#and on that same day my friend had to be rushed to the hospital so ofc i had to go with her and spend the whole night and next early morning

[satellite-evans]

in his eyes

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: it doesn't matter what people say on the internet, because Lando loves you.

Word count: 3.3k+

Warnings: giving birth, angst, fluff, insecurity, nasty people on the internet

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

The room was still and peaceful. After hours of pain and screaming, it was finally quiet. You could hear the faint beeping of the heart monitor in the background, but it was as if everything else had faded away. In that sacred silence, your heart felt fuller than it ever had before.

Lando’s voice broke through the quiet again, but this time, it was a little more hesitant, as if he were trying to put words to the flood of emotions swirling in his chest. “I always dreamed of this moment... but seeing her here, in my arms... it’s so much more than I imagined.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You had always known how much he longed for this day—how much he dreamed of becoming a father. But to witness it, to see him holding their daughter with such reverence, was beyond anything you could have ever expected.

“She’s so tiny,” you whispered, leaning in a little closer to get a better look at the little girl in Lando’s arms. "It’s hard to believe she’s ours."

Lando nodded, his thumb gently stroking the baby’s tiny hand, his gaze never leaving her face. “I just want to protect her. I want to give her everything. She’s going to have the best life.”

You smiled, feeling tears well up in your eyes again. You had always known Lando was capable of deep love, but seeing him like this, seeing him so vulnerable, made you fall even deeper in love with him.

“I have no doubt, Lando,” you said softly. “She’s going to have everything she needs... and more.”

Lando turned his head toward you for the first time since he’d been holding their daughter, his eyes glistening with emotion. He smiled, a soft, loving smile that melted your heart. “I couldn’t have asked for a better partner. I can't believe she's mine as much as I can't believe I'm yours. We’re in this together.”

You reached out to gently stroke the side of his face, your thumb tracing the curve of his jaw. His words meant everything to you. There was no one else you’d rather share this moment, this journey, with. "I feel the same. You're going to be the best dad, Lando."

He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll try my best. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she’s happy.”

The quiet room filled with the sound of a small yawn from your daughter, followed by the soft rustling of blankets. Lando chuckled softly, clearly enchanted by the tiny noise. “She’s already got her own little personality, huh?”

You both laughed quietly, and the sound felt like music, the kind of sound that made everything else in the world feel right. “I think she’s definitely going to keep us on our toes.”

Lando nodded, but his eyes were still soft and full of awe. "I'm ready for that. As long as we’re together... we can handle anything."

Your heart fluttered as you looked at him, this man who had been your partner, your best friend, and now, the father of your child. There were no words to fully capture the depth of what you felt in that moment. All that mattered was that you were here, together, in this perfect little bubble of love with your daughter.

“She’s going to love you so much, Lando,” you whispered, your voice full of certainty.

He smiled at you, a rare vulnerability in his eyes as he gazed at their daughter again. “I already love her more than I ever thought possible.”

As the moments passed, the three of you simply existed in this space, letting the world outside the hospital room fade away. There was no rush, no need for anything other than this precious time you had together, letting the quiet joy of the moment fill every corner of your hearts.

Lando's voice was low and full of affection as he spoke again, almost as if to himself. “This... this is everything I’ve ever wanted. You, her... us.”

You nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. "And we're just getting started."

The first few weeks after giving birth were a whirlwind of emotions, adjustments, and challenges. Your body was healing, and there were days when you felt overwhelmed by the exhaustion. Physical recovery was tough, and mentally, you wondered if you were doing enough. The sleepless nights, the constant feeding, the emotional rollercoaster—it was all a lot to process. But through it all, Lando was there.

You often found him hovering around you like a quiet guardian, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. The first night you came home from the hospital, Lando insisted on taking the baby for a few hours to give you some rest. You were still recovering from the birth, and the thought of trying to breastfeed, soothe the baby, and manage the pain seemed overwhelming. But Lando stepped in without hesitation.

"I’ve got her, Y/N. You rest," he said, his voice soothing and steady as he gently took their daughter into his arms. You had to fight the urge to stay up, but you trusted him. You allowed yourself to close your eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you slept soundly for a few hours, knowing your baby was safe and loved.

When you woke up, the sight that greeted you made your heart swell. Lando was sitting on the couch, holding the baby against his bare chest. His face, usually so focused and intense, was softened in a way you had never seen before. He gazed at her with such love and tenderness, whispering sweet words to her as she napped peacefully in his arms.

" I know I said it like a hundred times already but, she’s perfect, Y/N. Absolutely perfect," Lando had said, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to disturb the serenity of the moment.

He made sure you didn’t feel the weight of the housework either. Whenever the dishes piled up, Lando was the one to wash them, even when he had been working on the simulator for hours or when the demands of his racing career were overwhelming. "I’ve got it. You just relax. You’ve done enough," he’d tell you. He even took on the responsibility of cooking, though you could tell his meals weren’t quite as delicious as when you were in charge. But it didn’t matter—what mattered was the effort, the care, the thoughtfulness he put into everything.

Lando was constantly reassuring you when you doubted yourself. He saw the way your shoulders would slump after a long day of caring for the baby, how the sleepless nights began to take their toll, and he’d be there to remind you that you were doing an amazing job. When you expressed how hard it was to adjust to motherhood and how difficult it felt to bounce back physically, Lando was quick to reassure you.

“You’re incredible. You brought life into the world, Y/N. That’s something amazing. You are enough,” he said with conviction, never once faltering in his support.

There were nights when the baby would cry, and Lando would take the lead, waking up to comfort her before you had even opened your eyes. He’d hold her, rock her gently, and whisper soft lullabies to her, making sure she felt safe and loved while you caught a few more hours of sleep. His patience was endless.

Sometimes, when you’d express that you didn’t feel like yourself, that you didn’t look like yourself, Lando would gently take your face in his hands, his eyes filled with love. “You’re the same Y/N I fell in love with. You’ll always be her. Nothing about you has changed, except maybe... you’re even more beautiful now,” he’d say with a warm, playful smile, easing the weight of your worries with his words.

Lando’s support wasn’t just physical—it was emotional, too. He never let you feel alone in this new chapter of your life. When you cried from the frustration of sleepless nights or the pressure of balancing it all, Lando would simply pull you into his arms. “I’m here, Y/N. We’re in this together,” he’d say, as you let the tears fall.

Even when you doubted whether you could be the kind of mother you imagined yourself to be, Lando believed in you completely. "I’ve never seen anyone do what you do with as much strength and love as you have. We’re a team," he’d remind you over and over again.

And he was right. He never let you feel like you were doing it alone. When you struggled, he didn’t hesitate to pick up the slack. Whether it was handling late-night feedings or changing diapers, he did it all with a quiet grace that made you admire him more than ever.

In those early weeks, as you both navigated the unfamiliar waters of parenthood, it became clear to you just how deeply Lando cared—not just for you, but for your little family. He did everything with the thought of making your life a little easier, even when he was running on empty himself.

"You’ve given me the greatest gift, Y/N," he told you one evening, after putting the baby to sleep. “And I’m so thankful for both of you.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I couldn’t do it without you.”

Lando smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You’ll never have to,” he promised. "I’m always going to be here."

And in that moment, you knew—you were never alone.

One sunny afternoon, you felt like you had enough energy to step outside. The last few weeks had been a blur of late nights, feedings, and tender moments with Lando and your baby. You loved every second of it, but you also needed a break, a small taste of normalcy. You had always enjoyed little walks and small outings with Lando, and today, you wanted to do something nice for him. He’d been so incredible, taking on the lion’s share of the care and support, and you wanted to return the favor.

So, you decided to walk to your favorite bakery. The idea was simple: get a couple of your favorite pastries as a treat for both of you. It would give you some fresh air and a little exercise, and you couldn’t wait to surprise Lando with something sweet. You’d always shared a love for pastries, and there was something comforting about going there alone, just to clear your mind for a while.

As you strolled down the street, the air felt crisp and refreshing. Your body was still adjusting, but with each step, you felt a bit more like yourself. It was the first time in a while that you didn’t feel overwhelmed, and you even caught yourself smiling at the thought of Lando, who was back at home taking care of the baby.

When you arrived at the bakery, you paused for a moment to take in the familiar, cozy atmosphere. The warm, inviting smell of freshly baked goods hit you, and you felt comforted by the thought of how much Lando would appreciate this little gesture. As you stood in line, your fingers fiddled with your phone, glancing at the screen before it was your turn to order.

“Hi, I’ll have two of the almond croissants and one of the chocolate eclairs, please,” you said, giving the cashier a friendly smile.

But then, as you stood there waiting for your order, you heard the sound of giggles behind you. You barely registered it at first, but then it came again—a group of girls, no older than your mid-twenties, talking and laughing loudly.

“You know, I saw Y/N out in public the other day…” one of them said, her voice dripping with that judgmental tone. “She’s huge now. Like, I know she had a baby, but how can she just let herself go like that?”

The other girls snickered in agreement. “Lando deserves someone better than her,” one of them added. “I mean, he could have anyone, right? Why stay with someone who just let themselves go like that?”

The words felt like a sharp slap to the chest, and for a moment, everything around you seemed to blur. You didn’t know whether to cry, shout, or just run out of the bakery. They weren’t whispering or trying to hide it—they were speaking loudly, thinking you wouldn’t hear. But you did. Every word stung.

You wanted to turn around and say something, to defend yourself, but instead, you kept your eyes on the counter, trying to hold it together as the cashier bagged your pastries. You could feel the heat rise to your face, the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. It had been so long since you’d felt self-conscious, and yet, their words dug up insecurities you had worked so hard to bury.

You paid for the pastries with a forced smile, muttering a polite “Thank you,” before quickly exiting the bakery. You had to get home. You needed to get away from the cruel laughter that still echoed in your ears.

Once you were back home, the door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there for a moment, taking in the quiet of the house. You set the pastries down on the kitchen counter, the warm scent of fresh-baked goods filling the air, but it did little to lift the weight that had settled in your chest. You could still hear the words from the bakery echoing in your mind, the sting of the comments, and the cruel judgments of people who didn’t know you or what you’d been through.

With a sigh, you rubbed your eyes, exhausted both physically and emotionally. Your heart was heavy, and it felt like everything was crashing down around you. Lando had been so caring, so supportive, and you didn’t want to burden him with this—it wasn’t fair to him. He had done so much to make you feel loved and beautiful, and here you were, doubting it all because of a few words from strangers.

You took a deep breath, trying to shake it off. You didn’t want to ruin this moment—this quiet, peaceful time at home with your family. So instead of seeking out Lando, you slipped quietly into the living room, phone in hand, and tried to lose yourself in something else.

You knew scrolling through social media wasn’t healthy—especially right now—but it felt like a distraction, something to fill the empty space in your mind. But the moment you unlocked your phone, it all came crashing in. The familiar blue light illuminated the room, but instead of calming you, it brought a flood of negativity.

The comments began to pour in, one after another, and with each notification, your chest tightened. The words were sharp, cruel.

"She’s disgusting." "Lando should dump her and find someone who takes care of themselves."

The comments continued to pile on, each one worse than the last. "Fat," "ugly," "why does she think she’s still worthy of him?" They cut through you like daggers, tearing into every insecurity, every vulnerability you’d tried so hard to hide. The words hit you harder than you could have imagined, and it felt like the air was being sucked out of your lungs. Your heart ached as your eyes filled with tears.

Before you knew it, the tears were flowing, and there was nothing you could do to stop them. The hurtful words from the bakery combined with the hateful comments made everything feel too overwhelming. You wiped your face quickly, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps upstairs. Lando had gone up to check on the baby, and now, his soft footsteps echoed down the stairs as he walked back into the living room. When his eyes found you, his expression immediately shifted from calm to concern. His gaze locked onto your red, tear-streaked face, and he froze, clearly taken aback by the sight.

"Y/N…" he said softly, his voice full of worry as he rushed over to where you sat. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitated for a moment, trying to hide the phone in your lap, but he could see the pain in your eyes. He knelt down in front of you, gently taking the phone from your hand. You didn’t have the strength to say anything, so you simply let him read what was on the screen.

His face darkened immediately as he scanned the words. The anger was evident in the tightening of his jaw, the flare of his nostrils. “What the hell is this?” he asked, his voice sharp and protective. His fingers clenched the phone as his eyes lifted to meet yours, filled with disbelief and fury.

“These people… they don’t know anything about you. About us,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. The softness in his expression faltered as he took in the full weight of your hurt. He sat down beside you, his arm wrapping around you and pulling you gently into his chest.

“Y/N…” he whispered again, his voice soft but full of conviction. “Listen to me. You are amazing. You gave me our beautiful daughter, and your body—your beautiful, strong body—did something incredible. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Inside and out.”

The words melted your heart, but it was still hard to fight the weight of the hurt. You sniffled, resting your face against his chest, your voice breaking. “But the comments… they’re right. I don’t look like I used to. I don’t—”

Lando pulled back just enough to tilt your chin up, his thumb gently wiping away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. “Don’t you dare,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “You’ve never looked more beautiful to me. Not once, not ever. You’re the woman I love. These people? They can say whatever they want, but they don’t get to decide how I see you.”

His words washed over you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the tight knot in your chest began to loosen. He cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes full of love as he whispered, “If all the women in the world gathered together and shouted it, they couldn’t ever suppress your whisper. You’re perfect, Y/N.”

A fresh wave of tears stung your eyes, but they weren’t from sadness this time—they were from the overwhelming love you felt in this moment. Lando leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual.

“I’ll always see you for who you truly are,” he murmured, his voice full of warmth and tenderness. “And if they don’t see it… that’s their problem. But as for me? I’m right here, loving you more every day.”

You laughed softly through your tears, feeling the tension in your chest dissolve. Lando’s playful tone lifted your spirits even more. "And let’s be honest," he added with a cheeky grin, "even if all of them did shout, I’d still be right here. Loving you. And no one can change that."

The gentle teasing helped lighten your heart, and for the first time in hours, you felt a small flicker of hope. Lando was right. His love for you wasn’t based on anything as fleeting as looks. It was about who you were, what you’d been through together, and the life you’d created. No one could take that away.

Lando pulled you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips—gentle and reassuring, as if to seal the promise of his words. And for the first time since you left the bakery, you allowed yourself to believe it. You were enough. You were perfect, just as you were.

And you were loved, more than you could ever imagine.

[avatardoggo]

least to say it has been a week 😪

[incognit0slut]

Crawling back to you

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Simmons!Reader Summary: You never planned on having a casual fling with your brother's friend five years ago, nor did you expect him to fall in love with you, which forced you to end things abruptly. But now he's unexpectedly back in your life—older, wiser, and fully intent on winning your heart. Content: (18+) >12k words, reader has commitment issues, he’s the softest softdom i’ve ever written, female oral, fingering, unprotected p in v, a little squirting? teeth rotting fluff and a chaotic ending because who am i without my crack humor A/n: This is for @imagining-in-the-margins FWB writing challenge and somewhat a celebration post for 7k milestone. Idk how that happened but tysm :( I hope you like this as much as I did writing it because matt simmons is so underrated??? I’m also freaking nervous with this i haven’t posted a new fic in a while so please please please be nice i feel like throwing up

Surprise has a way of stopping time. Although you're not sure you can call it that. What you’re experiencing is more than just surprise, it’s the kind of feeling that makes you freeze in place. It’s not just a jolt to the system—it’s a full-body takeover. Your breath catches, your heart skips, and your thoughts scatter like leaves caught in the wind. How could they not, when the last person you expected to see is standing right in front of you, clad in the most questionable clothes?

You almost laugh at how absurd he looks. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie with a tacky “Washington D.C.” print sprawled across the front. It’s baffling why he’s draped in that shapeless thing over his freakishly tall frame, but it’s too hard to focus on something so trivial when you’re still grasping with the reality of seeing him again. You really can’t believe it. Spencer Reid is here. The Spencer Reid.

The guy whose heart you broke five years ago.

You should have seen this coming. In fact, you kind of did, when your brother’s friends came rushing into the hospital room, their voices a chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” as they crowded around the newborn cradled in Kristy’s arms. You exchanged polite greetings when they noticed you—Penelope even pulled you into a tight hug, gushing about how amazing you looked—and thankfully, there was no sign of him.

But you’d almost allowed yourself to believe he wouldn’t show up. When the small space became overly crowded, you stepped out into the waiting room to catch your breath… only to find him standing a few feet away with JJ.

And just like that, all the air seems to vanish from your lungs.

You had a plan, of course. In the back of your mind, you always knew a chance meeting was inevitable, whether you liked it or not. And that plan was simple. You’d offer him a polite smile. Exchange a few words, nothing too personal. You’d be friendly but distant, always make sure to keep the kind of composure that says you’ve moved on, and that the past is just that: the past.

But those well-laid plans seem fragile now, almost naive as you suddenly caught his smile. Now how do you stick to a script when your heart is starting to rewrite all the lines? Or blur the lines specifically, when the past and present merge so seamlessly that you’re reminded of the first time that same smile had charmed you.

You’re suddenly thrown back to that day five years ago, when your brother had thrown a barbecue cookout to celebrate some joint investigation his team had wrapped up. You didn’t know the details—didn’t really care to, if you were honest—but Matt had called you and insisted that you join him.

You hadn't thought much of it at the time. It sounded like another family gathering with a few new faces. But that was the day you met Spencer, and what began as a simple introduction quickly spiraled into something much more complicated. Really complicated. Because as charmed as you were by his smile, he had wanted something more from you when all you could offer him was your body.

So you ran away.

Although not very far, because apparently, he’s standing a few steps away from you, five years later. And the worst part? He’s now very much aware that you’re here. You watch as his jaw slacks open as he takes a double-take. You’re rooted in place. JJ, on the other hand, tugs his sleeve as she notices his demeanor slowly shutting down. She turns around to see what’s caught his attention, and when she spots you, a huge smile spreads across her face.

"Hey! You're here!” You force yourself to look away from him as she moves forward. You reciprocate the hug she throws at you. "How are you?”

You’re not entirely sure how to answer. How do you even explain that your heart just did a triple backflip and landed somewhere near your stomach? Or that you’re seconds away from having an internal existential crisis because, of course, the universe would choose this moment to throw Spencer Reid back into your life?

There's really no good way to sum that up. So instead, you plaster on a smile that probably looks more like a grimace and reply, "Good. I’m good.”

JJ doesn’t seem to notice the strained edges in your voice. “It’s so nice to see you again! How long has it been?”

There’s a moment of silence as you try to gather your thoughts. But before you can respond, Spencer’s voice suddenly cuts through the quiet. It’s soft, almost hesitant, as if he’s been holding onto this detail for far too long, but every syllable rings in your ears.

"Five years," he says. "Five years, three months, and seventeen days."

Your stomach does another flip. JJ raises her brows, her eyes darting between you and him. You carefully meet her gaze. "Actually, you and I met up last year.”

“Oh, right!” She exclaims, her face lighting up as the memory clicks into place. “You were in town for a conference, right? I totally forgot about that.”

“You were in town last year and you didn’t tell me?”

God, he’s making it terribly hard for you to keep your composure. You throw him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t know you wanted to see me.”

His expression shifts slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He looks at you as if your words sounds ludicrous to him.

“I always want to see you.”

You can't decide what surprises you more, the fact that he still wants to see you after all these years, or how easily he says it. The words roll off his tongue so casually, so effortlessly, as if the weight of your shared past doesn’t cling to them. And to make matters worse, he's saying this right in front of JJ, who is now staring at him, clearly scrutinizing the significance behind his words.

You quickly shift your attention to her, forcing another smile. "So, are you going to head inside?"

JJ blinks at you. “Oh, yeah, I probably should.” She turns to Spencer and gives him a quick but knowing glance. "See you on Monday, Spence."

You glance at him. “You're not going to see the baby?"

"Spencer’s got something he needs to take care of,” JJ chimes in. There’s a slight edge to her voice, like she knows exactly what that ‘something’ is, but she doesn’t elaborate. She gives him one last look before heading inside.

You catch yourself looking up at him again. “You’re leaving?”

Spencer pauses, studying you carefully, his brow furrowing just slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines of your question.

“I was,” he says softly.

There’s a sudden tightness in your chest. “Right.”

“But now I don’t want to.”

There it goes again, the butterflies in your stomach. This is exactly why you didn’t want to see him. You knew that once you looked into his eyes, heard his voice, it would stir up everything you’ve spent five years trying to bury. You’d told yourself it was better to pretend that whatever happened between you was nothing more than a stupid choice. But now, standing here with him so close, you can feel all those walls you built crumbling down with just a few words.

You finally look at him, like really look at him. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s changed over the past five years. There are faint lines around his eyes now, signs of age that wasn't there before. His hair is longer, a little messier. It curls around his ears in a way that makes him look almost boyish, yet undeniably charming which suits him more than you'd like to admit.

But even with all the changes, his smile—gentle and just a little shy—remains the same. That smile reminds you of a time when things were simpler, where it was enough to convince you that you didn't have to keep your guard up all the time. But then you remember the reason you walked away, and his smile becomes a little harder to look at.

Because while he's changed, grown, matured, so have you, and you're not sure if there's room for the person you are now in the space that once belonged to both of you.

His eyes scan you in the same way you’re assessing him. “You look good.”

Your mouth twitches at his words. You didn’t expect him to be so straightforward. “Thank you.”

“You’re even prettier than I remember.”

The sigh you let out is long and weary. He really knows how to push your buttons.

“Spencer. Don’t.”

“What?”

“You can’t just say things like that after—” You hesitate, crossing your arms. "After everything. What happened to 'Hi, how are you?’. Or maybe something simple like ‘What have you been up to? Anything new?’”

He blinks, clearly taken aback by your abruptness. “Okay. Hi, how are you?”

You cast him a wary glance. “Good.”

"What have you been up to?"

"Work."

"Anything new?"

"No."

He pauses again, his eyes searching yours before he asks, "No new boyfriend?"

You frown. “Huh?”

“Girlfriend?”

"Spencer."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"Spencer."

He smiles sheepishly, his shoulders sagging slightly. "You're right, that was inappropriate. I didn't think I would see you again, it’s throwing me off a bit."

“You didn’t think I would be here for my newborn niece?”

His smile turns into a grimace. "I guess I wasn't thinking clearly." He shifts on his feet, fidgeting with his fingers—a small, familiar tic that you hadn’t seen in years. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things weird.”

“It’s fine,” you reply, though there’s no real bite to your words. His nervous energy is making it hard to stay annoyed. Your eyes narrow on his oversized hoodie again, the casual, almost careless choice that seems slightly out of character for the Spencer you remember.

He seems to notice you staring so blatantly. “What?”

“You look funny.”

A hint of surprise flashes across his face. “You think I’m funny?”

“Different,” you correct. “Did you raid someone’s closet on your way here or something?”

"Oh… I had to change my clothes. I got wet at the park earlier.”

You glance towards the window with a frown. "It's not even raining."

"I ran through the sprinklers."

The cease on your forehead deepens. Even that sounds so unlike him. Spencer Reid doing something that carefree in public?

“You ran through the sprinklers? Alone?"

You notice his expression shift as the question leaves your lips, something very subtle, but you’ve known him long enough to catch it. The way his eyes flicker, the slight hesitation before he answers, makes it obvious. There’s a hint of something unspoken in the way he looks at you, and suddenly, it all clicks into place.

He wasn’t alone.

You look away. It's ridiculous, you think. To feel this somewhat… jealous when it should be the last thing on your mind because, really, what right do you have? What you had with him wasn’t even a relationship to begin with. But despite all the logic in the world, you can’t help the pang in your chest, the twist of something bitter and familiar curling in your gut.

"It's not what you think," he slowly says.

You force a small, awkward laugh, trying to brush it off. "I wasn’t assuming anything. It’s none of my business, anyway."

"No, really, it's nothing like that." he insists, scrunching his nose in the way he does when he's trying to think. "I mean, I did meet someone at the park, but it’s not like… what you might be thinking. We were just talking, and… and then there were these sprinklers and it wasn’t really planned or anything, then she—well, technically, we weren’t even alone the whole time because there were other people around, and it’s not like we—”

“Spencer, you don’t have to explain—” you begin, but then something dawns on you. “Wait, is this what JJ was referring to? Did you… Did you have plans?”

You notice his Adam’s apple dip as he swallows. "Kind of," he admits. “But it wasn't anything serious. It was just, you know, a casual thing.”

You can't help the way your stomach knots. Casual could mean anything. Maybe a simple coffee between two friends, or even a lighthearted conversation over lunch. But in your experience, at least in the book you and Spencer had written together in the past, casual had always meant sex. And now, hearing him say it about someone else feels like a punch to the gut you hadn't expected.

You suddenly feel foolish for letting your mind go there, for assuming that whatever he meant by casual was the same thing it had meant for the two of you back then. It's been five years, and so much has changed. Maybe casual means something entirely different for him now, and you're the one stuck in the past, reading into things that no longer hold the same weight.

He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression, the way your eyes momentarily cloud over with something you can’t quite hide. He takes a step forward. "It’s really nothing.”

You take a step back. “Even if it is, it’s really not my business.”

“But it’s not,” he urges. He’s suddenly so persistent, and you can’t help but feel the embarrassment gnawing you at how easily he can read your mind. It's one thing to wrestle with these feelings privately, but having them so clearly acknowledged makes it all the more humiliating. You can’t believe you let yourself get so worked up over something that shouldn’t matter this much.

You eye the exit door. “I need to go.”

"Right now?” His brows knit together in confusion. “But your family’s here."

You’ve only spent a few minutes with him and you’re already running away.

"I just remembered I have to take care of… something."

The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, but you don’t wait for his response. You quickly turn on your heel, and when he calls out your name with concern, you force yourself to keep moving, scurrying off down the hallway.

Me: I'm heading back first Big bro: You okay? Me: Bad headache Big Bro: You didn't eat anything, did you?

You scoff. What is it about your brother always zeroing in on eating whenever you complain about feeling off?

Me: You know I did. Just not much Big Bro: That’s what I thought. There’s some leftover dinner in the fridge. And check the second drawer in the kitchen, there should be some ibuprofen Me: Yes, Dad Big Bro: Don’t get smart with me Me: 🫡 Big Bro: Drink lots of water Me: Yes, sir. Anything else on your mind while you’re giving out parental advice? Big Bro: I’m just trying to keep myself from dragging you out of my house if you collapse Me: 🙄 Big Bro: The kids are staying with Kristy’s parents, I’ll drop by tomorrow morning Me: Okay Big Bro: Call me if you need anything

You toss your phone down on the bed, then let out the most exasperated sigh. Spending your Saturday night in your brother’s guest room is the last thing you expect to be doing, let alone faking a headache just to avoid confronting a situationship from the past. You honestly thought you’d outgrown this kind of avoidance, but here you are, slipping back into old habits as if no time has passed at all.

Ironically, your mind stumbles into the past, and you remember a conversation you once had with Spencer. It was during one of those nights when you both were tangled in each other’s arms. You could faintly remember the conversation started with him talking about his work.

He never actually told you the details of his cases, but he liked to share his thoughts on the different complexities of the human mind. And on that particular night, he was rambling about the psychological concept of avoidance, which he claimed to have detected the first time he spotted the bad guy. He went on at how people often retreat into familiar behaviors to protect themselves from discomfort.

At the time, you had brushed it off with a joke, teasing him about overanalyzing everything when the situation had already played out. But now the irony isn’t lost on you. You’re doing exactly what he once explained. It’s almost laughable if it didn’t sting so much to realize how right he was.

A sharp ding from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts, and one glance at it tells you exactly who’s messaging. The name on the screen makes your chest tighten, but you don’t even give yourself a moment to consider responding. You quickly turn the phone to silent, push yourself off the bed, and head straight for the kitchen. True to your brother’s words, there’s leftover pizza in the fridge, but the idea of reheating it doesn’t seem appealing to you.

You reach for the bottle of wine instead.

The red liquor tastes like butter, or something close to it. It’s similar in the way the liquid melts over your tongue, spreading warmth through your chest and settling comfortably in your belly. By the time you're sipping the second glass, you feel more relaxed, but then the sharp sound of the doorbell ringing cuts through the calm.

You glance at the door from the position of the couch. You have a strong feeling about who it is. But as much as you're sure of the who, what really gnaws at you is the why.

You hesitantly make your way toward the door, and sure enough, when you pull it open, Spencer is standing at your brother’s doorstep. The corner of his lips turns upward in an awkward, almost apologetic half-smile as if he’s unsure of how to begin or whether he should even be there in the first place.

You lean against the doorframe. “Did Matt tell you I was here?”

He gives you a pointed look, his eyebrows raising slightly. “No, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.” You throw him the same questioning look, and he explains, “This is the only place you’d stay in town because not only do you hate staying alone at a hotel, but Matt wouldn’t let you even if you tried.”

You can’t believe he still remembers your offhand comment about sterile hotel rooms. It’s one of the reasons you used to prefer staying at his apartment whenever you were in town.

“Why are you here anyway?” You ask. “I thought you had plans.”

He pauses for moment as if deciding how much to say. Finally, he clears his throat. “Can I come in? I’d rather explain it inside.”

"I don't think you owe me any explanations about what you do with your time," you reply, crossing your arms.

"Maybe I don't owe it, but I want to give it.”

“Which isn’t necessary.”

“But appreciated, I hope.”

You find yourself caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. You tell yourself not to read too much into it, but there's a part of you that can't help but soften at his words. Maybe it's the way his eyes reminds you of melted chocolate as he stares at you that makes you want to let him in, despite your better judgment.

You pull the door open. “Fine, but take your shoes off. Kristy’s very serious about hygiene.”

He does as he’s told and tucks away his shoes on the rack by the door.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

He shakes his head slightly, offering a small smile. "I'm good, thanks."

You nod and gesture toward the living room. He follows you, and as you both approach the couch, he instinctively moves to the far end, settling down cautiously as if not wanting to invade your space. You take a seat on the opposite end.

“So, what do you want to talk about?”

He leans back slightly, resting his hands on his knees. You can tell he's trying to gauge your mood, figure out how much to push and when to hold back. "Do you remember when we went on that date at the street fair?"

You frown, remembering how you had missed your bus home in one of your trips here and ended up wandering at the fair with him. “That wasn’t a date.”

"Fine. Do you remember when we went to the street fair together not on a date?"

“I remember."

His shoulders relax a bit at your response. “You spent ages deciding what to eat and you ended up choosing that little Korean stall in the corner. We had to walk a bit further to get there even when your shoes were hurting you.”

You think back, internally scolding yourself for wearing those damn boots that day. “You thought I was being ridiculous.”

"I didn't think it was ridiculous. I just didn't get it at first. Your feet were practically covered in blisters."

"I really wanted kimchi."

"I could tell, and it took me a while to understand why you went through all that trouble. Now I do.”

You glance at him, sensing there's more behind his words. “Why are you bringing this up?"

He meets your gaze. His brown eyes looking a little more golden underneath the dim light. "I guess this is me choosing.”

“That you’re craving for Korean?”

He gives a soft, genuine laugh, the kind that starts in his chest and reaches his eyes, making them crinkle at the corners. “Not exactly,” he says and leans a little closer. “What I’m trying to say is, that’s how I feel right now. I'm here because I want to be, not because it's convenient, but because it’s you.”

There’s a subtle flutter in your chest, and your skin prickles with a familiar warmth as he speaks. Your heart beats a little faster, not enough to be alarming, but just enough to remind you that you’re not as unaffected as you pretend to be. You can feel your palms start to sweat, and there’s that almost imperceptible hitch in your breathing that you hope he doesn’t notice.

“Spencer…” You don’t even know how to start. “It’s been five years."

He nods slowly. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. A lot of has changed since the last time we saw each another, and you’re here acting like we both separated on good terms? Don't you hate me?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Why would I hate you?”

“Because I broke your heart. I—" Your voice falters as you struggle to find the right words. "The moment you told me you were falling in love with me, I... I ran. I couldn’t handle it. I pushed you away like a coward.”

“You weren't a coward, you were scared. And maybe I didn’t understand that back then, but I do now.”

You shake your head. “But I hurt you.”

The sigh he lets out is heavy, yet there's something deceptively calm about it, almost as if he’s already made peace with the past. “You did what you thought you had to do, and sure, it hurt. But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I realized that I don’t blame you for needing space. It wasn’t about me not being enough, it was about you needing to protect yourself.”

His words start to chip away at the wall you’ve built around your heart. “I thought you’d hate me,” you admit quietly.

“I could never hate you."

You lower your gaze, your fingers fiddling nervously with the edge of the cushion. “Alright, let’s say you choose me. Now what? What is it that you want?”

He pauses for a moment, his fingers curled into his palms. He looks away briefly, taking a deep breath as if gathering his thoughts, then returns his gaze to you. “I want another chance.”

If you were surprised to see him at the hospital earlier, this is something entirely different. There’s something akin to panic fluttering in your chest. It’s amusing, really, how the human body reacts before the mind fully comprehends as if your heart knows what’s coming before you do. You can feel it in the way your breath catches, in the way your stomach knots with a nervous energy you can’t quite shake. Because how do you even react to that?

You finally turn to face him, leaning your head against the back of the couch. This moment feels like some sort of déjà vu, and just like the last time, your mind is already bracing itself, preparing to give him the same answer you did back then.

“You know it’s never going to work.”

He mirrors you, but instead of the frustration or sadness you half-expected, there’s a gentle smile on his lips. “You sound so sure.”

“That’s because I am,” you reply. “I know what you’re asking for right now, and we don’t function like that. Not in the past, at least.”

“How did we function?”

“Based on sex.”

“And what do you think I’m asking for now?”

“More than sex, which isn’t going to work."

“Why not?”

“Because—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You’re not even sure how to explain. The fears, the doubts, the past... all of it feels too big, too overwhelming to articulate in a way that makes sense.

“Because the idea still terrifies you?”

You frown, caught off guard by the directness of his question. “No.”

The smile stretches even more across his face. “Then give me one good reason why you think so.”

"Oh I can name a few."

He studies you, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he’s trying to read every thought racing through your mind. “Let’s make a deal then. You give me those reasons why we can’t work, and I’ll give you reasons why we can.”

You’re quiet for a moment, considering his offer. It’s bold, almost reckless, and yet... there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to accept the challenge.

"And if your reasons aren’t good enough?"

“Then we’ll deal with that when we come to it,” he replies softly. “But I’m willing to bet we won’t have to.”

"You really think you can convince me?"

"I can try." He leans a little closer, just enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body. "So, what’s your first reason?"

That’s too easy, too obvious. “You’re one of my brother’s closest friends,” you point out. “What happens if this doesn’t work out? I don’t want to put him, or us, in that position.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “That didn’t stop us in the past.”

You scoff. “Spencer, we were sneaking around behind his back. It’s not exactly the same thing. This… whatever this is, it would be out in the open, and that’s a whole different level of complicated.”

“It would be different, yes. But that doesn’t mean it has to be a problem. If anything, it shows how serious we were then, and how serious we could be now.” You scrunch your nose at his response. “Now what’s next on your list?”

"Uhh.. the distance! You’re in D.C., and I’m not. It’s not like I can just drop everything and move closer.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re a three-hour drive away, maybe two if I take the expressway. And honestly, with how much we both travel for work, I don’t see how that’s an issue.”

His reasoning is so undeniably logical you feel a flicker of annoyance, not at him, but at how easily he’s dismantling your arguments.

“You didn’t even want to visit me back then.”

"You were the one who didn't want me to. You kept saying it was easier for you to come here.”

His words hit harder than you expect. You remember all the times you insisted on making the trips yourself. You'd convinced yourself it was about convenience, but with him calling you out on it, you realize it wasn't about convenience at all. It was about keeping things on your terms, maintaining a safe distance even when that distance wasn't physical.

"Well, I had more flexible hours," you claim. The excuse is flimsy, and the way Spencer looks at you—patient, but not fooled—makes it clear that he sees right through it.

You try to think of your next reason, although the words seem to get stuck before they even form. You know you can easily rattle off more excuses, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes it harder than it should be.

“That’s it? You’ve only thought of two? I was expecting a bit more of a challenge.”

You scowl at him. "I didn’t say I was done."

"Take your time," he comments, leaning back slightly, still wearing that infuriatingly patient smile.

You huff softly, trying to regain your footing. "Okay, how about this? Sex."

There's a beat of silence. "What about sex?"

You feel the words forming, but they sound ridiculous even in your own mind. Still, you force them out of your mouth. Your subconscious is urging you to come up with more excuses to keep him at arm’s length. "That was all that we had. What if… what if we just fall back into the same patterns?"

“Don't you think that's a reason why we can work? If we were only ever about sex and we're still here, doesn't that show there's something more between us?"

“Or it just means we had a strong physical connection. That doesn’t necessarily mean there’s something more.”

“You really believe that? That all we had was just physical?”

“Yes,” you retort, though the confidence in your voice wavers slightly. Your eyes flicker away for a split second before you meet his gaze again. “That’s all it ever was and I don’t know if it can turn into something you’re trying to imply.”

He lets out a low, amused sound, as the corners of his mouth twitches upward. “You’re deflecting.”

“I’m being realistic,” you shoot back. “What if we try, and it doesn’t work? What if everything falls apart because we weren’t good at anything but the sex?”

His eyes light up, and suddenly he’s wearing the most boyish grin you’ve ever seen on him. “So you're admitting the sex was good?"

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

“You know what I mean. What we had was...” Wild? Passionate? Crazy-hot-mind-blowing sex? “…intense. But intensity isn't enough for a relationship. What if the rest of it doesn't hold up?"

He leans in closer, his hand hovering near yours on the couch.

“But what if it does?”

All you can do is stare at him.

“You’re giving me all these reasons to push me away again,” he continues. “But I’m here because I’m not afraid of those doubts. I’ve always wanted to give you more than what we had because you deserve something real. I want us to be real this time, and I think you do too, even if you’re scared to admit it.”

His words are affecting you more than you like to admit. You can slowly feel it in the tension building between you, it’s surprisingly not the uncomfortable kind, but the sort that pulls you in, that makes you want to move closer even though every instinct tells you to stay put.

And then it happens. You feel a slight tremor in your leg, an involuntary movement that causes it to brush against his. The contact is so light it's almost like it didn't happen at all, but it did. He notices—Of course he does—and now there’s a certain gentleness in his gaze like he knows exactly what's going on inside your head. He doesn't push, doesn't rush, just watches you with those impossibly kind eyes.

And in the softest, most careful voice, he asks, “Can I move closer?"

Your heart is pounding now, the rhythm echoing in your ears, in your chest, in the pulse at your throat. The sensation travels downward, a slow, steady beat that moves through your body, inching its way down your spine, tightening in your stomach before it settles low in your abdomen. It’s a heat that spreads outward until it reaches your core, leaving you acutely aware of every inch of space between you and him—and how much you want to close that distance.

You find yourself nodding. He shifts closer. “Can I touch you?”

You really want to say something witty, something that might deflect from the weight of the situation, but the words won’t come out. You can only manage another nod. He moves slowly, carefully, giving you every opportunity to pull back. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re rooted in place as his hand reaches for you.

His palm gently rests on your jaw. Your eyes flutter closed against your consciousness, and the tension that’s been coiling in your chest slowly unwinds, replaced by a sense of calm. When his thumb slides across your cheek, he speaks again. His voice is so close it's as if the words themselves are brushing over your lips.

"Can I kiss you?"

You inhale sharply. The word "Yes" hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you don't need to say it out loud. He can already see the answer in the way you’re leaning into him, and his mouth is on yours in an instant.

The reality is, you’ve kissed Spencer before. Plenty of times, actually. You know the feel of his lips, the way they can be both gentle and demanding, the way he tastes faintly of coffee or something sweet when he’s had a treat. You also think back to those hurried kisses in the past when time was short and the world was pressing down on you. Or the playful pecks that came with laughter. Even the desperate, heated moments when the need to feel something, anything, was too overwhelming to resist.

This kiss, however, isn’t like any of those. This one is slow, and achingly tender. His movements are unhurried. The way his lips glide over yours carries a deep sense of care, like he’s trying to memorize every soft curve. Just as you begin to melt in his arms, he pulls away slightly, not very far, but enough to hover close that you can still feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

There’s a tense silence as the tip of his nose brushes gently against your cheek. You can tell he’s giving you the space to decide what happens next, and there are a lot of scenarios running in your head. You could push him away, repeating history all over again. You could be in denial and pretend all of this never even happened. But something inside you snaps.

Maybe it’s the way he’s holding back, so gentle, so careful, too afraid of pushing too far. Or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t want him to hold back, that you need more, that you’re tired of resisting what you’ve both been dancing around for so long. Before you can second guess yourself, you’re clutching onto the fabric of his hoodie, tugging him closer.

He tenses for a moment, but the hesitation is gone almost as soon as it appears. His mouth finds yours again, and he lets out a deep, relieved sigh. You feel the soft, insistent push of his tongue against the seam of your lips. You hold onto him, parting your mouth eagerly before he slips his tongue with a desperation that catches you off guard.

Then his hands seem to be everywhere all at once, tracing the curve of your spine, sliding down to the small of your back, and brushing along the edge of your jaw. His fingers then tangle in your hair, tugging gently while his other hand skims over your waist. But when his hand slips inside your shirt, calloused fingers brushing your soft skin, you slowly pull away. “W-Wait.”

His eyes widen slightly, and you can feel the shift in his body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you say quickly, tugging him closer again. “I just… I think we should continue this conversation somewhere more… private?”

He pauses for a moment. “Really?”

“If you want to.”

A subtle smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are you trying to seduce me for sex?”

You’re oscillating between being incredibly turned on and equally mortified. In a sense, yes, that’s what you’re asking. But you didn’t expect him to be so blunt about it. You don’t think he’s ever been this direct in the past, and now you’re wondering if you missed something before, or if he’s just tapped into a level of confidence you’re struggling to keep up with.

“Would it be inappropriate if I said that I am?” you ask hesitantly, and you can’t help but wince a little as the words leave your mouth.

“Since when have you been worried about being inappropriate with me?”

“Well, Spencer, if you haven’t noticed, there’s a five-year gap since the last time we slept together.”

His hand on your waist tightens slightly. “Five years too long, if you ask me.” Then he pulls you closer until there’s barely any space left between you. “You do realize this is you giving me a second chance, right?"

In a way, you do. You've spent so much time convincing yourself that you were better off keeping your distance. Walking away in the past was easy, but now… now it feels different. The years have stretched on, and the excuses you’ve made have started to wear thin. Especially when just being near him is starting to stir memories you thought you’d buried—some good, some less so—but all intense, all Spencer.

Maybe he's right. Maybe five years is too long to pretend that whatever was between you didn't matter.

You slowly meet his gaze. “I realize.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

You hesitate, not out of doubt, but because of the sheer gravity of what you're about to say.

"Maybe."

His sigh is audible when he hears your answer, and without missing a beat, he brushes the barest, lightest, most gentle of kisses on your lips. “Maybe is good.” Kiss. “I can take—” Kiss. Kiss. “—maybe.”

You think you should say something more, but all coherent thoughts scatter the instant his lips meet yours again. You return his kisses, hesitant at first, but quickly falling into a rhythm that feels achingly familiar. It doesn’t take long until his lips move into something more urgent. There’s a hunger there, a pent-up longing that he can no longer hold back. His tongue flicks against yours, teasing, coaxing, and you know you need to stop him before he starts to undress you right there on the couch.

You reluctantly pull back. “Bedroom. Now.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls you to your feet, and you’re practically dragging him to the guest bedroom. When the door closes behind you, he’s quick to guide you toward the bed, his hands firm on your hips as he steers you backward. The moment your legs hit the edge of the bed, he pauses, his hands lingering on your waist, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Having second thoughts?” You tease. The sarcasm drips sweetly in your voice, knowing full well he’s been trying to win your heart the entire evening.

“No,” he mutters. “I’m trying to see if you are.”

You draw back from his arms just enough to climb onto the bed and lay down in the middle. “Does it look like I am?”

He shakes his head with that cute, bashful smile. Although there’s nothing bashful about the way he pulls off his hoodie and tosses it carelessly onto the floor. The shirt underneath is crumpled, and his hair is even messier, sticking up in ways that make you want to run your hands through it.

“Come here,” you motion for him. Without hesitation, he crawls between your legs and leans in for another kiss. His hair feels like the smoothest silk when you finally reach for it. There’s a slight dampness from the faint sheen of sweat on his skin, the way it curls just slightly at the ends, brushing against your forehead as he dips his head to capture your mouth.

You don’t think you can ever get tired of kissing him. There’s a familiarity in the way he moves. His lips mold perfectly to yours, soft yet demanding, as if he knows exactly how to draw out the deepest parts of your desire. And you feel it everywhere. In your pulse, in your veins, all the way down to the spot between your legs.

It intensifies even more when his lips begin to trail down your neck. You feel the first warm rush of arousal pooling in your panties when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your throat, the fluttering veins below your jaw with so much intensity as if he's taking every one of your heartbeats for himself. Your grip tightens in his hair as he marks another spot near your collarbone.

“I’ve missed this so much,” he murmurs as he slowly nips down your neck. “I’ve missed you.”

You can only hum a reply, your voice catching in your throat as your head starts to spin from the way his hands are now trailing down your side. He reaches the hem of your shirt and pauses, fingers lightly tugging at the fabric.

“Can I take this off?” He asks, pulling back slightly just enough to look down at you. With his messy hair falling into his glossy brown eyes and swollen wet lips, how can you possibly say no to him?

Without a second thought, you nod, your fingers already moving to help him with the fabric. His eyes never leave yours as he slowly lifts your shirt. It slides up over your skin, and you raise your arms to let him pull it off completely, tossing it aside without a care. Your bra comes off next, and when that follows to the floor, his eyes sweep over your body.

There’s a certain look in his gaze. Devotion would be too strong of a word, but it’s something close—something softer, yet just as intense. You’ve seen desire before, felt it in fleeting touches and heated glances, but this is different. This feels different. It’s as if his gaze is reaching into the spaces between your thoughts, gently pulling at the threads that hold you together to unravel you in the most tender of ways.

He kisses the spot between your breasts.

“You’re always so pretty.”

He gives a soft peck just above your heart.

“So incredibly beautiful.”

Then his tongue flicks along the delicate curve of your chest, making a slow, teasing trail upward until he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. He sucks gently, rolling it around with his tongue, and you’re mesmerized by the lewd scene of him drawing your flesh between his lips. Your fingers instinctively find their way back into his hair, tugging on the soft strands as he continues to lap at your sensitive skin.

He then shifts slightly, his mouth releasing your nipple with a soft, wet sound before moving to give the same attention to the other. While he suckles and nibbles on one hardened peak, he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger, sending a rush of pleasure straight to your core. If you thought you were wet before, you’re certain you’re drenched by now. Your panties cling uncomfortably and the growing desire makes you ache to peel them off.

He must sense your growing need because his kisses trail lower, down to your stomach, while his fingers toy with the waistband of your leggings. His touch is teasing, slipping just under the elastic, and you instinctively lift your hips, silently begging for more. He takes his time as he slides the fabric down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your skin before discarding them somewhere in the room.

Your attention is on him as his palm dances along your inner thigh, and the closer he gets to where you ache him the most, the more your breath hitches in your throat. When his thumb brushes over the wet patch on your panties, your hips buck against him. “Spencer…”

He glances over at you and lets out the most appreciative sigh. You really are beautiful. Eyes full of lust, skin flushed with his marks. You’re a vision of longing, and every part of him is consumed by the sight of you. “Yes?”

You squirm under his gaze. “Aren’t you… going to take them off?”

A slow, teasing smile spreads across his face. “What, these?” He gives a playful tug at the edge of your panties, his fingers just barely slipping beneath the fabric before pulling away. “Are you sure you want them off?”

You try to hold back your groan when his thumb finds your clit. “Yes. I-I’m sure.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the effect he has on you, but instead of giving in immediately, he begins to circle your clit slowly with his thumb, watching your reaction closely. “On a scale from one to ten, how sure are you?”

Now he’s starting to get on your nerves. You can’t hold back the small huff falling from your lips. He simply laughs then slowly takes off the last piece of your clothing. The cool air instantly hits your skin as he grabs your knees, spreading your legs apart. He skims along your naked body and when you notice where his gaze settles, you swallow hard, suddenly feeling very shy.

It's kind of ironic, you think, how you've gotten this far, and now, of all times, you're suddenly blushing like a damn teenager. It's as if your brain is catching up to everything your body already knows—that this is real, and it's happening. You can't help but laugh at yourself a little. Here you are, all tangled up in each other, practically begging him to get you naked and yet you're acting shy now?

He seems to notice the shift in your mood, his hands pausing on your thighs as he looks up at you with concern. He tilts his head slightly, his brow furrowing. “Did I do something wrong?”

You quickly shake your head. “I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious.”

He studies your face for a moment. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” you blurt out, more forcefully than you intended, your hand instinctively reaching out to grab his wrist. “I… I guess I’m not used to feeling this exposed in front of you.”

He shifts slightly, moving closer so he’s eye-level with you, his hands still resting gently on your thighs. “We’ve done this countless times before.”

“I know, but that was years ago. Things feel different now… like there’s more at stake, maybe?” You let out a sigh. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly,” he reassures you. He soothes the skin behind your thighs. “But you don’t need to feel self-conscious with me. You’re beautiful, and I just want you to feel as good as you make me feel.”

If he keeps talking to you like that, there’s no doubt you’ll end up giving him your heart on a silver platter by the end of this. He shifts lower down your body. “We can go as slow as you want,” he continues, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, then another. “Just tell me what you need.”

You take a deep breath as his soft stubble grazes your skin. “I need you.”

“Then you’ll have me.”

You watch with heavy lids as he drags his lips along your skin until he presses the most tender kiss on your cunt. He really wasn’t lying when he said he could go as slow as you want because every kiss is achingly gentle, barely more than a feather-light touch. It’s the kind of softness that makes you writhe beneath him, and before you know it, your fingers are tangling in his curls while your hips buck against his face.

There’s a slight vibration on your skin—it could be his laughter, or maybe just a hum of contentment—but you don’t bother deciphering it. You’re too lost in the sensation as his tongue breaches your folds. You peer down and watch as he trails the tip of his tongue through your wetness, slowly tracing up and down your slit until he flicks it against your clit.

You’re honestly gone after that. You’re not surprised, though. If there’s one thing Spencer Reid is good at, it’s knowing exactly how to use his mouth. Sure, he’s a bona fide genius who spouts off random facts and quotes obscure literature, but his mouth? His mouth is a whole different level of expertise. It’s almost unfair how good he is. It’s like he’s studied you, memorized every little thing that makes you go crazy, and now he’s putting all that knowledge to devastatingly good use.

And it’s not like he’s doing it just for your pleasure. It brings him the same deep satisfaction. His eyes are closed, and he seems to lose himself in the act, savoring every taste, every reaction, every subtle shift of your body beneath him. It’s as though he’s completely immersed in finding an almost insatiable need to drink in everything about you. His tongue delves deeper, swirling around your entrance before sucking gently on your folds, pulling the soft skin into his mouth.

You find yourself pressing his head closer to your heat. His eyes flickers up to you. “You’re back.” Your response is simply another push of his head. “Oh. Needy, are we now?”

"Mhm," you manage to squeak out, feeling a rush of wetness seeping out of you. He leans in, his tongue catching a bead of moisture before it drips further, dragging it between your slick folds.

Your grip in his hair tightens.

“Spencer…”

“I know, I know,” he murmurs, his lips curling into a smile before his mouth descends again, this time focusing on your clit. His tongue flicks over the sensitive nub before he gently sucks, pulling it into his mouth with a slow rhythm that has you gasping. Each motion is perfectly timed and you feel yourself growing even wetter under his attention. His tongue swirls, then flattens before he sucks a little harder.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel that familiar coil in your stomach. The pleasure builds steadily, the tension winding tighter and tighter until it slowly overwhelms you. Spencer seems to sense it too, his hands gripping the back of your thighs a little tighter, pushing them further apart as he continues with unwavering focus. He’s not rushing, though, he’s savoring it, but his slow motion is enough to make you snap.

Your hips jerk against his mouth, and he doesn’t miss a beat, holding you steady as he continues his ministrations. He’s relentless in his gentleness, coaxing every ounce of pleasure from you, even as you’re left gasping for air. When you finally come down from the high, Spencer finally lifts his head and places a final, soft kiss on your inner thigh.

“Do you still feel self-conscious now?”

It takes you a moment before you can answer. You smile lazily at him. “Not after that.”

He grins and pulls you up into a sitting position. “Do you think you can give me another one?”

“Spencer,” you breathe out. “Even if you gave me thousands of orgasms, I’d probably ask for more.”

The laugh he lets out is warm and infectious, the sound vibrating through you in a way that makes you smile even wider. “Well,” he starts, slipping his hand down your thigh. “The human body is capable of experiencing multiple orgasms in a relatively short period of time, especially for women. So technically, you could keep asking for more, and I could keep giving them.”

“Even up to a thousand?”

“Maybe not to that extent.” He pulls you close, and you lean your weight against him. “Hold on to me.”

You do as you’re told and somehow you find yourself in a new position. When he spreads your legs apart, your senses go on high alert again. “Spence?”

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “Try to relax.”

A gasp escapes your lips as his fingers dive between your thighs. Try to relax? Try to relax? Men and their audacity to tell you what to do, especially when they're the reason you're so wound up in the first place. Because how are you supposed to relax when his fingertips are brushing ever so gently over your clit? How are you supposed to calm your breathing when he’s spreading your arousal up and down your folds?

And how are you supposed to keep your composure when he suddenly fills you with, not one, but two of his fingers?

You feel yourself slipping and he tightens his other arm around your waist. “Told you to hold on.”

He’s starting to annoy you, but you listen to him and bury your face in the crook of his neck. You take a deep breath as he starts to move his fingers. Soap, you decide. It must be his soap, because he smells clean and crisp, almost like fresh linen and a hint of something peppery. It’s almost distracting if it weren’t for the way his fingers are curling inside of you.

Then you feel that sensation again, the kind that ripples through every nerve of your body. At first, it’s manageable, an intensity you think you can handle. But when he suddenly changes his technique, everything shifts. His entire hand moves in a fast, up-and-down motion that catches you completely off guard, and before you know it, you’re whining, your grip tightening on him as your head falls on his shoulder.

The rapid pace makes your head spin. It feels like he’s pulling the control right out of your hands, leaving you questioning your own limits. You’ve seen yourself getting wet, you’ve felt yourself become drenched before, but you’ve never experienced anything like this. You never realized your body could produce this much liquid. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but more than you’ve ever seen from yourself, and it splatters against his hand, dripping down your thighs.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even flinch when your nails claw into his shirt. He keeps going, and going, and going, until the only thing you hear is your rapid breathing against his neck and the slick, wet sounds he’s coaxing out of you. You’re overwhelmed (in the best way, of course) but you can’t stop yourself from cursing as the sensation intensifies, multiplies even.

It's not until your body starts to go limp that he finally takes pity on you. He slows down, his fingers pumping lazily inside you. “Good?”

“How did you—when did you—” you exhale a long breath. “I can’t feel my legs.”

He slowly withdraws his fingers out, only to rub your essence over your puffy clit, and your hips jerk once more before he finally stops. You're a trembling mess once you sink into the mattress.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you do that before.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever done that in my life.” Your eyes suddenly feel incredibly heavy that you can't resist letting them flutter close.

He kisses the tip of your nose. “Still up for another one?”

You peer through one eye, and when you catch him starting to undress himself, your other eye shoots open. The nod you give him is eager. His smile widens as he shrugs off his shirt, and you can’t help but let your gaze drop to the line of hair trailing down his stomach. You wonder what it would feel like under your tongue.

"Wait."

Your eyes snap back up to meet his. "What?"

His face twists into a grimace. “I don’t have a condom.”

Shit. Neither did you.

You roll onto your side, propping yourself up on one elbow and resting your head in your hand. “And you’re realizing this just now?”

“I was too focused with you."

And by that, he means giving you the most intense orgasm of your life. You watch as his fingers hover over his belt. “You really didn’t think of bringing one when you decided to come over?”

“My intention coming here wasn’t exactly for this.”

“Well, it would be great if you at least considered the possibility." You study his face and blurt out the first thing on your mind, “I don’t want to stop.”

He shifts his weight on the bed. “Me neither.”

“I mean… we could have sex without using one. We’ve done it before. Once.”

He recalls what you're referring to and lets out an amused laugh. “Are you sure? Didn’t you freak out when you realized your period was late?”

“That was a coincidence! I was stressed out at that time, but I’m safe now—I think.” You pause, brows furrowing as you start calculating your cycle in your head. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m not ovulating.”

“Pretty sure?”

You give him a look. “No, I’m actually sure. I know my body, and I’ve done the math. See?” You gesture vaguely, as if the numbers and facts are floating in front of you. “No ovulation in sight.”

The corners of his mouth twitches into a smile. “Alright then,” he murmurs, and leans down to plant a soft kiss on your lips. “No ovulation in sight.”

“None,” you confirm before tugging his belt. “Can you please take off your pants now?”

He complies—with incredible speed—and when he’s finally as naked as you, your mouth waters at the sight of him. His cock is painfully hard, thick, with a bead of arousal glistening at the tip. You try to reach for him, but he has other plans. He crawls over your body and slips between your legs. He then grips the back of your thigh with one hand, pulling it up slightly to open you to him, while the other holds himself from the base.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The moan you let out is lewd. “Fuck, Spencer.”

An airy laugh slips out from him as he rubs the head of his cock around your clit. “So needy.”

You wiggle your hips. “Hurry up.”

He only hums in response, before easing his hips back just enough to drag his swollen tip through your slick outer lips. The underside of his cock splits your folds open with each stroke, and your head is spinning. It’s almost sweet how he’s taking this slow, but at this point, you’re so close to just shoving him inside you. You let out a frustrated whine when he pulls back, only to thrust forward just enough for the head of his cock to nudge at your entrance.

Your walls squeeze around him.

“O-Oh…” His mouth falls open slightly as he stares down at where your bodies meet. “I… I don’t remember you being this tight.”

You follow his gaze, watching the way your outer lips swallow him inch by inch. “I-It’s been a while.”

He pushes further, and your nails dig into his shoulders as he stretches you in a way that feels almost too much, and you can't help but tense when he thrusts further. He wraps your leg around his waist before leaning down, propping his weight on his elbows.

“Need you to relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck. You do as he says. Breathe in, breathe out. Clench, unclench. And then you feel him easing inside you, oh-so-deliciously slow, until you squeak out a gasp when he finally fills you completely.

Because fuck, he stretches you—wrenches you open, and you’re consumed by his heat, the pressure, the sheer size of him. It overwhelms your senses, and all you can do is sing out a filthy moan. He follows your tune with a melody of his own, though his voice trembles, sounding more like he’s in pain as if he’s trying to hold himself back.

“You’re so warm,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. “You okay?”

You nod and wrap an arm around his shoulders. “More than okay.”

“Do you think I can move?”

“Please.”

There’s no hesitation in the way he pulls back, only to sink into you again. His hips roll against yours in a way that feels both achingly slow and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second to memorize the way you feel around him. It’s like he can’t quite believe this is happening, that you’re giving him the chance to be tangled up with you in this position again.

And truthfully, neither can you.

But here you are, two bodies moving in perfect harmony, intertwined in the most primal, human way. Flesh against flesh, breath against breath. Even your heartbeats sync in the same rhythm. The world beyond seems to dissolve, leaving nothing but the pull of desire that draws you deeper into the moment, into him, until the boundaries of where you end and he begins blur into something undefinable.

It’s nonexistent. You’re glued to him, fused in a way that feels as if this is exactly where you belong.

No more running away, you decide.

“Kiss me.”

He’s in no position to decline, and within a heartbeat, he captures your lips in the sweetest kiss—well, as sweet as it can go. Because even though he tastes like honeyed warmth, his hips continue to pound into you, hitting that deep, tender spot inside. You whine against his lips. A needy, breathless sound that has him faltering for just a second, his hips stuttering against yours.

“You feel so—” he chokes on his words. “God, you’re so perfect.”

You’re perfect, you want to say, but you stop yourself, biting down on the words before they escape. It’s not that you don’t believe it. You just can’t bring yourself to admit it out loud. Not yet. Instead, your need wins out, pushing past everything else.

“More,” you gasp between shallow breaths.

He rests his forehead against yours. “Yeah? You want me to go faster?”

You whine in approval.

The instant he pulls back, his tip barely teasing your entrance before slamming into you again, a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He repeats the motion. Once. Twice. By the third time, he doesn’t hold back, driving his hips hard and fast, the wet sound of your bodies slapping together echoing off the walls.

You turn into a putty mess. You can barely think, let alone form words, your mind clouded with nothing but the feeling of him—inside you, around you. Your whole world narrows down to this moment, to the way he fills you so perfectly. His forehead stays pressed against yours the whole time, his lips hovering above yours he murmurs, “Tell me if it’s too much.”

But it’s not. It’s everything. Maybe even not enough. “I…” you gasp when a certain angle from him hits a deep spot inside you. “Oh, Spencer… harder, p-please.”

He’s more than happy to oblige.

He shifts slightly, then snaps his hips forward with a sudden, forceful thrust. He repeats the motion. Over and over again. His pace is relentless now, and he starts to pant, his breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts, every exhale brushing against your lips. There’s a tension in his body, a taut strain in muscles, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. And you can’t help but moan softly into his mouth, swallowing each of his gasps as his control starts to slip away.

“Where do you want—” His voice falters. “Can I—inside—”

You nod frantically. “Yes. Yes.”

It’s enough to push you both over the edge.

The sensation starts as a gentle warmth in your fingertips, slowly winding its way through your body. It weaves through your limbs, spirals up your spine, before gathering intensely at your core. You’re shaking, trembling, and you instinctively reach out for something to ground yourself. One hand threads into his curls, the other clutches his jaw.

Then it happens. His cock moves in a frantic rhythm, sending you spiraling deeper into intense pleasure for the third time tonight. Your inner walls tighten around him as your orgasm crashes through you, gripping him so tightly that it pulls a raw, breathless groan from his lips. He slams into you with uneven thrusts as he presses your body flat onto the bed, until he stops and shudders, spilling hot, white liquid deep inside you.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt something this intense before—not even with him in the past. Every inch of your body is buzzing as his warmth spreads through you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. You cling to him, your nails softly grazing his back as he finally lets out a satisfied hum, his lips moving to pepper kisses along your face.

He starts with your left cheek. Two gentle kisses. He moves to your right, giving a light peck that lingers just a moment longer, almost as if he’s blowing a warm breath against your skin. You giggle as the air tickles you. Then finally, he settles on your lips with a sigh that merges into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, and tenderly slow.

You let out another laugh when he finally pulls away.

“What?”

His curls fall messily on his forehead and you reach up, brushing it back. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I grow on you?” You simply nod. “Like fungus?”

Your fingers pause in his hair. “Like what?”

"You know, fungus. It grows on things. Like mold or mushrooms,” he explains and gives you a smile. "Am I growing on you like that?"

You’ve been apart for so long that you almost forgot how his brain works. His unexpected comparison sparks your amusement, so you decide to humor him. “Depends on what kind of mushroom you are.”

He looks thoughtful for a while. “There's this mushroom called mycorrhiza. It forms a symbiotic relationship with trees and helps them grow by improving water and nutrient absorption."

“And that makes you what, exactly?”

“Essentially indispensable.”

“So you’re claiming you’re good for me?”

A slow, confident grin spreads across his lips. “I’m saying I’m exactly what you need.”

You burst out laughing. Your cheeks might actually ache from smiling this much. “That was pretty smooth.”

He looks incredibly pleased with himself. Then after a quiet moment, he buries his face in the curve of your neck. You close your eyes, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours, and a sigh escapes your lips. It’s like all the time you spent apart melts away in that single breath, and something inside you relaxes, as if he’s managed to sneak back into the parts of you you’d forgotten existed.

Maybe he is right. Maybe, after all this time, he’s exactly what you need.

You wake up to the sound of clatter. It’s loud, jarring, and it echoes around the house. You stir in bed, stretching your limbs before tensing when you feel something poking your back. Your hazy mind immediately snaps into alert, and you open your eyes fully, glancing toward the window. Sunlight is already pouring into the room, far too bright for how early you thought it was.

You quickly turn over to the other side.

“Spencer. Spencer!” you hiss, shaking his shoulders urgently. “Wake up! We overslept!”

He groans softly but doesn’t move. Another loud clatter bounces off the walls, and your heart pounds wildly in your chest.

“Spencer,” you whisper sharply, eyes widening. “I think Matt is home.”

That finally gets his attention. He blinks his eyes open. “Wha—?”

You’re already halfway out of bed, rushing to the window to peek through the curtains. Sure enough, you spot your brother’s car parked in the driveway. “Yep, he’s here,” you mutter under your breath, the panic rising as you turn back to Spencer. “And now he’s going to kill us.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” he mumbles, but even by his voice, you can tell he’s not entirely convinced. You watch as he finally slips out of bed, scrambling to pick up his clothes scattered across the floor. “We talked about this last night. It’s not going to be as bad as you think.”

You shoot him a look before quickly pulling on your own clothes.

“There’s a big difference between telling him, and him finding out that his sister is sleeping with his friend while he was away taking care of his wife and baby.” You yank your shirt over your head. “In his freaking house.”

When you put it that way, Spencer’s heart sinks a little. Although Matt isn’t a violent person, he has twice the muscle he does, and it’s not hard to imagine him being a lot less forgiving in a situation like this. He can’t help but picture the worst-case scenario even though Matt’s always been the reasonable type.

Until now, maybe.

“Do you think I should climb out the window?”

You stare at him in disbelief. "Spencer, you’re not sixteen.”

“Actually, I’ve never been in a situation like this,” he admits, pulling up his pants. “My biggest concern when I was sixteen was getting my first PhD.”

You forgot how ridiculously smart he is. Smarter than most people, definitely smarter than you. “Well now you’re getting firsthand experience.” You start pacing around the room. “Let’s just try to stay calm.”

“That’s kind of hard to do when your brother could walk in while I’m half-naked.”

You look at him in horror. “Then put your damn shirt on!"

Before he can reply, there's a noise from outside the room—a quick shuffle of steps, light and rapid, as if someone’s rushing down the hall. You barely have time to react before the door is wrenched open.

But it's not your brother.

It's far worse.

You feel your stomach drop when your eyes lands on the small figure of your nephew, standing there with wide eyes. His gaze shifts back and forth—from you, disheveled and clearly flustered, to Spencer, whose bare back is facing the door, still fumbling with his pants. From little Jake's point of view, it must look like the most confusing sight, because he quickly retreats, bolting down the hallway.

“Dad! Help! There’s a strange man in Auntie’s room!”

You don’t know whether to laugh or panic. The fact that Jake didn’t recognize Spencer without his usual suit is almost comical. You glance at him, noticing how his body has tensed, his back straightening in alarm.

“Who was that?” he whispers, turning to you with wide eyes.

"Jake.” You blow a strand of hair that falls across your face. “Who apparently thinks you're an intruder."

The blood seems to drain from his face. “He didn’t recognize me?”

Your eyes flick over his appearance—his wild, tangled hair sticking out in all directions, bare chest still slightly flushed from sleep, and pants barely zipped. “Not when you look like this, no.”

But before he can respond, you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps echoing down the hallway, heavier this time.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Shit.”

“I should have climbed out the window.”

The idea of him dangling from the window is even more absurd. You glance toward the door. "Okay, wait here. Let me talk to Matt first." Your eyes flicker to his bare chest again, and you let out the most exasperated sigh. "And please, for the love of God, put on your shirt."

You don’t have time to wait for his response as you rush out of the room, quickly closing the door behind you. You take a second to catch your breath, trying to compose yourself, when a noise down the hallway draws your attention. Only then do you notice Matt cautiously advancing towards your way, his back against the wall.

That’s when you spot the gun in his hand.

“Seriously?” you hiss, staring at him in disbelief. “What the hell, Matthew!”

He looks at you, equally surprised. “Jake said there was a strange man in your room!” he replies defensively, tightening his grip on the weapon. “What was I supposed to think?“​

Your eyes shift toward your nephew, who’s peeking around the corner, his little head barely visible as he watches the scene unfold. This is definitely not how you expected your morning to go. A simple, awkward conversation was one thing, but having to disarm your brother while explaining this mess was an entirely different level.

“There’s no intruder, Matt. Put the gun down.”

He looks past you, his eyes zeroing in on the closed bedroom door. “Then who’s in there?”

You bite the inside of your cheek. There’s no easy way to explain this. How do you even start? That Spencer is standing half-naked in the guest room, trying to gather his dignity after being mistaken for an intruder by a six-year-old? You never thought you'd have to introduce Spencer to your brother this way, in his own house, under these chaotic circumstances.

You can feel Matt's eyes boring into you, waiting for an answer. All you can think is how ridiculous this all must look, and how there's no good way to smooth over the fact that, yes, Spencer Reid, his friend slash teammate, is behind the door. And the most absurd part? A part of you is more worried about the look on Matt's face than the fact that he's holding a gun.

“Please don’t be mad.”

You hold your breath as you slowly reach for the doorknob. You push the door open and let out a small, relieved sound when you see Spencer fully dressed, looking almost presentable, except for the wild hair that refuses to settle. He gives you a small nod before stepping out of the room.

“Uncle Spencer?” Jake’s small voice cuts through the tension. Matt’s gaze darts between you two, his jaw tightening as he puts the pieces together. You can see the moment realization hits him full force.

“Reid?” Matt’s voice is incredulous, bordering on betrayed. “What the hell is going on?”

“I can explain,” you say cautiously. “It’s not exactly how it looks.”

“Not exactly how it looks?” Matt echoes, his eyes narrowing at you, then shifting back to Spencer. “You’re in my guest room looking like you just rolled out of bed—”

“Fully clothed now,” Spencer cuts in quickly, which only earns him a frown from Matt.

“Not helping,” you mutter under your breath, shooting Spencer a look before turning back to your brother. “Fine, it’s exactly how it looks like. So… uh, surprise?”

You watch so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Matt’s always been a good brother. Sometimes annoying, but always reliable. He doesn’t usually get angry at you—quite the opposite, actually. He’s calm, level-headed, and more prone to offering advice than raising his voice. But now? The frustration is clear in his eyes.

He’s not mad exactly, but he’s definitely not happy either.

“Surprise?” Matt repeats, his voice flat. His gaze flick back to Spencer, who’s now shifting his weight awkwardly beside you. “This is how you decided to tell me?”

“Okay, it’s not how we planned it, obviously.”

“Clearly,” he deadpans.

You put on the best, innocent-looking face you can muster.

“Maaatttt,” you try again, deciding to use a different approach by being cute this time. “Don’t be so harsh.”

To your relief, it actually works on him, like it usually does whenever you try to charm your way out of trouble. His tough exterior falters because, no matter what, you’re still his baby sister. His face softens for a moment, shoulders dropping as he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not mad, okay? But I am your brother. And you,” he adds, pointing at Spencer. “You’re supposed to be my friend. I feel like I should’ve known about this before… well, before finding you like this.” Your shoulders slumps at his words. “How long has this been going?”

Now that is a tricky question. Explaining that you and Spencer occasionally had sex five years ago definitely isn’t something your brother needs to hear right now—or ever, really. You can almost feel Spencer tense beside you, probably having the same thought.

You clear your throat. “Last night.”

"Last night?" Matt looks at you as if you’re crazy. It might be the most disapproving look he’s ever given to you. "You're telling me this just started last night?"

"But—" you quickly add, holding up a hand to stop his train of thought. "We’ve been talking for a while, it’s not like it happened out of nowhere. Last night was just the first time we decided to actually do something about it."

“Right under my roof?” Matt’s brows pinches upward. “You lied about having a headache, didn’t you?”

“Wait, you had a headache? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You’re not sure you can handle two men pestering you at the same time. You focus on your brother instead.

“Look, we didn’t plan anything yesterday. Things just… happened,” you say, trying to explain without making it sound worse than it already does. “But it’s not only about last night. For what it’s worth, we were planning to tell to you. Just not like this.”

Your brother cocks an eyebrow. “So this isn’t a one-time thing?”

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. “God, no,” he says. You feel an arm snake around your waist. “I care about her. A lot.”

Matt stares at Spencer for a long moment, his face a mixture of frustration, concern, and something else. Acceptance, maybe. He looks back at you. “Is this what you want?”

You feel Spencer’s grip tighten on your waist. He’s also waiting for your answer.

“It’s what I want.”

Spencer’s thumb brushes over you as Matt lets out a long breath, his grip on the gun finally relaxing. “This feels weird.”

“In a good way?”

“In a bizarre kind of way.” Matt’s falls falls on Spencer again. “I’m still trying to process this, but if you hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Spencer promises. “I swear.”

“Good, because you know I can put you back to prison if you do.”

Oh, he knows. Spencer understands exactly what he means, after all, Matt was one of the few people who helped clear his name during one of the most horrific moments of his life. Even if there’s a slight jab in his words, Spencer can tell he’s being dead serious. Especially with that gun still attached to his grip.

You, on the other hand, are hearing this for the first time. “Wait, what?” you blurt out. “Prison? You went to prison?”

Spencer merely shrug. Matt finally lowers his weapon, shaking his head as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. “I need coffee,” he mutters, turning toward the kitchen.

“Wait…” Jake finally peeks out from behind the wall. You blink your eyes, forgetting he’s even there. “Does this mean Uncle Spencer is your boyfriend now?”

You feel three pair of eyes on you. Matt’s gaze is sharp. Spencer’s expression is cautious. And then there’s Jake, looking up at you with the straightforward curiosity only a child can have. To him, things are simple. Either you are, or you aren’t, and in hindsight, it really is a straightforward question. But nothing about this situation has been straightforward.

You look at Spencer for a fraction of a second. You can see the nervous hope reflected in his eyes. Maybe Jake’s question isn’t just his… maybe it’s Spencer’s too.

And sure, maybe it doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it really is as simple as saying—

“Yes.” You can feel your heartbeat in your ears. “I suppose he is.”

If you’ve ever seen Spencer being happy, it pales in comparison to this. His eyes light up, and he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world. A genuine, almost boyish smile spreads across his face as you feel his warmth seep into your skin. There’s so much affection in his gaze it makes your chest tighten. He’s not just happy. He’s beaming.

Matt clears his throat awkwardly. “Come on, kiddo, let’s grab what your mom needs and get back to the hospital.” He glances back at you. “You guys coming?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Sure.”

He throws you both a look. Not hateful, but definitely not warm either. You see him grip his gun from the corner of your eye, more out of habit than necessity, before steering his son away with a firm hand on his shoulders.

“That went better than expected,” Spencer mutters the moment your brother is out of earshot.

“‘It’s not going to be as bad as you think’,” you mock, reciting the words he said to you half an hour ago.

“It wasn’t.”

“Spencer, he held a gun.”

“He thought I was an intruder. I would’ve done the same thing,” he points out, his tone surprisingly calm as he holds you by your waist. “Relax, okay? He’ll come around us. Eventually.”

“You’re awfully optimistic about this.”

“He likes me.”

He does have a point. Matt has always had a soft spot for Spencer, but you’re not sure how far that can go after what just happened. “I think you might have lost a few brownie points today.”

He considers the truth in your words. “Maybe,” he admits with a shrug. “But at least I earned a few with you.”

“Because of the boyfriend thing?” He’s grinning so wide that his eyes practically disappear into crescent moons. You poke the slightest dimple on his cheek. “Don’t act so smug. I’m still trying to process the fact that I’m dating an ex-felon.”

“I was framed,” he explains, and the way he says it so nonchalantly only deepens your confusion. He tries to smooth your frown with a kiss. “I’ll tell you everything on our first date.”

“Who said I’ll go on a date with you?”

“You will,” he simply says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“And what makes you so sure?”

Because he’s always been sure. The man who doubts everything, who overanalyzes every situation, looks at you with a certainty that makes your heart swell. You’ve seen that look before—the one that says he’s considered every possible outcome and decided this is the one that matters most. There’s something magnetic about it, the way he seems to know exactly what he wants, and right now, it’s you.

“Because I’m your mushroom.”

He’s so silly, yet there’s something so perfectly Spencer about it that makes the idea of not going on a date with him feel impossible. You shake your head, unable to suppress your smile.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but the warmth in your chest tells you he’s already won your heart.

And you don’t mind him keeping it.

[prosypepper]

growing old with kento nanami

word count: 2.8k

warnings: post-shibuya arc, descriptions of: surgery, recovery processes, depression, insomnia, trauma, therapy, coping mechanisms; pregnancy, marriage, crying. (18+ mdni!)

notes: this WILL have a part 2 and maybe 3! it will be very long so i'm splitting it up. even though the warnings seem kind of sad i promise it's a happy story :)

part 2 | masterlist

“marry me.”

proposing to you was nanami’s first conscious thought after being in a coma for 5 days after shibuya. you were reading a book, peacefully keeping him company in his hospital room, not even noticing he was awake. your eyes fluttered up from your book, back down, and then up again.

“marry me, please,” he repeated. you stayed silent for a moment, eyes widening and mouth dropping. he wasn’t supposed to wake up.

“kento, oh my god,” you yelped, dropping your book and rushing to the hospital bed to look at him. his eyes were open, only slightly, and the weakest smile he could bear rested on his lips. you gently settled your hands on each side of his face, barely hovering over the charred skin. he looked so tired, and yet, he was asking you to marry him.

kento groaned when you hugged him, but you couldn’t stop yourself, you squeezed him gently and with care. a weak hand rested on your back, in between your shoulder blades. he was too weak to repeat his question again. but the only thing on his mind was if you would be his wife.

“yes, yes, i’ll marry you,” you cried into his chest, wetting the fabric of the hospital clothing.

neither you nor nanami himself understood why he proposed to you in that moment. after waking up, his journey to recovery began with slow but steady progress. it took several months of intense rehabilitation and support from both sorcerers and doctors for him to regain his mobility. with their help, he was able to walk and move with a surprising degree of agility, nearly returning to how he was before shibuya. he also had a few cosmetic surgeries, in an attempt to minimize the scarring from all he had been through. within a few months, he was able to see his skin smooth out and hair grow from the side of his head. he wouldn’t look the same, ever; but you didn’t care. you loved kento, as he did you, the fact you were able to celebrate his recovery made you feel like the luckiest woman on the earth.

the loss of his previous strength and abilities weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his spirits. yet, amidst the struggles, he found solace in small victories and the support of those around him, your support meaning the most to him. although kento was deeply troubled by the realization that he could no longer pursue his life as a sorcerer, he came to accept it as the best possible outcome given the circumstances. this acceptance marked a pivotal shift in his perspective, allowing him to focus on rebuilding his life in new ways. before he turned in his resignation, he had made sure to recommend ino for a promotion. it was his last wish as a sorcerer.

after the almost year-long recovery process, kento surprised you with a beautiful ring, one of the ones you had talked about before he went on his trip. he proposed again, in the place you first met, this time without weak hands and barely audible words. he was able to find a job, one not nearly as draining as his job from before he returned to jujutsu – and began making plans for your wedding. the planning process didn’t take long, he wanted the wedding to make you happy.

your and kento’s wedding was outright beautiful. it was a stunning venue on a beach, hundreds of guests attended, friends and family alike. kento shed a few tears when he saw you walking down the aisle, clad in the most gorgeous attire he’d ever seen you wear, as his bride. his voice shook as he said his vows – vows that he wrote, almost a good 1,000 words – and he made you a million promises. promises he wouldn’t dare to break, promises to grow old together and live the life you both deserve.

at the reception, you told kento you had a surprise for him, and ran off to go get something from one of your bridesmaids. he was confused at first, because he didn’t need any more surprises, he was the happiest he’d ever been. a newlywed, married to you. but when you came back to the table, two small pieces of paper in your hands, he didn’t think it would be possible to be more joyous.

“we’re going to malaysia, for our honeymoon, kento,” you excitedly told him, showing off the two plane tickets scheduled in a week.

nanami was speechless, a huge smile with teeth plastered across his face, and he gave you the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.

when the two of you traveled to malaysia, kento was at peace. he had never seen a place so charming and breathtaking, he remained entranced by the culture and landscapes. the two of you spent your time hiking in nature, watching waterfalls and having lovely picnics wherever felt right. kento was so ecstatic, a smile constant on his face as he watched his surroundings with never-ending wonder. he thanked you a million times over.

you had never seen him be so alive. he promised you that one day, he was going to build a house, right on the beach, just for the two of you.

once you were back at your shared apartment, the reality of the past year and a half hit kento like a train. so much time had been spent recovering, constantly in and out of the hospital, planning for your wedding and improving both of your lives, he never had a chance to reflect on the genuine trauma he went through.

you didn’t notice for a while, but kento grew depressed, and restless at the same time. he began to spend his nights awake, insomnia brewing like piping hot tea, staying conscious until the early hours of the morning, doing any exercise or meditation to calm himself down and go to sleep. yet the visuals replayed over, and over, and over. the blood, the curses, the flames, the death. it hadn’t bothered him before, he thought, but he just never gave himself the time to soak it all in. and the depression – the depression was an all-new low for him. when kento wasn’t working, he was at his house, in the bed, while you were working or off running errands. you only noticed his new behavior when you woke up in an empty bed at 4 a.m. one night, 3 months after your honeymoon.

“mm…kento?” you called, footsteps heavily plopping down the hallway towards the bright lights of your kitchen. when you entered the room, you saw kento sprawled out on the floor, knees bent, with sweat rolling down his forehead. stepping over towards him, you kneeled down to look at him, and his head rolled to the side to look at you, too.

kento’s eyes looked so tired, the eyebags you hadn’t seen in years were full-fledged, his eyelids were droopy and exhausted. just by the emotion his eyes conveyed, you could see he was silently suffering, and he had been that way for a while.

“kento, what’s wrong?” you asked, bringing a hand to the side of his face to rub a thumb over his sweat-glistened cheek.

“i don’t…know,” he replied, defeat in his voice, “i can’t sleep. i haven’t slept. i don’t know.”

your husband always had a plan. he always knew everything; he always took care of the unknown and intimidating parts of life. for kento nanami to say “i don’t know” meant something was wrong, seriously wrong.

“sit up,” you softly demanded, gently pulling his shoulders off the floor. you sat on the ground, crossing your legs, and kento mirrored your actions, slumping when he finally sat up. “kento, honey,” you began, taking his hand in yours and resting it on his knee, “what’s going on?”

he was never one to talk about feelings, to talk about emotions felt deep down, because he wasn’t sure how to convey anything that would make him vulnerable. but as he sat in front of you, chest slightly heaving, such a burnt-out expression on his face, you knew there was something he wasn’t saying, but that something needed to be said.

“i can’t…” kento muttered, stopping himself for a second, “i can’t stop thinking.” he finally admitted, causing you to furrow your eyebrows with concern.

“about what, honey?” you sweetly asked, thumb caressing the back of his hand, tenderly rubbing back and forth.

“everything.” he stated, eyes flashing away from you to look at the floor next to him. you knew what he meant, though, but you had never seen him so pained from his work, especially from something that happened so long ago.

“tell me, baby,” you soothed him. you grabbed his other hand, causing him to look back at you pitifully. kento stayed silent for numerous moments, unsure as to what you could handle. but you were his wife, someone he was supposed to be able to confide in.

“so many people…died…” he mumbled, “i almost died. i saw what it looked like, i faced death.” his words began to come out quicker, “i’ve never seen that many people die, not even in shinjuku, and there was so much blood, and gojo almost, he almost-,” kento’s voice began to get shaky and uneven, a crack in his words as tears stung his eyes. “gojo almost died, too, and…i almost died, i saw it,” he repeated, “and yuuji – looked so upset, and takuma got hurt,” he clenched his eyes shut, words still coming out as a single string.

you moved closer, shifting onto your knees and wrapping kento in a comforting embrace. he clung to you immediately, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as if trying to anchor himself in reality. his body shook with the intensity of his sobs, each breath coming in ragged gasps. the rawness of his anguish was palpable; his cries were filled with a pain that seemed almost too immense to bear. the image of the carnage replayed in his mind, a relentless cycle that he couldn’t escape. kento’s tears soaked through your shirt, repeating with his incoherent murmurs of horror. his face, once so composed, now twisted in an expression of deep, unrelenting despair.

kento wailed into your chest for hours that night, unable to stop his shuttering and repetition of the same phrases. he only calmed down when the sun began to rise, slowly illuminating the insides of your home. once kento parted his head from your chest, he looked you in the eyes, asking for help without saying a word. you wiped away his tears and grabbed the sides of his face, promising him you will get him anything he needs. kento fell asleep around 7 a.m. that morning, with the help of you running your fingers through his hair, shushing him and telling him it will all be okay.

he believed you. kento nanami put all his faith in you, his wife, to help him fix his problem he hadn’t an idea on how to mend. and so, you did everything in your power to help him. you spent countless hours on research, finding therapists that specialized in helping people like him, and you came across different mechanisms to help him cope. most of all, you continued your duties as a supportive wife, constantly telling him to get up and go to the supermarket, or out to the library. little by little, these smaller things combined together to work out, and kento began to get better. it was a breath of fresh air, as well as a weight lifted off both your and his shoulders, when he began to smile again, and shifted his view of life to a more positive outlook. he was alive, he began to feel alive again.

kento nanami was finally beginning to live the life he desired and deserved, all with you by his side.

a couple of weeks after kento’s 30th birthday, you came rushing into his office, tears of joy — and anxiety — pricked in your eyes. soon as his eyes landed on your seemingly upset expression, he was concerned.

“what’s wrong, dear?” he asked, pushing his chair away from the desk to stand up. you quickly closed the door behind you, leaning against it, and you dug around in your purse to pull out a small plastic baggie. when you tossed them to kento, it only took him a few seconds to realize what you were there to tell him.

“…you’re pregnant?” kento beamed, rushing over to you to wrap his arms around your waist. he quickly lifted you up in the air, grip so tight as if he never wanted to let go, your feet kicked happily.

kento always wanted to have kids, but being a sorcerer, he always thought it was too dangerous. you had some conversations about it after shibuya, and the both of you agreed that if it happened, it happened. and your children would have the best life possible, of course; but the glimmer of hope you had for having kids slowly burnt out over time with both of you increasing in age. in that moment, though, kento had so much hope and pure happiness, just at the thought of growing a little family with you.

the first few months of your pregnancy were hectic. between doctor’s appointments, mixed with morning sickness and fatigue, you thought it would never end. although you were happy to start a family, negative emotions easily overcame you, and kento noticed. he tried his best to be there for you, but his work schedule conflicted with your lives, and he soon realized he needed a change in his life. he needed to change your life and his, because he would be damned if he was going to return to the same boring life as he had before.

using his savings and bonus money from his job, he bought you a house. a real house, with acres of land and space for your family to grow, so much bigger than the previous apartment you shared with him. a house that he owned, a house that would contain all the joy for your future. he made sure it was grand, with a huge kitchen, and multiple bedrooms – not caring if only two of them were filled, or if all of them housed someone. before kento showed you the house, he set up a nursery.

“where are we going?” you inquired for about the 50th time that day. you had been in the car for hours, and all kento would say in return is, “you’ll find out.” nonetheless, you were excited, kento had always given you the best surprises, but you had never driven so far with him.

“we’re here.” kento stated, pulling into an empty concrete driveway big enough to fit 6 cars.

“where are we? did satoru move?” you asked, the huge display of a home proving to be a bit intimidating for you. kento didn’t reply this time, he only scurried out of the car to come and open your door, helping you get out with a kind hand.

you didn’t even understand what was going on until you walked up the front steps, and a few keys jingled in kento’s hands until he found the right one to unlock the door. the door to your new home.

“wait...wait. kento,” you said, standing still as your husband strode inside, “what is this?” the familiar tears of joy rushed to your eyes, and you just stood there with a shocked expression plastered on your face.

“this is our new home, honey,” kento chimed, reaching a hand out again to welcome you inside. you took his hand, albeit a little hesitantly, and stepped inside your house.

“oh, kento,” you blubbered, throwing your arms around his neck, tears beginning to trickle down your face.

you and kento explored the house for hours, marveling at all the space and beauty he bought for you. you thanked him a million times over, crying at each new space you discovered in the house, you felt sheer gratefulness for your husband and all he did for you. and kento, well, he did all of it to thank you, to thank you for never losing hope in him, and to thank you for the joy you’d made him experience. he was so undeniably in love with you, just as he had always been, and he promised himself he was going to do everything in his power to live the life he deserved with you. he was going to live up to every word he made in his vows, every promise he made with you, each and every word he had spoken to you was going to show in your lives.

even from the moment he met you, he knew he was going to spend his life with you.

taglist: @kundere20000000 @missakward123 @cherriee-ee @starlightanyaaa @lagataprrr @hazzelle-kento

let me know if you'd like to be added!

[chiasaaa]

— right here

nagumo yoichi x f! reader

summary: nagumo couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— nagumo knew the consequences of letting a fragile thing as love into his world. directing that love to someone within his world makes it even worse. as much as he loves to flaunt his carefree personality that made even his group of friends doubt the amount of care he puts into things, he knew to himself that he cares more than he lets on.

it’s one thing getting a scratch. it’s another to be admitted in the hospital in the name of a job.

he didn’t know how it came to it. you were the strongest in the order after sakamoto left, after all. but you had fallen injured badly, enough to send you off to a hospital bed. maybe it was that sheer strength and dependability you had that allowed people to forget that you are still first and foremost, a human being. maybe it was the relaxed smile you gave him that eased away his tense shoulders. he didn’t know, but he believed you’d come back the same way you departed.

unscathed and safe, the complete opposite of what you look like right now.

he sits by your hospital bed where you lay, silently observing how your chest rose and fell repeatedly. every time it does, a part of him feels a little relieved. it was a reminder that you were alive—that you haven't completely left him just yet.

then, the slightest twitch of your finger.

nagumo nearly fell off his seat rushing over to you, observing as your eyes slowly fluttered open. immediately, nagumo pressed the button by your bed and called for the nurse frantically.

"you're ok." he whispered, barely audible as the sight of his relieved face pooled your vision for the first time in a while. somehow, even in such a delicate state, you managed to crack a smile at him.

"hey, handsome." you grin.

"shh, save your breath." it was so unlike him, to be so serious. he didn't even respond to your light-hearted greeting like he normally would.

nagumo was, in short, different since then.

from the moment you woke up to the time you were discharged, nagumo never—not once—cracked a joke. everyone who had come to visit you were a witness to his change in demeanor. it was eerie, and it was beginning to get uncomfortable. the nagumo you knew isn't anything like that. he would have laughed at death right at the face—maybe add a poking finger or two at the cheek. that was the kind of man you knew him to be.

it gets weirder when he became a little more clingy since then. in your shared home, he would never be more than two meters away from you. when you go from one room to another, so does he.

need a drink? he does too. wanna cook lunch? he's already making your favorite. wanna take a walk to the park? oh, the sun's lovely for a picnic date! anything you do, nagumo does too.

you love that he spends more time with you, especially since your profession doesn't care much for cherished moments, but it's beginning to worry you more than relax you.

it was one day when he cuddled into you and the warmth of your bed that you decided to address the situation. you were simply reading a new book when nagumo declared himself the little spoon and laid his head on your chest to "read along". we all know he wasn't reading.

"nagumo, darling." you call softly, nestling your nose onto his mop of raven hair. then, you shut your book. "we need to talk."

"aww, we were getting to the good part!" he whined, referring to the book you just closed. with a pout, he raises his head up to lock eyes with your own. "you need anything? do your stitches hurt? shit, did it rip open?!"

"no, no." you sigh, easing him down with a brush of your hand through his hair. your fingers carded through gently, almost lulling him to sleep. "nagumo, while i do appreciate your increased concern, i fear it's getting a little out of hand."

"how could caring for you be out of hand?" he chuckled lightly. "if anything, i should have done this a long time ago!"

you look at him for awhile, pausing. it's hard to decipher what he thinks about at times, but the main factor as to why he knew you were the one was because you figure it out one way or another. "i'm right here." was all you could muster to say.

who knew that such simple words were enough to rip the sickening fake smile right off his face? before you knew it, his tattooed arms tightened around your figure, fearing that you might slip away if he hadn't held on tight enough. his face buried itself on your chest in shame, as if he knew he was caught in a heinously unforgivable act.

"you could have died." he mumbled through your skin.

"yet i'm here."

"you won't leave me, right?"

with a tender smile, you carefully raised his face from your chest. you didn't need to tell him. your eyes were filled with so much love, he couldn't be happier to see it manifest in real life. suddenly, the heat from your palm were a little warmer on his cheek that day. his fingers jolted with electricity at the touch of your skin. his eyes narrowed down to you, forgetting about everything else as only you remain in his vision. like a deer caught in a trance, too enamored by your presence.

"you can't get rid of me that easily, darling." you whisper against his lips, and oh he loved how it caressed on his skin. then, he indulged in your aphrodisiac, letting go of all the heavy weight he's been carrying around since your accident. the feel of your lips on his was real enough to convince him that you were there to stay—that if there is anyone in the world who wouldn't die on him, it would be you.

the one good thing he ever allowed himself to have in this world, and not once did you let him regret it.

[jjscrybaby]

rafe or jj request!

his girl gets into a minor car accident and she calls him because she needs him.

maybe while he’s away for work or after they got into a fight — honestly anything angsty where he takes care of her 🤍 love your writing xx

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (car accident, blood, stitches.)

thankyou baby!!! hope this is okay, i’m sick atm so not got a whole lot of energy to put into finding out info and stuff so i tried to rush past the hospital side of things😭

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

You’d never gone this long without talking to your boyfriend; three days. You felt ridiculous at this point, but at the same time your point had been valid. You and JJ hadn’t gotten to spend any time together over the last few weeks, not since he started this ridiculous treasure hunt with John B and his other friends.

It wasn’t that you weren’t friends with the Pogues, you were, but not close enough to be involved. You’d tried, and even Kiara had invited you over with them a couple times too, but JJ always said no. It was dangerous, he’d say. It wasn’t the kind of thing you’d enjoy — and maybe he was right. Except, not getting to be apart of it meant you didn’t see him, and your final straw was when he was late to your anniversary dinner.

That was three days ago, and you hadn’t spoken since. The blowout had been crazy, you accused him of not putting in enough effort and he went on the defence and said you were being dramatic, that this was for John B. You understood that, you did, but you hadn’t gotten in this relationship to be second place.

Kiara ended up drinking too much at a kegger, and you had the honour of going to pick her up and drive her home. You were on your way back to your place, still wearing just your pyjama pants and one of JJ’s shirts, when a car swerved around the corner and hit right into you. Your head smacked against the wheel and you groaned in pain, pressing your fingertips to the place you felt blood oozing from.

“Shit, shit! Are you okay?” There was a girl banging on your window, whilst also turning back to the car and yelling at the boy behind the wheel.

“I’m fine,” you groaned, you didn’t feel fine. You felt dizzy and nauseous, your neck ached and your head hurt even worse.

“You’re bleeding pretty bad, let’s get you to the hospital and then we’ll deal with insurance.”

She drove you to the hospital in her car, leaving yours on the side of the road. She gave you her details and then left, leaving you alone in the chemically smelling place with blood covering your face. You got seen almost immediately, they needed to check for a concussion or brain damage. You did have a concussion, and you had to get stitches.

“Do you have anyone you can call, sweetheart?” The nurse asked you once she’d finished up.

“Yeah,” you nodded. You didn’t care that you were mad at JJ, you needed him right now. You pulled your phone out and dialled his number, praying he’d answer.

“Hello?” He sounded irritated, he’d probably put it on just to talk to you.

“JJ?” A wave of emotion hit you, your voice coming out shaky.

“Hey, you okay?” The irritation washed away, he sounded worried now. Worried and guilty; he probably thought you were crying over him, maybe you were.

“I’m— I’m in the hospital, can you come and get me,” you croaked out, wiping your tears with the back of your sleeve.

“What?” He exclaimed. You could hear him rustling about, presumably trying to find the keys to the Twinkie. “What’dya mean, baby? What happened?”

“I got in an accident,” you explained quietly. “A car came out of nowhere, I hit my head on the wheel.”

He cursed under his breath, the sound of the door slamming closed came through the phone as he ran outside the Chateau. You could hear the engine to the camper-van start up, spluttering to life.

“Gonna be there soon, alright sweetheart? Want me to stay on the phone?” He offered gently, although you could hear the anger in his voice that he was trying to hide.

“Yeah,” you agreed quietly.

JJ talked to you as he drove, telling you how much he loved you, how sorry he is for not being there with you. You weren’t really listening, to focused on the pain you felt in your head and the anxiety over being in the hospital. It didn’t take long for JJ to be walking into the room, a worried expression on his face as he knelt down in front of you and held your face gently in his hands.

“Hi, baby,” he greeted softly, eyes scanning the stitches just above your eyebrow. “How many did y’have to get?”

“A few,” you murmured, not wanting to talk about it anymore. “How bad does it look?”

He shook his head, giving you a reassuring smile. “Still hot as hell, baby. Don’t gotta worry about that.”

JJ spoke to the doctor, booking an appointment for you to come in and get your stitches out, and the two of you left. You complained about your car and having to go and get it, but he reassured you it would still be there in the morning; “the thing’s a piece of junk, no one’s gonna want to steal that.”

He took you to the Chateau, instantly dragging you into his bedroom before John B could see you and go protective-mode over the stitches. He figured that would just give you a headache, and that was the last thing you needed right now.

“C’mere, honey,” he murmured, opening his arms for you to crawl into. You wanted to be stubborn, continue with your fight and refuse, but you didn’t have the energy. You laid on his chest, his arms tightening around you. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I should’ve been there, if we weren’t in this stupid fight I would have.”

“It’s not your fault, Jayj,” you soothed, reaching up to stroke his messy hair.

“I’m really sorry, about the other night,” he said quietly, voice emotional. “I— I fucked up so bad, baby, I know I did. You mean everything to me, fuckin’ everything. If you want me to drop this whole thing, I will. I’ll tell John B I can’t be apart of it anymore.”

You forced yourself to sit up, his hands guiding you as if you were made of glass. “I never said I didn’t want you to do it, JJ. I just never get to see you anymore. I miss you, that’s all. I don’t get why you won’t let me be apart of it.”

“It’s dangerous—”

“You’ve said that. I don’t care if it’s dangerous, I want to join in. I want to be with you and your friends. I want to be apart of your life, not on the sidelines,” you explained, crossing your legs.

He hesitated, the room silent for a few moments before his arms wrapped around your waist and dragged you back into his arms. “Okay. Next time we go on another mission you can come. If you promise to stick by me.”

“Mission?” You snorted, earning a swat on the thigh.

“Shut up. I’m serious, promise me?” He urged, although a small smirk played on his lips.

“I promise,” you nodded, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Already got stitches, what’s a few more?”

“That’s not funny, dude!”

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Your Teddy ~ Theodore Nott x f!reader (Drabble)

Requested: No

Pairing: Theodore Nott x f!reader

Summary: Theo has only felt pain ever since y/n was kidnapped by Death Eaters, but her return might even be just as painful.

Word count: 811

Warnings: slight mentions of torture; angst; English is not my first language

A/N: I will post the second part on Friday, let me know if you want to be tagged! This is my first time writing for Theo and it's rushed, so I hope it's still alright. Comments and feedback are always appreciated. Sorry for the typos. Hope you enjoy it!

Tag list: @helendeath @im-jesus @wolfyychan

Ignoring the people around him and their confused looks, Theo ran through the corridors, with only four words in his mind - we found miss y/n.  

He had spent three months, three months waiting for her to come back, for her to give him any sign, for her to come back to him, for his whole body and mind to function normally again. It had been three months since y/n had disappeared, captured by Death Eaters one week before winter break. The image of her, defenseless and screaming as she was being tortured had been plaguing Theo ever since, and he hadn’t been able to think of anything else other than he didn't know where y/n was, if she was even alive or not, and what kind of atrocities she was facing. He had completely stopped going to class, stopped going to the Great Hall for meals - despite how many times his friends had asked him to come, saying y/n wouldn’t want him to be like that -, staying in his dorm instead, where even despite the constant closed shutters, he couldn’t even sleep, as he had terrible nightmares of y/n screaming for him as she was being tortured every time he tried to sleep. 

He had tried to look for her, of course. How could he not? But old Dumbledore had anticipated it, and had ordonned him to not leave the castle without a teacher. The first few weeks, Theo had been going almost every day to Dumbledore’s office, asking if there was new information about where y/n was, and he always got the same answer. I’m sorry to tell you that we do not. But trust, Mr Nott, that we are actively looking for her and that I am sure that we will find her. At the beginning, Theo had somehow managed to control his anger and frustration, but at one point, he had screamed at the headmaster, saying that it wasn’t enough, that no one could understand what it was like, and even had broken a few items. 

But, today, Professor Snape had knocked on his door, saying the four words Theo had been dreaming to hear. And now here he was, running to the hospital wing. He only slowed down when he arrived by its door, and, still breathless from the running, immediately opened the door, and then rushed inside to the only bed that was currently occupied. 

“y/n!”

“Mr. Nott, please don’t-”

But Theo ignored Mrs Pomfrey���s words and walked past her, instead going to sit on the bed and hugging y/n’s body as hard as he could. Mrs Pomfrey continued to protest and ask him to stop, but he couldn’t care less. All that mattered was here, in his arms. He gently stroked her hair, feeling his eyes burn with tears. All the pain, stress, fear and anger that he had felt from the moment he learned that she had disappeared faded away, replaced with her warmth presence and the feeling that fucking finally, she was safe, safe in his arms like she was supposed to be. 

“Cazzo, y/n, baby. I missed you so much.” 

You’re here. You’re here. I’m never letting you out of my sight again. 

He slightly detached himself from her but only to kiss her forehead and look at her, look at the face and eyes he had fallen so hard in love with. But instead of looking at him with warm eyes full of love like she always did, there was only confusion - which was also shown in her frowning - and that was the moment he realized she didn’t hug him back, or even touched him at all. 

“Um, I…I’m sorry, but…who are you?” 

If Theo thought he had known pain every second of y/n’s absence, that was nothing compared to the heartbreak her words caused throughout his whole body and mind. He was now also confused, and his arms dropped from her by themselves. 

“y/n…It’s me…Teddy.”

Your Teddy. 

“You…” He had never struggled to find his words so much before. “You don’t recognize me?”

y/n opened her mouth to answer, apparently embarrassed and turned to the matron for help. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Nott, but Miss y/l/n lost all her memories. Professor Dumbledore and I are still trying to figure out why, and how to bring her memory back,” she said with a kind voice, before turning to y/n and putting a hand on her shoulder. “Miss y/l/n, this is Theodore Nott, your boyfriend.” 

No! Not Theodore, not Theo, fucking damn it. It’s Teddy for her. For her and nobody else. Teddy. 

Her Teddy.

y/n nodded and looked at Theo.

“I’m sorry for not remembering you. I can’t remember anything, really.”

Theo rose from the bed. 

“No, I’m sorry.”

Not wanting for an answer, he turned around and left the hospital’s wing, feeling more broken than when he entered it.

PART 2

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[favefandomimagines]

Everything Has Changed (r.c)

Summary: what started out as an arranged marriage, blossoms into something more after a tourist runs a stop sign.

AN: arranged marriage!au because I’m a sucker for angst, fluff and a male character who realizes what he has.

Warning: brief mentions of sexual activity

The sun hung high over the Outer Banks, its rays sparkling off the ocean waves. Rafe Cameron stood on the golf course, his mind far from the game. All he was thinking about was his “wife” who was at home.

Rafe had spent his childhood being the odd one out in his family, and now he was trapped in a whole new world.

When Ward told him that he was going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N, the first thing he said was “who?” It was Sarah who told him that she had been friends with her for years.

Their families had grown close over the years, their paths intertwined since childhood. Rafe and Y/N had shared some moments as kids—playing on the beach, the occasional birthday party—but they were never close friends. As they grew older, the divide between them widened, especially as Rafe embraced his party boy side.

“Dude, focus!” Topper shouted, snapping Rafe back to the present. He shook off the irritation and concentrated on his swing, trying to push the thoughts of Y/N from his mind.

“Sorry, man,” Rafe muttered, forcing a smile. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Can’t believe you’re actually married,” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “You? Tied down? It’s like watching a lion in a cage.”

“Yeah, well, not much choice in the matter, is there?” Rafe snapped, the bitterness in his tone clear. “My parents thought it was what’s best for the family name.”

“You know the good thing about these business marriages?” Topper asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You can still hookup with other people.”

Rafe shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m not unfaithful, so I expect her to act the same way.”

Little did he know, his thoughts about Y/N would soon change.

||

A week later, everything shifted. Rafe was on the golf course again, enjoying the day with Topper and Kelce, when his phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Ignoring it at first, he went back to his game.

The phone buzzed again, and with an annoyed sigh, he pulled it out. “What?” he answered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Mr. Cameron?” a calm voice spoke on the other end. “This is Dr. Miller at Kildare County Medical. I’m calling about your wife, Y/N Cameron. She’s been in an accident.”

Rafe felt his heart drop. “What do you mean? Is she okay?” He asked.

There was a pause on the line, and he could hear the muffled sounds of the hospital in the background. “She sustained some injuries, but she’s stable. You’ll need to come to the hospital to pick her up.”

Rafe’s irritation morphed into a visceral fear, a feeling he had never expected to experience for someone he hardly knew. He cursed under his breath, muttering something about the day being ruined. “I’ll be there.”

Dropping everything, he hurriedly made his way to the hospital, thoughts racing in his mind. How could this happen? Why did he care so much? As he drove, the weight of their marriage settled heavily on his shoulders.

||

When Rafe arrived at the hospital, he rushed through the doors and made his way to the ER. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the sound of beeping machines surrounded him. He found Y/N sitting on an examination table, her head bandaged and a doctor stitching her up.

“Rafe?” she looked up, surprise etched on her face, but it quickly turned to annoyance.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Some stupid tourist was texting and driving,” she replied, her voice strained as the doctor worked on her. “Ran a stop sign.”

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked. “The hospital called, Y/N, I’m your husband.” Rafe answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He watched her as she winced slightly at the thread being pulled.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he watched the doctor press the needle into her skin. “Take it easy,” he said, an unexpected protectiveness flaring within him. “You know what? Where’s the plastic surgeon?”

Y/N winced again at the pain. “Relax, Rafe. I’m fine. It’s just a stupid cut.”

“But—”

“Go back to golf, Rafe. You don’t need to be here.”

The coldness in her tone cut through him. “You’re hurt, and you want me to just leave?”

“You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, a mixture of pain and frustration in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

Rafe clenched his fists, angry at himself for how much her words affected him. “Did you call the police? Get the license plate number? I should sue the bastard.”

“Stop it! I’m fine! Just go back to your golf game.” she hissed, dismissing him.

He hesitated, a million thoughts racing through his mind. She wasn’t fine—not really. He could see that she was shaken up after the accident. The idea of her getting hurt scared him more than he wanted to admit. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Sarah is coming to get me,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms.

“Don’t act like you care just because we’re in public,” she added, her voice low but fierce.

Rafe stood there, the realization hitting him like a wave: he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t just feel annoyed by their situation; he felt something deeper.

That night, Y/N returned home to find two dozen roses on the kitchen counter. She glanced at them with an unreadable expression just as Rafe walked in.

“Do you like them?” he asked, hopeful that it might be a first step.

She scoffed bitterly. “I’m allergic to roses.”

He felt his face flush. “I didn’t know…”

“You would if you’d bothered to ask,” she replied, voice laced with frustration. “You’d know a lot more if you weren’t such an ass the first year of our marriage.”

Her words cut deep, and for the first time, Rafe recognized just how much he had hurt her. She had never wanted this marriage any more than he had, yet she had done nothing but accept it with grace. He made up his mind that things were going to change.

He watched her as she tossed the flowers in the trash before walking right passed him and up the stairs.

||

Over the next few weeks, Rafe found ways to break through Y/N’s walls. Each gesture was an apology, a bid for a second chance. He learned her routines, finding out she was fond of morning coffee from a local café. Every day, he made sure her favorite caramel macchiato was waiting for her when she woke up.

He surprised her with tickets to an art exhibit she had once mentioned in passing, standing beside her as they admired the paintings. Though she was wary at first, she couldn’t help but smile at his efforts. Slowly, he began to chip away at her guardedness, showing her that he was willing to put in the work to make amends.

One night, she told him, “If you want to make things right, Rafe, it’s not about grand gestures. Get to know me. My favorite color, my favorite music, the things I love. That’s the only way I’ll believe that you care.”

And so, he did just that. He took the time to ask her about her favorite movies (she loved classics), her favorite books (she had a soft spot for poetry), and her favorite flowers (hydrangeas, not roses). Each new fact he learned about her deepened his understanding of her, transforming his initial frustration into genuine admiration.

He spent hours creating a playlist of her favorite songs, a blend of jazz, classic rock, and indie folk. When he played it for her one evening, she looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before—trust. She leaned against him as the music filled the room, allowing herself, just for a moment, to be vulnerable.

Eventually, Rafe’s sincerity broke through her walls. She found herself looking forward to spending time with him, enjoying his newfound attentiveness. They began to laugh together, sharing inside jokes and secrets they had once kept to themselves.

What was once just an obligation to get their parents to shut up about grandkids, sex was now enjoyable for the both of them. Before, Rafe didn’t care if Y/N enjoyed it or not but now, all he cared about was her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, the things that turned her on. He found that Y/N’s pleasure was a gateway to his own.

Y/N found herself wrapped up in the sheets of her’s and Rafe’s king sized bed, Y/N was lying on her side, drawing circles on Rafe’s back with her finger. “You know, that’s very distracting.” Rafe mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Y/N smiled at him as he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry.” She said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He replied. Rafe continued to look at Y/N, taking in her natural beauty. No makeup, hair not done, it was just her.

“I love you.” He whispered. Y/N’s movements halted as she looked at Rafe. “R-Really?” She stammered. “I know I was an ass. I thought this marriage was your fault and it wasn’t. But over these past few months, getting to know each other, I think this marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He continued.

“I love you too, Rafe.” Y/N spoke softly. Rafe moved to wrap his arms around Y/N’s body, pulling her into him before kissing her deeply.

||

It was now Autumn in the Outer Banks, the ari getting slightly cooler outside but never dropping below 55 degrees.

Y/N had been up for a few hours, spending most of her time in the master bathroom. She had been feeling a little under the weather the past few weeks and she thought it was just food poisoning at first. But when it didn’t stop, and her period was late, she decided to take a pregnancy test.

Y/N looked down at the three positive tests that were sitting on the bathroom counter. Her and Rafe were having a baby. The first thing she felt was fear, mainly because she had been so accustomed to walking on eggshells around Rafe.

But she had to remind herself that the Rafe she married, wasn’t who he was anymore. Then she felt relieved and happy.

Y/N snuck out of the bedroom and crept downstairs to make some coffee for when Rafe woke up. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps come down the stairs.

Rafe saw her leaning against the kitchen counter in his t-shirt, holding out a coffee mug for him to take. He could see a look of almost mischief on her face as he took the mug.

“What’s up?” he asked, a gentle smile on his face. “There’s something I want to tell you,” She started. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows at her statement.

She took his free hand and placed it over her stomach. “We’re having a baby, Rafe.”

Rafe’s eyes widened as he stared at her in shock, then joy. A rush of emotion surged through him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

As they embraced, he whispered, “Thank you for giving us a chance. For giving me a chance.”

In that moment, he knew he had found something he’d never known he needed—her love. And he would do everything in his power to protect it, to protect them

[81pastrys]

heyy i absolutely adore your works oh my god so pls can i request a fic wherein charles was the reader's rival at f1 since karting days but a racing incident happens because of him (charles car crashed into reader's) then the reader came to his hotel room to argue/teach him a lesson? idk but i hope you get the point 🫶

Red Hatred

Summary— Charles crashes into his rival and they both get held up at the paddock only to leave together and end the night angry

Warnings— S. M. U. T. ; rough sex ; hate sex ; riding ; size ish kink ; no aftercare ; degrading

A/N— I have no clue if this is what you meant, BUT it’s good both ways of no smut or smut soooo

Charles One Shots

Dividers @bernardsbendystraws @dollywons

Charles was likeable by a lot of people. He had that appeal, always the golden boy. Karting days were rough, especially since his rival was always out to get him. He thought it would all blow over when he got an F1 contract and she didn’t, but she got one the next year.

They were on separate teams, sure, but their rivalry continued throughout the season. Not to mention her brother was Charles friend, an old teammate, so forced proximity played another part. Carlos never understood why his sister hated the Monegasque.

“Sainz and Leclerc head to head!” The commentators watched the track, the red and black car wheel to wheel. Her Mercedes was pushing it this race and Charles sensed that. Which is why he decided to make the move on her into a turn.

Whatever plan he was on didn’t work though, their wheels catching and the cars rammed into barriers. “Sainz conformation that you are okay?” Her engineer called out.

“Fuck you.” Was all she said. He took that as she was okay. Leclerc doing the same, some stupid dry and short response. “I guess plan G didn’t work out for the Ferraris?” She took a dig at the red team often.

Medical cars came out, tractors to remove the mangled cars, all under a red flag, deeming Oscar first position. She returned to her garage and got a scolding for PR and radio messages. “You’re a risk for my team right now.” Toto whispered. “You need to catch the words before you say them.” Toto had his fair share of cussing and digging at teams, but she was adamant everyone knew she didn’t like Ferrari nor their golden boy.

“What happened?” She asked, Toto blinking at her. Did she forget what happened because if she did he needs her in a hospital. “I didn’t forget I crashed, how did it happen? Was it my fault?”

“No the Ferrari was at fault Sainz, he turned into you after a slight lockup.” Her engineer said, looking over the data.

Same conversations went down in Ferrari. “She’s stupid, why wouldn’t she give me space?” Charles argued. It didn’t matter if she did, he was too close and he knew it. “Bullshit telemetry.” He mumbled.

The red flag ended, and there was a McLaren 1-2. Figures the fuckers in Orange were driving rocket ships. The day ends and they all head back to their hotels for the night. Charles being forced to stay later despite his efforts to leave. Mercedes kept her a while longer too, jealousy claiming her as George left.

They somehow ended up leaving the paddock at the same time, perfect. Leaving at the same time and residing in the same hotel means same driver there. The car ride was tense and silent. They rush out the car when it arrives at the hotel and she rushes up the stairs, desperate to feel something. Her legs burn when she gets to her floor, the Ferrari driver unlocking his door, strategically placed next to hers, for reasons unknown.

“What plan did you fuck up?” She mumbled. Charles scoffed and let his door lock again. He stood looking at her fumbling for her keycard and she sneered at him. “What? You’re the one who admitted your team has over 20 different strategies.” She shrugged.

“I didn’t fuck up any plans actually.” He admitted. “You didn’t give me space to move so I took matters into my own hands.” She scoffed and walked into her room. Charles followed her in and let the door slam closed.

“What are you going to do?” She asked, it’s not like he was going to beat her up, that’s too suspicious. “Cry in my arms over your shit team?”

Charles hated how much she talked down on Ferrari, especially since her brother was a part of it for so long. “When you talk down on Ferrari, you’re talking down on Carlos.” Charles mentioned.

“He’s at Williams.” She stated, monotoned like they aren’t fighting. “That team hated him.” Ferrari loved Carlos, but they loved a 7 time champion more. “Kicking him to the curb like that?” She scoffed.

“You keep talking bad about my team and-“ She started laughing at him. She broke his sentence and he looked to her annoyed.

“What? Teach me a lesson?” She mocked a fake pout and laughed in his face again. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her close to him. Her confidence died and now she wasn’t speaking.

“Oh, now you don’t want to speak bad about me or my team?” He whispered. He ran a hand through her hair and down to her neck. “Where’s the attitude?” He inquired. She was absolutely speechless.

She didn’t push him off, give any signs of discomfort, or even tell him off. In fact, she leaned in and kissed him, giving him the go ahead to grab her throat, the rough make out leaving them panting while arguing. “I’m in charge.” She panted.

“What?” He asked. He laughed at her after she said it. “You went speechless at me inching towards you, are you sure you can handle being in charge?”

“Now you want to question my skills?” She rolled her eyes. Charles didn’t give much care for being in charge anyway, so he decided it was whatever. “Least you could do for ramming me into a wall.” She said In between the kiss. Fair point.

They stripped of clothing and she got on top of him. Charles may have been lacking in other aspects of his life, but dick size was surely not one of them. “Are you just going to stare, or are you actually going to ride me?” He countered. She didn’t want him to know she’d never had a dick his size before, so she just shut him up by slowly sitting on him.

The stretch painful but worth it. His face contorted to pleasure as his hands bruised her hips. She stayed still for a while, causing him to be concerned. “Fuck you’re too big.” She mumbled.

“Too big?” He scoffed. “With your attitude I would’ve thought you’ve gotten fucked enough to be stretched out and used.” His words made her insides tighten more. He found out she liked being degraded, he’ll use that later on.

“Fuck you.” She strained, still getting used to his size. Once she did, it was game over. She was grinding and moved up and down slowly. He groaned with his head tilted into the pillow with his mouth open. He had his fair share of hookups, but never did he have a girl ride him.

“Fuck this position is going to kill me.” He groaned. She sped up at his words, their slick being heard around the room. Soon after she got close and her pace was faulty and uneven. He took matters into his own hands, literally, lifting her up and meeting her body with his.

She moaned loudly and leaned forward onto his chest and shoulders. Her moans pornographic as he fucked into her. She came with a shudder and scream. Her fingers gripping the sheets hard. He sped up his pace and suddenly pulled out, his seed spilling onto the bed, her ass, and his thighs.

They laid panting, her body rolling to the side. “I still hate you.” He said breathlessly. She was unresponsive to his words as she calmed down, her ears fogging the noise and her vision blurry. She May hate him but he was definitely a good fuck.

“Get out of my hotel room, and keep your shit box in its own bubble not mine.” She panted. Charles listened. He got up and dressed to leave the room, glancing back at her one more time.

“You don’t want me to clean you up?” He asked. Such a suck up. She threw something from the night stand and he left. She didn’t care to be cleaned up by the man she hated but just fucked.

She showered all the sweat and cum away and went to bed. Now every race weekend was a battle for a podium and whoever didn’t have an upper hand got charge in the bed.

Idk if this was meant to be a smut request but it is one! 😃

@il0vereadingstuff @angelluv16 @pandabiiissh @kallanfiona @itznotsophia

[at-this-point-i-dont-even-know]

Maybe youll want to write a fic about a shift happening on the 4th of July, fireworks and firecrackers everywhere, and our poor vet Abbot going around ER all stressed, flinching and panicking at every explosion, and Dana/Robby calming him down, maybe some bigger breakdown?

pairing: Dr. Jack Abbott x F!Nurse!Ex-militaryReader

I ended up making this a follow up to my other story Don't go where I can't follow. This also got away from me and ended up being about three page long!

Warning: Panic Attack and general Pitt warnings

(Also I know nothing about fireworks, the Fourth of July or how Panic Attacks work except for what I found while googling, so please ignore anything that doesn't make sense)

My Inbox is still open for requests!

“What is with your fucking country and fireworks?” you mutter under your breath to Dr Robby as you both work on removing a patient's highly flammable pajama material after they decided to let off fireworks in their bedroom.

They were also 38 years of age.

“They're fun and pretty!” the older doctor said, smiling behind his glasses and mask. The smell was enough to turn your stomach.

“They literally burn peoples skin off! What's fun about that?”

“The colours, my love, it's the colours.” Dr Abbott walked behind the curtain, his own smile bright, “They sparkle and look pretty, so of course the idiots think they can control them. Or think they won’t get hurt because it's never happened before.”

You continued slowly pulling the material away from the burning flesh, your stomach rolling and your eyes sweating at the smell.

Dumb, dumb, dumb  you mutter to yourself ignoring as your partner and his friend continued their discussion about the best fireworks they had ever let off.

“My dad once took us to Lake Tahoe when I was ten- I think- first time I ever got to set off fireworks, we put them in the mud on the banks, ran a fuse line a couple of feet, if that, and let them go. Except none of us knew that you should stagger them so about two hundred dollars worth of fireworks went off all at once. About ten seconds of excitement and a couple of burnt eyebrows was all our fourth of July excitement.” 

Your boyfriend, (or partner, you hadn’t quite worked out the wording for what you were), looked so excited as he described his childhood memory. 

Dr Robby joined it, explaining wildly about his own memorable mishap with fireworks.

You shook your head and made a quick exit, two attendings didn’t need a nurse to stand over them while they worked, so you quickly rushed off your gown and gloves and breathed in the fresh air of the ER. As fresh as air in the ER could be anyway. 

It was the Fourth of July and you had awoken to Jack thrashing in the bed, a nightmare gripping him and forcing him to relive something horrific. Between the fifteen odd years of active duty and the hospital shooting last year, there are many things to hold Jack under while he sleeps.

So you are spending half your day keeping one eye on him, with the help of Dana, the current Charge nurse on shift, to make sure he wasn’t going to melt down half way through the day.

Between you taking on a double shift to be here, and Dr Robby doing the same, there were three sets of eyes on him at all times.

It felt like overkill as the fourth hour of the shift ticked over, a handful more people coming in with firework related injuries, some burns from barbecues, and a couple of sore heads from drinking mishaps but Jack was holding his own as he went from patient to patient helping the interns and residents do most of the heavy lifting.

You found him looking over the board as the hour dragged on, playing on his phone and laughing at something Dana was saying. You lean into him a little, bumping hips and shoulders. 

Jack was the calmest you had seen him in months. For weeks after your shooting he had been on edge, every noise had set him off, anytime a door in the hospital slammed he had jumped to his feet ready for something. When you were discharged after seven long weeks, he had bought a car. No longer trusting you on public transport or walking from your apartment to the hospital, he insisted on driving everywhere. Which you had had to put a stop to because while Jack is an amazing doctor, loving partner and all round great guy- he was a terrible driver. It had taken you three months after your release from the hospital to get back to work, and even then it had been on the desk, not running the floor, which Jack had decided he liked more, “Easy to keep an eye on you.” he had said, which had led to more than a dozen fights before you returned to full nursing duties.

It had taken a while but Jack was no longer watching your every move, no longer shadowing you with every patient, or making an intern follow you everywhere (including the bathroom).

So you had noticed the irony of making his friends follow him around for the day.

“I know what you're doing.” he leant in and whispered into your ear, his words tickling your neck as you just looked up at him innocently.  

“What am I doing?”

“I am ok- it was just a nightmare. I’m fine.”

“Maybe. But humour me?”

----

By hour seven you almost want to laugh at yourself for being so overly cautious. 

Everything was going absolutely fine to the point you took a break to find coffee in the breakroom. 

The lukewarm coffee was mainly something to put in your hand as you made your way back to the main desk, Abbott was with Dana again, laughing together over something when it happened.

A group of teenagers exited the lifts, laughing as they jostled each other, one with his arm in a sling and the others holding bags. They talk to each other and you give them nothing but a half second glance. Groups of teengers on the fourth of july is not a unique situation and not worth your time.

Until it was.

The fireworks shot from their bags, lights and noise echoing around the room.

Pink flashes, followed by blue and green. The sound ricocheting around, as sparks burned your skin on contact.

You drop to the floor, your heart in your chest as you remind yourself over and over again where you were.

Hospital.

Not a warzone.

Hospital.

It took only ten seconds for the sound and light to stop, but it echoed through your head for over a minute before you could finally pull yourself out of a panic and get to your knees. 

Jack! You screamed internally, as you looked straight across where you had last seen him. Dana’s at her desk, her own eyes filled with tears as she rushes to put out spark fires and her calming voice, edged with fear, barked orders at the staff all still trying to find their calm after the fireworks.

But Jacks nowhere to be found.

“Dana! Jack?”

“Can’t find him.”

“He was just here!”

“Try the breakroom!”

You run, your heart once again in your throat as you search. The door slams shut behind you and you slide to a stop. 

Jack is curled in on himself, in the smallest spot between the fridge and the wall. Your knees buckle as you fall in front of him, careful not to grab him. 

He's muttering to himself, nothing that you could make out but it didn’t matter.

“Jack- Baby?”

He doesn’t look up, his face white as a sheet and his pupil blown. His head thrown back as he rocks himself in place, his head hitting the wall, over and over again. YOu rip off your cardigan and throw it between his head and the wall.

You know enough to know not to pull him immediately from a panic attack, it could end with him hurt or you hurt and neither would be good for Jack in the long run.

“I’m here, I'm not going anywhere.”

So you get comfortable on the floor, your legs crossed and your hands just out of reach of his, you hum a song from your own childhood over and over again, giving him something else to cling to then the demons he is fighting.

The break room door opens and you lean across and slam it shut on whoever tried to enter.

“OCCUPIED!” you yell before locking the door. There was nothing that Jack would like less than to know people saw him this way.

“Baby, you with me?”

His hands reached out and grabbed yours. They shook as he finally looked up with tears and fear showing through every movement.

“You’re here.” he whispered, before falling forward into your lap, your body cringing as his shoulder slammed into the ground.

You sit back, your fingers gently playing with his hair as his body's shaking finally settles, his breathing coming back minute after minute until you realise he had fallen asleep.

“I’m never leaving.” you promise.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Chapter 11: Worst Case Scenario

As Tim leaves the chemistry classroom he runs a hand through his hair. Was what he said too blunt? Could he have phrased it nicer?

Probably. But, it's difficult to see Y/N as someone with emotions.

The wounds looked nasty, bruising appeared around the neck and on her face in splotches. He didn't miss the red rimming around her nostrils that she didn't wash properly.

It sucks, he supposes. But it's not a big deal. Abuse in Gotham is a constant, she isn't special for having shitty parents.

Walking down the hall Tim checks his phone, he should probably tell Dick that one of her parents now has the phone he bought her. Tim doubts it'll be that big of a deal.

So, he opens up his messages with Dick and types out a quick sentence:

Tim: Y/N's parents have her phone now.

With that Tim waits for an answer as he checks other messages. There were five from Kon, two from Steph and surprisingly, one from Bruce.

Tim quirks a brow, why is Bruce messaging him during class? Clicking on the message the boy's face scrunches up in confusion before slowly melting into shock and even slight horror.

This is bad. Really bad.

Tim decides to turn off his phone, he'll reply later.

He chuckles to himself as he meets up with some school friends, looks like your bad luck is only starting.

Dick rereads the message over and over. What does Tim mean your parents have the phone now?!

Curse Tim and his vagueness! Does this mean Dick went out of his way to get the phone, go to your apartment, then go to the hospital to deliver the phone for nothing?!

It was probably your mother. She seemed like the type to do so. Sure, he hasn't actually met your father but the point still stands!

He doesn't really wanna buy you a new phone - again - and he doubts you're expecting him to... Maybe he'll ask Aranea tonight. They're patrolling the same route this time.

That's if she shows of course..

The day passes by quickly, you praise whatever higher being that you didn't get too many strange looks from people for your bruises.

You quickly get home, wanting to get a nap in before patrol. You're patrolling tonight with Nightwing and as much as you didn't want to, you had a duty as a vigilante of Gotham.

Getting home you pass out on your bed instantly, your dad was probably drinking down at a cheap bar and your mother was at work. Hopefully.

Time flies and you groggily awake from your nap, looking around you notice it's almost dark, then, you check the time and curse loudly to yourself.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" You hop out of bed, you're half an hour late! You get changed and get your gadgets. Looking at the wig you usually put on to conceal your true identity you decide to forgo it, the mask covers your whole head anyway, the wig was just a precaution. Plus, it takes too long to put it on.

With that you swing out of your room and rush to the meet-up point.

Finally arriving you see Nightwing leaning against the chimney of the building, you watch as he grins playfully at you.

"Wow, late as ever Aranea. Did you forget you're patrolling with me?" He teases and you fight back a gag, never have you been so happy that you made your mask to fully cover your face.

"Yeah yeah. Whatever, man." You huff out. You aren't in the mood to banter with him.

So, you start your patrol. All is silent between you two for a good hour before he speaks up, ruining the peace. "Did you get my messages? I had sent a few - they aren't important anymore though."

In all honesty, you haven't checked your comm. Completely forgot you had it. "No, haven't been active on it." You reply, short and sweet. Nightwing looks away, put off at your reply.

Sure, he's used to you being slightly blunt and uninterested but the tone you're using - even through the voice modifier - sounded to resentful and hate filled.

"Right... Well anyway, I need an opinion on something. There's this girl, her name is Y/N and she hates you, like seriously hates you. It's honestly insane, how could anyone hate you?!" He starts and you roll your eyes, scanning over the streets because clearly Nightwing wasn't actually patrolling.

"But anyway.. I did a prank on her and it was super mean, her phone broke and I feel bad about it. Right? So I buy her a new phone but apparently her parents have taken it from her. Should I buy her another one?" You freeze, how did he find out about that? Was it Tim? Of course that apathetic freak would tell Dick. Whatever... It's not a big deal but the idea they casually talk about your civilian identity was disturbing.

You think for a bit, if he got you another phone it would probably just be taken by your mother - or father, to be honest you don't know who ended up taking it. But, it would mean wasting Dick's money, the man has a shitton so it's not like it'd be a crazy purchase.

"I think you should." You state, about to continue before your eyes lock onto a mugger holding a girl at gun-point. You quickly dive down and web the man. His friends start shooting at you as Nightwing swoops down and helps.

Quickly the muggers are apprehended, Nightwing turns around to say something but pauses. A big chunk of your hair was peeking out from the bottom of your mask.

The hair was exactly the same as Y/N's...

You don't notice, confused as to why Dick is staring at you as if he's seen a ghost.

After an awkward silence Nightwing clears his throat. "Some of your hair is out of the mask.." He mutters.

Your eyes widen behind the mask and now you understand why he looked so shocked. This would have been fine - if you had your wig on! You quickly tuck your hair back into your mask.

After a bit you both move up to the rooftops again, the rest of patrol was deathly silent. Dick was trying to wrap his head around the fact Aranea has the exact same hair as Y/N while you were silently freaking out over this.

As patrol finishes up you rush home and get changed into your pajamas. This is so frustrating!

You feel tears build up in your eyes, why is everything collapsing around you?! You spent years honing your powers, building your reputation, building your grades, getting into a good school. Now? Now it's all going down the drain!

Dick isn't dumb. He would have managed to compare. Oh god, he's going to tell the others, isn't he?! Great! Just great!

Meanwhile Dick heads back to the manor, as he enters the batcave he debates on telling the others. If he does the bullying would stop, but, if he doesn't he'll move up in the ranks with you right?

You'll surely like him better if he keeps your identity a secret! In fact, he can even start defending you now!

With that in mind he erases the cam footage of that moment before the others can look over it and heads to bed.

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[sexy-monster-fucker]

You Could Love Me If I Knew How to Lie

Dr. Gregory House x Doctor!Reader

Story Synopsis: Reader is a Doctor alongside House. They have known each other for years, mostly been dancing around being intimate with one another. Even though it is painfully obvious to their close friend, Wilson. After finally allowing their guards to fall, the Reader receives a letter inviting her for her dream position at her dream hospital. She has to make the hard choice of staying or going. angst/smut/nsfw/new relationships/minor fluff/typical hospital talk/situationship/

Part 2/Summary: Day after Reader’s night with House prematurely ended, she comes in to work not realizing House has practically declared war with her. [Reader is a Pediatric Neurologist]

CW: mentions of blue balls, bit of angst, house is a complete asshole, mentions of house’s scar,

[Part 1] <- -> [Part 3] / [Part 4] / [Part 5/Finale]

a/n: I just know House is the most petty muff whenever he is upset, and honestly there is no excuse for how he acts in this. this is just who he is.

title track 🎶🩶

~~~

“Heard you got paged in pretty late last night… early this morning?” Wilson questioned as you watched the floors of the elevator click by.

You nodded, bags under your eyes a little darker than normal. Still stretching yourself awake. Regret of not staying with House last night heavy on your mind. By the time you got home and in bed, you barely got an hour and thirty minutes of sleep before your alarm went off. You could have always ran to some cheap department store and bought a bra. Slept on the sofa in House’s office.

“Everything okay with your patient?”

“Of course. Honestly, she shouldn’t have even been my patient. But, House was the one that figured that out. So he had to get me here to rub it all in my face,” you exhaled, giving Wilson the knowing look. He smiled, trying not to laugh in your face. Faking sympathy, even though you would not have given him the same treatment had your roles been reversed.

“And what was it?”

“STD. The girl is sixteen, it was the first thing I had them test for. Guess I learned to do it myself,” your shoulders hung half-heartedly defeated.

“Oh, God. He’ll never let you live that down,” Wilson grinned, bumping his elbow into you.

“And I know it,” you smiled. Doors of the elevator opening on your floor. Walking out with Wilson, both of your attention being brought to the huddle of people at the end of the hall. Jumping straight into Doctor mode, rushing assuming there was an incident. Cringing when you both were greeted by House. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Bright blue eyes zeroing in on you specifically.

"Perfect. Two more samples for my little statistic," House beamed as he clasped his cane with both hands in front of him. Leaning forward and directing all the attention of the group onto the two of you.

"That can't be good," Wilson whispered to you through a fake smile. Nodding in agreement as you prepared for whatever nonsense House was about to involve you both in.

"So, tell the class. When was the last time the two of you had sex?"

You choked at the bluntness of the question. Hand coming up to your chest as you were caught off guard. Side-eyeing Wilson. His hands waved off the question presented to you, "We are not going to answer—“

"For some of us, it could have been last night. But somebody was too sweepy," he mocked you. Brows resting heavily against his eyes. Trying his hardest to embarrass and belittle you. Clearly wanting to make an example of you. Frustrated with how the night prior had ended. Your teeth began grinding together behind sealed lips.

Wilson whipped his head to look at you. Eyes widened with concern, "You didn't—?!"

"I did not—" you hissed, not even allowing him to finish the damning question.

Taking a deep breath to remain calm in front of all the interns and residents House had roped into his scheme. Some of them more inquisitive to the game being played than others. Too young and inexperienced to understand the petty actions of House, still believing any Doctor with tenure knew all. Not realizing you all were still human and sometimes you gave into your human urges. Narrowing your eyes in on the older diagnostician. Refusing to let your expression reveal how badly this childish behavior hurt you.

Being reminded why you always tried to stay away from a relationship with House. At the end of it all, he was House. A sad man in chronic pain who used Vicodin and other's misery to make himself feel a little better. Incapable of caring for you the way you desired.

"Okay, since you don't wanna answer that one, we can try this one instead. When you had sex last, did both parties finish? It is customary, but sometimes one, or even both, parties don't get to. That's what my little statistic is about. An epidemic in men known as Blue Balls. Caused when a woman leads a guy on, not letting him have that sweet, sweet relief," House cocked a brow at you. Eyes rolling down your body with his words. Even while mocking you, he could not stop checking you out.

You pinched the skin between your eyebrows. A laugh of shock escaping you. Somehow after all this time, his audacity still surprised you. Your tongue pushed into your cheek as you crossed your arms over your chest.

"Hmm. Not really sure of the scientific side of that. But I can tell you that you and every other boy here have been apart of a different statistic. Fifty-seven precent of women fake their orgasms for their male partners benefit," you walked over to be face-to-face with him, "Something I'm sure Dr. House here has firsthand experience with."

"Alright, everyone. Dr. House is done. Go back to your stations," Wilson dismissed the congregated group. You grabbed House by the arm, throwing him into the nearest vacant examine room. Slamming and locking the door behind you. House stumbled into the room when he mis-stepped with his cane. Firm grip on the bed stabilizing himself. Huffing as he sat up on the bed.

"Good to know you are still such a ray of sunshine when you've had your sleep," he pointed at you with his cane.

You took a moment with your back still to him. Trying to catch your breath before you completely blew up on him. Turning around with your eyebrows arched and shoulders stern, "What the hell was that?"

"Scientific research. Obviously. Didn't you study at Johns Hopkins?" House continued his mockery of you. Tone of sarcasm almost being outweighed by the anger that laced it.

“You’re seriously so petty that you’re willing to compromise our new doctors with some nonsense about blue balls?”

“It is not nonsense! Check mine yourself,” House teased, gesturing towards his zipper.

You scoffed. Eyes practically rolling out of your head. Closing the distance between you as sharp eyes shot into his. Biting back all the mean and hurtful things you wanted to say to him. Finding yourself softening when he smiled at you.

“You’re so pretty when you’re mad,” House said as his eyes squinted up in a smile. Assuming he was undermining you, trying to get the upper hand.

“You’re such an ass,” you growled as you lightly stomped your foot. Face flushing at the compliment. Hand coming up to grab at your head as you tried to compose yourself, “If I’d known getting you turned on would get you like this, I would’ve left before I ever let you kiss me.”

“Right… but you didn’t,” House nodded, eyebrows raising as he looked at you.

“You told me to go home!”

“You yawned in my face!”

“You lied to me about a patient’s well being just so you could get your dick wet,” you bared your teeth at him.

“Ah. Not the patient’s well being. The well being of her mother,” House corrected with his finger wagging in your face.

You could feel your anger about to boil over. Hands shaking at your sides as you white-knuckle gripped your fists. Jaw locked as your eye began to twitch. Blowing air out your nose. Knowing all he wanted was a reaction out of you. Refusing to give it to him.

Deciding on a different strategy. You placed your hands on each of his legs, spreading them so you could stand between them. Hands splaying across his thighs, achingly close to his groin. Fluttering your lashes sensually up at him. Hooded eyes meeting his as your tongue parted your lips momentarily.

House leaned forward, closing the gap between your faces. Nose flicking against the tip of yours. Lips almost touching. Painstakingly close, lips parted preparing to accept the other when you spoke, “House… next time, try picking up one of the local strippers.”

Stopping both your movements. Your hand coming up and giving his cheek a light smack. House leaned back, biting his tongue as the vein on his forehead popped. Growling under his breath with a snort. Baring his bottom teeth to you as his nostrils flared.

You laughed at your victory. Stepping away from him seeing his body stiffen. “You do not play fair,” House complained.

“Awe, Dr. House. Not used to having someone match your game? Stings, doesn’t it?”

Earning yourself a prolonged scoff from him. Cane clicking against the floor as he stood off the bed. Arched eyebrows decorating the lines on his forehead as he stared at you. Mouth sealed shut.

“Want women to like you? Maybe try taking them on a date. Or, hell, just not being such a petty asshole to them. Compliment them from time to time,” you gestured with your hand as you spoke, walking towards the door.

“I told you, you looked pretty when you’re angry,” House snarled, voice still low. Stopping with your hand on the doorknob. Turning on your heel to face him once more. Eyes flat as you looked him up and down. Mind racing with all the things you could say to him. Wanting to smack him, wanting to cuss him out, yet the urge to kiss him still sat inside you. Giving him one final eye roll as you opened the door.

"Well, you do," House said matter-of-factly.

You parted from him, now being late on your rounds. It is very easy to loose track of time in the hospital. Only realizing how much had passed when you felt your stomach growl, reminding you that you did need to eat. Checking your watch and seeing that it was already afternoon. Coming to a natural end on one of your patient's files and deciding to head down to get some food.

Distracted by the other pages you carried in your hand, you bumped into Wilson. Stumbling backwards, but not losing your footing. Exchanging pleasantries. "Where are you headed?" Wilson asked.

"Gonna head down and grab a bite to eat. Wanna come?" you pointed with your thumb. He looked around for a moment, turning back and smiling with a soft 'yeah.' Chit-chatting about your most interesting patients on the stair-walk down. Explaining the trials you were running and how the MRI was turning out to be the worst part for patients. It was a longer than normal procedure. Having to lay in the head-cage while the machine banged and buzzed in your ear was not easy for adults, let alone children. Sitting out in the courtyard when he finally worked up the courage to ask you about the incident from earlier.

"So. Are you going to tell me what happened with you and House?"

You tried to laugh it off, clearly ridden with embarrassment. Taking another bite of your food as you looked out at all the other people sitting outside. Breathing deeply and swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat. "I got a call last night that one of my patient's mother's was distressed. When I got here, I found out that wasn't exactly the case," you sighed with your words.

"And...?"

You pressed your tongue into your cheek. "And I went into his office to confront him. And we... fooled around in his office," you smiled awkwardly. Wilson's jaw hung open. Eyes wider than you had ever seen them.

"Okay, we didn't have sex or anything—"

"But you 'fooled around'?!"

"I know— I KNOW! You and I have talked about it a million times and it's always a bad idea. But things just happened last night. I was sleepy, and he was handsy and I— I don't know what happened, it just did," your voice jumped an octave in defense.

Wilson could not help but laugh at you. Smacking himself in the face before leaning forward to stare awestruck at you. Attempting to force a sentence out, developing into another laugh followed by a heavy sigh.

"What have I done," you winced at the words you had said aloud. Your skin running hot, sweat beading upon your hairline.

"As your friend, and someone who cares about you outside of this hospital, I have to remind you how bad of an idea this is," Wilson steadied his voice. Looking at you with genuine concern compared to the joking nature you had both previously had. The hint of curve on his brows telling you how serious he was being.

You sat silently with his words for a moment. Trying to understand what exactly you were expecting from House. Romanticizing a certain idea of him in your head. Not without cause, of course. When he was good to you, he was good. Able to be more vulnerable with him then you had been with any other person in your life. Remembering the time he had called you to help him when he fell and could not hoist himself up do to the pain. Finding him laying in the floor. Exposed and angry. Pain throbbing in his thigh. That being the first night you had seen the scar. Not acknowledging it, or the fact that you were having to help him at all. Just assisting him to his feet and giving him his cane. Helping wrap a towel around his waist so he did not feel as unprotected. Walking with him to his bedroom. Giving him his pills, knowing he had to be in excruciating pain by now.

Sitting on the edge of the bed beside him. He was laid back in his pillows, hair still damp. Eyes glossy as he stared up at the ceiling, "I know you saw it."

"We don't have to talk about it," you whispered. Reaching out and grabbing his hand in yours. Interlocking fingers with a tight grip. Laying your other hand loosely on top. Examining his large digits. Tracing each vein and bone and scar, learning him. Sparkling, sapphire eyes stared at you. Trying his hardest to read your mind. Denying the tug in his chest at how beautiful you looked in the dimly-lamp-lit bedroom. Ethereal when your eyes faintly met his only for a second.

Recalling how he had sat up and pressed his lips to yours. Almost saying thank you with his action. Hand cupping the side of your face as he tenderly kissed you. Melting into his palm, finding solace in his touch. Guiding you to be laying down beside him. Hand flattening against his chest. Learning the rhythm of his heart. No other words were spoken between you. Simple consolation in one another.

"Whatever version of him you've made up in your head, isn't him. He coul— will hurt you, Y/N. I don't want to see you taken down in his crosshairs," Wilson rested his hand on yours on the table. You stroked your chin as you pondered his words. Nothing new. All things you had already told yourself.

“I know,” you said solemnly. Sitting silently with the newfound tension in the air. Wilson knowing well enough that the likelihood of you taking his advice was slim. You knowing that House would never be who he was in your mind. Watching Wilson get paged and leave you sitting alone. Staring down at the remnants of half eaten food on your tray. Playing out every scenario in your mind. There was none in which you did not get hurt.

Clearing off the table as you headed inside. Focusing back on the loose papers you had carried down with you. Opting to take the stairs. Hoping the adrenaline would get your brain in overdrive. Needing some conclusion on what the correct coarse of action was.

Freezing in your steps when you looked up and saw House standing with the young Dr. Cameron. She was beautiful and young and so very smart. And House liked her. A lot.

And as childish as it was, you saw her as a threat because of that. Pettily wishing she had never been hired by him. You knew better. But it did not change how your mind reacted.

“Ah— Perfect!” House directed his attention to you, “Here’s a good example of a woman directly leaving her prime. Dr. Y/L/N was the hottest piece of meat on the floor when she first started. Now she’s getting aged out by younger, hotter doctors like yourself.”

Stunned by his cruelty. Throat burning as fists balled at your sides. Warding off any tears that dared prick the corners of your eyes. The implication that you were no longer attractive creeped under your skin. Maybe it was the idea that he no longer found you attractive.

Eyes darting to Cameron’s face. Ridden with disgust and discomfort. Realizing they had not even been talking about you before House got his eyes on you. Just making sure he said something audibly enough for you to hear. Conjuring up whatever was meanest in the moment. Whatever he could do to hurt you.

And it did.

“Nice,” you deadpanned, eyes locked into his.

Walking away before he had time to mock the crack in your voice. This was how he was. Using whatever insecurity he could to hurt you when he had already beaten you down. Angry that you had ever convinced yourself he could be different. Embarrassed that you let him hurt you so badly. No one had ever had a hold on you like he did.

You rested your head in your hands at your desk. Hovering above the paperwork. Face hot to the touch. Wondering if he even cared.

Knowing he did not.

Deciding to spend the rest of your day locked away in your office. Getting as much done as possible. Because you would not allow him to ruin this for you.

~~~

[END//Part 2]

// Thank you so much for reading! I’m still very new to the whole House M.D. show, but I am enjoying writing this! I cannot wait to write more for this story. Reblogs and Comments are appreciated. If you want to be tagged in any of my future Fics, or have any requests feel free to let me know! //

{tags}

@houseslollipop ~ @megangovier ~ @iwmflbb ~ @yourgirlcarol ~ @needz1nk ~ @crimin4llyins4ne ~

[httpsserene]

I already submitted a request for your #3kvdaycelly but I just saw that you have a hurt/comfort prompt list and man I LOVE some hurt/comfort so could I request the prompt "Can you wait until I fall asleep before leaving?" "I'm not leaving you alone when you're like this." for op81 ? thanks!!

🛞  tread’s uneven: time for a tire rotation! — send me a driver and a prompt from this list of pre-relationship prompts, or these established relationship prompts, or these hurt/comfort prompts, and i’ll write a blurb or drabble for you xxx (prompt lists are made by me!)

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. the last osc request! y'all were craving him in february LOL can't blame u though, that's my man too ;ppp let's use this to send him luck in suzuka !!! happy 3k 🩷 my love !

⌕ 3k v-day celly nav | all 3k requests | main nav | table of contents ↻

#𝟏𝟖. "can you wait until I fall asleep before leaving?" "I'm not leaving you alone when you're like this." fem!black!reader x oscar piastri.

oscar is a formula one driver. his most terrifying life experiences happen when he’s driving at over 300 kph.

he didn’t think anything off-track would ever invoke the same near-death feeling that driving in dangerous conditions does. but, the scariest thing that’s happened to him in his twenty-three years of life is receiving a call from the hospital because he’s listed as your emergency contact.

oscar has the money to pay the speeding tickets he’s surely accumulated on his way, and he’s anxiously pacing around the ER as the nurses check if you’re allowed visitors. he nearly breaks down when they tell him that you’ve been assigned a room to stay, because that means you’re not okay like he was begging for you to be. 

as he’s escorted to your room, the nurse tells him that you’re not in a critical condition, but he will only believe that when he sees you with his own eyes.

oscar bursts into your room and a relieved sigh rushes from his lungs when he sees you sitting in the bed, aware, awake, and speaking. your right arm is in a sling, there’s a bandage resting over your eyebrow, a nurse is wiping blood from your hairline and you’re wearing…sunglasses?

“what happened?” 0scar asks, stopping himself from running to your side and disturbing the care you're being provided with.

you whimper slightly, “o-oscar?” 

the nurse tells him that it’s okay for him to come closer, and he’s quick to step to the bedside and reassure that he’s here, that you’re going to be okay.

“firstly, sir,” the nurse begins, an older woman with a comforting aura, “she’s a little banged up, but it’s nothing too serious. we’re only having her stay overnight to monitor her concussion.”

oscar balks. “alright—concussion? why does she have a concussion? darling, what happened?”

you wince as the nurse presses too roughly on a sensitive part of your scalp, and completely unlike himself, oscar nearly barks at her to be more careful.

“my friends and i were leaving the restaurant,” you sniffle, “and we were in an uber to the nightclub when somebody crashed into our car. i-i don’t really remember it, but the girls stayed behind at the accident to talk with the officers, i’m the only one here, i think.”

oscar’s next breath shudders out of his chest and he tenderly presses a kiss to your uninjured arm, “i’m driving you everywhere from now on, yeah? no more uber’s, or carpooling with your friends—just me. i don’t care if it’s the middle of the night or a ten-hour drive, i’m doing it.”

you slowly speak, “it wasn’t our driver’s fault. i know that much.”

the nurse cuts in, “her inability to recall the accident is why we’re being extra cautious; the memory loss is a symptom of a grade-two concussion, but she hasn’t had any nausea—she’s in shock and pain. her elbow was dislocated, which is why that arm is in a sling and she has a few surface-level scrapes and cuts. the pain medication the doctor ordered should be coming down here soon, and you’re welcome to stay overnight with her, if you’d like?”

“can you stay?” oscar’s confused as to why you’re even asking, like he’d really leave and return to your shared flat alone while you’re bruised and aching in a hospital bed. he wonders if this is confusion from the moderate concussion.

“c-can you wait with me until i fall asleep? i know you have to leave for the—for the weekend.” oscar’s deflates with the realization that you’re concerned about him missing a race because of your accident. his voice leaves no room for argument, but it remains warm, “i’m not leaving you alone when you’re like this. i don’t think it’d be safe for me to race when i can’t think about anything other than if you’re okay.”

© httpsserene — do not reupload. photos in header from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[fuctacles]

<< sixteen | 😺 | eighteen >>

Wayne, while being the best uncle he's ever had, was also the worst. And not because he’s the only one Eddie knows; he'd beat any uncle Ben or Sam in a landslide. 

(Actually, if you do count Uncle Sam, Wayne might not be the worst.)

"She's a sad lady, isn't she?" he asks out of nowhere during their drive to the hospital. "Still here while everyone she knows move away."

Eddie frowns at the yellow light in front of him. 

"You're the one who told me to talk to her," he points out. He slows to a break at the intersection, the light now red, and turns towards his uncle. "Is this a ploy to keep me in Hawkins? You want me to marry and settle down?" He raises his eyebrows. As if the same fantasy didn't run through his mind at least once a day since meeting Steph. 

"Hell naw." Wayne grins at him. "I want you to live a life of your own. I know you hate this place." 

"It hated me first," Eddie reminds him.

"It's not for a wild thing like you," he agrees with a nod. "Hawkins is for old farts like me. The thing is—Green."

Eddie quickly shifts back into gear before the cars behind him start honking. 

"Stephanie seems to think she's an old fart too," Wayne finishes his thought. 

"Yeah, I've noticed," Eddie grumbles. "And what do you want me to do? Steal her away into the big city?" he jokes. 

Wayne's answering silence grows heavy in the van.

"She's a grown woman, I'm not going to uproot her life," Eddie argues a point his uncle didn't make. It's not that he doesn't want to, more like he doesn't think he has the power to do it. Besides, they just got off together once, it's way too early to make plans like that. He has been daydreaming about them, yes, but he's painfully aware of the difference between fantasy and reality. 

"You know, Jim got really into gardening recently," Wayne says apropos of nothing. 

"Okay, go on…" Eddie nods slowly, patiently.

"He told me some plants have to be uprooted to grow properly. You know, when the pot is too small? Because the roots grow too, and they need space."

The van has finally reached the hospital, so Eddie waits until they're parked to turn towards his uncle. 

"Did you just use a plant metaphor on me?" he asks, baffled. 

"I simply shared some gardening wisdom from a friend," Wayne shrugs.

"Which you just though of."

"You're the one who used the word 'uprooting'," he fires back. 

Eddie pulls the key out of the ignition with a tired sigh.

"You know, I kind of miss the fishing metaphors. They were less convincing." 

Wayne raises his eyebrows. 

"This is the rudest thing you've said to me since you told me the trout was disgusting."

"It's a terrible, stinky fish and you know it!" Eddie protests as they exit the van. 

"How is Wayne's leg?" Steph asks later that day.

"Surprisingly well. The doctor said it healed better than expected and he'll probably be cleared for work the next week."

"I'm guessing he's happy to hear that?"

"Oh, yeah," Eddie snorts. He angles his head so Steph's scratches get where he wants them. "He's been walking up the walls for the past few days, and he hated all the movies the employee at video rental recommended to him. If he doesn't go back to work soon, he'll make it everyone's problem."

Steph hums thoughtfully.

"I get it. Don't you feel restless, too? Here in Hawkins, I mean."

"Huh?" Eddie blinks his eyes open. He hasn't realized when he even closed them. "The opposite, actually. I don't have to rush anywhere, there are no midterms; I can kick back and relax, forget the responsibilities and just be Wayne's favorite nephew again." He smiles. "It's like I'm putting my life on pause for a few days. And it's kind of terrifying how easy it is."

Steph remains silent, so he takes a cautious glance towards her. She's not looking at him or the television; her eyes are distant, focused on her thoughts. 

"Everything is slow and old here, isn't it?" she muses.

"I swear to all that's unholy, if it's another opening to remind me how 'ancient' you are..."

Steph rolls her eyes and dips down to shut him up with a kiss. Unfortunately, it works perfectly in her favor. There's probably no argument against him that she couldn't win. All she has to do is press her hand against Eddie's chest, pinning him to the couch, and he can be easily persuaded into anything. 

He kisses and licks back, trying to keep up with her, but with the last remains of a logical thought, grasps at her hand to slow her down. They separate with a wet smack, but don't move more than an inch away.

"Do you want—?"

"I'm taking you—"

They both smile and shuffle away to properly look at each other. 

"Ladies first," Eddie gestures with a nod of his head. 

"Do you want to stay the night?" she blurts out quickly, with little hesitance. 

His jaw drops open and his heart stops in his chest. 

"Like... on the couch?" he asks to clarify. The other option to good to be true.

Steph rolls her eyes, and it should be embarrassing how much he likes when she does it, even at his own expense. 

"In my bed, idiot. Just to sleep, of course."

"Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming." He pinches his arm, and Steph does too, much harder. He yelps, making Arwen look at him with distaste. "Hey!"

"Do you want to?" she presses. 

"Of course I do!" he bristles. "With you, I'd take celibacy vows," he says reverently, grabbing her hand in his. 

She raises her eyebrows, and then pointedly looks him up and down.

"With you, I'd rather not."

Eddie grins despite his blush.

"What did you want to say?" she asks, pulling him back from his salacious thoughts. 

It takes him a second to reel his thoughts back on track.

"Oh. I'm taking you on a date tomorrow." He takes a glance at the clock above the TV. "Yeah, tomorrow." 

"You're taking me?" She raises an eyebrow. 

At that, Eddie quickly slides off the couch and onto his knees, her hand still clasped between his palms.

"Oh, pardon me, princess. Would you do me the honor of going out on a date with me tomorrow?" he asks, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. 

Her eyes are wide and startled, and the first thing she can even manage out of her mouth is a laugh.

"You're such a dork," she murmurs. "Yeah, it's fine, I guess." She shrugs nonchalantly. 

"Fine?" Eddie bristles, frowning. "What do you mean, fine?"

"I mean yes, you can take me on a date," she says, straightening her back to give herself a more regal posture. "I'll allow it."

He grins, and proceeds to press kisses up the length of her arm, slowly crawling back up onto the couch. 

"Thank you for giving me this privilege, your majesty. A peasant like me, ha!" He throws his head back, briefly startling Steph into another laugh. "The town folk will not believe their eyes, a simple man like me, allowed by the side of a queen." Eddie presses a final kiss to her shoulder, and sits back. As Steph stares at him, he realizes his own outburst. 

"Too much?" he asks with a sheepish smile, fierce flush taking over his cheeks. 

"Just a little," Steph admits, pinching her fingers close together. Her face is tinted pink as well. "You know..." she trails off, falling against the back of the couch, their fingers still entwined. "I hated being called a king in high school, but... Queen sounds so much better." She lets her mouth curl into a small smile. 

 "Like something precious," Eddie catches on, leaning sideways so they can face each other. "Powerful yet feminine."

"Yeah." She nods absentmindedly. 

"How about princess?" he asks next. 

Guessing from how red Steph's face has gotten, she must have liked it. Eddie grins. 

"Well then, princess, I truly hope a humble bard like me can at least make you laugh. I may not know swordsmanship, but I know my way around a lute." He waggles his eyebrows. 

Steph pushes him away with a hand to his face and he falls backwards, cackling. 

"Didn't you say you were bisexual?" she asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Uh... Yeah?"

"So you should know both the lute and swordsmanship.... you know?" Steph extends both her index fingers and crosses them, miming a battle as if they were tiny swords. 

Eddie stares at her blankly. 

"Are those supposed to be penises?" he asks, flabbergasted. 

"Yes." She nods confidently, putting her hands back in her lap. 

"You're perfect, holy shit." Eddie scrambles to sit back up. "You compared dick to a sword and I'm supposed to not marry you?"

She scoffs. 

"Keep at it and you'll be sleeping on the couch." 

Eddie clutches at his chest.

"Already feeling like a married man. Be still, my heart!"

"Yep, it's couch for you." She stands up with finality. 

But when he holds her wrist, she goes back down easily, sinking into a kiss. Maybe the power to win arguments went both ways.

"Fine," she folds. "But we're sharing with Garfield."

"Well, where else would he sleep?"

ko-fi | Steddie masterpost

tags: @wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94 @tartarusknight  @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman @madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system @hiei-harringtonmunson @hellowhatthehellisgoingonhere @dreamercec @manliest-of-muppets @bookbinderbitch @marklee-blackmore  @icecat @rootbeerandmusic @mollymawkwrites @milojames16 @ellietheasexylibrarian @sadiea20

[leah-lover]

Drive to survive. Leah Williamson x F1!Reader

Part 1. Part 2.

“ Leah, Leah is watching, she is probably scared “ you thought again as you were drifting off. You gathered all your strength, unlocked the steering wheel, and got out of the car. As soon as you stood on the ground you felt dizzy again, but lucky for you a paramedic caught you in time and directed you to an ambulance. You turned your head to where your car is to find the back of it in flames.

You got on the ambulance, they closed the door behind you, you took off your helmet and breathed real air for the first time. With that breath all the adrenaline came rushing again to your brain. “ Silverstone is done, you lost any real chance at winning this year, your career in F1 might be over.” you thought. This provoked you to have a panic attack.

“ Ma'am it's going to be okay. You survived the crash and it seems like you don't have any dangerous injuries.” Said the paramedic in an effort to calm you down.

When you got to the hospital, you were rushed to a room. A nurse helped you take off your race suit and replace it with a hospital gown. When the doctor came, he did a few tests and informed the members of your team that were now in the hospital with you that you only had a concussion and that all you needed was rest.

You hadn't talked yet. Your mind kept on going to the aftermath of the crash. If you hadn't been so deeply in love with Leah you would have burned in the fire.

“ Where is Leah?” You ask your assistant.

“ She is in the hotel, she left the garage after the crash.” She replied.

“ I want her here.” You demanded.

“ Okay.” She said as she stepped out to call for her.

You waited for about 30 minutes until you heard a knock on the door. She was wearing the same white suit she did in the paddock. Her eyes were puffy and red and there was clear evidence of crying on her face. As soon as you two made eye contact she ran to kiss you. The kiss was passionate, soft, sweet and needy. It resembled the kisses you saw in movies. As you two kissed you felt a tear on your cheek. The tear was hers.” Hey I am fine. I only have a concussion. I survived.” You say as your fingers wipe the tears from her face.

“ You crashed and screamed for help on the radio, then there was fire and you didn't get out.” she said with her voice broken.

“ You know what got me out. It was you. As soon as I thought of you I got out. You saved me Leah.” You replied.

Leah continued to cry as you held her. You whispered how much you loved her in her ear as she layed on your chest.

You stayed in the hospital overnight for monitoring and so did she. And the next day you went to your house.

You were in your bed watching yourself getting out of a burning car on the news when you were writing your statement to the press. Once you were done you called your parents and texted your friends and your team confirming that you were okay.

“ An omelet, avocado and toast, some fruit and coffee.” Said Leah as she entered the bedroom with a plate full of food.

“ I thought you couldn't cook.”

“ I didn't make this but it looks delicious.”

You two had breakfast together and watched the news.

“ I think I might quit.” You said.

“ You can't.” Answered leah. “ What you went through is traumatic, and it will take a long time for you to recover from it. But you need to push through. This is everything you wanted and worked for. you need to keep going not only for you but for the thousands of girls looking up to you. And yes I know that I will always be scared when you enter that car but I know that that is something you love and I will learn to love it too.”

“This is why I fell in love with you.” You said jokingly.

“ I thought you said my fingers were the reason you fell in love with me.”

“ No, it's your strap.”

“ Speaking of strap, I think it's time for a reward since you escaped death for me.”.

“ I love you.”

“ I love you too.”

—----------

25 days later.

“ Italy, home of Ferrari, but this year they are not the main thing the media is talking about. This year the woman who walked away from fire is the center of all the media attention. She is back and ready to have another go at winning her first race. She has talked about the highs and lows of her coming back journey and the difficulties she found in driving that Mercedes car again. But she has worked her way through it all. The number six is now written on her car, on her helmet, and on her tracksuit. We do not know what it means but she said it is the reason she is driving again. Stay tuned for what could be a historic race.”

[beuxwhoyouare]

Wrecked

Gabe wasn't feeling the vibes to go out but he had to. All of his friends were getting together to celebrate one of their birthdays so against his better judgement he went out. In true fashion anytime you're around your best friends they can change a moment of tiredness into hyped excitement. And that's what they did. While horrendously underdressed for the occasion Gabe was thankful he went out that night to be surrounded by the love of all his friends despite a crumby day at work.

Gabe and his friends drank and danced the night away, leaving the club around 2 am. The group took Lyfts back to their homes leaving only 2 of them left in the vehicle as they got on the highway. Black ice developed in the colder weather causing the 2 cars in front of Gabe's Lyft driver to swerve in an attempt to avoid crashing. The car hit the cement median. Several vehicle attempted to stop but a pile up formed on the interstate after their crash.

A few feet behind them, a vehicle carrying a prisoner being extradited got caught in the wreckage. The guards driving, dying upon impact. Gavin was caught after months on the run for several murders but now this had to be fate. The doors of the armored vehicle flapping open in the cold air. His distraught lanky self going into fight or flight quickly stripping his prison wear. He quickly searched for another nearby vehicle with passengers that had passed out, pulled on spare clothes from their trunk, and pretended to pass out inside a nearby vehicle in an attempt to hide his true identity.

Hours later, Gabe woke up in the hospital reeling in a panic from the traumatic moments before the incident. A nurse calmed him down as she told him he'd been out for only an hour since his arrival. They continued to check on him as he tried to collect himself mentally, calling out for his friend. The medical team assuring him that they would search for his friend in the sea of hospital rooms.

Minutes of waiting turned to hours and eventually he passed out.

Gavin woke up around the same time in the same hospital. Fiddling with something he found in his pocket, he found himself in a room with several others passed out. He got up quietly before peering out into the energetic ER filled with rushing medical providers and crash victims. He knew that he may have escaped for now but the cops will surely be looking for him soon.

He quickly began searching for victims with private rooms and and ID he could snag. Several officers walked into the ER to begin taking statements from anyone awake about what happened. Gavin overheard one telling a nurse that they were also searching for an escaped convict. Knowing full well that he was already being hunted he ducked down and quickly crawled into a nearby room.

He was panicking trying to figure out a way out of the scenario he finally pulled the item he’d been fiddling with out of his pocket when he examined it closer. An arrowhead looking rock with a symbol etched into it glowed in his hand. He didn’t think much of it amid his ongoing spiral.

Gabe woke up in his bed noticing Gavin looking at something in his hand. He began freaking out at the stranger in his room as Gavin lunged at him using the sharp rock-like item to threaten him. Gavin told Gabe to calm down or he would harm him. In an attempt to scare him into complicity, Gavin prodded the rock into Gabe’s neck and once it came into contact with both of them it a gust of wind broke out in the room. Two abstract auras flew out from the two men before getting sucked into the body opposite of where they came from, before the wind stopped and shot them apart.

Nurses and a cop rushed into the room. The cop recognized Gavin and began to cuff the blonde man. Nurses came to check on Gabe but he had apparently passed out. The cop places Gavin in custody and began walking him out of the room as he groggily reawakened.

“Wait. Where are you taking me? I’m still looking for my friends?” the escaped prisoner panicked.

“Friends? Gavin Topp, you’re under arrest again for murder. You don’t have any friends left here.” snickered the cop.

As the cop continued to drag the prisoner to a nearby cop car, the prisoner caught his reflection in a glass door. That’s not his face…his stomach sank….that’s the stranger from his room?!

Gabe’s friend rushed into the room to check on him after the nurses alerted him he was there. Witnessing the cop take the convict out of the room, Gavin grinned as he watched his former body being dragged out of the room. A sense of relief washed over him as he started to piece together what happened. Confirmed to him as Gabe’s friend walked into the room asking him if he was okay enough to head home.

Gavin pretended to still be shaken by the nights events asking for Gabe’s friend to take him to his new home. Eventually they arrive to Gavin’s new home as his friend leaves him to get some rest. Slowly Gavin looked around the apartment discovering something new everywhere he looked. That’s when he located the restroom. Gavin grimaced at his new reflection in the mirror.

The blonde white murder convict savored his new Cuban Puerto Rican dark brown curls. His shorter stature was met with muscular firmness that was deceivingly hidden under oversized sweats.

In his excitement, he began unsheathing himself from the cloth confines. Taking in his new muscles and tattoos with awe. He flexed and tried poses he had always seen big buff guys do in tv shows and movies. When he dropped his sweatpants he was shocked to find a slutty brief thong underwear.

He’s gotten away with murder and now he wanted to get away with taking advantage of this bussy. The convict gave into the body’s urges, animalistic like fervor washing over him as he pulled off the sweats before pulling down the thong.

Using one hand to stroke his growing pole and the other sliding in digit after digit to poke and prod his new hole, Gavin began giggling to himself with satisfaction before graduating to moans. In his mind he kept replaying the moment he saw the real Gabe realize his life had been stolen. Gavin gaining perverse satisfaction from that moment and his new life as a fine Latino man. Before he knew it everything came to a climax. Rope after rope shot out as he continued to buzz with residual impacts of the moment. Gavin using his new horned up tongue to like everything he could clean from the mess he made.

He passed out after the traumatic day only to be woken up bright and early by his new phone vibrating with a FaceTime call.

Gavin scaring himself with his own reflection as he answered. Gabe’s friends wanted to take him to the beach to help him get his mind off the trauma from the night before. Gavin couldn’t wait to continue to whore himself out on the beach, elated at the offer to go to the beach. Hanging up the call, Gavin scavenged through all of Gabe’s clothing to find a swimsuit…only to find two options.

Instead of making up his mind himself he asked the group chat with all of Gabe’s friends. What do yall think? Black or lime?

Well what do you think?