heard he was kind of a dick anyway so you’re better off without him.”

“Yeah, suppose so.  Just a 6 year waste of time.”  You said taking another sip.  Looking back over to him, “what about you, huh?”

“What about me?”  Chris asked, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the question and an amused, guilty look on his face.  

“You, the idol.  Got anyone special back home?  Or many special someones?,” you asked teasingly.

“Ahhh, nope!  No special someone.”  He paused.  “Or someones for that matter.  Don’t really have much time between the tour and producing.  Kinda hard to maintain a relationship when I’m so busy.”  

“Hmm,” you said thoughtfully, “that makes sense I guess.  But c’mon, you’ve got to have had girls throwing themselves at you every day.  I’ve seen your arms, Sir.”

Chris laughed again, blushing a little bit at the mention of his muscled limbs.  “I mean, sure, the fans are great but I try to avoid doing anything with Stays.  Too messy.”  

You stared at him with a disbelieving look.  “You’re trying to tell me you’ve never taken a fan back to your room after a show?”

“Uhh…” he smirked, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish look on his face.  “...maybe once or twice.”  

“Knew it,” you said smugly, lightly hitting his arm with the back of your hand.  “You’re way too good looking to not have indulged yourself a time or two.”

“You think I’m good looking?”  Chris replied quickly, arching his eyebrow.

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” you said as you focused your gaze back on your drink.

Pausing, Chris took a deep breath before exhaling.  “I used to have the biggest crush on you,” he blurted out, feeling a bit more emboldened from the alcohol, looking directly at you.

“I know…” you replied playfully, quietly, meeting his gaze.

“Oh.  Was I really that obvious about it?”  

“I think it was the fact that you couldn’t look at me for about 6 months that gave you away.  That, and Hannah told me she caught you writing a Valentine’s Day card for me once.”  You giggled a little bit, watching his face turn a subtle shade of red.

“Remind me to kill her the next time I see her.”  He paused, unable to meet your eyes for a few moments.  “Can’t really blame me though… you were always so pretty.”

Scoffing and lifting your eyebrow at him, “Pretty?  I was a string bean with greasy hair, glasses too big for my face and absolutely no style.”

“It’s your smile, and the way that your eyes always sparkle.”  Now Chris was looking directly at you again, and you couldn’t help but notice the way he chose his words - no longer speaking in past tense.

With a light dusting of pink to your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile, though making eye contact was becoming increasingly more difficult.  “Ahh…” you mumbled, not entirely sure how to reply.

At that moment, between the late hour and alcohol starting to cloud your mind, you caught yourself nearly forgetting that the man in front of you was no longer the little boy you used to babysit.  That tightness presenting itself in your chest usually only appeared when you were being flirted with.  Surely that’s not what was happening here… couldn’t be.

“Well I think that that’s pretty common, for boys to have crushes on their babysitters.  It’s like a right of passage or something,” you said dismissively.  “Totally normal and they always grow out of it.”

“Not always…” Chris admitted quietly.

“Haha, very funny.”  Leaning forward, you picked up your drink again, doing everything you could think of at that moment to ignore that uneasy feeling starting to spread through your body.

Just then, the bartender walked over and slid over the tab, alerting you both that the bar was closing.  “Oh shit, it’s past 2am…” Chris said after looking at the time on his phone and then over to his security team.  Turning his attention back to you “I didn’t realize how late it was, and I’ve got an early rehearsal in the morning.”

Shaking your head, you finished the last remnants of your drink.  “No, of course, I can’t believe that time slipped away like that.”  Chris grabbed his wallet and threw down more than enough cash for the tab and tip before standing and helping pull out your barstool.

“It’s been really good to see you, Y/N,” Chris admitted with a smile, boldly extending his hand out to run down your arm.  “Like, really good.”

Blushing yet again, you nodded and faced him.  “Yeah… I can’t believe how you’ve grown up.  I’m really proud of you,” you replied with an upturn in the corner of your lips.

“Fully grown now,” Chris confirmed, trying to emphasize to you that he was no longer a kid.

“So it seems…” you nod lightly, but Chris speaks again before you could continue.

“How long are you in town?  Can I see you again tomorrow?”  His eyes are intent, focusing on you.  

“Um… we are here for one more night.  But you’ve got another show and I am sure you’re busy..”

“No, I mean it.  Can I meet you back here tomorrow night after the concert?”  Chris is almost pleading with you by this point.

Something inside of you was warning you that this seemed like a bad idea.  You’d always loved Chris, but this was feeling very different and you hadn’t felt this nervous in way too long.  “I really don’t want to be a bother to you,” you attempted, trying to dissuade him from pushing.

“Is your phone number still the same?  I’ll call you when I’m free tomorrow to see?”  You could tell by the look in his eyes that he wasn’t going to let this go.

With a sigh, you nodded your head in defeat.  “Yeah, it’s the same.  We can play it by ear.”

Finally he dropped his shoulders and a smile crept back up his face.  “Great.  Let me at least walk you to the elevator.”  

“Always so chivalrous,” you teased, taking a step forward towards the hallway.  As you began to move away, Chris’ hand lightly landed on the small of your back.  The small gesture caused your breath to catch, the feeling way more intimate than it should be.

Once you made it to the double doors, Chris dropped his hand finally and reached out to push the button to call the elevator before turning back to fully face you.  “I’m so glad that you and Mia came to the show.  It was a really nice surprise.  Especially after all this time.”

At this point you were hyper aware of how close he was standing to you, and internally you were trying not to overanalyze his every move.  He was just being polite.

“Yeah, totally worth it.  I can’t wait to go back to work next week and brag to the interns about the fact that I had drinks with the leader of Stray Kids,” you said with a smirk, trying to diffuse the situation.  Poorly.

Hearing the elevator ding with its arrival, you glanced over to it before looking back at Chris.  “Thank you again for meeting me tonight.”  He murmured as he began to lean in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you tightly.  

Hesitantly, you lifted your own and placed your arms around his shoulders, dropping one hand to his back, where you couldn’t help but feel the defined muscle beneath it.  From where you were standing, it was impossible not to truly notice how powerful his body had become; no longer scrawny and unsure, but strong and confident.

“Of course,” you mumbled back in response, moving your hands over his shoulders and down his arms, leaning back a little bit, trying to gain some distance between the two of you.  Looking back up to his face, you were about to say goodnight when…

Chris took a deep breath and whispered “fuck it,” mostly to himself, before he quickly leaned back in and pressed his lips against yours.  It was chaste, and soft, and shocking.

Lifting both of your eyebrows in surprise, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders and pushed him back a little bit, “whoa there…” you said quietly, looking at him like he’d lost his mind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, struggling to make eye contact again.  “I’ve just wanted to do that since I was 8 years old,” he laughed quietly, moving his hand to rub the back of his neck.

Dropping your left hand, the right one trailed down his arm to his hand.  Giving it a reassuring squeeze, he lifted his head to look at you with a sheepish grin on his face.  “Glad you got that off your chest, and now you can move on past that silly crush,” you laughed, trying to diffuse the awkward moment.

The elevator doors began to close again, and you quickly stepped forward, sticking your arm out to get the motion sensor to reopen them.  Looking back to Chris, you gave another weak smile and stepped into the elevator, forcing the distance between you again.  “Goodnight Chris, and thanks for the drinks.”  

He nodded his head in reply, quietly mumbling “yeah, goodnight” giving a light wave of his hand before the doors closed, forcing physical separation between the two of you.

Chris stayed there for a moment, shifting his gaze to the floor, his mind beginning to run circles.  While you tried to make light of his crush, he knew for certain that it was not going to go away that easily.

Turning back to his security detail and towards the front door, Chris made a decision right then and there that he was more determined than ever to prove to you that he was no longer the boy next door.

[gemmafuckingscout]

i choose to believe people are posting this out of ignorance but i actually really need the hellyna stans to understand the ortbo tent scene was not dubious consent, it was non-consensual. enough people have posted about this. i think we should all know better by now.

[cavillary]

“the social media incident that became public” you mean the homophobic, transphobic, racist, hateful beliefs she openly supports??? including towards a previous player for her fucking team??? whose number she wore???

i’m glad it’s being talked about and ik you have to watch your wording on national tv but it’s so much more than a fucking incident

[mint-mumbles]

Gonna make a list of queer characters that don’t outright state their queerness because a certain group of people complaining about the handling of a certain character’s arc from a certain game is pissing me off

“They didn’t make her say she was trans so that means that they’re giving us a ‘fuck you’/we need confirmation or it isn’t valid and transphobes will be transphobic/they’re queerbaiting!”

Shut the fuck up

The fact that we’re even at this point is a miracle in itself and needing every character to explicitly say their orientation and/or gender identity shows how ignorant you are, not just regarding media literacy, but also on queer history

By your myopic lens you’re discrediting a lot of queer characters that didn’t and/or couldn’t outright say that they’re queer

Characters shouldn’t have to outright say their orientation and/or gender identity for you to consider them “good rep”

That perspective is ridiculously narrow minded and downplays the importance of previous queer characters that helped pave the way to where we are now

Update: Here it is!

[luveline]

Hey lovely !! <3 could we see Spencer’s bombshell! Reader going into labour at the BAU but trying to downplay it like Pam did on the office !! (So sorry if you’ve already done a request like this) <333 have a lovely day ☺️

thank you <3 pregnant!reader, 1.3k

“Spencer?” 

Spencer groans into his pillow. 

Your hand slips onto his stomach. “Spencer, can you wake up?” 

“No,” he mumbles, lifting his head off of one of the many pillows of your bed. He thought his bed at his apartment was comfortable, but Spencer has never slept so well as he does in your new bed, in your new home, with you warming the sheets beside him. What a miracle to live with you, the rush to get everything done before your due date complete. 

You make a strange noise, hard to see in the dark as he opens his eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asks. 

You struggle into a sitting position. Angel, he thinks sympathetically, you’re fit to burst, your baby bump as big as it’s going to get and awfully heavy. He sits up with you, putting his hand behind your back. “Baby?” he prompts. 

“I think,” —you sound meek, not yourself, each word said reluctantly— “that I’m having real contractions.” 

Spencer’s head isn’t working. He takes a few seconds to hear you, and then another few to realise what you’ve said. “Are you sure?” 

“They’re really painful.” 

Braxton Hicks (which you’ve had, and not enjoyed) aren’t usually really painful. They’re also irregular. “How many have you had? Has it been long?” he asks. 

“Maybe five. They’re like…” You take his hand. “They’re like, they go on for ages. I’ve never felt anything like it.” 

“So you’re in labour,” he says, grasping your hand back. “Definitely. Let me get my watch, I need to time your contractions. Are you okay?” 

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head. “I’m not in labour. I’m going in to labour.”  

“It’s the same thing,” he says. He has boxes and boxes of mental knowledge explaining the difference, but he’s too excited to catch your strange tone. “I’ll be right back.” 

He races from the bed to the bathroom where he’d left his watch. You should be having contractions far apart at this point, around fifteen to twenty minute gaps, but it could be much further or far sooner, and Spencer doesn’t know when you had your last. He needs to time them properly so he knows when to take you to the hospital. 

“Good thing we packed your bag yesterday morning, huh?” he asks, sliding back into bed with a huge smile on his face. “And you showered last night, you’re ready to go. I have all our things in the trunk, but Morgan’s gonna have to come and do the car seat, I forgot all about it.” 

You shake your head again. 

He worries it’s from pain. “Is it starting?” 

“No, no, I’m not having any. I think it’s just cramps, actually.” 

“What?” He puts his hand on your bump. “That’s what they feel like, honey, it’s cramps, it’s your cervix contracting, it feels just like a cramp.” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

Spencer cups your cheek, his fingertips sliding softly to the corner of your eye, his thumb by your nose. You look younger without any makeup on, younger still with your creeping frown. “Hey,” he says, his voice half breath, hoping you’ll look him in the eye, “hey, what’s going on?” 

Your eyebrows start to pinch down. “It’s not labour.” 

“Is something wrong?” 

“I’m not having her.” 

“She had to come out some time,” he says, attempting to be funny and lighten the mood. 

“I really think it’s fine. I’m just having those Braxton Hicks again, it’s too far from my due date–”

“Angel, it’s a week away. We knew it could happen now.” He strokes your cheek again. “We don’t have to go yet. Let me time a couple of your contractions and see what we’re working with.” 

“It’s not…” You duck your head. The catch of pain gets you, and Spencer checks his watch. Four minutes past four in the morning, the longest hand at five seconds. Then he looks for your hand again to hold in his, his own panic backseated by your denial. “They’re not that bad,” you say stiffly. 

“That’s good, honey, but they’re going to get worse. Remember what we said, huh? The pain will get really bad, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. We have a plan.” 

“It’s not real.” 

“Baby,” he says, tugging your hand imploringly to his chest, his voice having descended to a place it so rarely goes, “what are you scared of?” 

“That I can’t do it,” you say. 

“Is your contraction over?” he asks, noticing the laxening of your fingers. 

“Yeah.”

He’s silent for a few seconds. 

“Is there anything in the entire world that you can’t do?” 

You sniff. 

“Seriously. I can’t name a single thing you can’t do. This isn’t different. It’s going to be scary and painful, and it’s not something I want for you, not really, but you’re about to have a baby.” He rubs your thumb, ducking his head in the hopes that the movement will make you raise your own. “Our baby. We’ve waited such a long time.” 

“Nine months.” 

“Thirty nine weeks and two days. That's two hundred and seventy five days waiting. This is a good thing,” he says, meeting your eyes the moment you raise your head. “The waiting is over. This is the fun part.”

“‘Cos our girl is coming,” you say. 

He grins. “Exactly! I know you’re scared, but thinking you can’t do it? Of course you can. And I’m gonna be with you the whole time.” 

“You promise?”

“Of course I do.” 

You wipe your eyes with the backs of your hands. Spencer lets his palm fall onto your thigh. It really is going to hurt. It’s gonna be pain like you’ve never felt before, and he’s terrified of everything that could go wrong, but what’s important now is making sure you know you’re going to be alright. 

“You’re going to be a beautiful mom,” he says, rubbing your thigh, softer from time spent resting. “I’m so excited I can’t describe it. This time, the day after tomorrow, we could be here with her. We’ll be putting her down to sleep in the nursery in her newborn onesie we picked out, the–”

“Little rabbits,” you say, the hint of a smile on your lips. 

“I can’t wait to see her face.” 

“Her little fingers.” 

“Her nose, her eyes–”

“You said babies have their moms hands.” 

He smiles. “I have my mom’s. Can you imagine? And we get to find out today.” 

You let him touch your stomach. “I know what you’re doing.”

“You always do.” 

“I’m so scared.” 

“Sweetheart, let me be the scared one.” 

“You’re not gonna dilate ten centimetres!” 

“You’ve probably already done one,” he says. “Just nine more to go.” 

His joke doesn’t land. To his horror, you end up sniffling and locked up with panic. He rubs your back in long sweeps, feeling younger than ever kneeling in bed at your side, minutes droning on. He’s pulling your head into his neck thinking he’s completely out of your depth when you say, “It’s starting again, Spence.” 

He checks his watch. “That’s eleven minutes.” 

Your contractions will get worse soon, and closer together. You probably don’t have long until it starts, and labour might go on for hours. To do this, you're going to have to believe That you can. 

Spencer takes your face into his hands and looks you right in the eyes. “You can do this. I know you can.” He pecks you gently. “Angel, if anyone in the world can do this, it’s you.” 

You take a deep breath. He watches your nerves turn to determination, turn to love. “I know.” 

“Is there anything you need me to do before we start getting ready to leave?” 

You give a soft smile. “Kiss for luck?” 

He’s gonna need it. 

[loveluvrs]

unfamiliar l lando norris x reader

request/summary – reader getting overwhelmed (in a good way) at all the care and love lando shows her, despite how she's been treated her whole life

author's notes – this is just pure fluff, ive had no motivation lately so please send requests!! 🙏

Lando and I are at his parents’ house for dinner, and I’m helping his mum wash the dishes and clean up afterwards when I accidentally drop one of the glasses. The glass shatters everywhere, and I immediately panic. I start apologizing profusely since usually my family would get mad if I broke something. Lando froze as the glass dropped onto the floor, and he immediately processed the way I was apologizing out of habit. He wrapped his arms around me to calm me down, speaking to me softly, “hey, hey, hey… its alright, baby… are you okay?”

“Yeah but I dropped the glass and it fell everywhere and now you’re gonna have to clean it up and-“ I begin to ramble on nervously. He squeezed his arms around me lovingly to cut me off. “I know, my love, I know. I heard when you dropped it, but are you alright? Did you get cut anywhere by the broken glass?”

I stopped as I lifted my head up to look at him. “…You’re not mad?” I asked quietly. “No, of course not… it was an accident. The important thing is that you’re okay, and you’re not hurt,” he says softly as his hand rubs my back lovingly in the hug. I frown, my heart aching from the care and consideration he was showing towards me. “I’m alright,” I mumble. 

The frown on your face made Lando’s heart drop for a second. He knew you never had a great relationship with your parents, but it was only at this moment that he realized you weren’t at all used to the love he was giving you. He didn’t like the thought of someone ever getting upset at his girl for a small accident like dropping a glass, and he knew of course that she wouldn’t have said anything back. He sighs. “As long as you’re okay, baby, that’s what matters…” he says softly. 

“I did get just a small cut, though,” I say quietly as I turn over my hand to Lando. He instinctively ran his finger over the cut, figuring out how bad it was. It was a small cut, but he couldn’t help but worry. “Doesn’t look too bad… does it hurt much?” He asks with concern lacing his voice in each word. I shake my head no as I say, “just stings a tiny bit,” trying to downplay the injury. 

Lando brought me upstairs, sitting me down on the bed in his childhood room. He washed off the cut and wrapped a bandage around it, tending to me with extreme care the whole time. 

“How come you’re not mad?” I asked curiously. He smiles softly as he looks up at me, speaking in a soft and gentle tone to not worry me. “I’m not mad because it doesn’t make sense for me being mad. It was an accident. You shouldn’t be yelled at for accidentally dropping a glass. I was just worried if you were hurt or not, that’s the only thing I care about.”

I frown as I feel his words pull at my heartstrings. “I love you, thank you for treating me like this,” I say softly. I look down at him, still kneeling in front of me with my hand in his. “I love you too, baby, and I’m always going to treat you like this. I’d gladly rather take some pain from you, just to make sure you’re safe and happy. It’s really just not worth it getting mad over something like this, especially not getting mad at you,” he says with the utmost gentleness. 

“It’s just so…. different to what I’m used to. I never know how to act when you give me all this love, Lan,” I say as I interlock our fingers. He gives a sympathetic smile. He hates how you were trying to process the amount of love he was giving you. He knew you had always been so used to people giving you a hard time over minor things, so much so that being shown love was so foreign to you. His heart aches as he thinks about how hero desperately wants to change all of that and love you in every way possible. “I know, my love. Just try your best, because I’m going to keep giving you a whole bunch of love,” he teases. 

I sniffled as my eyes became glossy with tears. “I’m- I’m sorry. I just- I love you so much,” I muttered as I tried to hold back my tears. Lando immediately wiped away my tears with the pad of his thumb, his touch gentle and as light as a feather. He lets out a sigh. “I love you too. So much. And don’t ever apologize to me for showing your emotion, hmm?” He says as he brushes a hand through my hair. 

I sniffle once more, the sobs forming at the back of my throat. “I just- you show me how you care about me so much. and I don’t know how to react to these things. I don’t know how to show you I love and care about you just as much,” I say with a frown. 

Lando squeezes my hand. “That’s okay.. Just do whatever you’re comfortable with doing, you hear me? I know you’re not used to all of it, so all I really need is you being comfortable with me. That’s it,” he says softly as he places a kiss on the back of my hand. At his words, I hold my arms wide for a hug, as his hands wrap around my waist, my face burrowing in the crook of his neck. “I’ll help clean up the mess, I promise,” I mutter into his neck. 

Lando pulls back ever so slightly from the hug so he can see my face. “You can if you want to. But baby, why do you feel the need to do all this? I mean, yeah I want the glass cleaned up, but my mum and I can do that ourselves while you can just relax?” He asks in confusion. 

“i just- i dont know. it always feels like i need to compensate with doing work for others so that they don’t get mad at me and they still like me,” I murmur quietly. “Aaaaand see… there is the problem. You feel like you need to compensate and do work for others so that they don’t get mad and stay with you. But you don’t have to compensate for me… or my mum… the two of us would be perfectly happy with you just enjoying your time here and not dealing with the cleanup…” Lando says as he tilts my chin up ever so slightly so I look at him in the eyes. 

“But how are you gonna love me if I don’t do things for you guys?” I ask with a frown. 

“I love you for who you are as a person, baby. It's okay for you to do things for me for the sake of showing that you love me or whatnot... but you don't need to do extra things just to make me or my mom like you, or just to make sure I don't leave you. Does that make sense?” He says softly. I fidget with my fingers nervously at his words. 

“Babe, what's wrong...?” He asks with a small sigh. 

“It’s just all so unfamiliar…” I whisper quietly into his neck. Lando traces circles into the small of my back as he hears this, “mhm, I know it is… I’m just trying to make it less unfamiliar to you. It might take some time, but I’ll be here the whole time so you can get used to it.”

He pulled back from the hug as he held my hand again, still making sure that he was gentle. “I’m just scared it won’t ever be familiar to me,” I confess in a hushed whisper. 

Lando immediately frowned at my words, as he felt his heart ache a little, “hey, don’t be scared of that… because I’m going to take care of you the whole time, yeah? I’m gonna make sure that it eventually will be familiar for you. That it’ll be normal for you.” He rubs his thumb over my hand, looking at me with loving eyes. “You’ll get used to this… to being treated this way… to the love… I promise.”

I nod. “Thank you for taking care of me,” I say every so softly. “No need to thank me, just the bare minimum for my girl, hmm?” He says as he pulls me in for a short kiss. And just for that one moment, he needed me to feel like there was nothing wrong with all the love he was giving me, that there was nothing else I ever deserved in the whole world. 

[itsgivingmami]

A Long Search Ended

Part One- Real And Dangerous

Rhea Ripley x Reader

You almost didn’t go.

Not because you were nervous—but because you’ve learned to trust your instincts, and this had every opportunity to go wrong.

Anonymous messages. Confident, clipped texts signed “Mami.” Lavish coffee tips sent to your link every morning—5x the price of what you actually ordered. Then, the invite: an upscale rooftop bar downtown, no profile picture, no name, just “Wear black. I’ll know you.”

You’d Googled the bar three times. Glass railings. Skyline views. Cocktails named after ancient gods. You weren’t scared. You were just strategic.

You wore your sharpest heels. Vintage. Black satin. They hurt a little, but that was part of the look. You didn’t come here to play small.

You told yourself you’d leave after one drink. Just long enough to prove you weren’t afraid of your own power, your own choices.

And then you saw her.

Rhea Ripley.

Nothing like you imagined—and somehow exactly what you’d hoped for.

She’s already at the corner table, silhouette haloed in citylight, like the universe remembered how to draw desire in human form. Tall, inked, dressed in black. Button-down half open, chains catching the glow, jawline so clean it could cut glass. One arm slung over the chair. The other holding a drink like it owes her something.

She isn’t scrolling. Isn’t looking around.

She’s already watching you.

And she smiles.

You walk toward her like you own the place.

“You came,” she says, voice smooth and grounded in velvet. “Good girl.”

Your spine straightens, but you don’t flinch. If anything, your smirk answers hers.

“I almost didn’t,” you admit, sliding into the chair she just pulled out for you with one hand. “You know how this can be,” Rhea hums in agreement, “But something told me you’d be real. That or dangerous.”

She shrugs, amused. “Can’t promise I’m not both.”

She gestures toward the bar without breaking eye contact. “What’ll you have, pretty girl?”

You give your order with a nod—unapologetic but polite. She watches you like she’s impressed already.

You know how to hold her attention. And you like the weight of it and have no intention of handing it over to someone else.

The drinks come fast. She tips without looking. The man behind the bar practically trips over himself to say thank you.

Rhea doesn't blink. Her attention is on you.

“So,” she says, swirling the rim of her glass with one ringed finger, “let’s get the formalities out of the way.”

You cross your legs slowly– controlled. “Sure.”

“What are you looking for?” she asks, tone low. Curious, not calculating.

You don’t blink. “Someone who gets it. Who spoils because they want to, not because it’s earned by fake sweetness. I’m not an actress. If I flirt, it’s because I feel like it. If I don’t, I won’t fake it for a handbag.”

Her expression doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes sharpens. Like she’s just made a decision.

“I don’t like girls who fake it either,” she says. “Good. Keep going.”

You take a slow sip. “I’m not naive. I know what this is. But I don’t want to be bought. I want to be chosen. And I want the same right in return.”

Rhea nods, thoughtful. “So you want power. Just not a leash.”

“I want someone who sees me as a luxury. Not a receipt.”

That earns you a grin. “Fuck. You’re better than I thought.”

You lift a brow. “What did you think I’d be?”

She leans in, resting her forearms on the table. “ Too timid. Or greedy. Either way, forgettable.”

You let the compliment sit. You don’t need to downplay it. You don’t blush. You just smile and take another sip.

“And you?” you ask. “What are you looking for?”

Rhea’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“Someone who lets me take care of them,” she says simply. “Without guilt. Without games. I want to come home from a week of throwing chairs and fists and find a reason to breathe out. I want soft moments. Eye contact. Quiet trust. And I want to give you everything that makes your life easier.”

She tilts her glass. “That’s the deal.”

You study her. “That sounds dangerously good.”

She smirks. “Baby, most people agree I am.”

There’s a silence that crackles between you. Not awkward. Heavy. Bright. Something dangerous and golden and electric.

“So,” she adds, voice silkier now, “what’s your allowance minimum?”

You don’t squirm. You don’t hedge.

“A thousand a week,” you say easily. “At baseline.”

She tilts her head like she’s watching a spark she’d only hoped to see.

“Add a zero,” she replies, lifting her drink. “And don’t insult yourself like that again.”

You blink, momentarily stunned but you don’t flinch. “You don’t know if I’m worth that.” and factually, you’re right. But the two of you are old hands at this game and from what she's seen so far, she wants you as her playmate.

She grins, slow and devilish. “I’ll enjoy finding out.”

You sip your drink like it doesn’t matter. Like the idea of her isn't causing you excitement. Like the ice doesn’t burn down your throat and the way she’s looking at you doesn’t stir heat low in your stomach.Like she hasn’t even paid for anything yet and you feel spoiled. You hum thoughtfully, setting the glass down.

“I’m not cheap,” you murmur. “In case that’s unclear.”

Rhea’s gaze narrows—pleased. “Good.”

She leans forward, resting her forearms on the table, her rings catching the glow from the candle between you. “Cheap doesn’t suit you. You wear value too well.”

You let your lip curve up slightly, just enough to show her you heard the compliment. Just enough to let her know she’s earned another.

“You always this smooth?” you ask, tilting your head.

“No,” she says simply. “Only when I want something.”

That makes your brow lift—just a little. “And what exactly do you want, Mami?”

The nickname rolls off your tongue like you’ve always said it. Like it belongs there. And Rhea, for a fraction of a second, loses her rhythm. Her brain forgets that she’s heard a thousand people call her that, but she's never heard you do it and she's not sure she cares to hear it from anyone else again. Her jaw flexes. Her thumb taps once against her glass.

Then she recovers.

“I want late-night drives with someone who knows how to sit in silence and still be heard,” she replies. “I want to spoil a woman who doesn’t apologize when she asks for more. I want to be the one she texts when she’s bored, or hungry, or just needs to feel expensive for no reason. I don't want someone who thinks they're bothering me for something when i've told them a thousand times I want to give it”

She leans in just enough for the scent of her cologne to wrap around you—clean and rich and a little dangerous.

“I want to give you the world,” she says. “If you’re smart enough to let me.”

The words settle between you like silk sheets—cool at first, but warming fast.

Your fingers trace the rim of your glass pink lip pulled between your teeth and you listen. “And what do you get?”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “The pleasure of watching you take it.”

It’s almost too much. Her confidence, the way she seems to genuinely crave this, the way no woman you could’ve met on the site compares to this. Almost.

But you’re better at holding your own than most and she's clearly looking for experience, or at least the illusion of it. You sit back, letting the silence drag for a beat—let her feel you assess the offer like it’s one of many. Even though you already know no one else could hold a candle to her.

“I don’t fake things,” you reiterate one last time, the honesty she brings to the table prompts your own, “Not pleasure. Not conversation. Not interest.”

“I don’t want to pretend I do enough of it at work, paid for too many fake girls to last me lifetimes,” she replies instantly. “I want you.”

The way she says it—low and unapologetic—catches something behind your ribs.

Your voice softens, but it doesn’t tremble. “You’re sure?”

Rhea tilts her head. “I’m never not.”

Another beat. The tension shifts, subtle but seismic.

You feel it in your spine.

In the air between your knees under the table.

In the way she watches you like she’s ready to spend ten grand and not even ask for your name in return—just to see you smile like this again.

“So,” she murmurs, her voice a velvet blade, “are you ready to let me take care of you?”

Your heart doesn’t race.

It prowls.

You lean forward slightly, letting your knee brush hers beneath the table.

“Yes,”

—

The night ends before you’re ready.

Not because you’ve run out of things to say—if anything, your words are starting to blur, pulled close by candlelight and that low drawl of hers that always lands somewhere just behind your navel. You’ve kept her entertained—despite the fact she’d be happy staring at you in that dress.. You’ve kept control.

But she’s still holding the power.

And you like it that way.

You’ve spent the past two hours with her —drink in hand, gaze heavy on your lips, never once pretending to look away. She asked questions with the kind of focus that made your pulse jump, voice low and unhurried. She never pushed. Never pressed. Just… let the silence stretch where it needed to, like she trusted you’d fill it with something worth hearing.

And you did.

The bartender dims the lights slightly. The crowd thins. Rhea finishes her drink, slow, and stands.

Her hand extends toward you—rings catching light, wrist inked, knuckles slightly bruised. You take her hand, gentle around the wounds, your fingers sliding against hers in a soft grip that still makes your stomach twist. She helps you from the booth like it's a habit. Like it’s instinct. Like you already belong where her hand goes first.

You don’t speak.

Not yet.

The walk out is quiet. Her body close to yours, not crowding but anchoring. Every few steps, her hand grazes your back—just enough to remind you she’s there. That she’s watching. That this isn’t some exit on autopilot. She’s walking you out. You get the attention. Not the others still sipping expensive cocktails or leaning too hard at the bar.

Outside, the air is cooler. Wind brushes your legs. You don’t shiver, but she notices.

Without a word, she shrugs off her jacket and drapes it around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells like leather and cologne and her skin. You close your fingers over the lapel on instinct, holding it there.

Then she holds out a small, folded square of paper. The kind you only get when someone wants to make sure you don’t forget the moment.

Your name is written on it in her handwriting. Strong. Slanted. Clean.

You glance from the paper to her face. She’s unreadable beneath the soft glow of the streetlamp.

“I want to know when you’re home safe,” she says simply. “That’s my real number.”

You blink.

because you’re surprised— “You don’t want to use the app messenger?” —because she’s cutting straight through the act. No games. No waiting.

“You’re giving this to me after one night?” you ask, brows lifting.

“Sweetheart,” Rhea murmurs, stepping closer, “I was going to give it to you before you even sat down.”

The words make something inside you pull tight.

She lifts a hand and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear where the wind’s loosened it. Her knuckles drag down the edge of your cheek—slow, reverent, like she’s memorizing the curve of your skin with her hands instead of her eyes.

It’s not a move. It’s a choice.

A final act of care before you part.

“Im done with maybes,” she says. “You’ve said yes, I don’t keep my options open”

You stare up at her, heart steady now but beating hard. There’s no hesitation in her gaze. No uncertainty in her voice. Just the weight of a choice already made.

“…Thank you,” you say quietly. Not shy. Just honest.

She leans in—not for a kiss, not yet. Just close enough that you feel her breath against your lips when she speaks.

“Text me when you get home,” she says. “Or I won’t sleep.”

You nod.

She opens the door for you, waiting until you slide inside before shutting it gently behind you. She doesn’t wave. Doesn’t smile again. She just stands there—tall, steady, unmoving—watching you like a promise.

And when you finally unfold the note in your lap, the number is written in thick black ink. At the bottom, in the corner, there’s a small sketch—

A heart. Simple. Inked in the same bold hand.

Claiming you without asking permission. For the first time since the sun began to set, you allow yourself to feel excited.

And all the way home, the paper sits in your lap like it’s worth more than every hundred-dollar bill you’ve ever touched.

—

The city hums around her, alive, neon and windy—but Rhea walks like she’s underwater. She barely takes in the scenery as she reflects on the past 3 hours, the front of her brain still flashing with memories she’d like to keep for later. She could’ve called for another car but there's something about you that brings a nostalgia she doesn't recognize, but drags her along the busy street anyway.

Boots heavy. Hands in her pockets. Shoulders tight beneath the weight of her own thoughts. She cuts down a quieter street off the main drag, where the headlights can’t reach and the echo of your heels still rings in her ears.

She’s never liked goodbyes.

Even temporary ones.

And this one—it felt like more than a goodbye.

But tonight feels different.

Because you were different.

And Rhea is trying—failing—not to admit how much she noticed that.

You left with her jacket, her number, the scent of her skin on your shoulders. But what you left behind was the feeling of something new.

Rhea’s always been good at this.

She’s done this.

Sugar dynamics. Affection as an offering. Spoiling as a skill.

Something quieter than loneliness but sharper than peace. A need to give. To own. To make someone’s life prettier by touching it. And maybe, selfishly, to be seen as more than fists and titles and bruised knuckles in gold rings.

She’s had her share of maybe-babies. Girls who called her Mommy before they even asked her real name. Girls who wanted bags, not boundaries. Girls who loved the idea of her—until they met the steel beneath the silk.

It used to be a way to feel in control.

A way to give without the mess of commitment because she didn’t have time for it.

To feel wanted. Powerful.

To watch someone light up when she gave them something—jewelry, rent, plane tickets—without the tangle of actual feelings in return.

It was easier that way.

Until it wasn’t.

Until she started noticing how many of them flinched when she got quiet.

How many pulled out the baby voice when asking for money.

How many called her “Mommy” after half a drink—without meaning it.

Just because they thought it would work.

It did, for a while.

But it always left her colder.

And worse than the sugar babies?

The friends.

The ones who only called when they wanted to borrow something.

The ones who used her name for clout and ghosted when she got injured.

The ones who swore they saw her but never looked close enough to notice when she was drowning.

She started building walls before she even realized she was doing it.

Started answering less texts.

Stopped letting anyone follow her to work.

Stopped giving her real number.

And tonight?

Tonight she’d expected to feel nothing.

Maybe you’d be hot.

Maybe you’d be funny.

Maybe it would be another quiet, forgettable evening that left her wallet lighter and no more fulfilled.

But then you showed up—heels clicking, chin lifted, eyes sharp.

You sat across from her tonight like you already understood what you were walking into. Like you knew she’d be different from women you’ve met.

You flirted when you wanted to. Didn’t when you didn’t. You talked like you’d never been anyones before—not because no one had tried, but because no one had made it feel safe. You said Mami like you were testing the weight of it in your mouth and then smiling at the taste.

She ponders if that's the reason, or if it's something else that makes you so dangerous. The type that causes manic decisions and desire filled ideas. The type of danger that makes her delete her sugar profile despite waiting weeks for verification the first time.

You make her feel like the first time she bought herself something expensive, the first time she splurged on a fancy car, the first time she ever flew first class.

Rhea exhales hard through her nose. Her breath fogs under the glow of a flickering streetlamp. She pauses beneath it, the kind of place where deals are made and confessions slip out when the night’s too quiet.

She pulls her phone from her pocket.

You haven’t texted yet.

She looks up. The sky’s the color of velvet dipped in ash. Her reflection swims faintly in the shop window beside her—black shirt rumpled at the collar, neck flushed, jaw tight.

She still smells like you.

The thought alone makes her shift her stance, fists clenching once, jaw flexing again.

And then—

A vibration.

She closes her eyes and smiles, she barely needs to look to know who it is but she does anyway.

home safe.

Thank you again for tonight.

She stares at it for a beat.

Not because she doesn’t know what to say.

But because suddenly, everything she could say feels too small for the moment. Too small to signal the beginning of something new. Too simple, too practiced, too many times she’s played this game.

You don't need a reassuring nudge,

You're not of the maybe babies, trusted that she didn’t need you crawling and falling over her for her to spoil you,

You dont need to be persuaded into feeling comfortable with her.

You already did and that was worth more than anything she could’ve paid for tonight.

So she types one word.

Good.

Then she adds another, something out of her normal wheel house— like you.

Sweet dreams, baby.

She pockets her phone and starts walking again, slower now.

The street curves ahead. The night still stretches wide.

And for the first time in months—maybe years—Rhea doesn’t feel like she needs to guard what she gives.

She wants to give it.

Wants to watch you take it.

Wants to see if you’ll surprise her again.

She’s still not sure what this is.

But she knows it’s not fake.

And for her?

That’s enough to make her want the next night before this one’s even over.

—

It’s been just over an hour since you got home.

Your dress is folded across the back of your chair. Your heels are off. Your skin still smells faintly like her cologne—rich, smooth, and unsettling in the best way. A three wick candle burns on your desk, the scent of clean laundry floating around.

The note she gave you sits on your nightstand, unfolded, the logo of the bar sitting in the corner.

You haven’t texted again.

You don’t need to. She said text when you’re home. And you did.

But still, you keep hearing her words:

Text me when you’re home. Or I won’t sleep.

There’s something about it—soft but possessive, quiet but firm. Like she didn’t just say it. She meant it.

You want to tell her that despite having your comfy clothes on, the feeling of riding her high makes you feel wrapped in luxury. Like adding her into your phone adds thousands to your networth. Like being hers suddenly feels like being a necklace in a glass case that everyone else wants.

You lean back against your bed, breathing steady. Still processing the way she looked at you—like you were something precious she deserved, planned to claim. Like she knew the gifts did partly for you, and partly for her getting to see you in them. It was rare to meet a sugar parent concerned more with spoiling than the affection that came with it. It's a nice change of pace you finally feel like you can keep up with. And then—your doorbell rings.

You pause.

It’s nearly 11PM.

You’re not expecting anyone.

Cautious, you approach the door and peek through the window. Sitting neatly on your doorstep is a tall white box. Elegant. Weighted. Tied with a wide black satin ribbon. There’s a card tucked into the bow. Handwritten.

For you.

No logo. No return address.

But you already know who it’s from.

You bring it inside, heart pounding with something warmer than surprise. You place it on your bed, fingers slow and deliberate as you untie the ribbon—like the act deserves patience.

The scent hits you first.

Vanilla. Lavender. Rose. Something headier and darker underneath. It smells like a boutique where everything costs too much and nothing feels cheap. It smells like her.

Inside is a bouquet—lush and decadent. Pale petals layered with deep, moody blooms. You can see the thought behind it. A study in contrast. Soft meeting sharp.

And nestled beneath the flowers—an envelope.

Your name. Her handwriting.

You open it.

Inside, a small black card. Thick paper. Gold print. Simple.

You read.

You were even better than I imagined.

I said I don’t have a spending limit.

That wasn’t just about clothes.

I meant time.

Attention.

Energy.

www.elysianthread.com — it’s one of my favorites.

I want to see you in every damn thing they make.

Pick out whatever you want.

Make a cart.

Send it to me.

There’s nothing I wouldn’t want to see you in.

— R

Your breath catches.

Not from shock.

But you weren't expecting it within an hour of leaving her.

You set the card down next to her Humber on your nightstand, bite your bottom lip, and open your laptop. The website pulls up in seconds. It’s stunning—sleek black background, gold lettering, photography shot like fashion editorials and forbidden dreams.

Silk slips. Structured corsets. Soft lounge sets. Delicate chokers.

Luxury lingerie that feels like armor and worship in the same breath.

And you’re not blushing— well maybe a little.

You’re smiling.

You lean into the screen, scrolling slowly. Imagining the weight of the gaze you'd spent hours across for earlier and what would change it, make it lighter, heavier, needier. You find yourself more excited adding pieces in dark tones than your usual pastel palette, pieces feeling closer to the woman buying them for you. You select pieces like statements. Like spells.

Slips in oxblood silk.

Loungewear that looks soft enough to drown in.

A gold anklet with a black charm you swear could pass for her energy in accessory form.

When the cart’s sizable, you copy the link. Open her message thread.

included a lot to pick from

you don’t have to—

You pause. Delete the second line.

You don’t need to soften it.

You don’t need to ask for less.

She invited this.

She wanted you.

You send the link.

Two minutes later, her reply hits.

Rhea:

Sweetheart.

You really think I’m picking one?

—

To be continued— likes, comments and reblogs always appreciated💜

—

Taglist- let me know if you’d like to be added

@starrycherie

@oldmanluvr13

[lovedrruunk]

'Forget her

In which you get played by your situationship. Jinx thinks you deserve better anyway. (drabble!!!)

You sat on the couch in Jinx’s hideout staring blankly at the sky, your fingers tracing over the ripped leather of the furniture. The bitter pit in your stomach hadn’t left since you heard it. Those carefully chosen words that meant everything and nothing at the same time, but you weren’t even sure why you were surprised. It wasn’t like you hadn’t known deep down that things wouldn’t work out with her.

But it still stung.

The situation had been complicated from the start. No labels, no promises, just two people who occasionally crossed the line into something that felt almost like more. You thought it was heading somewhere, but apparently she didn’t. And today, with a few short sentences, she made that clear.

“I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Classic.

You clenched your jaw, sinking back into the cushions. The room felt heavy and you hated that you’d let yourself get invested. You weren’t even sure why you had told Jinx you’d come over. You didn’t want to be a downer, but the idea of sitting alone with your thoughts had been worse. So now you were just sitting here, feeling like a total idiot for ever thinking she was serious about you.

“Ya know, if you keep sulking like that I might start thinking you forgot I exist,” Jinx’s voice cut through your mental spiral, drawing your eyes towards her. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed looking at you with a raised brow. “Not a good look for you by the way.”

You snorted, rubbing a hand over your face. “Yeah, well, it’s been a day.”

Jinx pushed off the door, walking over to flop down next to you on the couch. “A ‘day,’ huh?" One look at your face and she already knew. "Lemme guess. Her?”

You hesitated, not really wanting to dive into the whole mess, but the look she gave you made it clear she wasn’t about to let this go, she never does. Wasn't necessarily a bad thing you figured, you liked that about her. “Yeah… her. She finally dropped the ‘let’s keep things casual’ bomb. As if I didn’t already know that’s where it was going.”

Jinx let out a long whistle, pretending to look thoughtful. “Wow, shocking. Who could’ve ever seen that coming? Definitely not me, noooo,” she said with obvious sarcasm.

You shot her a look. “I know, okay? I knew it wasn’t serious, I just… I don’t know, I guess I hoped maybe it’d turn into something more.” The bitterness in your voice was hard to hide, even if you were trying to downplay how much it bothered you.

Jinx didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel her watching you, her usual smirk faltering a bit. “Look, I’m not saying I hate the girl—”

You raised an eyebrow. “You definitely hate her.”

“—I’m not saying I hate her,” she repeated, this time with a little more emphasis. “But, y’know, she’s kind of… what’s the word?" She tapped her chin pretending to be in thought. "Trash.”

“Jinx.”

“What? I said I don’t hate her!” She threw up her hands, giving you an exaggerated innocent look before settling back against the couch, her tone becoming more serious. “But... seriously. You deserve better. You know that, right?”

You huffed, sinking further into the cushions. “Yeah, well, better isn’t exactly lining up around the block.”

Jinx’s brows furrowed, her lips twisting in that way she did when she was trying to keep something secret. “If it were me…” she started, then hesitated, glancing away like she was debating whether or not to continue.

You sat up a little, noticing the shift in her tone.

She cleared her throat, her voice a little quieter. “I’m just saying… If it were me, I wouldn’t make you guess all the time. You wouldn’t have to wonder where we stood, y’know? ‘Cause I’d make it pretty darn obvious.” She said with a light chuckle, her eyes glued to the floor.

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in Jinx's tone. Her usual bravado had faded, leaving something raw in its place. You sat up a little straighter, turning to face her. “What are you saying?”

Her eyes flicked up to meet yours, and there was no teasing in them now. Just something deep, something real. She hesitated for a moment, like she was debating whether to push it further. And then she did.

“I’m saying…” She leaned in slowly, her voice barely a whisper “...I wouldn’t waste your time.”

You froze as she closed the distance between you, her hand brushing the back of your neck. For a second, neither of you moved. Her thumb grazed the skin just below your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, before you could even process it, her lips were on yours.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, like she was waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, she deepened it, her fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. Her lips were warm, and the way she kissed you made it clear, this wasn’t some spur-of-the-moment thing. She had thought about this. Wanted this.

After the initial shock you kissed her back, your hands finding their way to her shoulders, pulling her closer. The frustration and hurt that had been swirling in your chest moments ago melted away, replaced by a new kind of warmth.

Finally pulling away you stared at her breathless, heart still racing trying to process what just happened.

She pulled back slightly, still grinning but this time it was softer, less playful. “What?” she asked, her voice lighter, teasing. “Not what you expected?”

You let out a small laugh, looking away feeling your face get hot. “Not exactly.”

“Well, I like surprising you.” She leaned in again, her lips ghosting over yours, but this time, she didn’t kiss you, just hovered close enough that you could feel her smirk widen. “So, you wanna sit here and keep sulking?...

Or do you wanna graffiti the bitch’s house?”

. . .

;p !!! this was super fast paced and unrealistic but its just practice! plus my first one shot in months! and tbf in what realistic world would jinx be in a relationship anyway lol... hope u liked!

[soulofapatrick]

Protect You - Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader

Summary: You come into work injured and Hotch accidentally outs your relationship

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: None really

Notes: I honestly don't know where this one came from but enjoy hehe

Y/N’s POV

As I step into the familiar confines of the BAU bullpen, a sigh of relief escapes my lips upon noticing it’s only Spencer present as the others always arrive later. Hotch and Rossi must be holed up in their offices, shielding them from witnessing the bruised left side of my face and the split lip that I’m trying to conceal with my hair, keeping my head down. I would try make-up but they’re profilers, we’re profilers, there’s no point hiding any of it as they’ll work it out. 

Every moment reminds me of the ache throbbing on my face, a constant reminder of the altercation that occurred early this morning. I try to mask the discomfort with a tight-lipped smile, but I know Spencer sees through it the moment his gaze flickers up from the file he’s absorbed in. His eyes widen in concern, and he’s on his feet so fast his chair clatters to the ground, abandoning his document to rush to my side. 

I appreciate his silent understanding, his quick grasp of the situation without needing an explanation. It's moments like these that remind me why the BAU feels like family.

“Hey,” Spencer’s voice is gentle, his concern palpable as he takes in my appearance, eyes flickering over the bruises, assessing whether I need medical or not, “What happened to you?” 

I offer a weak shrug, sliding onto my desk so Spencer can slide into my chair like we usually sit, waiting for Emily, JJ and Morgan to arrive, “Oh just a little accident.” I murmur, trying to downplay the severity of it, though the pain pulses with each word. Spencer raises his eyebrows, scoffing lightly, drawing a heavy sigh from me, I relent, knowing I can’t actually keep it from my best friend, “Jessica might have found me in Hotch’s bed this morning after he left to be here early,” I pause, letting that sink in first, the fact I was in our boss’ bed, “She… well, she punched me and I just left her… she’s still grieving and it’s been just over a year now…” 

Spencer's hand finds mine, a silent gesture of solidarity amidst the chaos. And in that moment, I'm grateful for his unwavering support, his quiet strength anchoring me to reality when everything feels like it's spiralling out of control, “Are you going to tell Hotch?” 

Before I can respond, the authoritative timbre of Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, drawing my gaze towards his office. Instinctively, I turn my head away, a futile attempt to shield him from the truth of what his ex-sister-in-law had down to me. But it’s too late. The damage is already written across my bruised face, a stark reminder of the violence that had erupted in the early hours of the morning. 

Hotch strides into the bullpen, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on me, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. "Tell me what?" His voice is clipped, demanding answers that I'm not ready to give. Spencer gets up from my chair and moves over to where the coffee station is, staying within hearing distance but giving us enough privacy. 

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of Hotch's gaze bearing down on me like a heavy burden. "It's nothing, Hotch," I repeat, my voice barely above a whisper as I keep my head bowed, unwilling to meet his gaze. But I can sense his skepticism, his unwavering determination to uncover the truth lurking beneath my hesitant words.

Before I can protest further, Hotch grips my chin with a gentle finger and thumb, forcing me to raise my face and meet his gaze. The shock that flashes across his features sends a shiver down my spine, his expression morphing from concern to horror, then to simmering anger barely contained beneath the surface. 

His voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent lacing his words as he practically growls, “Who did this to you?” 

I try to shake my head free from his grip but he won’t let me, cognac eyes full of anger as he searches my face. Every part of my wants to submit to him but I can’t ruin the last bit of Haley he has left by telling him and he finally sighs. He takes a risk and presses his forehead to mine, eyes closing and taking a deep breath before he’s letting me go and taking a step back just as the bullpen doors open. With one final lingering look he turns to the others and tells them to meet him in the meeting room in ten. 

As Spencer intercepts Hotch on his way back to his office, a sense of foreboding settles over the bullpen, amplifying the tension already thick in the air. I watch, heart sinking, as Spencer murmurs something to Hotch, the words lost in the charged atmosphere. Hotch's head snaps up, his entire demeanour shifting in an instant. Even from behind, I can sense the fury radiating off him, a palpable force that sends a shiver down my spine. Whatever Spencer said has stirred a tempest within Hotch, one that threatens to consume everything in its path.

Before I can comprehend the gravity of the situation, Derek's voice breaks through the tense silence, his concern evident in the way he addresses me. "Oh shittt, what happened to you, baby girl?" he asks, his usually jovial tone replaced by genuine worry. 

Spencer slumps back into my chair, his expression somber as Derek rounds the desk to his, drawing Emily and JJ's attention in the process. In moments like these, the boundaries between colleagues blur, replaced by the unspoken bonds of friendship and camaraderie that define us as a team. They crowd around me, their questions a chorus of concern as they inspect the bruises marring my skin. Despite their genuine care, I can feel the weight of their stares, the unspoken questions lingering in the air like a heavy fog. 

Just as I'm about to ask them to drop it, a voice cuts through the chaos, echoing from Hotch's office with a force that silences the entire bullpen. "HOW DARE YOU LAY A HAND ON HER?!" Hotch's voice booms, despite his door and blinds being shut, reverberating off the walls with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt.

A stunned silence settles over the bullpen, the air thick with tension as Hotch's voice echoes through the confines of his office, despite the closed door and drawn blinds. His words hang in the air like a heavy pall, commanding attention and demanding justice. The sudden yelling draws Rossi out of his office, his expression a mix of concern and confusion as he surveys the scene unfolding before him. It's rare to witness Hotch lose his composure, and even rarer to hear him raise his voice with such raw intensity. 

But, as the seconds tick by, the tension in the air becomes almost palpable, a tangible force that hangs heavy around us. We exchange uncertain glances, the weight of Hotch's anger casting a shadow over the once tranquil atmosphere of the bullpen. And then, just as quickly as it began, Hotch's voice rises again, the sound muffled by the closed door of his office. Despite the distance, his words carry with them a sense of finality, a declaration of his unwavering resolve, “I CAN DATE WHO I WANT, YOU DON’T GET TO DICTATE IF Y/N IS GOOD ENOUGH FOR ME.” 

As Hotch's voice reverberates through the closed door of his office, his words cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The weight of his declaration hangs heavy in the air, leaving us all stunned into silence.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up in surprise, his mouth slightly agape as he processes the implications of Hotch's words. Emily's eyes widen, a mixture of shock and admiration reflecting in her gaze as she exchanges a quick glance with JJ. Spencer, ever the observer, remains stoic, his expression unreadable as he absorbs the gravity of Hotch's statement. 

The realisation settles over us like a heavy blanket, each of us grappling with the implications of Hotch's unwavering resolve. In that moment, it's clear that he's not just defending my honour; he's asserting his autonomy, refusing to be swayed by the opinions or judgments of others. And as the echoes of his words fade into the background, we're left in a stunned silence, the weight of the moment pressing down upon us like a tangible force. For a brief moment, the chaos of the world outside fades away, replaced by the quiet intensity of the bullpen. 

But our reverie is short-lived as Hotch reemerges from his office, his face flushed with anger and frustration. His gaze sweeps over us, a silent command to gather ourselves and move forward. Without a word, he gestures towards the conference room, his authoritative presence brooking no argument. 

As the rest of the team practically rushes towards the conference room, driven by the urgency of the moment, I find myself lingering behind. The weight of everything that has transpired settles heavily upon my shoulders, anchoring me to the spot as I struggle to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. I remain perched on the edge of my desk, head bowed, my hands suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. The sound of familiar footsteps draws nearer, the rhythmic cadence echoing through the empty space of the bullpen. And then, like a beacon in the darkness, Hotch's shiny smart shoes appear in my line of sight, his presence casting a warm glow against the backdrop of uncertainty. 

He says my name softly, a gentle reminder that I'm not alone in this moment of vulnerability. I lift my gaze to meet his, finding solace in the depths of his unwavering gaze. There's a tenderness in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the tumultuous journey we've embarked upon together. 

In that moment, he looks at me like I've hung the stars, like I'm a goddess deserving of reverence and adoration. It's a gaze that speaks volumes, a silent confession of the depth of his feelings. And then, with a gentle touch, his hand reaches out to cup my unbruised cheek, his touch a balm against the ache of the morning's events. In the stillness of the bullpen, he draws me into a soft kiss, a silent promise of solidarity and unwavering support. In that fleeting moment, time stands still, the chaos of the world fading away as we find solace in each other's embrace. And as we pull away, the weight of the world feels a little lighter, buoyed by the strength of the bond that binds us together.

With a silent understanding, we rise from the tumult of the morning, ready to face whatever challenges lie ahead. And as we make our way towards the conference room, hand in hand, I know that no matter what the future holds, we'll face it together, united by the unbreakable ties of love and loyalty.

Criminal Minds Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

@guacam011y @rosaliedepp @kajjaka

[jezabelle9299]

You're It for me S.R x FEM! reader

Overture- Your walking through a used bookstore when you spot an old magazine with your boyfriends face on the cover-- not for his academic ability

CWs- Comparison to Lila Archer, feeling replaceable, this is diet angst- I don't have the guts or skill for the truly heart wrenching, kissing

A/N- I was kind of picturing an early season 2 Spencer? Like they've been dating for a while, but like-- not more than maybe 2 years, so they're still a little bit nervous. Also this is the first of many things I'm doing this December so hopefully everything goes well and if you want to read any of the other things I'm doing you could do so HERE

Right in your favorite used bookstore, on top of some other old magazines, there it was. It caught your eye at first because of the vibrant photo— but when you stopped to look you saw a beautiful young actress rubbing her face onto your wonderful boyfriend's hand. You felt sick, but you pushed through it to buy the stupid thing so you could read it. 

You barely made it through the checkout line, pale as a ghost and wishing you’d never walked in there. Because why didn’t he tell you? The publishing date was only months before you started dating and he hated touch. Was this a long relationship? An intimate moment no one else was supposed to see?

By the time you got to your car you’d ripped the plastic covering off the magazine opening up the article about Lila Archer. You hadn’t really heard of her before, but she was gorgeous. The more you read about the ‘secret relationship’ between her and Spencer the more upset you got— until in one of the final sentences it said one of their reporters found them in a pool—fully clothed—making out. Spencer. Your germaphobic boyfriend who was nervous about so much as touching you in passing for your first 3 dates jumped into a pool to make out with someone he couldn’t have known for that long.

You sat on the couch in your apartment after a silent ride home. Spencer was supposed to meet you to spend some time together, he’d be landing any minute– but it was all you could do not to cry. It was before you were dating but you just felt– Insecure? Replaceable? You weren’t quite sure, but comparison stole your joy and left you with nothing but a sour mood and a boyfriend on his way to see you– one who was qualified to notice that you were upset nearly immediately upon seeing you. 

“Hey honey— I’m so glad I’m finally home. I’ve missed you so much.” He walked through the door, you’d told him so many times that he could come in without knocking– he even had his own key– and he moved straight to you. He leaned in to kiss you, but your lips were unrelenting, not soft like they usually were. You weren’t in the mood for romance right now and he wanted to figure out why. 

Not that you always had to be in the mood for physical touch, but usually when he got home from longer cases you were on him from the moment he walked through the door. He loved that— he missed that right now. 

“Is something wrong? Are you ok?”

“Yeah Spence, I’m fine.” You plastered on your best fake smile to no avail, only making Spencer more concerned in your efforts. 

“Did something happen while I was gone?”

“Nothing happened.” 

“I know you’re not telling me something. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.” Despite his words, his tone wasn’t accusatory at all. Only concerned. 

“I don’t need help— I just saw something that kind of… freaked me out is all.” You were really trying to downplay the effect that stupid magazine cover had on you.

“Did I leave one of my case files laying around? Oh honey I’m so sorry— I thought I picked them all up before I left.”He was wracked with guilt over something that didn’t even happen. 

“No Spencer it wasn’t that. It was a magazine? You were on the cover.” You thought he knew what you were talking about. I mean he’s been in a few science magazines for his academic ability, but nothing else like this. At least you certainly hoped not. 

“What magazine? From this month?” 

“No— it was a few months before we started dating. It was you and Lila Archer? I know it was before we started dating; and I know I have no right to be upset by it but it just— it just kind of took me by surprise, you know?”

“Oh. I forgot about that.” 

“You forgot about it? It said you were found fully clothed in her pool, and you just forgot?” You weren’t accusatory, just hurt—your voice was breaking by the end and you were still trying to look up at him. 

“It really wasn’t like that, I only knew her for a week— we were in LA because she was being stalked, I was supposed to be guarding her and she pulled me into the pool.” with just that one sentence he made it infinitely worse. He knew her for a week, and he wasn’t worried about her germs? What made her so different?

“You only knew her for a week?”

“Well–yes?” It was clear by the way he looked at you that he thought that would be a comforting notion. It was anything but. 

“On our first date you didn’t even want to touch me. You didn’t kiss me until we’d been dating for almost 2 weeks. I was perfectly fine with those things because I know you don’t really like touch but I need you to be honest with me about something. Do you just not like me as much? Because if you don’t that’s– well that’s ok. I mean I don’t want to be worried that you’re going to get a case in LA and find someone better.”

“Honey let me be perfectly clear– there is no one better. I love you more than anything or anyone on this Earth.” Spencer’s reassurance just wasn’t comforting you like it usually did. 

“Then–why? I mean do you just not think about me physically in that way?”

“I think the way I feel about you physically could easily be described as clingy and/or obsessed. You know this, sweetheart.” He held tightly onto your hands- rubbing the back of hand with his thumb

“Well now sure, but I honestly kind of thought you just weren’t attracted to me when we first started going out.”

“I was– and am for the record– extremely attracted to you. Some of my hesitance towards touching you was germ-based, but honestly I was just so ridiculously, extremely nervous around you that I was afraid to touch you and mess everything up.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, honey in case you hadn’t noticed you’re kind of it for me.” That feeling in the pit of your stomach finally subsided— giving way to the same feeling of love you always feel when Spencer wraps you in his arms. 

[catmiemy]

Not Work Day (Aitana Bonmatí x Reader)

Summary: Aitana and you spend a rare day off together.

A/N: This is just a silly little story I thought of a while ago and finally wrote in hopes of getting into more of a writting mood again. So many ideas and so little ability to put them on 'paper' lately...

I hope you enjoy this one! :)

Dating a professional football player wasn’t always easy. Whenever you mentioned that to anyone they usually assumed you referred to your girlfriend having to travel a lot or the lack of days off together because of conflicting schedules, or the interest the nosey media and even nosier public had in your relationship.

And sure, all of these things could be tricky at times, but there was something else that was even harder to bear; seeing your girlfriend being worked to the ground with almost no time to recuperate properly. Before you started dating Aitana you had never thought much about it, now it haunted you during the days and disturbed your dreams.

Every new injury you heard about made your stomach drop, always wondering the same thing, what if next time it would be your girlfriend going down with some horrible injury? The guilt always followed close behind, with your berating yourself for being happy in any capacity that someone else got hurt.

More often than not it was a struggle to watch Aitana’s games. You had a tendency to clench every single muscle in your body until the final whistle was blown, and you could be sure that nothing bad had happened.

For a while you did your best to keep these concerns to yourself, not wanting to make Aitana worry about you unnecessarily. Convinced that if you just wanted it enough, you would get over this.

You should have known that your girlfriend would catch on; she was too perceptive not to notice it, too concerned about your well-being to miss it.

When she did you explained somewhat reluctantly what was bothering you; the last thing you wanted was for your girlfriend to feel guilty. This wasn’t her fault at all and she shouldn’t feel bad about playing the sport she loved.

Despite your best efforts to downplay it, the first thing you saw in Aitana’s eyes once you finished your explanation was guilt. Most likely because you were looking for that emotion specifically, but in that moment you couldn’t think rationally like this. You were about to apologize, try and take it back somehow, when she asked you one simple question.

“Is there anything we can do to make you feel better about it?”

Up until that point it had never occurred to you to think about possible ways to make the situation easier for yourself. Usually your thoughts had been centered around scolding yourself for being such a worrywart. It made you oddly emotional that Aitana took you this seriously and didn’t dismiss your concerns.

Neither of you found a satisfying answer to the question that night, but over time you came up with something that helped, a tradition that you called ‘not work days’. 

On one of these ‘not work days’ you were awoken by Aitana trying to get up. Without opening your eyes you reached out to grab her wrist and pull her back into bed. You were met by some resistance, forcing you to open your eyes and scowl at the brunette.

“Hey, you work or not work?” You asked, leaving no room for interpretation what the correct answer was.

Aitana rolled her eyes at you, but relented, snuggling back into you much to your delight. You wrapped your arms around her and buried your face in her shoulder.

“I’m never going to be free of that stupid phrase, am I?” She grumbled.

“Nope,” you agreed, “And now hush, it’s way too early to be up on a not work day.”

You felt some lingering tenseness in your girlfriend’s body, apparently she wasn’t fully ready yet to commit to resting some more. It was time to pull out your magic weapon; you began gently tracing small circles in the space between Aitana’s eyebrows. It worked like a charm. Within seconds the brunette fell back asleep and you let yourself drift off as well.

The next time you woke up it was on your own accord, like you hoped it would be. Usually when you managed to get your girlfriend back to sleep she didn’t wake up again until late in the morning. In your mind a clear indication that the Spaniard needed this extra rest.

You allowed yourself to linger in bed a little longer to hold Aitana in your arms and watch her sleep. It was rare for her to be still if she was awake, always moving around, busy with one thing after another.

Mostly the midfielder loved it and was happy with her life, but sometimes it became all too much. She had confided in you a while back that being with you had helped her to finally find a healthy balance in her life. That was without a doubt the biggest compliment anyone had ever given you.

After a few more minutes you placed a soft kiss on your girlfriend’s forehead, before carefully extracting yourself and moving to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Breakfast in bed was a staple of the not work days..

You hummed happily to yourself while you made an omelet, mixed a smoothie and cut up some cherry tomatoes. And of course you couldn’t forget about the coffee! When everything was ready you walked back to the bedroom, ready to wake up Aitana with some gentle cuddles.

However, your plan was thwarted. You opened the door and instantly spotted your girlfriend on her cell phone. This in itself wasn’t a problem, but the way she had crunched up her nose and her eyebrows were knitted together, revealed to you that she was most likely looking at something work related. She looked too stressed for this to be anything else.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, “This is a not work day!”

You expected the Catalan to smile at you apologetically, instead a huge grin appeared on her face and she turned her phone around. It took a moment until you realized why she had done that; your girlfriend was recording the entire interaction and apparently she thought this was hilarious.

“Haha, very funny,” you grumbled, “I really thought you were working already.”

“I know, you should have seen your face,” Aitana replied between laughter, “Oh wait, you can. Come over here, mi amor.” She patted the bed next to her, but you remained standing. You would have crossed your arms, but the breakfast tray was stopping you from doing so.

“Don’t be like that, mi amor. I’m only giving back what you’ve been handing out. Or do I have to remind you how often you’re sending me that stupid ‘You work or not work’ video? How you even added some cute animal pictures to the beginning of it, so I wouldn’t recognize right away what clip it is? You violated the sanctity of cute animal pictures!”

The midfielder sounded so scandalized by this that you couldn’t help but crack a smile. You shuffled over to the bed, leaning over to give your girlfriend a good morning kiss. Just like you hoped this successfully distracted her from the stupid video she had recorded because you had no interest in watching it. You were admittedly better at teasing than being teased.

“So what’s the plan for today?” Aitana asked, tucking into her breakfast. “This is so good by the way.”

“No plans, we just do whatever you want to do,” you responded, deliberately ignoring her praise. Dealing with compliments also wasn’t one of your strengths.

“Whatever I want?” The Catalan asked with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Everything that’s within the rules of not work days,” you clarified.

“But coming up with ideas is work too,” your girlfriend complained.

“My poor baby! Okay, here are some ideas; we can bundle up on the couch and watch a movie, we can make cookies, we can take a walk in the rain…”

“Yes! Let’s take a walk in the rain,” Aitana interrupted, her choice surprising you. The midfielder wasn’t known for liking the rain, in fact she made no secret of how much she hated the rain.

“Really?” You double-checked.

Your girlfriend nodded, “Yeah, you made it sound so romantic a few days ago. Both of us under one umbrella, the rain pattering on it, huddling close together for warmth. Sounds like a movie scene.”

“Okay then, let’s do it.”

The two of you got ready, Aitana putting on much more clothes than you. Normally you would tease your girlfriend about it, but you didn’t want to risk her remembering the video she had taken earlier.

In the beginning the walk was actually romantic. The sound of the pitter patter on the umbrella was soothing, especially with how quiet and deserted the roads were. You breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of rain. Aitana was snuggling into your side and when you looked over she had a soft smile on her lips.

Before too long however, you noticed that your girlfriend clung a little too strongly to you and she was dragging her feet. This time when you glanced her way you were met by an unhappy expression, though it quickly morphed into a forced smile as soon as Aitana noticed your eyes on her.

You pulled her to a stop. “What is it, babe?”

“My feet are wet,” the Catalan whined.

Your eyes snapped to her feet. Your girlfriend was wearing her favorite and already pretty worn sneakers. It wasn’t really surprising that they weren’t able to withstand the rain anymore.

“Then let’s go back home,” you stated, already turning around and tugging Aitana’s hand to follow you.

“No, I don’t want to ruin this.”

You turned to face the midfielder again, cupping her cheek with your free hand.

“And I don’t want you to be miserable, or worse get sick. And anyway this is your not work day, so you should only do things you’re enjoying.”

Aitana nuzzled slightly into your palm, smiling up at you. “Okay, but I disagree, it’s our not work day.”

You walked back rapidly to your apartment and when you got there you sent the brunette to the bedroom with the instruction to change into something comfy and get rid of her wet socks.

“Don’t put on other ones though! I have something for you,” you added.

A few minutes later you met Aitana back at the couch, a cup of tea in one hand and the other one hidden behind your back. Your girlfriend craned her neck, trying to sneak a peek, but you didn’t allow it.

“Show meeeee,” the Catalan begged.

You followed the request, showing her the fluffy socks you had bought a while back. A huge smile spread across Aitana’s face as she saw them.

“They look so comfortable. Thank you! But how did you know I would need them?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I didn’t. I just bought them randomly for a not work day. It’s pure luck that you got wet feet today.”

“Or maybe this was all part of an elaborate evil plan to get me to undress my feet in front of you,” Aitana joked.

“You got me there. That’s why I raved about walks in the rain and that’s why I suggested it this morning. I even sabotaged your shoes,” you explained with a serious face.

Your girlfriend giggled happily. “I guess in that case you’ve earned the right to put on the new socks and give me a foot rub afterwards,” she said, sticking her feet out towards you.

“How generous of you!” You exclaimed, quickly putting on the fluffy socks.

Then you went to sit down next to Aitana to give her the requested foot rub, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw the midfielder glaring at you.

“Everything okay?” You asked uncertainly.

“No!” The brunette cried out, making your heart beat faster; what had you done wrong? “I need you to change into comfortable clothes as well. This doesn’t look like a good outfit to relax in.”

You looked down yourself and only now realized that you were still wearing jeans. “Oh, I guess you’re right.”

Before you got a change to move away, Aitana caught your hand and pulled you in for a kiss. “Sorry for scaring you. I didn’t realize it would actually make you anxious,” she apologized. “And now go, I need my girlfriend to warm me up.”

You were happy to oblige, hurrying to the bedroom.

“And can you bring the laptop back with you? I’m in the mood for some online shopping,” Aitana shouted after you.

You were happy to do so since it signified that your girlfriend had fully gotten into the swing of the not work day. It was always the same; in the beginning she didn’t know what she wanted to do, but as time progressed the midfielder became more attuned to her own desires that she so often put on the back burner.

On your return you handed Aitana the laptop before plopping down by her feet, taking them in your lap for the promised foot rub. You hadn’t even started yet, when your girlfriend let out a surprise “Oh”, pulling her feet back and scooting closer to you instead.

“What are these?” She asked, showing you the screen with your last internet search. It had completely slipped your mind what you had been looking at the day before.

“Dresses,” you offered up dryly.

“Yeah, I can see that. Any special occasion?” Aitana probed.

“You know the answer to that. It’s not every day you get to accompany your girlfriend to an award show for the best football players in the world,” you replied nervously; although you didn’t know why you felt nervous about this.

“Aw, I really appreciate that!” Your girlfriend cooed, her eyes flickering over the screen, “Can I help pick?”

You nodded; that had always been the plan. Since this was the first time you were going along as Aitana’s partner you wanted to look your best, so another opinion was definitely needed.

“Some of them are pretty expensive,” the Catalan mentioned carefully.

Money had always been a touchy subject between the two of you. Aitana had a lot more of it than you did; still you didn’t feel comfortable with constantly letting her pay, insisting that you took turns. The brunette wasn’t too happy about that, but by now you had found some middle ground, usually going to less expensive places when it was your turn to pay.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” you dismissed Aitana’s concern, “And I want to look worthy of my girlfriend. You know she’s currently the best football player in the world?”

“You sound so proud of me.”

Atiana’s voice was oddly quit; it made you wonder if she doubted that you were proud of her. You thought back to the last few games and realized with a start that you couldn’t remember the last time you had actually said these words. This way worrying, especially considering your girlfriend had a hard time believing things unless she heard them over and over again.

“That’s because I am,” you responded firmly, vowing to do better.

“Even if it makes you anxious?” The brunette wondered.

You sighed, rubbing your face. “Let’s be honest, no matter what job you had, I would always be anxious about something. That’s the annoying thing about anxiety; it’ll always find something else to worry about.”

Aitana looked up at you hopefully, “So you don’t hate that I’m a footballer?”

“What? No, of course not! And I’m sorry if I made you feel like that,” you apologized.

“Well that’s good then,” your girlfriend announced, a smirk appearing on her face, “But hey, is working out issues even allowed on a not work day? Or did you just break your own rules?”

You rolled your eyes, “Of course it’s allowed and since they’re my rules, I can change them whenever I want.”

Aitana raised her eyebrows, fighting to keep her face neutral, “Oh really, is that how it works?”

“Yes,” you nodded sagely.

A devilish grin appeared on your girlfriend’s face, and too late you recognized your mistake.

“In that case I’m making my own rules as well and decide that I get to buy you this blue dress.” She pointed to the one that was your absolute favorite, but that was also firmly out of your price range.

“Aitana,” you groaned, “That’s not how it works!”

“Oh? If you can make up random rules, so can I,” the Catalan pointed out, daring you to disagree with her.

“That’s not the same at all. I don’t want you to spend money on my clothes,” you argued

“Why not? If you think about it, I’ll get to appreciate your dress much more than you. I can admire you in it all night long, and maybe I’ll even get to take if off of you. And this dress will look stunning on you; it will really bring out your eyes.”

“Fine”, you relented, making your girlfriend squeal happily. There was one more thing to say though, so you stopped Aitana’s over the top celebration with one hand. “But this means you can only get me something small for my birthday.

“Okay,” the midfielder agreed suspiciously quickly.

“And I mean that, Tana!” You doubled down.

Your girlfriend nodded, but seemed to be only half-listening, too busy adding the dress to your cart. You would just have to bring it up again when your birthday was closer because you wouldn’t be budging on that.

After Aitana successfully ordered the dress, she leaned back with a content sigh.

“I really love these not work days, you know?”

Your heart leapt happily at that concession.  “Me too, babe.”

Sometimes you wished you got more of them, but maybe not having them all the time made them extra special.

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ WINTER AND HER BAND GIRLFRIEND kim minjeong x reader

↳ warnings yn is apart of wave to earth, fluff, idol!au, yn is haerin’s older sister

𓇼꩜ jimin was the one who introduced her to wave to earth, minjeong personally thought the whole band was talented but there was something about the girls voice that always had her captivated, it was like she could put her sleep with how soft it sounded.

𓇼꩜ the day minjeong met yn from wave to earth was a pretty weird day, both her and yizhuo had finished filming a dance challenge with haerin and hanni from new jeans and were waiting with the two girls to get picked up from sm, making small talks with them but then something hanni said caught her attention.

𓇼꩜ “haerin actually has an older sister that’s an artist, the band is pretty popular.” what shocked minjeong even more was the fact that yizhuo actually did know, “yeah she’s apart of wave to earth right?” “what?!” “yeah she’s so cool, she’s actually picking us up.”

𓇼꩜ minjeong remembers how shocked she was at the fact that someone she was so close with was close to the person she had a small celebrity crush on.

𓇼꩜ when she came face to face with yn it felt like it was out of a movie, it wasn’t only her singing voice that was soft her speaking one was also, she was really captivating, she barely knew what to say when yizhuo outed her “winter unnie is actually a big fan of wave to earth, you’re her favourite.”

𓇼꩜ it was humiliating but it seemed like that whole day was just minjeong feeling shocked because yn surprisingly smiled and said that she was a big fan as well, she wished the conversation could’ve gone longer if it wasn’t for the fact that haerin’s social battery was low and she tugged on yn’s arm indicating that she was ready to go.

𓇼꩜ “give me your phone.” is what yizhuo said before snatching minjeong’s phone and going straight into instagram and dming yn, “what are you doing?!” “I’m doing you a favour.”

𓇼꩜ now everyday minjeong thanks yizhuo for snatching her phone from her.

the intoxicating smell of ripe peaches filled the entire apartment, mingling with the faint scent of rain drifting in through the slightly cracked window. minjeong perched on the kitchen island, her eyes following every graceful movement of her girlfriend. yn, with practiced ease, slid the freshly prepared peach pie into the preheated oven, a contented smile gracing her lips as she dusted the flour from her hands.

it was raining outside the rain becoming background noise along with the soft voice of frank ocean coming from yn’s record player, minjeong couldn't help but smile, captivated by the sight of yn swaying gently to the music, as yn hummed along, minjeong felt an overwhelming sense of peace and happiness wash over her.

she was definitely the most successful fangirl in the word.

"staring at me?" yn’s voice broke through minjeong's daze.

startled, minjeong blinked and refocused her gaze. yn stood before her, a playful, toothy grin lighting up her face, her sharp canines on full display. "you’re so obsessed with me," yn teased, a mischievous twinkle in her cat like eyes.

"shut up," minjeong grumbled, her cheeks flushing slightly as she tried to downplay her evident admiration. yn chuckled softly and moved closer, slipping between minjeong's legs as she sat on the island. she picked up a slice of peach from the counter, along with some other remnants of their pie-making adventure.

taking a bite of the peach, yn’s eyes never left minjeong's. the sweetness of the fruit mirrored the tenderness in her gaze. then, with a playful glint in her eye, she offered the remaining half to minjeong, gently pressing it against her lips until she took it into her mouth.

"I’m obsessed with you too," yn murmured, her voice soft and teasing, the words carrying a warmth that matched the cozy atmosphere around them.

"you know I’m not as obsessed as you make me out to be," minjeong mumbled, her gaze dropping low. she reached for the strings of the pajama shorts that hung low on yn’s hips, her fingers deftly tying them into a neat bow.

“oh really?”

“yeah, it wasn’t even me that texted you that one time it was ning,”

“then maybe I should go and give ning a fat kiss on her cheek as a thank you,” yn teases.

minjeong's eyes widened in surprise, her hands pausing mid-motion. the mere thought of yn kissing someone else, even as a joke, sent a jolt through her. her expression shifted from shock to playful indignation, a slight pout forming on her lips.

"you wouldn’t dare," she replied, her voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and challenge. minjeong's hands resumed their gentle movements, her fingers brushing against yn’s hips as if to stake her claim.

yn laughed, "how about you set a timer for the pie, and I'll go pick out a movie for us to watch," she suggested, her eyes twinkling with anticipation.

minjeong nodded, she slid off the island and made her way to the oven, the aroma of the baking pie growing stronger, as she carefully set the timer, she felt yn’s presence linger for a moment longer before she turned and padded towards the living room, only a few steps away.

"hey, when are you gonna go back to your dorms?" minjeong heard yn’s voice call out as she made her way over to where yn was sitting, comfortably nestled on the couch looking through netflix

minjeong settled next to her, a playful glint in her eyes as she responded, "never. I'm too obsessed with you."

[jjscrybaby]

A request for sweetheart kook x JJ

How would it look like her finding out about JJ’s dad? I feel like JJ will try to dismiss it, say it wasn’t what she thinks it was but eventually crash and open up. I feel like he would downplay it or feel judged cause y/n is a kook, but she’ll assure him and support him.

jj maybank x sweetheart!reader | hurt & comfort | (abuse, luke maybank, jj being a dick, comforting!reader.)

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

JJ wasn’t one to open up, something about it gave him that nauseous feeling like he was starting something he wouldn’t be able to finish. Being seen as weak was perhaps his biggest fear, and the one person he especially didn’t want to see him like that was you.

You’d worked out that he didn’t have the greatest relationship with his father, spending most of his nights at John B’s in the spare room or on the couch, sometimes even sneaking in your window if him and John B needed a break from each other. He’d been to your house plenty of times, but something that’s never happened is you going to his.

It had never crossed your mind that he wouldn’t want you there, that you weren’t welcome. You figured that it was just a coincidence you’d never gone round there, so when you hadn’t heard from him all day you decided to head over.

You’d dressed cute, a baby pink bikini with a white tennis skirt and a crop top. JJ loved your pink bikini’s, he didn’t even have to say it; it was clear from the way he’d be all over you whenever you were wearing it. You brought him a box of cookies, because in your eyes it’s not polite to show up without a gift.

You knew where he lived, so when you arrived you reached up and knocked on the door. You waited, and waited, until you heard a faint noise coming from the backyard. You figured JJ must be out there, so you walked around the house. He was out there, but he wasn’t alone.

Luke Maybank was stood next to him, the two of them were glaring at each other with bruises covering JJ’s face. His nose was bleeding and a shocked gasp left your mouth, both of them spinning to see who was intruding.

“Who the fuck’s that?” Luke scoffed, an amused look on his face as he looked between you and JJ.

“Fuck off,” JJ hissed, stalking over to you. He grabbed your arm fairly harshly and dragged you out of sight. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

He’d never spoken to you like that. So cruel and angry. It brought tears to your eyes, you reached up to try and hold his face but he caught your arm in his grip. “I just— I was coming to surprise you.”

“I don’t want a fuckin’ surprise. You gotta go,” he stated, starting to drag you back the way you’d come from.

“What? Jayj, what happened? Why were you guys yelling? Why are you bleeding?” You exclaimed, trying to fight his grip. “JJ!”

“What?” He yelled, stopping in the middle of the street. You jumped in surprise at the loud tone, he didn’t even seem phased. His eyes were glazed over, but all you could see was anger.

“Did he do that to you?” You asked softly, voice quivering.

“Non of your fuckin’ business, princess.” The pet-name didn’t come out in its usual way; teasing yet fond. It was like he was spitting the word at you, full of disgust.

“Just talk to me, Jayj. Please,” you begged. All you wanted to do was help him, support him, love him. But deep down you knew how he was, you knew he wasn’t going to just accept that. You would have to work for it.

“It wasn’t what it looked like, a’ight? Thanks for the cookies, time to go,” he sighed, running a hand over his face from the stress.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but the thought of him going back into that house, back to that man, you wanted to throw up. “Then come with me. Please. I won’t— we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want to, but you can’t go—”

“I can’t? I can do what I want. You’re not my girlfriend. You’re just a fuckin’ Kook that thinks I’m her charity case and I’m sick of it. Fucking leave, okay?” He snapped.

His words hurt, they hurt like hell, but you knew what he was doing. He was being defensive, trying to get you to hate him so it wouldn’t hurt as bad when you inevitably left. You reached up and pressed a gentle kiss to his bruised cheek, he froze under your touch.

“Come see me when you’re ready to talk.”

———

It took two days, two horrific days, but finally there was a knock on your bedroom window. You knew who it was, there wasn’t many other people in your life that wouldn’t just knock on the door. You let out a sigh, pausing your tv to get up and open it.

He stood there, a guilty look on his face mixed in with green bruises. You let out a shaky breath, moving out of the way to let him climb in. He winced in pain as he moved, you didn’t want to imagine the damage going on under his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he stated, looking down at the ground. “I— you didn’t deserve all that shit I said, I was just scared and I needed you to leave incase my dad came over. I was embarrassed, I didn’t want you to see any of that shit, y’know? You see me as this strong guy who takes care of you, and now you know that’s not true.”

“JJ,” you murmured, reaching up to cup his cheek. This time, he didn’t flinch away or grab your arm. “This hasn’t changed how I see you. If anything, it makes you stronger. And, yeah, you were a dick, but I forgive you because I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I really didn’t,” he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ve never had anyone… no one in my life has ever been like you. I don’t want to— to lose you.”

“You’re not going to,” you soothed, wrapping your arms around his shoulders just as he started to sob.

You rubbed his back, his head in the crook of your neck as his body wracked with sobs. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried.

“It’s okay,” you reassured, running your fingers through his hair. “We’re good, I promise. I love you, I’m not going anywhere. And I get it, okay? I understand why you might feel like I’m gonna judge, I didn’t exactly have a difficult upbringing. But I’d never judge you, Jayj. I hope you know that.”

“I do,” he nodded, pulling away to wipe at his teary eyes. “I want to tell you, ‘bout all this shit. But I don’t know if I’m… ready yet. At least not tonight.”

“That’s fine,” you were quick to reassure, stroking gently at the back of his head. “You want to watch a movie? You can pick this time.”

He nodded, kicking his shoes off to climb into your bed. You got in next to him. You didn’t make any moves to touch him, but his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you close until your legs were intertwined and your head was on his chest.

“I love you, too,” he mumbled into your hair, pressing a kiss there. “And I didn’t mean what I said about you not being my girlfriend.”

“I know.” You weren’t his girlfriend, but you might as well be.

[meazalykov]

money talks

sydney lohmann x rich!reader

summary: you spoil your footballer girlfriend

during a crisp autumn evening in munich, you’re scrolling through your phone, waiting for sydney to finish her post-match activities. 

bayern just secured a solid 3-0 victory against hoffenheim, cool right? sydney played a huge role in the second goal with an assist that had you grinning like a fool in the stands.

you’ve never been one for modest celebrations, especially when it comes to her. 

for you, victories..even the small ones..deserve to be rewarded, and you already know exactly how you’ll celebrate tonight.

your gaze drifts to the sleek black-and-gold box on the passenger seat of your car. inside are the limited-edition nike sneakers sydney mentioned in passing weeks ago..shoes that sold out within minutes of the drop. 

it had taken some persistence, a couple of calls, and more money than you really care to admit, but they were worth it. 

for her, everything is.

your parents built an empire from the ground up, starting with a chain of luxury hotels that expanded globally over the years. 

when they passed away unexpectedly, they left everything to you..their only child...along with a massive inheritance and a portfolio of investments that ensured you could live comfortably for the rest of your life times ten. 

though the wealth sometimes feels overwhelming, you’ve chosen to use it to make those you love happy, especially sydney, your girlfriend of four years.

a soft vibration pulls your attention back to your phone: 

syd: done! meet me by the entrance?

smiling, you reply quickly, already starting the car to head toward her.

when you pull up, sydney is waiting with her duffel bag slung over her shoulder, her hair still damp from her shower. she flashes you a smile that’s brighter than any stadium lights, and it’s the kind of look that makes you wonder if she realizes how easily she could ask for the moon, and you’d find a way to get it.

“hey, babe,” she says, leaning in through the window to kiss you softly. 

“you waited long?”

“never too long for you syd,” you reply, reaching over to unlock the door for her. as she slides into the seat, you try to contain your excitement about the gift, but your fingers drum lightly against the steering wheel, a small tell you know she’s noticed.

“what’s got you so excited?” she teases, tossing her bag into the backseat. 

“you look like you’re up to something.”

you bite back a grin, shrugging in mock nonchalance. 

“me? up to something? never.”

her eyes narrow playfully, but she lets it go for now, leaning back into the seat with a content sigh. 

“i’m starving. can we grab something on the way home?”

“of course,” you say, already mentally planning her favorite takeout spot. but first, you know you can’t wait any longer. as you pull into a nearby parking lot, you reach for the box in the passenger seat, holding it out to her. 

“before that, i got you something.”

her eyebrows raise as she glances at the box. 

“y/n? again?? you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” you interrupt gently, sliding it onto her lap. 

“but i wanted to. open it.”

sydney hesitates for a moment, looking at you like she’s trying to figure out how she ended up with someone so determined to spoil her. then she smiles, lifting the lid. syd’d eyes widen as she takes in the sneakers, and her mouth falls open slightly in shock.

“no way,” she breathes, pulling them out carefully. 

“these are the ones i showed you! how did you even find these? they’ve been sold out for weeks.”

you shrug again, trying to downplay the effort it took. 

“i have my ways.”

she laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“your ways are ridiculous. y/n, these must’ve cost a fortune.”

“and that’s okay,” you say simply, and the sincerity in your voice makes her pause, her expression softening.

“thank you,” she says quietly, leaning over to kiss you again, this time slower, deeper. 

“i try,” you say with a grin, feeling your chest swell at her reaction. 

“but wait, there’s more.”

she groans dramatically, though the smile on her face betrays her. 

“more? y/n, you’re going to spoil me rotten.”

“that’s kind of the point,” you tease, pulling out a small velvet pouch from your bag. 

“this is for the second goal of yours tonight!” 

sydney’s eyes widen again as she opens the pouch to reveal a delicate gold bracelet, the kind that’s understated yet elegant—just like her. she stares at it for a moment before looking up at you, her voice soft. 

“what the hell? this is just–”

“i know,” you say, taking her hand to help fasten the bracelet around her wrist. it catches the light perfectly, and the way she smiles at it makes every effort feel worth it.

as you finally pull out of the lot to grab dinner, sydney reaches over to intertwine her fingers with yours. 

“you don’t have to keep buying me things, you know,” she says after a moment, her voice sincere. 

“i just like being with you. that’s enough for me.”

“i know,” you reply, squeezing her hand. 

“but this is how i show love. and i love you, syd. more than anything.”

she glances at you, her eyes shining. 

“i love you too. even if you are rich and ridiculous.”

masterlist

[nicolewritesthings]

Hope this isn't weird

Summary: Hopper!Reader and Steve tackle Valentine's day

a/n: This is another installment for Steve x Hopper!reader, but can also be considered a sort of prequel to "New Me" (which I'm writing a sequel to right now I promise). This can also be read as a stand alone piece as well!

Steve Harrington x Hopper!reader, 2.5k words

February 14, 1986

The bell rang loudly, the shrill sound hitting Hopper's ears with a wince as she walked down the busy hallway littered with Valentine's Day decorations. She weaved through the sea of joyous students, all exchanging heart-shaped candy and pink cards.

She was obviously not celebrating this sad excuse for a holiday. Not because it was some corporate money grab as other non-conformist students believed, but because she didn't have much love in her heart these days.

Usually, she'd be ecstatic at the prospect of a themed movie marathon and dinner and drinks with Steve, like they did last year, watching two very cheesy romantic flicks and downing the most romantic dinner ever - pizza.

Last Valentine's Day was good, she thinks as she pushes her way out into the parking lot. Well, the day didn't start out that way.

Hopper was used to getting at least one candy gram each year and she really thought Peter Lorrie was going to ask her out. But the time for candy grams came and went, and her locker sat empty - no notes or candies.

She marched up to Steve’s locker and crossed her arms as she dramatically leaned against the lockers.

He eyed her playfully, “not in the loving mood?”

“I’m unlovable,” she professed.

Steve frowned.

She continued, “Not one single Valentine this year, Steve. Not one!”

“Oh come on, that can’t be true,” he refuted, but she ignored him.

“Am I not hot anymore or something?”

Steve closed his locker and turned to face her. He looked her up and down, tilting his head to give her a look, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

He slung his backpack over his shoulder and started past her down the hall. She quickly followed in stride as they made their way into the parking lot.

“It’s a serious question! Last year I had like three dates,” she huffs, “so something must have changed.”

Steve chuckles, “and you immediately think it’s your looks?”

“Well, what else could it be? I’m still incredibly smart and hilarious. But boys don’t care about that.”

“Hey, we care about those things,” he feigns offense. Hopper shoots him a look. He gives in, "Well maybe not all boys, but that's not the point."

Steve places his hands on her shoulders and smiles, "You're the hottest girl I know, Hop. Trust me."

She smiles, fighting the heat that prickles on her arms from where he grips her. She downplays the sentiment and jokes, "wouldn't kill you to remind me more often."

Steve rolls his eyes as they approach his car. He pops the trunk, reaching for her backpack and placing it into the back. She sighs as he closes the trunk.

"I just don't get why Peter didn't even give me a Valentine. I for sure thought we were vibing," she crosses her arms, genuinely confused.

Steve pauses, remaining silent as he heads to the driver's seat. Hopper eyes him suspiciously and follows him into the car.

"Don't you think it's weird he didn't ask me out?"

"Mhm," Steve nodded, starting the car.

"After what I told you he said in homeroom?"

He shrugged, "maybe he changed his mind."

Hopper scoffed, "Okay, wow. Maybe he did."

Steve sucked in a breath, putting his arm on her seat and looking behind him to back out into the parking lot. She tried not to notice how good he looked doing that. She was too mad at him right now.

As they pulled onto the main road, Steve sighed, giving in.

"It could be my fault you have no Valentine's," he confessed.

Hopper shakes her head, "what does that even mean?"

"During gym last week, Peter asked if you and I were you know," he motioned between them, "together."

"Mhmm," she gave him a look.

Steve bit his lip, knowing that he didn't tell Peter they were dating. But he also didn't exactly tell him they weren't.

"I told him you weren't that interested in boys right now," he said.

"What?! Why would you say that!?"

Steve threw his hands up, "you told me you were still upset from the whole Billy thing, so I thought-"

"Ugh, you're such an idiot!" she groaned, "I may still be upset about Billy, but a Valentine's date with a cute boy wouldn't have been the end of the world!"

"I'll make it up to you, okay? Let's order some pizza and watch the cheesiest romcom," he looks over, giving her a flash of those big brown eyes.

She scrunches her nose, "I get to pick the movie?"

Steve nods, "whatever you want."

Hopper jumps up, clapping her hands together, "This day just turned around because you and I are about to embark on a journey together. We're watching Romancing the Stone."

Steve has no idea what he's in for, but he can't help but smile. Her excitement is contagious. Little does she know, he's spending today exactly how he wanted to.

But that was last year when things were normal. Now, she doesn't really have time to think about silly things like romcoms and cute boys. Instead, her mind aches with all the horrible memories from last summer.

The bloody interrogation where she assumed they had killed Steve. The Mind Flayer maimed Billy, just when she thought he started to turn around. And lastly, her dad’s disappearance. Her waiting near the ambulance with El and Steve, anxiously watching as Joyce exits the mall without him. Then it all went numb, like a silence cascaded onto her senses and she couldn’t hear as Joyce explained that he was gone or feel as she brought her in for a hug.

Everyone says it’ll get better with time. Joyce, Steve’s mom, Ms. Kelly. Maybe it has gotten a fraction easier to focus or to find the will to move forward. For what? She doesn’t know. Her future is ruined, she didn’t apply to college and besides, her grades have completely tanked anyway.

She works at that dead-end video store job with Steve and Robin because she has to. Steve. Their relationship has deteriorated with time. Any future she thought they had together was ripped away. Just when things were starting to go well too.

After months of this co-dependent friends-with-benefits situation she and Steve had going on, he finally confessed his love for her. They were stupid to think their friendship could cross the line into physical and he wouldn’t catch even more feelings for her. Truthfully, she was completely hooked on him since the first time they kissed.

So, in the movie theater bathroom, she saw promise when she looked into Steve’s eyes. They would spend her Senior year together and then he’d follow her to whatever school she decided on. Her dad would be thrilled it was Steve she chose and they could start to build a life together. Two friends who happened to fall in love.

But that didn’t happen. Life had other plans.

And here she was, hopping out of her old pickup truck in the Family Video store parking lot to get started on her after-school shift.

Inside the store, Steve waits patiently at the counter, watching the doors as he always did when he knew she was scheduled to work.

She strode in, immediately catching Steve’s eye. He smiles softly and she gives him a quick nod. At least she’s here, he thought.

Hopper joins Steve behind the counter, tucking her backpack away and getting comfortable. He scoots a pile of VHS tapes in front of her.

“Going through the new shipment,” he said.

She nods, grabbing the labels.

Steve leans on the counter facing her, “how was your day?”

She shrugs, “tried to discuss Animal Farm in class, but no one read it as usual.”

“

Mr. Jackson made you talk the whole time didn’t he?” He chuckles, knowing she tested out of senior English two years ago but their teacher practically begged her to take his class.

Hopper nods, “It was brutal.”

“I bet,” Steve smiles, “got any plans for tonight?”

He doesn’t know why he asked. Part of him thought the answer would be no of course not. Another part of him didn’t want to think of the alternative.

She shakes her head, “was probably going to watch some action movie. I don’t think I could do romance right now.”

Steve didn’t mean to crack a smile, but he did. Then he thought of their Valentine’s Day last year. He was still reeling from his breakup with Nancy and the last thing he wanted to do was acknowledge the stupid love-centric holiday. But Hopper refused to leave him alone. She threatened to have her dad throw him in jail overnight if he really wanted to sulk. So he sat with her on his couch until late into the night watching the sappiest movies ever.

For the first time, he hadn’t thought of Nancy once that night.

“Maybe we can watch something together? Continue to the holiday tradition,” Hopper suggests quietly.

Steve hesitates. No way was she initiating a hangout. He had been the only one to do so in the past few months and even then she would bail. Now here she is, asking to spend Valentines together and Steve didn’t know what to do.

"I, um,” he proceeds awkwardly, “I can’t tonight. I have a date.”

Hopper’s eyes linger on his for a moment. A flash of hurt in her eyes.

She nods, looking toward the stack of movies. “Right,” she nods again, “duh. Of course, you do.”

She’s at a loss for words and wants to crawl into a hole and never come out. How could she think he wouldn’t be busy tonight? She’d overhear Robin and Steve talking about his dating life, but he’d usually change the subject quickly. Robin said he was finally moving on from Nancy, but little did Robin know, Steve was really moving on from someone else entirely - his “best friend.”

God, how could she be so dumb? Of course, he’s moved on from her, because whatever they had never really started. It was always stolen looks and lingering touches. A night alone every now and then when they’d be vulnerable enough to sleep together.

Steve and Hopper were best friends, sure, but that spring into summer, something changed between them. They crossed the line and ventured into physical territory, chalking it up to hormones and loneliness. But then he told her he was in love with her and then her dad disappeared and she lost everything. There was no more room in her life for romance, and she couldn’t believe she thought maybe she could have some tonight with Steve.

She feels her cheeks heat and her throat dry up. Tears prick at her eyes. She keeps her attention on reorganizing the movies but can feel Steve’s intense gaze on her still.

He notices her sudden mood shift. Her eyes glassy. Steve softens, “I can cancel.”

She shakes her head, “what?”

“The date. I’ll cancel the date if you want,” he states matter-of-factly.

“No, it’s fine,” she looks up at him now, “really I’ll be okay.”

He tilts his head, “you sure? Because we can have another movie marathon.”

“I’m sure.”

“Look,” he places a soft hand on her shoulder, “I’m just- I worry about you.”

“I’ll be okay,” she forces a smile, “don’t be weird.”

Steve nods as she pulls away from him. She grabs a stack of movies and heads onto the floor.

Later that night

Robin incessantly rattles off the things she’d rather be doing on Valentine’s Day than working, while Hopper stares at the next chapter of Animal Farm.

She’s “read” the same page for the past twenty minutes when in reality she’s been stuck thinking about Steve and his date. How they’re probably finishing dinner now, splitting his favorite chocolate cake, and getting ready to go see some dumb movie where he’ll feed her popcorn and put his arm around her shoulder all before ending the night in the backseat of his car, her on his lap, his hands-

“Dude!” Robin throws a pencil at Hopper, who snaps out of her unpleasant daydream.

Hopper sits up, “what’s up?”

Robin eyes her, “I was calling your name for like 5 minutes! Do you have Terminator in that stack?”

She hands the tape over, “sorry.”

She eyes Robin, “so who’s Steve going out with tonight?”

Robin shrugs, her eyes glued to the computer, “Amelia something. She was in his year.”

Hopper scours her brain for Amelias.

“Wait,” Robin thinks, “Amelia was last week. He’s seeing Jessica now.”

“Does he like these girls or is he just playing the field?” she asks, nervous to hear the answer.

Robin pauses, looking up, “No one’s really stuck yet. I still think he’s got some past things to figure out.”

“With Nancy?”

“He’s definitely over her,” Robin looks at Hopper, “I meant with, you know.”

Robin gives her a look. Hopper clocks it, nodding, “oh.”

Robin sighs, “I know you and I aren’t that close, but can I give you some advice?”

“Why do I think you’re going to give it to me anyway?” she teases.

Robin smiles, “See, you get it!” She leans in, “I don’t know exactly what went down between you two, but he cares a lot about you. So don’t be so afraid to let him back in.”

Hopper shakes her head, “I’ve done some shitty things to him.”

“What? Like party too hard with the football dudes? Steve can get over that,” Robin waves it off.

“I don’t know,” she trails off.

Robin leans forward, serious now, “You won’t know until you try.”

Hopper nods, thinking about their conversation the rest of her shift and into her drive home. What would she even say to Steve? How could she begin to explain herself? How could she apologize for pushing him away?

It’s hard to believe Robin when Steve is currently on a date with Jessica, who is probably a nice normal girl with a normal family a normal home, and normal priorities.

Steve couldn’t want her anymore, not after how broken she’s become. Her life’s a mess and he deserves someone who’s normal. Someone good and happy. Someone he doesn’t have to worry about.

Hopper trudges up the steps to her apartment, fumbling for her keys as she reaches the door. She pauses, staring down at a single rose placed on her doormat.

She picks it up, opening the small note that reads:

'Hope this isn't weird. Love, Steve'

She stares at the note, a heat rushing up her neck as she rereads the words a few times.

For the rest of the night and into the morning, she doesn’t think about all the bad that’s recently happened to her. She only thinks about the rose, the note, and Steve. Her Steve.

[simpforsolas]

So my biggest problem with Solas x Mythal isn’t that I’m “jealous” of their relationship or anything like that. In fact, I really like the concept of her being a toxic and abusive relationship he has to let go of to be able to move forward and find true happiness with the inquisitor.

My problem is that it cheapens Solas’s motivations and seems to make his only reasoning for tearing down the veil be loyalty to Mythal. It also, to me, downplays the significance of the inquisitor’s influence on him. This was disappointing because in Inquisition, we were introduced to Solas as this very wise, idealistic, and thoughtful person who cared deeply for his causes. Justice for Mythal was one of his motivations, but I never interpreted it as his main motivation. I thought his main motivation was always to make a better world and fix his mistakes.

I truly believe that he’s not wrong about some things. The veil IS a wound inflicted on this world. It was made by him; it’s not the world’s natural state. It’s falling apart and broken. It creates a class divide between mages and non-mages, and by separating spirits from the physical realm, it makes them more susceptible to corruption into demons and makes people scared of them. There are tons of instances through DAO - DAI where weak spots in the veil lead to mass demon possessions and death. It made a world where elves die instead of live forever, and where they either live in slums or as shadows of their former glory in the woods. But DATV didn’t address ANY of this. It painted Solas to be this lovesick pup whose motivation was purely emotion-based, and it didn’t help that this game didn’t go into Thedas’s socio-political climate so a new player wouldn’t understand that the world of Thedas is seriously messed up, and that Solas’s plan would resolve a lot of the issues in need of fixing.

The problem is, and always has been, the cost. Solas restoring the natural order of the world would cost thousands of lives, and destroy the current world and all the good it has to offer. In order to abandon this plan, Solas needed to not only be released from Mythal’s service, but to let go of the world of the past. He needed to acknowledge that the world he loved is gone, that a new world that he also loves has taken its place, and that it deserves a chance to live. It’s sort of implied that he goes through this shift in belief in Trespasser, but it’s not enough at the time, and that’s okay.

Anyway, with all this in mind, this is how I’m choosing to interpret Solas’s entire redemption arc. Solas did have his reasons to tear down the veil that he passionately believed in, but through his interactions with the inquisitor and rook, the only reason that truly remained was that he didn't want to fail Mythal. They changed his perspective on the world, and showed him that it’s a world worth preserving, even if it’s different. He didn’t want to do what he had to do, and by the end of DAI and/or Veilguard, the only thing keeping him tied to his course was duty to Mythal. So she has to free him to allow him to move on.

However. If Mythal had released him from his service at the beginning of inquisition, because Solas hadn’t gained any affection for the new world, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been like "cool i'm doing this anyway because I want to.” Changing his course required two things: having his heart changed by the inquisitor, and Mythal allowing him to move on. Unfortunately I feel like the game is a little sloppy with this and makes it feel like freedom from Mythal is all that matters, but my dear friends, she is not. It was a team effort all around, and Solas’s redemption would not have been possible without our beloved inquisitor. 💜