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daenysx · 1 year ago

Note

Hii can you write where james and reader are both the only virgins in the group so decided to do it together to get it over with but then they started to do it more often bcs james is absolutely obsessed with her.

thank you for requesting, i hope you like this! requests are open!!

james potter x fem!reader, nsfw

becoming experts

james thinks maybe he should be embarrassed.

here he is, knocking on your door, standing at your doorstep with your favorite dessert in his hand. this is the third time in this week, and it won't be the last. he fixes his posture, puts a little smile on his face, and knocks on your door again. he is fine.

you open the door, wearing only your sleep shorts and a little tank top, which is both a blessing and a curse for james's poor heart. your hair seems a little messy, your face without any make up, and you look beautiful. your lips curve upwards when you see james at your doorstep, you are quick to pull him inside.

"hi, sweetheart." james says as he steps inside. "i hope this is not a bad time."

you look at him like he's said the silliest thing in the world. "come on, jamie, you know there's no such a thing as bad time for you."

"yeah, yeah, i'm glad." why is he acting so out of character? suddenly he's shy, blushing when you point at his hand.

"is that for me?" you ask, kind of shy but more comfortable than him.

he nods. "of course, there you go."

he gives you the box and you take it with a huge smile on your face. "thank you!"

james's heart takes a leap.

you lead him inside, your little living room looks cozy with all those blankets spread on your couch and the warm air covering the room. you take the dessert with two spoons, sitting on the couch and inviting james next to you. he takes off his jacket and kicks his shoes, sits next to you, hoping to be less awkward in the next moments of this act.

"would you like something to drink?" you ask.

james shakes his head. "no, maybe later."

you nod, taking a spoonful of your dessert. "this is perfect. literally the best thing in the world, thank you so much."

james laughs. "you're welcome, angel."

you look at his unused spoon. "why don't you eat?"

he doesn't know. his mouth is dry, he should get a grip on himself. "i'm-"

your lips look perfect around that spoon.

"you've got chocolate- here." he leans into your space slowly.

you smile, his fingers cup your cheek. "this is so cliche."

"you think so?" he whispers.

"you know," you begin. "if you want to kiss me, all you have to do is ask."

james leans back on the couch, suddenly free of shyness to jump on the opportunity. "what if i want more than just a kiss?"

"i'm sure we can do something about that." you take another spoon of chocolate sauce.

"oh, baby." james says, pulling you to his lap. "come here."

your hands are empty, you move quickly to him. your legs are on each side of his thighs and you sit gently. "how do you feel?" he asks, holding your hands.

"i'm fine. really, really good."

"you sound unnaturally teasing. i thought that was supposed to be me."

you shrug. "i don't know, you act weird today. it's not like this is the first time we're being this close."

the best night of james's life was probably the night he'd spend at your apartment, in your bed. you were naked, so was he, the wine was kicking like a liquid courage as you had sex for the first time. you could expect weirdness between you two, you were both each other's first time and you had been friends for years, but it never happened. it felt so good and so right, james lost himself between your legs and you made sounds that you've never made before.

you were both inexperienced, subject of sirius's little teasings and remus's sympathetic looks when it comes to stuff about sex. you don't know how did things happened as they have that night, but suddenly you were kissing james. you could be afraid if this would ruin your friendship but at that moment everything was so good, you could never imagine the act could ever feel like this.

since that night, james had been to your apartment once more. he was just trying to make sure everything's okay between you and your friendship still stands. then, he was taking off his clothes and you were leaning towards him. you took his cock in your mouth for the first time and james forgot everything except your name.

now, here you are, trying to balance yourself on james's lap, keeping yourself still to not press against him. "james," you say. "it's okay. i- i want you too."

james throws his head back, his hands still holding yours. he looks at you through his glasses and smiles. "i just want you to feel good."

"i'm always feeling good when i'm with you." you say, honestly. "i think we fit each other really well and i- i want it, with you."

"yeah?" james pulls you closer. "you want it, pretty girl?"

you nod. james continues. "i guess we've got addicted." he says like it's a secret. "but that's okay. we can keep going as long as you're good with it."

you start the kiss and james exhales, finally. he cups your cheeks, angles your neck to deepen the kiss. you taste sweet, he licks the chocolate left on your lips. you whimper quietly, feeling him harden under you. this is good, you think. this is so perfect, it doesn't feel any wrong.

james's hands go to your back and he rubs your skin affectionally. he breaks the kiss to brush his lips on your pulse point. you take a breath, holding onto his shoulders. "james." you say. "i wanna go to bed."

he obliges, lifts you easily, and carries you to your bedroom. he is gentle when he puts you on bed, you are quick to take off your clothes. you are not shy to be naked around him, he makes you feel safe. you throw your clothes somewhere on the floor and settle down on bed, watching james.

he looks at you, eyes focused, and mouth slightly open. is he dreaming? this surely is better than any dream, you are lovely as you lay there and wait for him.

he doesn't intend to tease you or make you wait. you've been so honest and sweet with him, you deserve to get what you want. james makes a quick work of his clothes, leaving everything on the floor until he is bare in front of you. he gets on his knees on bed and reaches you. you part your legs obediently, without expecting a word from him.

"you're so pretty, sweetheart." james says, fondly. "you know that, right?"

you squirm under his hands. "jamie, please."

"you should know that." he says, kisses your chest. "you should be aware of the power you have on me."

you shake your head. "it's mutual, and you're being silly."

"let me be romantic for a second, yeah?" he kisses your perked nipple. "fuck, gonna give you everything you want."

"please." you say, losing your breath when he sucks your nipple. he likes using his mouth on you, you realize. he slowly goes down on your body and you laugh when he kisses below your belly button.

"tickles?" he asks, ever so playful.

you nod. "will you do it again?"

he answers by kissing the same spot over and over, turns you into a mess under his mouth. his fingers are quick to touch your cunt, he collects the wetness that starts pooling and rubs it all over. "will you let me taste you?" he asks, begging for a yes. "i wonder if you taste so sweet everywhere."

"you- i guess you can, if you want." you arch your back, subtly press your cunt against his mouth.

"if i want? i'm dying for it."

he buries his face between your legs, tries to get directing noises out of you. he's not experienced but he finds himself to be a quick learner when it comes to you. he licks the wetness out of you and pushes his tongue inside. you wrap your legs around his neck, the sensation is so strange but suddenly it starts feeling good. you remember the second time you had sex and how you felt insatiable to take his cock in your mouth. he must feel that way right now, you think, because he never stops making those wild noises as he uses his mouth.

james sucks your clit relentlessly. you whimper, his name becomes a song. he grips your thighs and holds you in your place. "james- so close- so clo- hmm-"

he lifts his head just for a second. "come for me, lovely girl. let go for me, this is perfect."

you obey, arch your back as he sucks again, and you're dripping in his mouth. james keeps licking, helps you through your peak. you feel so tired, so exhausted, so naked, and it's good. james keeps you steady, his cock twitches at the sight of your cunt, all swollen and licked.

"are you okay, baby?" he coos. "we can stop."

you shake your head. you can't stop because he's addictive. "i want you inside." there's no crumb of shyness left. "please, i want it."

james angles you to be more comfortable, he rubs the skin of your thigh. "gotta be slow, okay?" he says.

you nod, messy and desperate. "however you want."

he positions his cock in just the right way. he is being slow and quiet as he keeps pushing, he knows it's a tight fit. when you clench around him he can't help himself, he goes a little fast. "oh, angel." he whispers, mouth closed on your neck. he pushes himself again. "so tight, just like the first time i got you like this. you're gonna make me come soon if you squeeze around me like that."

you part your legs a little more, holding onto his broad shoulders. "i like this so much. so full, jamie."

james starts moving inside you, still careful but easier. you try to move your hips accordingly, it's like a new dance both of you are trying to learn better. he is worried he'll come too soon, because you're being irresistable.

"can you touch me- right, right there?" you ask, position his fingers on your clit.

"yeah, yeah, of course."

his fingers play with you until you start begging for him to come. he keeps pushing himself until he can't see straight anymore. "can i come? james, can i come again?" you melt, so close and so wet, you can hear the wetness pooling on bed.

"yes, come on, sweet thing." he pushes the deepest he's ever been, you clench so hard, he starts coming. "come with me."

you are sure you lose your sight for a second. james explodes on your belly, his strength helps him pull himself back before coming inside you but he keeps playing with your clit so you clench around him and nothing as you come. you see him, you see stars, you feel so sensitive. james groans as he holds his cock to let out every drop of his cum. he exhales your name, desperate to lay down with you on the bed. you are quick to pull him on your chest, he puts his head on your body, and listens your heartbeat.

minutes pass in silence as you both catch your breaths. james rubs your skin with gentle fingers. you stroke his curls, and press a kiss on his forehead.

"i think we're getting pretty good at this." you say, smiling.

"yeah, i guess we are quite the experts of sex now." he says. "can you imagine sirius's reaction?"

"oh, he'd probably never believe it." you say. "but that's fine."

james sits on bed. "would you like to have shower? we've made quite the mess of each other."

you nod, reach for his hand as you sit next to him. "jamie," you begin, "there's no one else that i'd rather do this with. you're- you're the only one for me."

james smiles, kisses your forehead lovingly. "i'd hope so, sweetness." he gives your hand a squeeze. "you're the only one for me, as well."

♡

(you can check here to find out about sirius and remus's reactions lovelies.)

#james potter #james potter x reader #james x you #james x reader #james potter x you #marauders #marauders smut #james potter one shot #james potter imagine #james potter smut #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders one shot

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nebulaafterdark · 7 months ago

Text

The Succession

Summary: After the battle of Rook’s Rest, Queen Y/N is forced to rule alongside Prince Regent Aemond, in an attempt to keep her children safe and eventually seat her mother, Rhaenyra, on the throne. While attending her husband, on what appears to be his deathbed, she begins to unravel the dark truth of his near passing.

Aegon Targaryen x Velaryon(Strong)!Reader

“Behold, the traitor dragon, Meleys. Slain by King Aegon.”

Cole might’ve bellowed anything before the mention of Y/N’s husband and she would not have heard it. Breaching the castle doors, out onto the streets, where the smallfolk stare in wonder. The Queen has scarcely been seen in the days following her husband’s accession, leaving many to wonder if she still lives.

Here she stands, in the flesh, walking about them like a commoner. “Where is Aegon?” She finds Ser Criston, keeping pace beside his horse.

“You mustn’t be about, your grace. It is not safe.”

“Where is my husband?”

Ser Gwayne looks back toward his fallen nephew, now carried by men.

“No,” Y/N shakes her head, falling in line with the oversized box one might mistake for a casket. She can’t see much of anything through the slats.

“You must return to the castle, my Queen.” Cole circles back for her. “His Grace will need you at his side.”

“He’s alive?” Y/N breathes.

“When last I checked.”

She nods, remaining beside her husband as he is carted into the castle, up the stairs to his chambers. The maesters await him, peeling away armor and bits of charred flesh with it, to reveal the extent of his injuries.

“Is my son going to die?” Alicent asks.

“He is badly burned.” The maester informs the Queen dowager.

“Men survive burns.” Y/N says, holding a hand to her belly, attempting to quell the churning.

“He has many broken bones.”

“Bones heal.”

The grand maester sighs, “that is our hope, your grace.”

What lies beneath his breastplate is naught but more red, angry skin, or lack there of. Alicent comes round to Y/N, a rare occasion, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Mayhaps it is best you step away.”

“I will stay,” Y/N shakes her head, “if anything happens… I must stay.” Hold his hand as he goes, if it comes to it.

Alicent nods, withdrawing.

Aegon’s breathing is something awful. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

An eternity passes in that room, on bated breath. Eventually the maesters begin clearing out, leaving the King to mutter, incoherently.

“Your grace.” The grand maester turns to Y/N. “It is done.”

“Thank you, Grand Maester. For all you have done, I- I owe you a debt.”

The man takes her hand, “we can only do so much to aid in the king’s healing, I believe it is you he needs. Be his strength.”

Y/N nods, “of course.” She makes herself comfortable upon the mattress beside him as the doors close, giving them a moment alone.

Aegon’s mumblings grow louder, though still impossible to make sense of.

“Shhh,” Y/N hushes him, brushing hair from his face. “There is nothing to fear. You need only…get better for me. I will tend the council shortly, but I shall return.”

He quiets then, as though her gentle reassurance is all he wanted.

“I will not abandon you. Not now, not ever. Rest easy, my love. You are safe now.” She presses a kiss to his forehead, before taking the stairs down to join the small council.

Those sitting around the table are already in deep discussion, gaping at the Queen’s entrance, standing to greet her.

“So kind of you to wait for me, my lords.” Y/N smiles, taking her ball from the center.

“We thought you might be with his grace, the king.” The hand explains. “He will be expecting you when he wakes.”

“I am not sure he will ever wake.” The grand maester cuts in. “His fate lies with the gods now.”

“Give it time.” Y/N sniffs, “it has been mere hours since his return.”

“If Aegon could wake, he would have done so for you.” Alicent decides. “A king cannot rule in his sleep, we must appoint a regent to serve in his absence.”

“I am awake.” Y/N reminds them.

“My Queen,” Tyland Lannister interjects, “if I may be so bold. Your lord husband has been wounded in battle, he will need your tender hand if we hope him to make any sort of recovery.”

“That is very thoughtful of you, Lord Tyland.” Y/N replies, in a measured tone. Should she lose her head before the council, there will be no coming back from it. “Still, I am willing and able to rule.”

“In the event of his grace’s untimely death, we must be prepared to proceed with the succession.”

“Understandably, and we do not lack heirs. My husband and I have four children.” Y/N shifts in her chair. “Assuming, as you have, that the men of the realm will never accept a woman on the throne, we then pass the crown to our first born son.” To charm the snakes, you must behave as a snake.

The council looks to each other. “Prince Laenor is but two years of age, our next ruling king, by law; though too young to presently serve.”

“I will advise him, I am his mother.”

Alicent rises from her seat, “might I humbly suggest myself? I have already done so during my late husband’s long illness-”

“Which was fine then?” Y/N arches a brow, “a wife to rule in her husband’s absence.”

Alicent lowers her gaze. “This is different.”

“Because I am your enemy’s daughter and named heir,” Y/N huffs. “Rules for thee, not for me. Isn’t that right?”

“Mind yourself.”

“Or what?” Y/N lifts a shoulder, “you will usurp my husband, as you did my mother?”

“Viserys changed his mind.” Alicent says, with finality. “I am sorry for what’s happened, but with his dying breath, he wished for Aegon to be king. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon.”

“I love my husband,” Y/N seethes, “let that be known.”

“Of course, my Queen.”

“Whatever the members of this council intend to do now will be spoken plainly, in my presence.” Y/N demands, staring down at her wedding ring.

“I believe it is in our best interest to appoint Prince Aemond as Regent, until our King has been restored.” Ser Criston announces, “as hand, I know the king’s greatest concern is the safety and well being of his wife and children. We must honor that, in these unprecedented times.”

Y/N swallows, “very well.”

“My Queen.” Aemond reaches past her for the council ball, abandoned by her husband.

————————————————————————

Y/N goes through the motions, putting their children to bed. All is well, my darlings. Father needs only rest. When they have each found sleep, she returns to Aegon. Speaking to him the same way she always has, as though he can hear.

“The men of the council are restless in your absence. They circle like vultures now,” Y/N chokes out, touching the unmarred skin of his face. “And I am alone in this….I have never been alone.”

If she knew no better, she could swear his fingers twitch against hers. Mayhaps she is gripping them too tightly. She releases his hand, much to Aegon’s dismay, grumbling his discontent.

“Hush now, I am here and you are here. The rest will sort,” Y/N reminds him.

She watches him then, the heaving rise and fall of his chest, wrapped in bandages. Men survive burns. Bones heal.

In time, Alicent joins her at Aegon’s side. “Has there been any change?”

“No,” Y/N shakes her head.

“You are kind to be here, he loves nothing in the world as he loves you. I am sure your presence alone is a comfort to him.”

“That is my hope,” Y/N admits.

“I will leave you to it.” Alicent offers a hint of a smile, making for the door.

“Mummy.”

Y/N hears it, his mother does not. “Alicent,” she calls her back.

Alicent flicks away tears before turning round, “what is it?”

“He’s asking for you.”

“F-for me?”

Y/N nods, giving his hand a squeeze.

Alicent returns to his bedside, passing a hand over the side of his face. “I’m here.”

He draws in a rattling breath, “protect her.” Aegon stumbles over the words. “Please, Mummy.”

Y/N inhales sharply, hushing him.

Alicent locks eyes with her daughter by law. I pray you do not hear a similar whisper from your husband anytime soon. “I will do this, for you, Aegon. You needn’t worry.”

Aegon says nothing else, succumbing to sleep once more.

Alicent excuses herself, with a nod.

Y/N muffles the sound of her cries in the hand which isn’t holding his. She’s only half awake by the time she hears footfall and whispering at the end of her husband’s bed.

“Was it worth the price?” Helaena asks.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, my darling.” Aemond mutters, brushing his lips against her cheek.

Part 2

#house of the dragon #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #hotd aegon #aegon imagine #aegon targaryen fanfic

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leviathanspain · 1 year ago

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OMG I am living for the Finnick content!!! Could I request something with angst to fluff, with the prompt “look at me, look at me, you’re okay, we’re okay”? Maybe set after catching fire when they both wake up in district 13? Thank you!!

watercolor eyes

finnick odair x reader

synopsis: you didn’t think you would ever see those watercolor eyes again…

a/n: i used hearing loss as reader’s injury, there is no real explanation, so make one up :)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

it was a stunning color, almost indescribable. he was saying something, his hands moved frantically, you could see them in your peripheral. yet you remained in a trance with his eyes, watching them as they frantically searched yours. then, you realized his lips were moving, and you couldn’t hear him.

“do you think she can hear us?” he blinked, refusing to get emotional at just the thought. from how close you had been, it definitely could’ve resulted in hearing loss. the rescuing of who they could get in the arena didn’t go very well, and he hated to admit that he almost lost you. how he lost peeta and johanna, something that already weighed heavy on him.

suddenly, a scream erupted from you. finnick rose from your side, hands trying to calm you down. you were getting redder as you screamed, exhausting yourself.

“y/n!” he shouted, hoping you’d hear him and stop, but didn’t realize that you were screaming because you couldn’t hear your own voice.

you were panicking. from the looks of finnick, he could hear you, but you couldn’t hear your loud screaming. you felt the vibrations of your own voice, hand at your throat. but nothing was heard. your breath hitched as the stark realization dawned on you. you couldn’t even hear ringing in your ears.

helplessly, you gripped finnick’s arm as he searched your eyes. a doctor practically sprinted towards you. you panicked, gripping onto finnick as you fought off the doctor, a syringe in his hand. you screamed again, now out of reflex. finnick was trying to calm you down but it was hard for someone who had gone temporarily deaf. or at least he hoped it would be temporary. there was no knowing the damage.

“y/n.” he spoke as if you could hear him, shouting wouldn’t change things. you could feel his fingers on your cheek, gently wiping them as tears escaped your eyes.

you wanted to look at him, focus on his eyes, imagine the engulfing waters of the ocean, free to take you and finnick to places you could only dream of.

but the needle stabbing you wouldn’t let you float your mind away.

you wouldn’t be able to hear the ocean, let alone see it.

you grilled finnick’s arm, eyes fighting to stay connected to his, but they fluttered shut, getting one last glimpse of those watercolor eyes.

finnick watched as your eyes fluttered shut. he had been comforting you in a way he knew wasn’t helping. “you’re okay…” he whispered, “you’ll be okay.” he brushed a hair from your voice as your expression calmed. the doctors had decided to sedate you upon your outburst. “i’m sorry.” he whispered more, laying you down back into the bed, words repeating like a broken record.

it had been a week.

your ears were still sensitive, and you had been ordered to stay away from any and all loud noises, which meant you often stayed behind for when president coin called her meetings.

katniss had been making progress, from what you had gathered in whispers from finnick.

“only whispers.” he had whispered the first words you were able to hear. “doctor’s orders.” he smiled brightly. you exhaled, nodding as you matched his whisper. even the sound of your own voice was excruciating in volume. you had tried to force yourself to get used to loud volumes, but it was impossible.

it was more pain than it was worth, that even sometimes the whispers were too sharp.

so you and finnick often settled for a comforting silence. he would hold you in his arms, brushing your hair from your face as you stared deep into his eyes.

he grounded you, from the moment you met him, he had been nothing but kind. he loved you, killed for you, saved you.

“i love you.” you whispered so quietly you wondered if he could even hear you.

he looked down at you, having glanced away for a mere moment. his smile extended up to his eyes, “i love you more.” he whispered, still careful to be quiet.

#finnick odair oneshots #thg finnick odair #finnick odair x female!reader #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick odair angst #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #thg finnick #hunger games finnick #thg x reader #thg angst #thg imagine #finnick x y/n #finnick odair

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mandarinmoons · 28 days ago

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Hi! I’ve been following you for a little while now and I just adore your writing! And I’m feeling brave to finally request a thing ☺️ could I please request an angst/ hurt comfort thing where the unsub kidnaps/ tortures reader. Maybe he and reader are in a secret relationship? And I don’t know I just have this image of Spencer getting frustrated that he can’t find reader and he’s all “BECAUSE I LOVE HER” I don’t know I’m kinda babbling and you can do whatever you want with the request bc your writing is amazing!!

“Spencer! Spencer, help me!”

Those were the last words Spencer heard before you were pushed to the back of a van and taken off into the night.

Spencer was frozen for a moment before the adrenaline kicked in and he ran after you, but he was too late. The car drove off so fast that he never stood a chance. His heart broke when reality set in, where were you being taken? Were you going to be okay? Was he ever going to see you again?

Those were the questions that played over again in his mind as he paced in an office at The BAU. After being treated for some cuts and bruises, Spencer was quick to get back to the line of duty to try and find you. Hotch, however, stopped Spencer from taking another step out the door.

“You need to rest. It’ll do you no good to be out there right now.”

Spencer wanted to fight, he knew you better than anyone else on the team, but with his leg aching he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the search, so he had to stay back.

He felt the taste of blood in his mouth as he was biting his chapped lips so hard they started to bleed. He remembered how you always reminded him to try and quit the habit, a light chuckle left his lips at the memory and he stopped the gnawing so you wouldn’t be too stern with him once you were back.

Or if you were back. No, you had to come back, you just had to, he couldn’t lose you. His anxiety spiked again and he started pacing through the room again, this time with his breathing more irregular.

Penelope noticed Spencer’s actions and quickly moved to try and calm her friend down. She walked to the room and tried to take a hold of Spencer’s arm to try and get him to stop pacing, her fingers caressing his forearms as she tried to get him to take deep breaths.

“Spence, it's okay, we will find her.”

“How? I can’t do anything from here and it’s driving me insane.”

“We’ve found her before and we will do it again just like all the other times.”

“This isn’t like the other times.”

“How?”

“Because I love her!”

Penelope blinked a few times and took in the words Spencer had said. She had her suspicions, which now turned out to be true, but she wished this would’ve been revealed during different circumstances.

You and Spencer had been dating for the past 4 months. With both of you being pretty private individuals you decided to keep the relationship under wraps for the time being, keeping it professional at work and would only attend to more intimate things behind closed doors of each other’s homes.

It was hard at times. There were days when a case was so stressful that both of you needed a break to hold each other, sometimes you’d maybe catch a break when you were in an office by yourselves and you’d press a quick kiss to each other’s lips. It was hard to hide the blush on your cheeks afterwards though and it would’ve been revealed soon enough, namely by Penelope who had gossiped with JJ about her hunch and they were betting to see how long it would take for the secret love birds to announce their feelings.

Apologizing at his outburst, Penelope paid no mind to Spencer’s reaction and pulled him in for a hug, letting him know that she was here for him, the whole team was, and that you would be returned home one way or another.

Hours later, Spencer managed to calm down enough to close his eyes to rest a bit, the only thing keeping him calm was holding onto your sweater. Your scent filled his nose and brought tears to his eyes, when would he be able to hold you again? It was already agony enough that he wasn’t able to have you in his arms during work hours, but now not knowing where you were made his brain work overtime.

His eyes fluttered open when he heard voices coming from outside the office, ecstatic ones it seemed.

Hoping for a miracle, Spencer scrambled to his feet and rushed out the door, his eyes searching for the reason he heard all of the glee. And then he saw it, you.

“Y/N,” Spencer practically ran to you, his arms scooping you into his embrace and holding onto you so tight so he knew he wasn’t hallucinating and that you were really here safe and sound.

“I’m okay Spence.”

Taking your face into his hands, Spencer’s thumbs brushed over the light cuts and bruises on your skin, trying his best not to exacerbate the pain.

“Thank God you’re okay.”

“I thought about you the entire time. You kept me going.”

With teary eyes and a chuckle leaving his lips, Spencer pressed his lips to your forehead in the most gentle way he could. Your arms wrapped around him as you tried to fight off the shaking, resting your head on his shoulder and taking in the warmth of his embrace.

You were safe again, in the arms of the man that meant to you the most.

You can find my masterlist here!

Let me know your thoughts in the comments and like & reblog to support <3

#spencer reid #spencer reid au #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x gender neutral reader #spencer reid angst

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ttjisung · 5 days ago

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CANCUN p. jisung

richkid!park jisung x richkid!fem reader (e2l)

in which a trip to southern mexico along with your brother's obnoxious friend becomes more than you can handle when you both release your stress.

cw: MDNI! SMUT! my longest fic so far for my boyfie's birthday :3, fingering, exhibitionism (you don't get caught), unprotected sex, dry humping, public sex, dom jisung for the element of surprise, you are honestly really snobby and annoying and jisung is too, even though he tries to hide it. (wc: 5.7k)

For the past week and half, you’ve woken up smiling with a pep in your step – it was finally summer! The only time available to feel somewhat happy as a college student had arrived, after months of long lectures and painfully boring labs, and you weren’t looking to waste it droning miserably around an isolated campus. The opportunity to travel was offered to you the second day of your break, in the form of a message from your brother, Chenle.

Yo. We’re hitting up the beach house in Cancun if you want to come. You can invite someone too, just let me know. Dad’s paying

Not even ten minutes later, you and Ningning were at the mall scouting for cute bikinis. Deciding on a light pink two piece with a flared miniskirt on the bottom, you didn’t bother looking at the price tag before passing it to the worker. Truth be told, you hadn’t looked at your bank account since you were allowed to get one. You knew it was always covered, and you had sworn to never be one of those rich kids who are ashamed of their wealth and call themselves “comfortable”. You figured if you could enjoy life and travel with your best friend every semester, why fight it?

“Lele better have gotten us each a first class window seat. If I get middle I will slice his throat.”

Ningning mindlessly nodded to your obnoxious complaints, holding her phone up high to record a pre-trip transition tiktok, not bothering turning her volume down as the noise rang out loudly. “-Ugh, and then he was like, you only get to check in two bags but like, Ning that’s so unfair. Like I need more so I can bring back gifts for the girls.” This time Ningning actually looked in your direction, voicing out a small mmm to let you know she agreed.

The both of you sported similar airport outfits – comfy pink sweatpants alongside a white shirt, the matching outfit a tribute you had planned for the trip. Chenle spotted you immediately, yelling out your name and throwing his hands up in the air. As your eyes locked, you rushed over, shoving your bags onto the bench and hugging him. “Ewww, get off me.” The attempted-sweet moment was tarnished as he pushed you off, deciding to not greet Ningning either.

Rolling your eyes at his annoying antics, you waved at his friends who were scattered along the same sitting area. Scanning their faces, you didn’t miss the way one particular friend didn’t wave back – Park Jisung, who for some reason swore you were his mortal enemy. He simply looked your way, scoffed, and pulled his phone out again. Your plans of slapping him and pulling him by the hair were interrupted as Jaemin, one of your brother’s nicer friends stepped in front of you, smiling widely.

“Little Zhong, it’s been so long. When’d we last see you?” “Umm… I don’t really… know.” He laughed, and you giggled along, engaging in small talk. Had Jaemin not been blocking you, you would’ve seen the way Jisung’s eyes squinted sharply at your direction, spanning between you and his friend quickly before averting his view.

After leaving your bags with your brother, you pulled Ningning along to go airport shopping. It was a higher end company, and of course you were part of the membership, meaning you all shared a private lounge. The company offered many stores for members only, ranging from Coach to Chanel, and that’s where you immediately headed together.

“I think I need a bag for the trip, I looked up the trends in South Mexico right now and my purse just isn’t aligning.” “Oh my God, same. I don’t know what I was thinking bringing that five month old red one, it would’ve been so embarrassing.” Your snobbish comments blended in with the echoes of older women who had access to the same membership, and after one hour of touching authentic leather clutches to Greek weaved trendy tote bags, you were finally satisfied with your three new bags (Nigning with her two).

The whole group decided to meet up an hour before necessary to sit together until the boarding time, an effort encouraged by Mark who said he ended up in a small bug-infested motel next to an airport once because he lost his group and missed his plane. That scenario being unironically your worst fear, you were quick to hop on board and agree, pulling Ningning by the hand to head towards their lounge.

Unsurprisingly, all of the others were gone, probably also shopping or stuffing their faces at the supreme sushi buffet, leaving you two alone. As the minutes passed by, you were starting to get annoyed, not wanting to end up in the small motel Mark described. “Ning, go look for anyone else. I’ll stay here.” “What the hell? Why do you get to stay here while I look?” “Umm, because one of us has to, dummy. Did you forget about like… bombs and stuff? Airport rules. Duh.” Rolling her eyes, Ningning crossed her arms and stormed off, muttering under her breath as she walked out of view.

You grinned as she was finally completely gone, pulling out a sleeping eye mask and moving onto the chaise lounge, on your back. A looming shadow was what woke you up, so intense you swear you could see it with your eyes closed. Pulling your eye mask up, you were awoken to the sight of Park Jisung hovering over your body on his knees, head over yours casting a shadow.

“What?”

The question made him scoff once more, looking away and shaking his head before simply getting up and walking away. “Hey! Don’t walk away! You were watching me sleep, creep.” You rushed to get up, fully discarding the mask and standing up to follow him around the medium-sized room. “Don’t flatter yourself,” his deeper voice rang out, continuing to walk away, “I was just checking cause Chenle asked me t-” He was interrupted as you finally caught up to him, holding his arm in your hand and tugging him around.

A swelling frustration built up in you as you saw his eyes, full of disinterest and boredom. It was one thing to bother you constantly, it was another to do so while feigning nonchalance. Somehow, your brother’s best friend had managed to get on every single nerve inside of your body, and you seriously began to worry about what would happen when your body would run out on the trip.

“Look, it’s already annoying enough that we have to be near each other these next three weeks. Can we please just avoid each other?” The truce you offered was your last hope, pleading at him in a desperate manner. Jisung looked away with a hand on his chin, as if to seriously think about what you requested, looking at you once again before his smile cracked, eyes squinted slightly as he shook his head, floppy bangs swaying side to side, “No.”

You huffed before letting go of his arm with a strong force, turning around and walking towards your new stack of bags, choosing one off the top to hold before attempting to storm off in the direction of Ningning. At this point you were seriously starting to consider cancelling the trip. You’d probably be able to convince your parents to send you two to France instead for the fourth time; yet one thing that your summer house in Cancun had that your three story, antique French apartment didn’t was Mango, the orange fat cat who resided on the property that you adored. Since you were a kid, you looked forward to every Spring break because it meant visiting Mango and sleeping on the beach with him under the hot Mexican Sun. Now though, it seems like he’ll have to be your distraction for Jisung’s aggravating antics.

If you had to pick one thing about the male that infuriated you the most, it’d be his hypocrisy. Even you admitted that you were spoiled, not defending yourself when the topic came up, yet Jisung wouldn’t miss a chance to look down at you in disapproval, acting like he was superior when he was the exact same thing as you – an entitled, superficial rich kid who ended up with everything he could dream of.

Ningning was paid for by your parents, but Chenle revealed to you through text that his friends provided for their own selves, using their supposed money that truly just came out of their parents pockets instead, including Jisung who never failed to remind you you were nothing but a product of wealth.

Although you had half a mind to curse him out, you were honestly tired and just wanted to find your best friend to complain to. Jisung had to ruin apparently every one of your plans as his larger hand wrapped around your shoulder, this time stopping you from marching away. “Wait, hold on. My bad, okay? I’ll agree with you,” his voice sounded smoother, more empathetic as he pulled you back near the couch he caught you sleeping on. “Really?” Your hope was restored as he nodded his head, “Yeah, on one condition.” “What would that be?”

Rather than answering you, he simply pushed you onto the seat, getting on his knees again and hovering in between your legs once more. You felt his breath on your face as he stopped, his eyes scanning your face before lowering to your lips. A grin grew on his mouth, though he tried to hide it by biting his own lip.

Without a warning, his hands moved to your shoulders, pulling you into him as he left a small peck to the corner of your mouth. Still in shock and confusion, you didn’t push him off which he took as encouragement to place another one on the other corner. Finally regaining your consciousness, you shrieked and pushed him away, looking at him with wide eyes.

“What the hell, Jisung? What is wrong with you?” The male rolled his eyes at your loudly yelled questions, leaning into your ear instead. “You can act like you haven’t felt any tension between us all you want, but I won’t let you ignore me this time.” He whispered, standing up on his feet and staring at your face before walking off to where his own bags were.

The rest of the hour was spent in the bathroom, frantically retelling the story to Ningning who was just as shocked as you were, yet according to her it was only a matter of time before that evil man tried something on you.

When you two rejoined the larger group to finally board, you were weirdly quiet, avoiding the stare of Jisung who was watching you intently. It was the first time he’d seen you so panicked, so distraught. It was then that he realized he really liked the feeling of having control over you. While he was smiling to himself, predicting what a great trip it would be, you were shivering in your seat, dreading what was yet to come.

All of your worries faded away as you stared at the green sign displayed above the road Chenle was driving on, Bienvenidos a Cancun. It had been a while since you were last here, the humid hot air and the bright sun almost unfamiliar to the point where it would’ve upset you. Unfortunately, your group was too large to commute together, so you split up into two groups.

You waved goodbye to Renjun, Haechan, Mark and Jeno at the airport parking lot, entering the backseat of a large black vehicle that adorned a sign with your last name on it, clearly dedicated to you and your brother. Jaemin sat next to Chenle in the passenger’s seat, leaving you sandwiched between Ningning and Jisung. Chenle insisted you’d sit there, saying your guest should have the window seat. You nearly choked him out through the console of the car.

Ningning was asleep in minutes, clearly jetlagged from the plane ride, the soft chattering coming from the front of the car probably lullaby-ing her into slumber. This left you awkwardly pressed to her side, trying your best to avoid contact with the male next to you who had been observing you ever since you all landed.

A bump came up ahead on the road, causing you to shift up slightly into the air, landing next to Jisung’s legs. Thanks to the microshorts you were wearing (curse the torturous summer weather), your bare thigh was pressing against Jisung’s choice of long jorts. The length of his attire stopped your skin from touching his, leading to a relieved sigh, yet it was interrupted by a heavy breath as he nonchalantly moved his closer hand towards your thigh, awkwardly placing it between yours and his.

Confused by his choice of placement, you were about to complain yet words no one would ever hear were caught in your throat as the car came into contact with another speed bump, this time lifting Jisung’s hand directly onto your bare, plush skin. “Hey! Take it off.” He simply shrugged at your whispered demand, “It’s the car, I can’t control it.”

The daggers in your eyes simply egged Jisung on as he lightly pinched your thigh, chuckling lightly to himself as you smacked his hand away finally.

Once the car ride was over and Ningning was shaken awake by your own hands, the two of you ran inside the large house, speeding into the hallway to choose your rooms first. You settled for one of the two rooms on the second story, opting for the one with a balcony facing the blue crystal water of the beach. Ningning ended up on the first story in the room closest to the indoor pool, yelling something about her daily morning laps.

One by one, Chenle along with his friend group entered the large house, claiming their own territory quickly. Jeno, Haechan and Jaemin decided to stay in the rooms in the basement, and a large part of you believed it was due to the theater room that had a PS5 connected to a surround-sound speaker system. Mark took the room next to Ningning, the two of them bonding over their swimming exercise routine. Renjun took the room furthest into the hallway, followed by Chenle who chose the one in between his and Mark’s.

It was a pure coincidence that Jisung ended up residing in the last room available, upstairs and right next to yours. You hadn’t even realized it was him until he knocked on your door, pushing it open before you could say anything and leaning on the frame.

“There is no way you’re next to me. Switch rooms with someone now!” Your words were pointed and firm, suddenly covered in the confidence you lacked at the airport as you stood up, throwing your unpacked clothing onto the king sized bed. Jisung simply snickered to himself, “It’s cute that you think that’s up to you to decide. I’m comfy here though, and I already unpacked so no can do, sorry.” “Why do you enjoy making my life a living hell?” “Because it’s funny.” His responses only angered you further, causing you to stand up and slam the door on his face.

Choosing a better method to unwind than yelling in your brother’s best friend’s face, you put on a cute bikini with a lace cover-up, rushing out into the hallway when the coast was clear and heading towards Ningning’s room, who was also already unpacked and dressed in a cute sundress.

No words were exchanged as you two ran through the back door onto the beach, giggling with each other as your feet met the warm sand. Ningning placed her tote bag down near the water, laying down two towels and sitting on one of them.

It was no surprise when you heard the shouts of the rest of the group, each male running towards the beach as well. They all placed their miscellaneous beach items next to you, not bothering to place down a towel and simply sitting in the warm sand in a circle.

Truthfully, you were already sick of the overwhelming testosterone that engulfed you both, and apparently your best friend was as well as she shouted out a challenge, “Last one to dive into the water has to do everybody else’s laundry.” Ignoring the fact that your vacation home came accompanied with a house maid, which of course it did, the large majority of the men stood up, racing through the sand until you could barely see their heads in the water.

Three stayed back – Jaemin, Jisung and Renjun. The last had already occupied himself with a book in his hand, laying on his stomach on his towel (he was the only one that brought one out of all of his friends). Jisung was simply staring at you with a blank expression, causing you to roll your eyes and look away. He momentarily looked away as well, although your next words pulled his attention back quickly. “Jaems, can you help me put some sunscreen on?” The older male next to you nodded, smiling and grabbing the bottle from your hand. He shifted so that your back would be facing him, squirting out a generous amount of the lotion before nudging your hair aside, spreading it onto the back of your neck first.

His hands roamed towards the small of your back, spreading the lotion all over you before gently rubbing it in with his palms. Soft sighs escaped from your mouth, your eyes closed as you leaned into his hands that were essentially massaging you.

Jisung was annoyed. It was one thing when you provoked him specifically, but to display your content sighs so loudly was another. He’s not sure why the sight of his close friend’s large hands running up your hips, under your arms, everywhere, had him so riled up. It couldn’t be jealousy – you were the most infuriating person he knew, yet as he quickly stood up, rushing over to the water, it was clear that he was more bothered than he let off.

Soon enough, the hot sun faded out into a serene, dark sky, and the group had once again returned to the house momentarily. Tired from several hours of messing around in the water, Chenle announced that he would order food. It was Ningning’s suggestion that they eat it on the beach chairs settled right outside of the house, under the balcony of your room. Although you hadn’t swam as much as the others, you were honestly tired of the socialization and chose to head to your room instead. Jisung was confused – and maybe even disappointed – when he noticed you weren’t outside with the rest, deciding he’d check in on you (and aggravate you a bit more).

His long legs carried him upstairs, leading him to the familiar door of your room that was slightly ajar. Inside, you laid on the bed, scrolling mindlessly on your phone. His grin grew, the palm of his hand pushing harshly onto the door until it opened completely.

Your eyes were quick to look up at the source of the noise, rolling once you realized it was Jisung. “What is it now?” “Nothing, can’t a guy just want to hang out with his dear friend?” Your nose scrunched up as his response, “I’m not your friend, you’ve made it clear with your relentless bullying all of these years.” He pushed himself off of the door frame and into your room, stepping until he was right next to your bed, standing still next to your laying body.

“C’mon, I’m not that bad.” He joked, hoping you didn’t catch the way his eyes roamed down your barely clothed stomach to your smooth legs. You did catch it, yet refused to mention it in fear of a scenario like the one in the lounge repeating. “Look, come here.” He leaned down, grabbing your hand in his and pulling until you were unwillingly sitting on the bed. He didn’t stop until you were completely off of the mattress, dragging you towards the open doors that led to your balcony.

You could hear the buzz from below it, belonging to the large group eating some authentic tacos that costed a hundred pesos each. Jisung stopped once you both were fully outside, and you stared up at him, confused by his actions.

He caught your gaze, smirking down at you before lifting a finger to his lips, as if to motion you to be quiet. That confused you even more, you weren’t even being loud?

You suppose his next actions explained his weird antics as he flipped you to lean against the railing of the balcony, your nearly-naked back now facing his clothed chest as you were forced to look out towards the beach. He used the hands he flipped you with to hold onto both of your hips, pushing you flush against him and placing his head on your shoulder, almost looking down at the crowd from behind you.

“They look so busy, hmm?” You squinted your eyes at his question, wondering why he even cared. “I mean, I guess so…” “Would truly be a shame if they were to look up and see us right now, right?” You tried to tilt your head to look at him, yet he took one of his hands and placed it on the back of your neck, forcing you to look down. “We aren’t doing anything… so not really.” You wish you could ignore the way the laugh he let out didn’t run straight to your core, yet it was hard as his grip on you grew, pulling your body closer into his until you felt the pressure of his hands build up.

You jumped at the feeling of his hand leaving your hip, instead roaming towards the end of your ruffled bikini bottom. Nothing could hide the small gasp that released from your mouth as it snaked over towards the front of your body, slowly lowering itself until he was fully covering your clothed core. “Shh, don’t want them to hear, do you?” The small twinge of pleasure along with the ache building inside of you blinded you to the small smirk heard in his voice.

His voice was muffled with your hair as he pushed his face closer to you, his breath evident against your ear as the grip in his other hand grew, applying more pressure to the base of your neck.

His long fingers were now gently rubbing you through the material of your bikini, ever so slightly moving until they met your clothed clit. Your breathing grew heavier, knuckles turning white as you held onto the railing, praying that the dark sky covered the possible view your friends had downstairs. The view of Jisung’s hand finally pulling the fabric aside, fingers gliding against the slick that had built up from his actions. A small moan was muffled by his other hand that moved from your neck to your mouth, now confidently rolling your sensitive clit with his thumb as two of his fingers drifted lower, slowly but surely finding their way inside of you.

You had truly underestimated the size of Jisung’s hands as he built up his pace, thrusting the two fingers in and out. It was only when you felt an unfamiliar, cold sensation that you realized he had left a ring on one of them – probably the friendship ring Chenle forced all of them to buy and wear.

His breathing grew as a reaction to the way your body instinctively bucked against his, your ass now pressed against his painful erection. He lightly whined into your shoulder, increasing the speed at which he moved his fingers inside of you, hoping you’d continue to build the friction between the two of you.

Your moans quickened as well, fading to breathless gasps as the cold of his jewelry met with the warmth of your walls, leaving you a mess at his mercy. Just as you continued to press into him, craving more than just his long curved fingers, you heard a voice from below. “Should we go check in on Ji and N/n?”

Curse Jaemin and his thoughtful concern, you began to pull away from Jisung, afraid of getting caught. What you hadn’t expected was for Jisung to push back into you, the hand that had covered your mouth now holding your hips, bucking his own to the fast pace he set, desperately searching for release as his fingers continued to bully their way inside of you.

“Ji… Jisung, stop! They’ll… Th- They’ll catch us…” You struggled to let your words out, growing desperate as well, his fingers reaching so deep inside of you that you felt like you were going to pass out from the pleasure. The added danger of knowing you might get walked into was your final push as your mouth released a final whine, folding against the railing you held onto as you attempted to catch your breath.

Jisung was too focused to stop, continuing to rut into you, his fingers sliding out and moving towards his mouth instead. He lifted his head off your neck to suck onto them, swirling his tongue to fully enjoy the taste of you. Without a warning, and quite frankly ignoring your pleas of overstimulation, he thrusted his covered bulge into you once more, groaning into his own fingers as he came in his shorts.

He stood against you for a minute, the two of you catching your breath and attempting to process what just happened, yet the sound of several footsteps rushing up the stairs and near your doorway had you pushing him away, running into your room and picking up the closest pair of pants to put on.

Ningning’s eyebrow was raised when she stepped into your room, suspiciously locking eyes with you before looking at Jisung, continuing to observe the two of you harshly. Your heart beating almost covered the noise of Chenle, who was demanding you and Jisung to join them all downstairs to bond. Wanting to escape the heavy atmosphere hanging around you two after what had just happened, you were quick to agree, running down the stairs and out the door.

The morning after came soon, the bright sunlight that poured into your room waking you up from a scandalous dream about Jisung that you would never share with anyone. You were so embarrassed – you were supposed to be the one to bitch Jisung, not the other way around, so to admit that you came on his fingers, more importantly that you enjoyed it, proved difficult.

Both Ningning and Jisung stared at you weirdly as you announced you felt sick, therefore you would not be able to join them on their trip to the cenotes. You refused to lock eyes with either of them when you rushed back up the stairs, slamming your door behind you.

You spent the day lazily relaxing on the beach alone, sipping on several glasses of agua de horchata with an audible book blasting through your Airpods Max. Your peace was only disturbed once the sun began to set, and a hand was placed onto your bare shoulder. You recognized the large hand, unfortunately too familiar.

“Was it that bad that you had to avoid us all?” Jisung’s deep voice rang out, his body finally coming into view as he sat next to you. It took everything in you to not stare at his upper body, now bare as a result of the adventures the group went on. You shrugged his hand off, shaking your head and looking off towards the water as you took your headphones off, placing them on your bag. “No.” “Then why did you magically get sick this morning? Scared I would harass you in front of your brother too?” You didn’t want to admit that it was true, but harass wasn’t the term you’d use, considering you woke up wet and reminiscing the feeling of him thrusting into you.

You just shrugged, causing Jisung to frown at your lack of rebuttal. It was only fun when you played along.

He let out a hum of disapproval, staring at you like he found himself doing a lot on this trip. Finally finding the courage to look at him, your eyes locked, and it was then that Jisung really noticed how pretty you looked under the dim sky. He hesitantly placed a hand on your slightly sunburnt face, cupping your cheek and looking down at your lips.

You looked down at his lips too, admiring how plump they were – you had never taken your time to appreciate how pretty he was as well, too focused on his annoying insults and teasing. You both leaned in slowly until there was no space left in between you, mouths finally meeting. It was slow at first, hesitant and almost innocent, yet something unleashed inside Jisung as he heard you sigh into the kiss. It reminded him of the noises he pulled out of you the night before, suddenly feeling desperate.

He was the first to assert control, placing his other hand on your face as well and pulling you into him, devouring your lips and pushing against them with his tongue, demanding you to let it meet yours. You complied, sick of acting like you ever wanted control over Jisung. You never actually cared for it, you just liked trying to push him over the edge, which you appeared to succeed in as his breathing quickened. Your tongues met, the kiss turning messy. He could taste the sweet drink off of your spit as he let go of your face, instead moving you until you were laying against the soft sand, his body hovering over yours.

Jisung used both his arms to keep him on top of you as you moved yours down, palming him through the blue swimming shorts he chose to wear. The feeling of your smaller hand making contact with his clothed dick had him swelling up, growing needier and needier until he couldn’t take it.

He pushed himself up onto his knees, looking down at you as his hands roamed to your small bikini bottoms – smaller than the ones yesterday, you knew what you were doing to him. You propped yourself up on your elbows, ignoring the slight sting of the sand grains digging into your arms as you watched him bite his lip before finally pulling the bottoms off of your legs.

He groaned at the sight of your bare core, glistening against the dim lighting of the moon. He was quick to follow, desperately pulling off his own shorts, leaving him completely bare. The only clothing that remained on either of you was your bikini top, yet it didn’t last long before Jisung ripped it off, ignoring your small noise of complaint as the fabric tore off of you. He leaned over you again, struggling to ignore the feeling of your slick cunt meeting his hard-on.

Finally, you were both completely naked, left with no distractions. Jisung kissed you again, closing his eyes and melting into the feeling as your hand snaked down. He let out a hiss as you held onto his sensitive dick, guiding it lower until he felt your hole. Giving a few small thrusts against the slit of your pussy, he finally sank in with no warning, moaning at the way you immediately clenched around him. You were no better, eyes widening as you felt the stretch inside of you. Yes, it might’ve been Jisung’s personal goal to annoy you to no end, yet he had enough mercy to give you time to adjust. It might’ve slipped from your mind, yet Jisung was very focused on your facial expressions when he got rid of your clothes, noticing how shocked you appeared to be from the size of his length. He always knew he was on the bigger end, yet his ego continued to inflate as you struggled to take him fully. With his newfound confidence, and your small encouraging nod, he began to move, finding a rhythm as he thrusted into you, pushing you further into the bed of sand under your bodies.

Your hands found his back, scratching down his built muscles as you fought to get used to him. He moved one of his hands that was holding him up, causing him to shift deeper into you accidentally (yet you weren’t one to complain as the new angle pulled an embarrassingly loud noise from you). His now-free hand slid down your body, stopping at your boobs to tease you a bit, groping the soft flesh before continuing down until he met your clit.

The way Jisung played with the bundle of nerves alleviated the pain in you, now shifting into pleasure as he pushed into you with a renowned force. “Tell me how it feels, baby.” He whispered into your ear, begging to hear your voice. “S-so good, Ji. Need more, please…” Deciding to not tease you for the first time in his life, he complied, thrusting into you harder, the speed of his fingers on your clit increasing until you were a mess under his body, crying out at the combined stimulation.

The sound of the waves crashing onto the shore, alongside the reflection of the moon on the water encompassed you both as your passion took over, grinding down to meet his thrusts with fervor. You finally caved when his mouth met your neck, sucking harshly in hopes of marking you up. You reached your climax, riding it out as Jisung continued to thrust into you. “Where do you want me?” “Inside… Please.” He simply nodded, his movements growing sloppier as he sheathed himself into you fully, searching for his own release.

You decided to mirror his actions, lifting your head to kiss his neck, and that was enough to make him finish, his cum gushing inside of you, dripping out lightly as he reluctantly pulled out. As you looked over at Jisung who now laid next to you in the sand, you thought that maybe this trip wouldn’t be so bad after all. It wasn’t until he looked at you, basking in your satisfied afterglow that he leaned in, holding your neck with his hand and pulling you into another heated kiss, this time pulling you on top of him, that you realized you had to plan a very long debrief with both Ningning and Mango tomorrow morning.

a/n: is it obvious i'm mexican and this is slightly self indulgent. psa if youre paying more than twenty pesos for a taco its probably not an authentic one :/ this is the longest fic i've ever written to celebrate the very special occasion. park jisung day. ^_^

#nct x reader #nct #nct dream #nct dream x reader #park jisung #park jisung x reader #jisung x reader #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nct smut #nct dream smut

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luminiamore · 4 months ago

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EX WHO? PT. 2

ex husband eren yeager (he's really ur husband tho) x black babymomma reader

warnings: ur pregnant, yay! softttttt fluffly cute shit., smut

a/n; ultimately decided to release this one first, love u guyssss

moodboard

pt. 1 (can be read as a stand alone though)

masterlist

You honestly should’ve seen this coming. Pregnancy wouldn’t be any easier the second time around, you should have known that. You can feel the pain in your back brewing with each moment that passes in the stiff chair you’re sitting on. The doctor still hasn’t called your name yet, and that’s adding to your already sour mood. Your husband sits beside you, his right hand rubbing on your growing baby bump as he tries to comfort you.

“Just a little longer, mama.” The sound of Eren’s cooing soothes your nerves a little. It’s not enough to make you feel better, though.

You wince, tugging on the ends of your braids to distract yourself after feeling a piercing cramp in your lower abdomen. “Ren.. I’m tired and in pain. Can we please leave?”

You figured you should hate your husband for putting you in this predicament. Pregnant. In pain. And craving toothpaste for some reason. But you can’t find it in yourself to feel that way.

Not when he’s been so attentive and patient with you on those days you feel like death. Not when he buys you gifts almost every week for even carrying his child, just like he did the first time. Not when he’s such a loving partner right now, as every part of you wants to scream and go home.

“No, baby, we can’t keep rescheduling.” He presses a soft kiss to your head, his left hand rubbing circular motions on your knuckles. As he looks down, he can’t help but think about how beautiful the contrast his pale skin has against yours.

Everything about you is so alluring to him, from how you carry yourself down to the melanin coating every inch of your body. It’s no wonder you’re pregnant again. He thinks it would’ve happened soon had you two never gone through that break. He reminds himself to focus. This isn’t what you need right now.

“Just lay your head on me and think about how happy you’ll be when you find out if we’re having a boy or a girl. Raqi’s gonna love her new sibling.”

The baby. This is all for the baby, you reassure yourself. He’s right. Eren can feel the tenseness leave your body, slowly but surely. A smile graces his face when he feels the weight of your head on his shoulder. Though he can’t read your mind, he knows you’re thinking about the baby, listening to his exact words.

That’s another thing he noticed about you. How pliant you’ve been lately. He’s not concerned, really. It’s not as if you constantly banter or argue with him for the fun of it. But recently, it’s as if you trust him to guide you completely without complaint. You don’t question him when he tells you anything. You don’t even protest with a better idea of your own.

It could be your hormones, he considered that to be a factor. It could also be because he kept his promise of being there for you and cutting back on work, so your trust in him increased tenfold. He wonders if he should address it. Talk to you and see if you’re even aware you’ve become more like that.

His forest eyes glance down to peek at your face. While your eyes may be closed, he can still tell you’re not sleeping. You’re pretty close; the cute pout forming on your two-toned lips as you breathe gives it away. You’re not wearing any makeup, just your natural self. Your lash extensions still sit gorgeous on you, but you last went for a refill about 3 weeks ago. He makes a mental note to book an appointment once you both get home.

Your beauty is unmatched. A sight for sore eyes is what you are.

Eren decides you didn’t need to know anything.

“𝜗𝜚, Yeager?” The doctor was ready for you both, shaking him out of his thoughts. He hates to move you from your position. You look so peaceful. So, why not carry you? He eyes the woman who called your name before he responds for you, “Right here.”

You’re shaken awake when you feel a large arm snake around your knees and another on your mid back. You almost have a panic attack when you feel yourself being lifted up abruptly before you start moving. Instinctively, your arms wrap around your husband’s neck before snuggling into him deeper. God, you’re so cute.

The walk to the doctor’s room was short, and Eren made quick work of laying your body down on the examination table once you had made it inside. You’re awake now. Eren watches you settle into the examination table, your tired eyes fluttering open as you adjust to the cool surface beneath you. You groan softly as you adjust, the cool paper crinkling beneath you.

The sterile scent of the doctor’s room is familiar yet unwelcome as it blends with the lingering discomfort in your body. You really didn’t wanna be here. Despite your exhaustion, you muster a faint smile at your husband.

“You okay, mama?” Eren whispers, crouching beside you, his thumb stroking your cheek softly. He wants to ensure you’re as relaxed as possible, knowing the upcoming scan would stir a mix of emotions for both of you. “Mmhm,” you hum, still too groggy to give much more than a nod. Though your body aches, the idea of seeing your baby gives you a soft nudge of excitement. Fuck, you’re really pregnant. Again. Somehow, the idea is still so surreal to you.

The doctor returns with a warm smile, already prepping the ultrasound machine. “Alright, let’s take a look and see how your little one is doing.”

Eren’s grip tightens slightly on your hand, a silent reassurance as the cold gel touches your belly, sending a shiver through your body. When the doctor presses the scan on you, the black-and-white image immediately shows up on the screen before you. It’s not your first ultrasound, but every time you see your baby, you can’t help but gasp.

You watch as your husband’s eyes are locked onto the screen. His face softens as he watches the baby’s small movements, his mind already racing with the list of gifts he’s gonna spoil your child with. He squeezes your hand again, this time more firmly as if trying to ground himself in the reality of the moment. “There’s our baby,” he whispers, his voice filled with wonder.

The doctor’s voice breaks through the trance you and Eren are in. “Everything looks great so far. Baby’s healthy, growing well.”

You feel a wave of relief wash over you. It’s a familiar feeling, this mix of overwhelming joy and nervousness that pregnancy brings. Every scan and every check-up feels like a small victory. You think about your daughter, Raqi, and how she will react when she finds out if she’ll have a little brother or sister. The thought makes you smile a bit wider.

“Are you ready to find out the gender?” the doctor asks, glancing between you and Eren.

Your heart skips a beat. You turn your head to look at your husband, who’s already looking at you with that boyish grin you fell in love with. You nod, “We’re ready.”

Laying down on your king-sized mattress, you hear Love Island playing on your TV at a low volume. The room feels cozy, warm, and peaceful—a stark contrast to the discomfort you’d dealt with earlier at the doctor’s office.

Your thoughts are absent, and you’re attempting to distract yourself enough to avoid thinking about the pain you’re experiencing. Eren sits at the foot of the bed, gently massaging your soft feet and softly kissing your painted white toes.

He’s not paying attention to anything but you and the little girl growing inside you. “Should I start spoiling her now?”

You giggle, the sound making his heart swell and his dick jump in his sweats, “Ren, she won’t be due for another 5 months at the very least.”

His movements start to slow as he answers, “Does it matter?”

You don’t notice how Eren is looking at you, eyes hooded and intensely staring at your lower body. He has to remind himself to be gentle with you and take things slow. But how can he? You’re not even doing anything remotely sexual, just existing. And yet, he can’t help but want to defile you in every way possible.

“Oh please, you spoil her already by talking to her every night like she’s listening,” you tease, your eyes half-closed as you sink deeper into the plush mattress. Oblivious to the unwavering gaze your man is sending your way.

Eren hums, not stopping his foot massage. “I told you, mama. She’s always listening, you’ll see. She’ll come out knowing everything I’ve told her.”

His words make you chuckle, but you know he means it deep down. The care and devotion Eren show to your unborn daughter remind you just how lucky you are to have him by your side. You sigh pleasantly when his fingers rub a sore spot on your soles.

“You know,” Eren begins, his voice low and thoughtful, “I was thinking about what I said earlier about Raqi and how she’s gonna react to the baby. I think she’s gonna go crazy.” He pauses, his hand now moving to rub slow circles on your stomach. “She’s been asking for a sibling for months now.”

Your daughter hasn’t noticed a change in your belly yet. It’s not easy to blame her for her hyperactive mind at her age. You think she has a superstition or a really good gut feeling because she sometimes hugs your belly. Not you. Just your belly. A small smile tugs at your lips as you think about it, “Yeah, I think so too. You think we should tell her when she gets back from her sleepover tomorrow?”

You think Eren is thinking about a response when he stops speaking for a moment. That is until you let out a yelp when you feel him place a kiss on your thigh, inching close to where your panties are. “Let’s make it a surprise?” A shiver runs down your spine as you feel his lips brush against your skin, the sensation so thrilling.

“Baby...” Your body heats up as you whine and react to his touch. At that point, Eren knows he doesn’t have to do much more to make you pant underneath him. He feels that you are deserving of this. Your pretty pussy deserves to be taken care of. You deserve to lie down and let your body fill with pleasure that only he can give you. I mean, you’re carrying his baby. A few mind-numbing orgasms are the least he could give you.

He isn’t one to beat around the bush, “I wanna make love to you, mama. Will you let me?”

“Ren... I can’t-” You try to explain that you can’t really move that much. But as he continues to press gentle kisses closer to your panties, the thought starts to leave your mind. He hasn’t fucked you in about two weeks, out of consideration for you. The sexual frustration finally catches up to you.

“You don’t have to do anything. Just breathe and let Daddy take care of you, yeah?” he murmurs, brushing his lips against the fabric of your panties. The warmth spreads through you, making it hard to think straight. Nevertheless, you nod. Your breathing becomes slightly heavier when his fingers finally hook into your panties and pull them down your brown legs.

Eren keeps his promise. He doesn’t let you move a muscle, his tatted arm taking your ankles and pulling them over his shoulders. He didn’t have a shirt on, causing you to feel his bare skin against yours, and it’s nothing short of electric. “Words, mama.”

Eren is hungry, desperate for a taste of you, when his green eyes unwaveringly lock onto your leaking hole. Fuck, you’re dripping. His lips are drooling with your lower ones. He feels his mouth salivating, and honestly.. he thinks he’s falling in love with you again. You, the mother of his child. You, his perfect wife. Is he dreaming?

When he hears you let out a pathetic whimper at the sensation of the cool air on your sensitive clit, he answers his own question. This is real.

You’re getting restless, your body aching for your husband to just do something. Anything. “Yes... Yes, Daddy. Please.”

His wet mouth hurriedly attaches to your twitching clit. Eren hums approvingly against your sensitive folds, his hot breath fanning across your clit. He traces the swollen bud with the tip of his tongue before sucking it between his lips, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue.

You’re mewling, your eyes rolling back each time he dips his long tongue teasingly inside of you. You’re overflowing into his mouth, and Eren doesn’t hesitate to devour everything you’re giving him with pleasure.

What lies between your legs should be criminal. It’s making a mess of him. His hair already inching to fall out of his lazy bun, and his pink lips are glistening with your arousal, so much so that he can hear little drops falling onto your shared bed.

“Taste so sweet, baby.” His words are muffled. Eren never once removes his face from your cunt, though you can still make out his words. “Look so pretty, too. My wife. My perfect wife.”

You’re babbling, mindless nodding at his words. “Fuck- Ren!” You can’t help but cry out when Eren slowly eases two thick fingers inside your messy mound, quickly curling them to reach his favorite spot. His pace is deliberate and careful as he penetrates you with his digits.

Regardless, the intense pressure is still there. You couldn’t arch your back at it even if you tried. You’re stuck. Forced to take everything being given to you by your lover.

His eyes snap up to you, and what a sight it was. Your bonnet was halfway slipping off your head, your eyebrows scrunched so cutely, and your mouth open in a perfect ‘O’ shape out of pleasure.

He watches a line of drool slowly cascading down your glossed lips. One of your tits was hanging out, bouncing slightly with every pump of his fingers. Shit, he could cum at just the sight of you.

“I love you so much, mama. I’m so grateful for you. For our little family.” The swirling on your clit is still ongoing, and you’re starting to wonder if the man below you is even breathing properly as he speaks. You can’t dwell on it for long before you begin to feel a familiar fire pooling in your lower abdomen. You’re so sensitive.

You can tell your husband feels it, too. “Swear I’m the happiest when I’m with you.” His fingers don’t speed up; rather, he fucks them inside your warm walls with more purpose. More conviction.

“I- I love you, t-too. I - Ah! M’gonna cum Rennie!”

The obscene slurping of your dripping cunt only increases at his following words, “Yeah? Give it to me, baby. Give Rennie everything.”

Who are you to deny your husband? Your brain short circuits when you finally release all over Eren’s mouth, your mouth opening even wider to release a silent moan. You would’ve been bucking uncontrollably if a large palm hadn’t been gripping your soft hips. He groans when the essence of you impales his taste buds.

Eren pulls his fingers out of you slowly. That seems to be the theme tonight, not that you’re complaining. You let out a weak cry as he continues to softly suckle on your clit because the taste of you is simply addicting. He can never get enough.

Your eyes are pleading when you call out to him. “Ren- Baby.. I need you.”

His eyes roll back into his head when those words leave your panting mouth. He pulls away from you with a resounding pop! Watching your legs plop down on the mattress just to slowly crawl up to the top of the bed next to you.

“You need me, mama?” He carefully turns you on your side, facing him as you both cuddle into each other. You didn’t even notice when he took his sweats off, but that’s honestly the least of your concerns when you feel his fat tip leaking with pre-cum press against your folds.

You’re nodding so fast you think it might give you whiplash. “Put it in, plea- Oh!.”

Eren is pushing his leaking cock inside of you before you can finish your sentence, “Anything for you, baby.”

And he means that, beyond just fucking you. Your husband would do anything for you.

You’re soaking, so there isn’t much resistance for Eren. You both let out a desperate groan when you feel his tip pressing right where your cervix is, deliciously grazing your sweet spot in the process. He pulls his back delicately before slapping against you harshly, creating a wet, squelching sound.

Your cries are heaven to his ears. Your lips look so plump and perfect he wants to bruise them. So, he does. Eren grants you a deep kiss that knocks the breath out of your lungs as you struggle to return his vigor.

How your hands scramble to reach for his to ground yourself is so adorable to him. He couldn’t imagine himself being in love with anyone other than you. Couldn’t imagine himself being with anyone but you. He continues his onslaught on your poor pussy, whispering sweet praises of,

“You’re so perfect, mama.”

“I’m so in love with you, baby.”

“Fuck, you and this pretty pussy were made for me.”

Eren’s gaze never once left your face as he snakes his hand to softly rub your clit. Watching every scrunch, every contort, into pleasure all because of him. The panting of your breath as you simply lie down and let him have his way with you... Fuck. Eren knows that he won’t last long inside your tight warmth.

You’ll never get used to the feeling of being so.. stuffed.. so full... His slow strokes never once falter inside of you. The sounds you both were making were nothing short of lewd; with each stab to your womb, he was bringing you closer and closer to your second orgasm of the night.

“Augh! Daddy- I love you, I love you so much-”

“My pretty girl, I love you so much more. Cum for me, mama. You deserve it.”

You’re trembling, your body violently shaking as it listens to your husband outside of your own will. You’re creaming all over him, a sticky white paste forming at the base of his cock the more he thrusts into you. You’re crying, he notices. Light tears slip down your puffy cheeks, and he can’t tell if it’s due to the pleasure or all the emotions you’re feeling right now.

Your pussy has him in a tight grip, refusing to let go of him. Eren isn’t far behind you, your release naturally triggering his own. His heavy breathing accompanies his soft moan as he dumps his thick seed past your puffy lower lips.

Both of you stay there, sweating and soaking up the afterglow. After a moment, Eren kisses your forehead tenderly, his lips brushing softly against your damp skin. His arms wrap protectively around you, pulling you even closer if that were even possible. You can do nothing but nuzzle into his hot chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You okay, mama?” His voice is low and soothing, breaking the comfortable silence as he strokes your back gently.

Your response is a hum, too blessed to form words, but the way you melt into him reveals everything. He chuckles softly, placing another kiss on your head. Eventually, he makes a slight shift, but his hand remains on your waist. “You’re everything to me, you know that?”

You lift your head to look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes. “And you’re everything to me, too, Rennie,” you whisper back, smiling softly.

For a minute, you just gaze at each other, and there is no need for further words. Everything he needed to say had already been told in the way he touched you, held you, and cherished you tonight. You really couldn’t ask for anything more.

#eren yeager smut #eren jeager x reader #aot x reader #aot eren #eren jeager #eren smut #eren x reader #eren aot #eren yeager x black reader #eren yeager fluff #eren yeager x black reader smut #ex husband eren #eren yeager x reader smut #eren yeager #aot smut

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verstappen-cult · 9 months ago

Note

Maybe a lestappen fic were Reader friends are the worst and they comfort her, thank you 💗

You were out with your boyfriends when you saw them across the street, walking out of a shop, talking and laughing without a care. You had texted them yesterday to ask if they were free today to hang out, since you haven’t seen them in a few weeks. The answer? I have to work. I’ll be out of town. I’m sick, just numerous excuses.

Max noticed the change in your demeanor in an instant. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Oh, I just remember that I need to call mom, or she’ll get mad.” You smile, not wanting to worry him.

“You can call her once we get home.” He kisses your forehead and holds your hand to keep walking.

Being around them was enough to make you forget about what you saw and you actually ended up enjoying the day off.

Until Charles decided that it was time to eat and walked into one of your favorite restaurants in town. A very exclusive but cozy one.

The host just gave your boyfriends a look and it was enough for her to rush to get you three a table.

“Aren’t those your friends?” Charles asks you, looking behind your shoulders.

You didn’t want to look but you also didn’t want them to know what happened. So, you simply turned around with a forced smile.

“Oh, yes! What a coincidence.”

“You can say hello to them,” Max gives you a little pat on your lower back, encouraging you to go to them. “We will wait for you.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek before walking towards them.

You notice the exact moment they see you, because they go from laughing to a complete silence.

“Hey!” You try not to show how affected you are, how much you want to cry. “I thought you were busy today.”

One of your friends gives you a once over before leaning closer to one of your other friends and whispering something before laughing.

They don’t even try to pretend.

“Yeah. This was something last minute.” One girl says, taking a sip of her drink. “We forgot to tell you.”

“Are you following us?” One of your male friends says, not hiding his smirk at all.

“Oh, no, I’m—”

“Because that’s sad.”

One of your friends, one you thought was someone you could trust, bursts out laughing before saying, “Even for you.”

You’re one second away from crying now, so you decide to excuse yourself and walk away, not hungry anymore and just wanting to go home. But Max and Charles are by your side in one second and you’re unable to do so.

“Max, Charles!”

Everyone’s expression changes just like it changed when you approached their table. The difference is that this time they’re all smiling, sparkling eyes looking up at them as if you are not even there, standing between them. As if you are invisible.

“Are you waiting for a table?”

“You can sit with us. We can make space for you!”

It’s laughable, really.

Charles looks at you, his hand on your waist. “You want to sit here, chéri?”

You avoid looking at your “friends” and Max notices immediately.

“We just came for take out,” Max explains, a friendly smile on his lips. “she just wanted her favorite dessert and we can’t say no to her.”

Everyone on the table laughs. But it’s forced, anyone would notice.

“Well, we should plan something, then.” A blonde girl you have never seen before says. She’s twirling her hair and everything, and you would feel disgusted if it weren’t for the situation you’re currently in.

Max holds your hand, rubbing circles on your palm. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Silence.

A beat.

And then.

“Some friends you are.”

You are out of the restaurant in ten minutes. Charles carries some take out while Max doesn’t let your hand go, at least not until you’re in front of the car.

“Are you okay?” Max cups your cheeks, and you finally let the tears fall.

“We noticed things were weird when you stood in front of their table.” Your Monégasque boyfriend says, his free hand rubbing your back. “We just didn’t realize how bad it was until we heard them.”

“How long has this been happening?”

You sniff, feeling the pad of Max’s fingers wiping the tears off your face.

“Now that I’m thinking about it,” You laugh, closing your eyes, thinking about how stupid and blind you were. “it has been this way since… forever.”

“Oh, baby.” Charles wraps you in his arms, Max joining the hug without a second thought.

“You should have told us.” Max whispers in your ear, and you nod because he is right. “We could’ve done something.”

Charles rolls his eyes, giving his boyfriend a little push. “You don't need them, okay?”

“You are an incredible,” Max kisses your cheek, “and amazing person.”

“Most beautiful girl in the world.” Charles kisses your other cheek.

Your Dutch boyfriend gives you a little peck on the lips before pulling away to look directly into your eyes. “Anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives.”

“Their loss.” You groan against Charles’ shoulder.

“That’s my girl!” They laugh and you feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders.

“Now,” The blonde-haired boy says, opening the car door for you. “Should we go home to eat in bed while we watch some movie?”

“Can we watch Cars?”

“Charles, she will choose the movie!”

“But she loves Cars too!”

#꒰꒰ 📁 ─ verstappen cult files ꒱꒱#charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #lestappen x reader #f1 imagine #charles leclerc fluff #max verstappen fluff #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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notlongtolove · 3 months ago

Text

in eternal lines

spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place. but when the deadlines are looming, it takes everything in you not to snap. because while you’re good at literature because you have to be, spencer's great at it because, well, he’s spencer.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: angst, comfort, fluff... i don't know anymore

content: student!reader gets kinda pissy and snappy but she has a 3000 word essay due and a fever so go easy on her. and spencer is spencer, so patient, so kind :'

word count: 5.2k

note: as a literature major this was extremely self-indulgent... i'm sorry. i love lit student reader and i hope you guys do too! also aptly titled after the one and only sonnet 18 because it was the first poem we were given read in uni <3 (reader is basing her essay on george macdonald's 'the princess and the goblin' and isaac watts' 'divine songs' if anyone is curious; but don't read too deeply into her lines about it because i submitted that essay weeks ago and it's been relinquished it from my mind oops)

a line: You’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st: So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. - william shakespeare

You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would sift through pages of Whitman’s dense poetry with you or debate whether Rossetti was really referencing Eve’s bite of the apple in Goblin Market? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—brilliant and boundless—was one of the reasons you fell for him in the first place.

So yes, you love your boyfriend. But when deadlines are looming, and submission dates are bearing down on you, it takes everything in you not to snap. Because while Spencer can dissect poetry and prose with an ease that seems almost otherworldly, you sometimes feel the weight of comparison pressing on you. You’re good at it too—of course you are, you have to be. You’re pursuing a degree in it forgodsakes. But Spencer? He’s great at it because, well, he’s Spencer.

And while you can hold your own most days, a fair challenger when you come back from a particularly intriguing lecture too layered to dissect by yourself, there are times you feel like you’re running to keep up. Spencer will pull references from texts and obscure sources you haven’t even heard of, leaving you struggling to connect the dots. And that’s just literature. When he dives into his other passions—you don’t even bother to compete. Instead, you resign yourself to the couch, nodding and asking questions during the rare moments you can sort of follow the thread of his thoughts.

Having an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory does have its perks. Everyone knows that.

Your friends see it too. Like today when one of them stopped by between classes to return an essay you’d been stressing over for days.

“Well, don’t you look fantastic,” she teased, smirking. “Guessing those leftovers weren’t as ‘fine’ as you thought?”

“Don’t even start,” you mutter, weakly grabbing the paper from her hands as you lean on the doorframe. You flip through the pages marked in red ink quickly with the little strength you have, eyes scanning briefly through the comments before you’re on to the next page, next page, next page. They’re not what you’re looking for.

And then you see it. There on the last page, a definite red circle around it: B+.

You’d expected it of course. B+—your ever-reliable benchmark. It's a mark of consistency you've been forced to be contented with. It wasn’t horrendous. It wasn’t amazing. It was fine. But you’d worked hard on this one. You’d hoped, maybe, for something more. You’d expected it, and yet, you don’t know why you still feel a pinch of disappointment.

“How’d you do?” you ask grimly, fighting the nausea creeping up your throat.

“Same,” she replies nonchalantly, scrolling through her phone.

You nod, trying not to dwell on the fact that she’d seen your grade before you did.

“Oh, you know it’s always the same,” she adds with a wry smile. “Solidly subpar, as per tradition.”

The phrase stung a little more now than it had when you’d coined it back in your first year. Back when, after a string of middle-of-the-road grades, you’d decided then and there that if you couldn't break the glass ceiling, you'd make a comfortable home just beneath it. Always looking up, never quite breaking through.

“Whatever, it was only 20% anyway,” she shrugs.

“Yeah…” you reply weakly, though the disappointment still gnaws at you. You can’t quite shake it. Maybe it’s because deep down, you know you do care—no matter how often you tell yourself you’ve accepted the fate of being perpetually average. You still want, so quietly, so desperately, to be something more. You’ve always had a love for literature: the way words flow across a page, imbuing meaning into simple phrases, transforming them into art. You’ve always admired the beauty of it. But passion doesn’t translate to academic brilliance, and appreciation doesn’t equal A grades. It’s a hard truth you’ve come to learn.

“How was class?” you ask, trying to steer your mind away from its current spiral. “We still on Faerie Queene?”

“Mhmm,” she hums, rolling her eyes. “Kristoff’s still rambling on and on about virtue and chastity. Ha. Imagine me living in those times—at the rate I ghost men, I’d be a certified whore.”

“Well, actually, they’d probably get to you first,” Spencer interrupts as he steps out of the bedroom, his tone slipping into that familiar, matter-of-fact cadence. “Virtue and chastity were considered to be absolute truths in the 16th century. A woman’s value was intrinsically tied to her perceived purity, which of course, was a reflection of her family’s honor.”

If you weren’t so ill, you would’ve laughed at her face—eyes wide, mouth slightly open in disbelief.

“And then there’s the public shaming,” he continues, leaning casually against the doorframe with his hands tucked into his pockets already miles deep into his thoughts. “In fact, the entire allegory of Book III revolves around chastity as a cornerstone of moral virtue. Witch trials in the late 16th and 17th centuries often targeted women who were thought as sexually deviant or independent, framing their ‘sins’ as some sort of evidence that they were consorting with the devil—”

He pauses, glancing between you and your friend. “So yeah… considering all that, if you’d ‘ghosted’ a few men back then, they probably would’ve gone straight to accusations of witchcraft or worse.”

Your friend stares at him, “...Right. Good to know,” she says, blinking slowly.

“But you know, Edmund Spenser intended The Faerie Queene to be a moral guide for young men,” he adds as an afterthought, realizing he’s just indirectly affirmed your friend’s self-deprecating joke. Spencer shifts awkwardly but can’t help himself by continuing, “It was meant to instil chivalric virtues to shape a model English gentleman. So technically, your interpretation is, um, modern at best.”

Her expression—equal parts baffled, impressed, maybe even a little scared—almost makes you forget how sick you feel.

“So…” she says after a pause, “I’m guessing you’re Spencer?”

“I am,” he replies simply.

“Well,” she says, drawing the word out, “It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Spencer offers a smile, “Likewise.”

“Anyway… I’m off.” She slings her bag over her shoulder, “Essay’s not gonna write itself. This one’s 30% by the way. God, I hate Kristoff but Burton’s a close second for sure.”

You wince at the reminder, the weight of your unfinished work pressing on you. The brief called for at least three secondary sources, and you’ve barely scratched the surface.

“Feel better soon, sweetie,” she says, offering you a sympathetic look. You manage a weak smile in return.

“Bye Spencer,” she says, her voice taking on a teasing lilt. “Take care of her for me, will ya?”

“Will do,” he says curtly, giving a small wave as you close the door behind her.

A moment later, your phone buzzes. He’s cute, her text reads. Another follows immediately: And basically a walking Wikipedia.

You start typing a response, but another text pops up before you can send it: Don’t dog on us for using ChatGPT now. You huff and click your phone off instead, tossing it aside.

Therein lies another source of stress. Spencer is always happy to help you untangle a difficult text or interpret a dense poem, but he draws the line when it comes to your academic work. He never interferes directly. You’ve seen it yourself—The first time you handed him your laptop to review an essay, he’d made his comments verbally, pointing at sections on the screen while explaining his critiques in detail, but never actually touching the keyboard. You’d brought it up during an argument once, after a particularly crushing grade. Your frustration had spilled over: You’re smarter. You type faster. Why can’t you just fix it? But Spencer had only responded with something about “academic integrity” and the importance of maintaining the “code of conduct.” The conversation ended there, and after that, you stopped asking.

Even yesterday, when you managed to scrape together 300 words for a draft, you’d handed your laptop to him, and again, he was careful to keep his boundaries. Too drained to make edits in real-time, you’d expected—maybe hoped—that he might step in more directly. Instead, Spencer quietly switched the document to “suggesting” mode, marking up your draft with precise yet detached annotations, never infiltrating or overstepping your own words. Spencer Reid is and always will be a stickler for rules. You try to hold yourself to the same standard. You steer clear of AI, no matter how tempting it might be. You know better. Well, that and because Spencer would never let it slide.

But now it’s late and the thought of letting some website churn out polished, perfectly phrased sentences for you in seconds has never felt more tempting. The nausea has faded, leaving behind a fever in its place. Spencer’s in the living room, reading. You’d banished him to the couch—even the faint sound of pages turning, not to mention the speed at which he reads, was enough to derail your already fragile train of thought. You’d felt bad of course; he’d made soup for you earlier, fed it to you and everything. But with this essay worth 30% of your grade and your 300 words barely scratching the surface of the 3,000-word requirement, you don’t have it in you to be oh-so-sweet and ever-so-grateful. Not right now. You’ve nailed down the introduction—a quick overview of historical context, a sweeping statement on the authors’ intents. But now, the real challenge looms: The thesis. And you’re utterly stuck.

This essay argues that… that…

You groan in frustration, flopping back against the pillows. So much for children’s literature. You’d chosen this class thinking it’d be an easy ride—fairy tales and picture books, how hard could it be? Yet here you are, being tasked with dissecting the significance of form and language. Now, the simple language and pretty pictures are anything but your friend, doing nothing to help further your argument. Your head throbs, your mouth feels like sandpaper, and the brilliant points you’d thought of in last week’s class are nowhere to be found, lost in the haziness of your mind. With a defeated sigh, you peel back the sheets and shuffle out of the bedroom, laptop in hand, every joint aching in protest. Spencer looks up from his book as the rustle of sheets catches his attention. His heart aches slightly when he sees you in the doorway, clutching your laptop and looking every bit as pitiful as you feel. He sets his book to the side.

“How’s it going, honey?” he asks sympathetically, even though he already knows the answer from the state of you.

“It’s barely going,” you admit with a yawn, tears prickling at your eyes from the force of it. They only add to your overall air of defeat as you cross the room and crawl into his lap, laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. “Brain’s foggy, can’t think straight,” you murmur in incomplete sentences.

“Finalized your thesis yet?” he asks again, his voice gentle but patient. You shake your head, sinking deeper into his chest—It’s a silent surrender, as if giving in to the exhaustion and frustration that’s been building up. Spencer notices, brushing your hair gently away from your face, his hand cool against your hot skin. He presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up, hon,” he says softly, voice full of concern. “Why don’t we get you to bed, take a break for tonight, hm? You can work on this tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. The thought of putting everything off feels like both a relief and a burden. The idea of sleep has never seemed more appealing. But then, the thought of letting this drag on for another day—of pushing the finish line even further out of your reach fills you with dread. But you know you’re not in any state to be working on anything right now, let alone something worth 30% of your final grade. You know that you can’t focus, not when your body feels like it’s ready to give up and when your mind can barely hold onto a coherent thought. “Tomorrow, okay?” Spencer prompts again, calm and gentle. You know he’s right, so, despite the gnawing anxiety in the back of your mind, you nod. “Okay.”

Spencer doesn’t push, just gives you a small, reassuring smile as he stands. Every movement feels like a chore as he guides you back to bed but the warmth of the blankets and the prospect of rest is more than enough motivation. He tucks you in, his touch comforting and steady. You feel like a weight has been lifted, albeit temporarily. Either way, it’s enough for now. You close your eyes, the thought of picking up where you left off tomorrow seeming almost bearable.

You wake to the sunlight filtering through the curtains. It takes a moment for your brain to adjust to the new day, the stress of yesterday not entirely gone. But as you sit up, stretching slowly, mind less hazy and joints less achy, you feel a renewed determination, a flicker of focus that was nowhere to be found last night. Your mind is still whirling with fragments of ideas, half-formed arguments, and theoretical connections when Spencer strolls in with a cup of something warm for you.

“Tea.” he announces, handing it to you with a small, triumphant smile. “Decaffeinated.”

You frown, rubbing sleep from your eyes. “Need coffee.”

“Studies say caffeinated beverages stimulate the colon,” he counters matter-of-factly.

“Eww,” you groan, wrinkling your nose at him. “Why’d you have to say it like that?”

“Exactly like that,” he replies without missing a beat, his tone precise and measured. “You’ve just recovered, and everyone knows caffeine is a gastrointestinal irritant.’

You huff, taking the mug from him. “Fine, but if I don’t finish this essay, it’s on you.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, completely unbothered by your protest. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive.”

You grumble under your breath but take a tentative sip of the tea anyway. It’s not what you wanted, but you can’t deny that he’s probably right—he usually is. The warmth seeps through the mug into your hands, grounding you just enough to pull your laptop over from the bedside table. Its practically empty screen blinks back up at you, as though it’s been waiting patiently all night. Hi again. Still here. Still empty.

Spencer takes a peek at your screen and you can’t help but glare half-heartedly at the mug in his hands. Of course, it’s coffee. He’d get to enjoy caffeine while insisting you couldn’t. Typical.

“So, I was thinking…” you start, deciding to let the injustice slide for now as you scroll through your document.

“Hmm?” He looks up, his gaze meeting yours over the rim of his cup.

“What if I say that MacDonald’s pedagogy was more effective for children because Watts’s text was too directive. That works, right?” You look up, scanning his face for some form of agreement.

“That’s hardly arguable honey,” his words land softly, but you still feel your shoulders sag. “It’s an observation.”

"But—look at the words they use! It's so different. Here, look at the tone," you insist, nudging your laptop toward him. "There has to be something to be said about that, right?"

Spencer leans in, glancing at your screen before looking back at you. His expression is calm, composed, and maddeningly reasonable. "Watts’s text was meant to be read as a textbook. Of course it’s directive. You know that."

Do you? You think you don't know much at this point. You don’t know what you know, and you don’t know what you don’t know. You groan, dragging your hands down your face as if you could physically scrape the frustration away. Darn you, Isaac Watts. Darn you, pedagogical learning. Darn you, whoever had the audacity to name this course a simple exploration into the history of children’s literature.

Before you can wallow further, Spencer slides your laptop away. “How about we brush our teeth before crying over educational theories for children in the 18th century?” he suggests, his voice light. You sigh dramatically, dragging yourself to your feet like it’s some Herculean effort. When you shuffle back from the bathroom, hair slightly damp from washing your face, Spencer has taken over your spot on the bed, laptop resting on his legs as he scrolls through some article. He glances up when you flop down beside him with an exaggerated sigh.

"Feel better?" he asks, the faintest trace of a smirk on his lips.

"Not at all," you grumble. You don’t let him know that the brief pause in frustration has given your head just enough space to try again.

It’s been hours, but you’ve finally narrowed down your thesis. It’s not amazing—far from it—but it’s something. It’s arguable, at least. Spencer’s been relegated back to the living room, his presence a vague hum in the background as you attempt to focus. You’d claimed you worked better in bed, though Spencer’s tried (and failed) to prove with statistics and studies that it’s just a placebo effect, a lie your brain insists on believing.

But right now, none of that matters. You have a thesis and on that note, an essay to begin. Or, at least, the faintest glimmer of one. And that’s when you hit a wall. Again. You sit cross-legged, laptop perched on your knees as you stare at the cursor, blinking like it knows you’re stuck. You wish it would stop judging you. You drag yourself—and your laptop thats become an extension of your body at this point—into the living room like a child seeking comfort. Spencer barely looks up from his article when you slump into the couch next to him.

“What about this?” You straighten your back, determined to sound confident this time, even if you're not sure where you're going with it. “What if I say that MacDonald’s use of fantasy is critical because it creates like, an emotional bridge and that makes it more effective for moral teaching and—”

“Well, yes," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Spencer doesn’t even look up from his article. "But that’s kind of a subpoint, honey.”

You stiffen, irritation rising like bile in your throat. “It’s not a subpoint. It’s a point.”

He shifts in his seat, eyes flicking up, finally meeting yours. His tone isn’t dismissive, but it might as well be. “How is that significant? What does it build toward?”

You grit your teeth. “Ugh, you sound like Kristoff.” You mutter, more to yourself than to him. You know it’s not fair to snap, but your patience is paper thin. You can feel the fever creeping back into your skin, and you’re not sure if it's the heat or the mounting pressure, but suddenly everything feels like a little too much.

“Fine,” you say, swallowing your frustration, trying again. “What if I say that MacDonald’s narrative style is more progressive because it like, engages the reader’s emotions directly? And that’s why Watts’ text feels scarier?”

Spencer pauses. For a moment, you think you’ve finally hit something solid, his eyes narrowing just enough to show he’s intrigued. “And how are you planning to argue that?”

“Well, um… um—I… I don’t know!” You exhale sharply, throwing your hands up in exasperation. You sink back against the cushions, frustration seeping into your bones. “Something about how MacDonald’s vibe is all nice and charming while Watts is all like, ‘learn this or else’.

“Sure I guess…” Spencer acknowledges, nodding slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you’ll need more than vibes and a strong dislike of Watts to support it sweetheart.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say bitterly, rolling your eyes.

He chuckles softly, a sound that’s too calm, too collected, and somehow that makes it worse. He’s not wrong, but you’re still pissed off. You take a breath, steeling yourself for the next round of dissection. “Okay, then what if I say that MacDonald lets kids think for themselves, and Watts... doesn’t. Because of his moral authority and intellectual agency and whatever.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rise, just a fraction, but it’s enough. You feel a flicker of something—relief, maybe? It’s hard to say. His voice has shifted, just slightly, less detached now, more engaged. “You can build on that.”

“Really?” you ask, suddenly more hopeful than you’d like to admit.

“Really,” he confirms, leaning back in his chair. But then he tilts his head and furrows his brows in a way that makes you want to throw your laptop at him. “But you’ll need to define those terms and back it up with examples. Otherwise, it’s just a claim.” Of course.

“God, you’re making this so much harder than it needs to be!” you snap, the irritation rising in your throat. “I get it, okay? I need examples. But you’re not even letting me work out a point before you just, I don’t know, shit all over it.” Spencer’s eyes widen, and for a second, you almost feel bad for snapping at him.

“I’m just trying to help,” he says gently, but there's something in the way he says it—just a little too patient—that makes you bristle. You hate how right he always is, how calm he always looks, how much care he always has in his eyes even when you’re acting out.

“You’re trying to help?” you repeat incredulously, shaking your head. “You’re poking holes in everything!” Even in your feverish haze, you know you’re being cruel—but you just can’t help it. All you can think about is how everything is slipping away, how your thoughts won’t line up, how your head is starting to hurt again. You’re not even sure if you’re angry at him anymore, or just angry at everything else.

Spencer doesn’t answer right away. He glances at your screen again, a mess of quotes and bulletpoints. “I just want to make sure it’s solid, honey,” he says finally, his tone softer.

You scoff. “Yeah, well, you tore apart whatever solid lead I thought I had after two hours of work in just about five minutes, so thanks for that,” words tumbling out before you can stop them. Spencer’s silence hangs heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you speak. “Just… just let me get through this.”

Spencer sits there for a moment, just enough for you to feel the weight of the tension shift in the room. “I’m not saying you can’t get through it. I just want you to get through it right,” he says carefully, his voice quiet but insistent. “That’s all.” There’s no judgment in his voice, just care.

But the heat, the fever, it’s all swirling inside you, and you can’t hold it together much longer. “Of course you are…” you mutter bitterly, already regretting everything you’ve said. It feels like every step forward just leads you straight into another wall, and you’re just too tired to keep going. It’s not that you want to push him away or that you don’t appreciate his help. You’re just too irritable, too exhausted. You just want the whole damn essay to be done—and you wish you didn’t need his help to make it happen. You want to yell, to throw something, to demand that the world stop spinning long enough for you to catch your breath. But all that comes out is a hollow, defeated sigh.

You feel like you're drowning and you don’t want to drag him under with you. “I’m just…” You stop yourself, swallowing hard, trying to gather whatever little strength you have left. “I’m just so tired.”

Spencer looks at you, eyes full of concern, but it doesn’t help. You don’t want sympathy. You want to be better—to be able handle all of this. You want to be able to write this damn essay on goddamn children’s books without falling apart. And it doesn’t help that you’re falling apart in front of Spencer. The same Spencer who can recite verses from Paradise Lost at the drop of a hat. You’d almost burst into tears the last time he did it after it had taken you an entire week just to decipher and analyze a single chapter with any real confidence. You can’t help but feel that pang of inadequacy every time he breezes through something you’ve struggled with, even if he doesn’t mean to make it look so effortless. You hate yourself for it. You can’t find a way to shake the feeling that you’re not doing enough, not good enough. Not for yourself, not for him. You feel the sting of it, it’s pressing on your chest, suffocating.

“I just… just feel like I can’t keep up with any of it.” You don’t say it with any anger, just exhaustion. It’s not even directed at him anymore—it’s just the fact that you feel so stuck, so far behind where you should be, where you so badly want to be. “Like I can’t keep up with you.”

Oh. Spencer feels his heart sink. He’s always prided himself on being able to read people. He should’ve known better. He’d been so focused on helping, so intent on pushing you to reach the level he knows you’re capable of, the level he knows you want to be at—even if you keep telling yourself you don’t. The fever, the deadlines, the constant pushing—he should’ve known that it was all too much.

“You don’t have to keep up with me honey, I’m right here with you,” he says, trying to get you to look up at him. You can’t meet his gaze. You feel guilty for snapping, for letting the frustration slip out, but you’re not rational enough right now to pull yourself out from this spiral of self-pity. It’s easier to stay here, in the anger, the frustration, than to face the embarrassment of it all.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.” Spencer takes your hand, cautiously, testing the waters. He knows you don’t exactly want to be touched right now. He knows it makes you feel coddled. He pauses, waiting for your reaction. When you don’t push him away, he gains the confidence to cradle your face gently. You don’t resist, your tired eyes meeting his, heavy with sadness and Spencer thinks he can actually feel his heart break.

“You’re doing just fine sweetheart. You’re not falling behind. You’re just stressed. And sick.” He knows you’re feeling fragile, like any comfort might smother you so he threads forward lightly. “This essay? You’ll get it done. I promise.” It sounds right, and yet it doesn’t really help. It doesn’t stop the doubt that’s eating at you, the sense that you’re just not measuring up to everything you want to be. You feel like you’re barely treading water, no matter how hard you swim, the shore never gets any closer.

But for now, Spencer’s words are enough to quiet the panic—a buoy in your sea of sadness threatening to pull you under. You cling to it, knowing you’ll have to start swimming again soon. But for this moment, you allow yourself to stop. A beat. A pause. A breath—Just for now.

It’s only the next day that you manage to get the words on the page, not in any smooth, brilliant way, but they’re there. The sentences form, sometimes haltingly, sometimes with more confidence, until the essay is painfully but finally done. Not perfect, but it’s done. Relief washes over you, even as exhaustion lingers.

The moment you hear the front door open, you practically leap up, laptop in hand, meeting Spencer before he can even take his shoes off. He raises an eyebrow, setting his bag down as you both settle onto the couch. Without a word, you hand over the laptop, nerves bubbling beneath the surface. You wait with bated breath as he begins to scroll, your laborious effort displayed in black and white. The sound of the touchpad clicking feels louder than it should in the quiet room. He asks a few questions, here and there—clarifications, mostly. Questions you answer with ease, surprising even yourself with the confidence in your responses. He nods along, his expression thoughtful, but not critical. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Spencer looks up, eyes bright, a proud smile on his face. “It looks great, honey. You did a really good job.”

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face at his praise. “Really?” Spencer leans in, cupping your cheek gently, and presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Really.” When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours for a moment, his hand still cradling your cheek. “You worked so hard on this,” he murmurs. “So proud of you.”

Your chest tightens, but in a good way, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning forward to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the comfort he always seems to bring. “Now," he pulls away just enough to smirk, "can I have my bedroom back, or should I just start setting up camp on the couch?” You laugh, rolling your eyes, but it’s full of affection. “Don’t even start.” Spencer chuckles, his arm slipping around your waist as he pulls you closer, the tension of yesterday long forgotten.

When you get your paper back, you flip through the pages, one after the other, looking for the feedback, waiting for the corrections, the marks that tell you where you inevitably went wrong.

Next page. Next page. Next page.

And then, there it is. On the last page, in a definitive red circle, unmistakable: A.

It’s an A.

A goddamn A.

It doesn’t feel like a one-time fluke, not exactly, but you can’t shake the thought that this might be the only time you break through the glass ceiling you’ve spent so long looking up at. And who knows, maybe you’ll never push past it again. But for now, you allow yourself to relish in this singular moment of triumph. It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Because now you know that the other side is real, and that you can get there. But Spencer, the genius, the enigma, who’s always been a step ahead of everyone in everything academic, has always known.

And while everyone knows that an A in an essay that’s only a partial percentage of your overall grade isn’t anything compared to what he’s achieved, nothing compared to the academic milestones he’s already crossed—Still, he’s here, celebrating with you. You can see it in his eyes, even if he knows you’re not one to make a big deal of these kinds of things. His quiet joy is evident in the way he grins that little grin of his, the one that’s only for you.

So, in summary, in essence, in all the words and ways you could possibly use to phrase a conclusion—You love your boyfriend. Truly, you do. After all, who else would read through your entire syllabus for the semester (frustratingly quickly), just because he knows you understand better when you can talk things out? Who else would patiently stick around, exiled to the couch in their own home, while you’re exhausted, irritable, and buried in deadlines? Nobody else ever cared enough to try. Spencer’s mind—though brilliant and boundless—isn’t the only reason why you fell for him.

Because when the world feels too heavy, when the never ending lines of poetry and prose become too difficult to untangle by yourself, Spencer’s there reminding you—ever so gently, ever so steadily—that you can make it through, one word at a time.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer x reader #spencer x self insert #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader comfort

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foone · 3 months ago

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So, Laika. I see people talking about her recently because it's been 67 years...

But I want to clear up some things:

1. She died for political reasons

2. They did not know how to bring her back.

3. If they'd planned to bring her back, it wouldn't have worked.

To explain: Laika was in Sputnik 2. The launch window for Sputnik 2 was chosen so it'd be the 40th anniversary of the October Revolution, which meant the rocket designers had less than four weeks to design the rocket & capsule. Politicians wanting to have a good PR of a cool space rocket story also influenced the Challenger disaster: politicians always want results faster, and space does not respect haste.

Secondly, this was the SECOND ARTIFICIAL SATELLITE EVER. No one in the world knew how to safely return anything to earth, so from the moment launching a dog was chosen, it was always going to be a one way trip. They tried to make it as comfortable as possible for the dog, yes, but they knew if they launched anything it wouldn't come back. They didn't even know if she'd survive in space? Can animals live in the low-gravity high-radiation environment of space? We didn't know if it was even possible before Laika!

Thirdly: if they had planned to bring her back, it wouldn't have worked. They planned for her to have seven days of food, and the last days of food was poisoned. She'd be gently euthanized.

It didn't work. The rocket core didn't properly detach from the capsule, which fucked the thermal regulation. The capsule overheated, and she died within 5-7 hours of the launch.

If they'd planned some elaborate untested return system, it would have activated after the seven days of the planned orbits. Laika would have been long dead by then.

My point is not to say they did nothing wrong (even one of the scientists who designed Sputnik 2 has said it wasn't worth it: they didn't learn anything useful from sending Laika up), but that you shouldn't misunderstand the context. This was a highly experimental launch, it was politically motivated, and even if they'd tried to bring Laika back, she'd have ended up dead.

And the scientists knew that last bit was likely the case when they decided to do this! They knew they didn't know how to bring animals back to the earth, so they didn't try. If they'd tried, the same result would mostly happen: a dead dog in space.

It wasn't just a matter of "not caring" about her life. They thought this could be a useful contribution to science, the first animal in space... They were wrong. And they were always regretful that Laika died for science, especially since they got so little from it.

All future launches with animals were designed to be returned to earth, and those helped pave the way for humans in space. Dogs were used to to test the Vostok spacecraft that later carried Yuri Gagarin to orbit, making him the first man in space.

My point is that they were never uncaring of the safety of Laika: they thought this was the best of a bad situation and then it got worse. This experiment was not repeated and Laika was mourned. If you need to blame anyone, blame Khrushchev.

#Laika #cw animal death

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em-ontv · 4 months ago

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Sing a song for me. (1/2)

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!fem!reader

Warnings: angst, violence/death/murder/gore, manipulation (vought), emotional distress, psychological torture/trauma, imprisonment (vought), mentions of drugs, mentions of illnesses, cursing/language

Anon: I have an idea for a FMC who's a supe but her powers are "sirens song" her powers basically can control someone but in a different way depending on what melody she sings... she works at a hospital and helps people... Vought finds out about her and they take her... The boys hear about her after they get soldier boy out and they use him to help get her by him using his powers...

A/n: Hello, anon! Thank you for this request, this idea is just amazing, I love it! I shortened your request a little so it fits here :). I decided to split this into two parts because I've just been really busy, sorry! Everything written here is credited to you, anon! I'm just here to execute your ideas. Hope you like this <3

Read part 2 here

Word count: 3k

"Please," the young woman in the hospital bed whispered, her voice weak while her hands trembled over the thin sheet.

She winced at the pain that was slowly eating away at her. You could see it, not just on her face but in the way her body shivered against the inevitable coldness of death.

"Just make it stop... just for a bit." she swallowed thickly, reaching a hand out to you, and you held it for support.

You'd seen this before, so many times, too many times, working at Mercy Hospital. "I'll sing for you," you said, your voice gentle.

As you pulled the chair closer to her bedside, you began to hum, a soft melody that seemed to drift through the air, mixing with the beeping heart monitor.

Her body began to relax, the lines of pain on her face softening as the sound soothed her, a sense of warmness filling her. Her breathing slowed. The tears stopped. For a moment, in this broken world, she was at peace.

That was the way you had always used your powers. For peace. For comfort. The songs you sang were as natural to you as breathing, and their effects.

It was just a gift you had, something you could use to help the people in pain, to soothe those who were suffering—whether it be the children crying in the hospital beds alone at night or the elderly who were hooked onto the machines to live—the ones who had no one left. You sang to take away their pain, to bring peace in places the world forgot about.

The patients who were pale from nausea, you soothed them. The patients who were out-of-control in the ER, you calmed them. The patients whose time was running out, you eased their pain one last time before they passed away. It was all because of your voice.

But you never went beyond what was asked of you. Never used your powers on people who didn't ask you to. Never crossed that line.

You never sought out power. You had never intended to control.

And for a long time, you didn't know you could.

But Vought? They saw the potential in you long before you did.

The day that everything went wrong, you were working a night shift at the hospital. You remember it so vividly—the soft click of shoes in the empty hallways that you had mistaken for visitors.

You had just finished a soft hum to a child who was barely nine years old, singing away the nauseousness that came from his treatments when they came for you. Vought.

It all happened so fast. In a flash, a hand was clasped around your mouth and you were being dragged away. The kid cried for the doctors, cried for them to let go of you. But no, Vought wanted you.

You fought, of course. The Compound V that flowed through your veins not only gave you the power of your voice, but strength. It made you a challenge, but the tranquilizer they shot into your neck was made for supes.

A sharp pain pierced through your body, and you didn't stand a chance.

Your eyes flickered softly, the world dimmed into darkness, the last thing you saw was the nurses and doctors collapsed on the hospital floor.

And when you woke up, you were in a cage.

You were in a cage.

It was glass, or something that looked like it—thick and unbreakable. The cold room they kept you in was lined with monitoring equipments. They put a collar on you, some high-tech piece that clamped around your throat like a vice. It was set to explode if you so much as hummed a note. They made sure of that.

The first time you tried to test its limits by so much as opening your mouth, a sharp, electrical shock shot through your neck, leaving you clawing at your throat in pain.

You didn't know how long it was since you'd been here. Maybe weeks, maybe months. You tried to fight it at first, refusing to use your powers, refusing to sing for them. But it didn't take long before they forced your hand. Vought had ways of making people cooperate, and you were no different.

At first, they made you calm people, to help them sleep. It was awful but it wasn't that bad, you could handle it. People weren't getting hurt. You weren't hurting anyone.

But that was before tonight.

The door to your cell hissed open, and the guards came in and grabbed you, dragging you and shoving you down the hallway. The collar stung as it bit into your neck, but you learned to ignore the pain. It was nothing compared to what was waiting on the other side of that door.

They led you into another room, a see-through glass room that they pushed you into and locked the doors after taking off your collar.

On the other side, strapped to a chair, was a man. His skin was sickly and pale, eyes wide and wild as he struggled against his restraints. His face was covered in bruises, and his breathing was shallow—wheezing, desperate. You could see the tracks on his arms, the broken veins. He was a junkie, barely hanging on to life as it was.

You rubbed a hand over your throat. "What is this?" you asked, your voice coming out hoarse, the collar had been on for so long it was a wonder you could even speak.

"A convicted criminal," a voice said. You turned your head to see the man standing outside the glass cell. You'd seen him before—Dr. Connors. Always calm, always observing you like you were some test subject, it made your skin crawl. "A drug dealer, murderer that we pulled out of one of the city's free clinics. He won't be missed," he said.

"Why... why is he here?"

"We need to know just how far your abilities can go."

You felt your stomach twist. No. They couldn't be asking what you thought they were. You'd done everything they asked—calmed their people, helped them with their fucked-up little experiments—but this? This was different. This was wrong.

"I won't do it," you whispered, shaking your head. "I don't hurt people. I'm not a killer."

"You misunderstood." Connors said. "You don't have a choice."

He saw the way your skin turned paler, and he took a step closer to the glass. "Isn't this what you do? To ease pain? You're gonna help him pass on, won't you?" His voice was gentle, almost soothing, but it made you feel sick.

"His time isn't up." your jaw tensed, your voice lingered with a hint of bitterness. A combination of fear and anger twisting in your gut. "I said I'm not a killer," you spat.

He raised an eyebrow. "You've been killing since the moment you started working for us. You just haven't been paying attention."

Connors gestured toward the other side of the glass, where the man—this junkie, this criminal—was staring at you, his chest heaving, eyes wide with fear. You could hear his coughs, see the sweat that rolled off of his forehead.

He didn't deserve this.

Maybe he was a murderer. Maybe he had hurt people, maybe he deserved to rot in prison, but no one deserved this. Not to be a lab rat for Vought. Not to be killed by a song. His fate shouldn't rest upon your hands.

Your mind raced, your heart hammered in your chest, and for a few moments, everything was silent. Connors was watching, his eyes turning cold, searching your face for any signs of rebellion. He'd kill you if you refused. And if you didn't die, they'd make sure you wished you had.

You were powerful, yes. But you weren't irreplaceable.

You didn't know what to do, staring at the junkie. All you knew was that there was no way out. Not without paying a price.

Connors stepped back, watching you through the glass. "Sing."

You met the junkie's eyes. He was gasping for air now, but he couldn't scream—his throat was too weak, but you could feel how scared he was. He was pleading for his life, even without saying a word.

Tears burned in your eyes as you felt your chest tighten, the melody coming out of your mouth before you could stop it.

The song was shaky, and it wasn't gentle. It wasn't the usual soft tune that you had sung a hundred times to sick patients, back when you worked at the hospital. It was a song of discord.

The melody wrapped itself around the junkie in the chair, and you saw him starting to thrash against his restraints, his eyes bloodshot and wide as he struggled like a feral animal.

Tears rolled down your eyes when you closed them, scared to get another look at him. The melody only grew stronger, and then…

Then... you heard blood splattering and you felt something on your face.

You reached a hand to your face, your fingers gently brushing against your skin.

And when you opened your eyes again, the first thing you saw was the bloodied chunks of human flesh on your fingers.

Then... him.

The chair where the junkie used to sit was now only a pile of blood. The transparent glass cage was covered in red. Red.

You stumbled backward, choking on a sob, your hands shaking, the song dying on your lips. The realization crashed into you, a wave of nausea coming up your throat.

The guards didn't move. Connors didn't even blink. They were used to this. You weren't.

"Excellent work." Connors said gently.

You felt the remaining of your strength give out. You slumped against the glass wall and your body slowly slid to the ground, your legs no longer able to hold you up. Your eyes never left the bloodied chair as tears streamed down your face, your body trembling with shock and disgust, disgust at yourself. You wanted to scream. To run. But there was nowhere to go.

It was the same routine after that.

When Vought needed you, they'd take you out of your cage, remove the collar, and force you to use your powers. When they were done, they'd push you back into your cell and clamp the collar around your throat again.

You didn't know you could control multiple people at once with your voice. You didn't even know you could kill with your voice. Not until they forced you to use it and then you started to see how deadly your songs were.

You were exhausted. Not just physically, but deep down in your bones, in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. Vought used you again and again, like some soulless machine they could turn on and off whenever they wanted. Every time you sang, you lost a little piece of yourself.

Each forced melody drained you until you started to forget who you used to be, the life you used to have, the people that you used to help. Your voice, once you considered a gift, was now seen as a curse to you.

Of course, at first, you fought it. You pushed back again and again, told yourself you’d find a way out. But the more they used you, the harder it got to hold onto that resistance.

You started to go numb, the fight in you slowly dying, your heart shutting down just to survive. Eventually, you stopped hoping for an escape, stopped believing that anyone would come. You were theirs, trapped in a cycle you didn’t have the strength to break.

The worst part? You barely even cared anymore.

So when they took you onto your first mission, you didn't resist, you did everything they asked, you sang to their enemies—their eyes would glaze over, bodies slumping forward, as if someone had cut their strings, or just be blown into bits with a single note. Either way, they just dropped. Dead in a matter of seconds.

It was too easy. Too much power. And Vought loved it.

But they didn't let you forget what you were. A prisoner. A tool.

Until... until they came for you.

Or more specifically... he came for you.

"This place looks like a fortress," Hughie muttered, adjusting the comm in his ear as the team prepared to break into the Vought facility.

"Quit whinin', mate. We've got our secret weapon right here," Butcher said with that shit-eating grin of his, patting Soldier Boy's shoulder.

Soldier Boy barely acknowledged the gesture, impatience in his eyes, as if one more pat would drive him to rip Butcher's hand off.

Hughie glanced at Butcher. "You sure this is gonna work? I mean, if she's as dangerous as Vought says..."

Butcher smirked. "That's exactly why we need her."

They moved in, navigating through tight security and avoiding patrols as they made their way deeper into the facility. The plan was simple: get in, grab you, get out. But nothing ever went according to plan, and the alarms blared before they even reached your cell.

Soldier Boy tore through guards like they were nothing, his shield crashing against skulls and bodies with brutal efficiency. The others followed in his wake, covering him as he cleared the path, leaving a trail of blood and broken bones, disoriented bodies scattered everywhere.

You'd heard and seen it all. The way the guards that were supposed to be at the door of your cage moved with urgency in their steps, the crackle of their radios.

Explosions. Gunfire. Shouts of panic echoing down the halls.

And then... silence.

You weren't sure if this was a rescue or just another nightmare, but something inside you stirred—hope. Hope that you hadn't felt for a long time.

You sat up, your body stiff and aching as you made your way to the transparent wall, pressing your hand against the cool glass of your cell, waiting.

The silence was shattered by the sound of crashing metal, followed by a loud boom.

You jumped, heart pounding, as the door to the hallway outside your cell exploded inward, smoke and debris clouding the air.

Through the haze, you saw him—Soldier Boy, covered in dirt and blood.

The last of the guards who crossed his path were obliterated, bodies flung aside like they were nothing with sickening cracks of bones. The bullets bounced off of Soldier Boy's shield like they were toy pellets. His eyes were filled with aggression, the adrenaline flowing through his body.

But then... he saw you.

In the chaos, his gaze locked onto your cell—onto you. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. You, standing there in your glass prison, looking so defeated, so... broken.

Your clothes were stained, your skin marked with bruises, your eyes hollow and empty with a lingering sense of hope.

And when Ben saw you like that—it made something inside him crack.

He had seen plenty of fucked-up things in his long life. He'd caused a lot of them. But this? This was different. The anger that fueled him this whole time suddenly turned into something else.

He walked slowly toward the glass, but there was something softer in his eyes now. Something he hadn't shown anyone in decades.

The furrow of his eyebrows slowly disappeared. He reached out, pressing a hand to the glass between you. His palm rested flat against it, fingers splayed out like he was trying to touch you through the barrier.

He just stood there, looking at you like he wasn't sure what to do.

You lifted your hand, trembling, and pressed it against the glass where his hand rested. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt something. Connection. A shared moment between two people who both had been hurt, used, controlled by the same people.

For a second, neither of you moved. You just... stared at each other, your hands separated by that glass wall, but it felt like the most intimate moment you had shared with anyone in years.

Then, without a word, Ben stepped back and raised his fist.

And it was as if you understood him, you stepped back too.

With a hard swing, he slammed his fist into the glass, shattering it with a deafening crash. The pieces rained down around you like shards of ice, but he didn't care.

He reached in, pulling you closer by the hand he rested on your waist, his touch firm but careful, as if he was afraid you might break under his strength.

"Come on," he said, his voice more gentle than he intended it to be. "We're getting you out of here."

You shook your head gently as your fingers reached at the collar, and that was when he noticed the collar around your throat, humming with electricity, ready to punish you the moment you step foot out of this facility.

Ben frowned softly at the device, his fingers wrapped around the tech.

Butcher stepped up closer, glancing at him. "Think you can get that thing off her without blowing her head off?"

He just grunted softly in response, working to disable the explosive.

"Hold still," he muttered.

After a few tense moments, the collar clicked open, falling to the ground with a dull thud.

You inhaled sharply, your first breath of freedom in what felt like forever.

But Ben didn’t move back. He stayed close, eyes never leaving yours. "You can talk now," he said softly, his voice low.

You swallowed hard, your throat aching, but still, you hesitated. "Why… why are you here?"

"We came here to rescue you, love," Butcher replied, stepping into your line of sight. His grin was sharp. "And as much as I would like to keep talking, we should probably get out of here…"

435 notes · View notes

literaila · 11 months ago

Text

keeping secrets

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you and satoru avoid each other

warnings: actual fighting, sad everyone, hurt/little comfort (sorry)

last part | next part

year four.

"did megumi give you a permission slip?" you ask satoru, leaning against the side of the couch, peeking at his phone. "it's for a field trip, but i haven't seen it. he says he set it on the counter."

satoru glances at you. then back, and shakes his head.

"he didn't give you anything to sign?"

"not recently."

you sigh. "i don't think he lost it."

satoru's lip quirks. "you think i'm hiding it?"

"i don't know. did you accidentally eat it?"

his eyes roll. "i have better taste than that."

"well, can you help me look for it?"

satoru sighs, head hanging back for a moment, then he throws his phone down, groaning as he stands up. after he stretches, he half-heartedly moves a pillow, pretending to look under it.

you snort.

but satoru doesn't look back at you, and moves to the table, to look at the stack of papers there.

and, admittedly, things have been a bit off.

you tried to ignore it at first--ignore the way satoru avoided your eyes, or kept himself five feet away from you at all times. you tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. that he wasn't giving you short responses, or only joking with you in dire moments (like when something you say goes over both of the kid's heads and they stare at you weirdly).

honestly, you hadn't even noticed anything was wrong until you'd realized that it'd been a week since he fell asleep with you. since he even bothered to come out of his room after putting the kids to bed. a week since he tried to squeeze you to death, or grossly kissed your cheek.

and... it shouldn't be weird.

no rule says that he has to spend a specific amount of time with you, or cuddle in your bed, or smile at you, or... do anything that your best friend probably shouldnt do.

but it's weird.

it's strange because your relationship with satoru has stayed relatively consistent, an upward slope for the past six years. you've grown closer, but never farther.

and, in the depths of your mind, usually when you're lying awake at night, you recognize that there's one single moment when it switched. that everything changed a specific morning, and you haven't been able to rewind it. to take it all back.

and you could just blame the alcohol for your confession, you probably should.

but then you'd also have to blame your sixteen-year-old self, the girl who'd been attracted to satoru in the first place. the eighteen-year-old who agreed to tie her life to his and take in the kids, or you now, still cursing yourself for falling in love with him.

it's not like satoru made you.

if intoxication is to blame, so is your heart, your soul, for starting all of this in the first place.

you'd decided to not blame anything at all, in the end. everything's fine.

"find anything?" you ask him, a bit cold in the room, feeling that same tension that's been there. those unspoken words, infinite amounts of distance.

you try to ignore it, really.

"just the receipt for tsumiki's violin."

"tsumiki's what?" you ask, blinking at him.

"i didn't tell you about that?"

"satoru, you can't just buy them things on a whim--"

he holds a hand up, stopping you. "she said it was for school," he says, giving you a quick grin. "plus, she's pretty good."

"there's no way she's good."

"you'll see," he says, "when we go to her recital."

"what?"

satoru shrugs, then he turns around, organizing the piles of papers into neat stacks. it almost makes you want to check him for a spider bite, a fever, remnants of poison. no way your satoru is doing that.

not that he's yours. he hasn't been yours in years, hasn't been your anything ever.

"oh, here," he says, eventually, handing you a paper which he already signed--of course--and shaking his head. "museums," he grumbles.

but he doesn't give you the chance to respond, turning to walk down the hall--towards his room--before you can even chide him for forgetting about it.

so, yeah. things are fine.

"where's gojo?" megumi asks, as the two of you walk through the door.

the house is empty without satoru there. colder, dimmer. and, of course, there's no one to irritate the boy right when he walks in.

you try not to wince at the question, or spiral into your own question of 'where's gojo?'

"uh," you lock the door, then unlock it. then lock it again. "he's on another job."

"again?"

you give megumi a bland smile, taking his backpack from him. "guess they think he needs more practice," you say, trying to tease.

it falls flat.

"did he get in trouble?"

"i don't know," you shrug. "probably."

honestly, it's not like you would know anyway. satoru doesn't tell you anything these days.

it's probably what bothers you the most, because if he's not saying anything, then neither can you. you can't ask him what he thinks about tsumiki's new friend, or if megumi should be eating more, or if you're just making everything up, probably going insane--

"when's he going to be back?"

"he said probably tomorrow. maybe the day after if it takes longer. i can't remember where they sent him..."

megumi looks mischievous. his eyes are bright. "so we can make those miso brownies? since he's gone?"

you laugh, ruffling his hair. "sure, when tsumiki gets home."

he nods, satisfied, and turns around. then he looks back at you, eyes trailing over your expression.

megumi looks at you quizzically, like he knows something you don't. "do you miss him?"

you roll your eyes. "do you miss him, megumi?"

he doesn't even think about it. "true," he says, then walks into the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge.

maybe you miss him, you think, but only a little bit. it's not like he's been gone long.

just, you know, forever.

"hey," you lean against the desk in the office. satoru must be filling out a report, which should make you blink twice, but really it's him being out in the open that surprises you.

most days he goes to hide in his room. he locks his door and makes sure that you wouldn't dare to walk through. that you have no means to interrupt his solitude.

"oh, hey," satoru answers, not bothering to look up at you. his voice is low, familiar, and creates goosebumps on your skin.

seriously, why is it so cold in this house?

"i'm surprised those haven't gone missing yet," you gesture toward the papers, trying to be casual.

he snorts. "yaga said that if i lost them again, i was fired."

"he said that two years ago."

satoru nods, still scribbling. you want more than anything to just see his eyes for a moment, for him to look at you and grin like you're used to.

but you know he won't, so you tap your fingers against the desk. "do you have a second?"

"sure. what's up? megumi do something?"

"no, the kids are fine, i, um--" you pause. it feels ridiculous to have to ask him this, to not know the answer. it feels ridiculous to be nervous around satoru. you haven't felt anxious, or worried about asking him anything since you were sixteen and realized that it didn't matter. "shoko texted me about that work 'meeting' that's happening on friday. do you want to go to that? i just need to know so i can tell her..."

"meeting?"

your smile is teasing, not that he's looking. "i think she meant party."

"on friday?"

"yeah. she said that the booze is free, and i think nanami's going, so i thought..." you hint, not even sure what you mean.

i thought we could talk. i thought we could go together and maybe everything would go back to normal. i thought that we were friends, if anything, and that you cared about me--

satoru hums. "what about the kids?"

"tsumiki has a birthday party that night, and megumi likes the sitter from last time," you wince at your accidental mention of that night. "or he can come, i guess, but he'd probably hate it."

satoru snorts, nodding in agreement. you watch his hands freeze, then resume.

he's thinking the same things you are, you know. he's thinking about how stupid you are, how ridiculous it is to imagine him being in love with you, caring about who you are or how you feel.

you just know it.

"so..." you whisper, after a second. "do you want to go?"

you feel like you're standing on uneven ground. how can this be the only real conversation you've had with satoru this week?

how can you miss him this much when he's literally right there?

"i don't--" satoru makes a face, finally looking toward you. he sets down the pen. "i don't think so. but you can go and i can stay here with megumi," he suggests easily like he's not rejecting you. "we can have a guy's night."

"megumi hates guy's nights."

satoru has a cheeky grin on, but it's half-hearted. barely there.

like a glimpse of him in a peephole, a moment where he's not hiding completely from you.

he doesn't say anything, though. he doesn't even bother to come up with a better excuse.

it's clear as day that he just doesn't want to hang out with you, even in a crowd of people.

"that's okay," you hum, eventually, trying to keep your voice steady. "i don't really--"

"no, you should go. you haven't seen nanami in a while. you can have a night out," he says genuinely, but it sounds more like i need a break from you.

"yeah," you try to laugh. "i--um, okay. if you're sure."

he nods, looking away again. he hasn't touched you in weeks. your skin is almost molding, going completely stale. "i'm sure. we'll order dinner, so you don't have to worry about the brat complaining."

"okay."

"okay," satoru answers, but it doesn't mean anything.

and it's not okay.

the two of them walk through the door, and megumi looks... pleasant. he's got the makings of a smile on his face, a little jump in his step.

it's one of the only times you've seen him look like the ten-year-old he is, instead of someone who's concerned about economic collapse.

it makes you smile a bit, even if just the sight of satoru sends pangs down your chest.

"hey," you say, hand on his head as he lingers by you, eyes meeting yours in greeting. you look to satoru, who's pretending to wipe away a smudge on his glasses. "where were you guys?"

"we were--"

"gojo took me to that old hospital by my school," megumi says, "there were cursed spirits hanging outside. he let me and my divine dogs deal with them," he says this almost excitedly--as excited as megumi gets--and you can see it in his eyes. that little twinkle of pride.

your eyes widen, but you smile, trying to be genuine. it's difficult because you've been lying for weeks. "really?" you ask, trying not to look over at satoru accusingly. "how'd it go?"

"good," megumi, moves to the sink, washing his hands. "they're getting better at scenting them out. it didn't take long."

"that's great."

"megumi didn't need any of my help," satoru adds, giving you a short glance. "he's got good intuition."

megumi looks at satoru with a glare in his eyes, but you can tell that he appreciates the compliment.

you can tell that he's completely fine with this, that the two of them are going to act like it's normal, but you can't.

you try to ignore it when megumi looks between you and satoru, a slight furrow in his brows. he knows something wrong, you know. but you're not going to admit that.

you swallow. "do you have any homework you need to finish, megs?"

"uh..." he pauses. "i think so. reading?"

you smile, hand on his back as you lead him out of the room. "okay, how about you go work on that? i need to talk to satoru real quick."

he nods immediately, looking eager to leave--both the room and the tension.

as soon as he's gone, you turn to satoru, narrowed eyes as you observe him. he's already smiling because he knows that he's in trouble. because he knows that you're angry.

because, even if he hasn't actually spoken to you in weeks, satoru has always read you so well. he's always known what you're going to say before you say it.

but you can't care about it. it doesn't mean anything to him.

“you can’t do that,” you say, almost whispering. “not without asking me.”

“i knew you’d say no.”

you laugh, looking away from him. “exactly.”

“he’s fine,” satoru reassures. he shrugs, because why should he care about your concern? “he did good, and there’s not a scratch on him. i’m sorry for not telling you but—“

“no buts, satoru. you can’t take megumi out on missions like he’s a student. he’s not. and you definitely can’t do it without even telling me," there's a burning in your chest. your head is clouded over with anger.

just looking at him--at his ridiculous smile and stupid perfect face--makes you clench your fists.

how can he stand there and act like you're a team?

“it’s not a big deal. i was there the whole time—and he didn’t need me.”

“i don’t care!”

satoru rolls his eyes, his arms crossed. “i think you’re overreacting.”

“i’m not," you say, trying to get him to look at you--actually look--but he won't. it makes your chest hurt even more. "you’re not telling me things—fine, whatever, keep whatever secrets you want, gojo. don't bother talking to me. but you can’t keep secrets from me about the kids.”

“secrets? i’m not—“

you shake your head, hands in the air, trying to clear all of it away. you want the past month to go away, the past six years. “megumi’s just a kid. he’s ten. he can’t be going on missions, not until he’s ready.”

“i think i’ve already proved how ready he is.”

“well, maybe i'm not ready. he’s a kid.”

“yeah,” satoru says, obviously. he scoffs. “yeah, he’s a kid. but he’s also a jujutsu sorcerer. you can’t separate the two.”

his voice is all-knowing and his stance is firm. you know that you won't convince him otherwise--know that he's right, to some degree, but this isn't about megumi.

this isn't about cursed spirits or jujutsu.

“yes, you can," you say, clenching your jaw. "he doesn’t need to be seeing that shit right now. not until he decides he wants to. practice his technique with him all you want, but you can’t just take him to exorcise a curse with you.”

“like i said, he’s fine.”

“it’s not about that! it’s about you doing something reckless—again—and acting like there aren’t any consequences to your decisions. he’s my son,” you hiss, “he shouldn’t be going anywhere i don’t know about. you shouldn’t be making decisions about him behind my back.”

you shouldn't be pushing me away, you shouldn't be ruining this--

“so you want to lock him up here?" satoru asks, laughing at you. his teeth are sharp and he is still. "you want to take away his ability to defend himself?”

you scoff. “are you kidding? you think me saying i don’t want you to get him killed is equal to me—“

“he was fine. if anything—anything—had been there that megumi couldn’t handle, i would’ve taken care of it. i wasn't going to let anyone touch him. that’s why i was there! and he didn’t even need me," he's boasting, swearing to you--you can feel it as he rolls his eyes at you.

“you know what he needs, satoru? he needs you to treat him like he’s a little boy and not some experiment for you to play with.”

“i would never—“

you cut him off, “bringing him out into the open, where anyone could see him, could hurt him, and making him deal with your cursed spirit is not okay.”

“i didn’t make him deal with anything," satoru swears, chin up.

you snort. the two of you are standing in front of each other, arms crossed, head guarded. your muscles are tense like something is about to attack you. “oh, so he asked you to go?”

“well, no, but—“

“then you made him! you put him up against a monster and treated him like a student, like a 16-year-old, and not your son.”

the words feel nice to say. some version of the truth that's much better than whatever this version is. if satoru won't talk to you, you'll talk for him.

you'll make every assumption, every bad perception (because he's supposed to keep you from worrying, he's supposed to be there to calm you down, to save you from that spiraling). but if he's not going to try, neither will you.

satoru’s eyes grow hard. “what?”

“why can’t you just let him be a kid? why do you have to push him into these things—“

“we talked with megumi about who he is,” satoru grinds, “he knows about the privilege of his strength, and the fact that he has to work to use it—“

“a ten-year-old shouldn’t have to work for anything!”

he laughs at you. you can't see his eyes, but you watch his face as he tries to hide his expression, trying to keep his voice low. the kids are still in the house, so you shouldn't be yelling. but you can't bring it in yourself to really care.

“what do you think the point of him living here was? why do you think we took him in?”

you gape at him. “are you kidding?” you ask. “are you serious? we took him, and tsumiki, in because you’re responsible for killing their father! because they didn’t have anyone else, and that’s your fault.”

“you think i don’t know that?”

“well, i thought you did," you say, stepping away from him. some part of you wants to push him out, make him leave. the other part desperately wants him to stay--to say he's sorry. "but you just said that the only reason megumi is here is so you can teach him! when i agreed to this i thought you were facing the consequences of your actions, doing the right thing for those kids because you could. i thought you wanted to take care of them! to keep them away from our awful, messed up world.”

satoru is staring at you with his jaw clenched.

you continue, without consideration for the consequences of your words. “i didn’t think that you only wanted to keep megumi here so you could train him, like a dog.”

“that’s not what i said.”

you shake your head, a bitter smile on your face. “well it’s what you meant, and clearly you have no regard for his feelings or the way that curses might affect him—“

“don’t act like i did it just to mess with him," he interrupts, harshly. "it’s not a joke. i want him to be strong, i want him to be able to take care of himself—“

“and i want him to have a dad who isn’t so selfish!”

“what?”

“did you even think about it? what about the nightmares he’s going to have?" you wonder, rhetorically. "what about the fact that he’s different—that he’s already struggling to relate to other kids in school? what about him, satoru? why is it only about you?”

what about me? you don't say.

“i didn’t bring him for me—“

“you want a replacement. you want someone else to deal with everything, while you sit back and watch. i know what you’re trying to do—“

“really?" he points at you, the other hand clenched in the air. he's laughing again. "you can read my mind? you’ve already been let in on my plans—“

“don’t you wish that you’d had the opportunity to be just a kid?” you demand. “don’t you want that for megumi?”

he shrugs. “sure. but it’s never going to happen.”

“well, clearly, because you won’t let it.”

“he gets to be a kid every day. god forbid i take him to see one curse, to understand how to use his powers, to protect himself, and you treat me like i wanted to kill him.”

you laugh. your mind is a minefield, and everything he says ruins another part of it.

all you can think about is him, him as a teenager, him with you, telling satoru you love him and him having nothing left to say--

but you scoff again, shoving yourself further away from him. “do you know how many times i’ve wanted to go back to when i was ten and just got to live my life? do you know how often i think about how everything could’ve been different?”

“this isn’t about us."

“yes, it is. it is, satoru, because i didn’t get that chance and neither did you. and you just took away megumi’s chance.”

“i didn’t take anything away," he says, softly, like he's trying to convince himself.

clearly, you've struck a nerve.

“he’s never going to be able to look at the world normally, but he doesn’t need the burden of saving people before he’s even in middle school.”

“why is being strong so bad?” satoru asks you, demanding something more. why am i so bad? “why do you treat it like it’s a curse? like it’s going to hurt him?”

“look at you!” you respond. “look at suguru, and me, and shoko! look at any jujutsu sorcerer and ask them if being strong is worth it—is worth screwing your life over.”

satoru looks taken aback. he steps away from you.

“god, it’s like you think that we’re a different species," you tell him, never having felt like it's more true. "you’re human, satoru. you might be the strongest, but you’re still human, and you still have nightmares like all of the rest of us.”

he shakes his head at you.

“why do you want that for megumi? why push him into this right now?”

“i want him to be able to take care of himself. so that he doesn’t die like our colleagues, so that he doesn’t make the wrong choice like—“

he stops, his voice breaking before he can continue.

and maybe you know what this is really about, but if satoru doesn’t want to tell you how he feels, if he wants to pretend like it doesn’t matter—

fine. you will too.

“it wouldn’t make a difference. he’s already—his life is already messed up.”

satoru looks at you, his eyes ablaze. “don’t you think that if i was him, if i could’ve been stronger, if i could’ve saved all of those people—don’t you think i would do it in an instant? don’t you think i know that because i wasn’t strong enough, people died?”

this is the thing you've feared since you were eighteen, a brand new person responsible for two little lives. you've feared satoru's moral commitment since before you met him. since you saw him destroy a curse in an instant and realized he was different than everyone else.

“megumi isn’t you! he doesn’t need to be taught to take on the responsibility of everyone’s lives—“

“you can’t say that i’m selfish, that i don’t care, and then say that i care too much,” he says, shaking his head, unable to look at you.

he hasn't been able to look you in the eye in weeks.

“you’re both!" you say, almost yelling. "you’re everything. and you don’t think! you haven’t thought for a moment about what megumi might be feeling, who he might want to be—“

“and you have? what about what you want him to be?”

“i want him to be happy! i want him to grow up better than i ever did. i don’t want him chasing a bunch of cursed spirits around on the weekend like it’s a normal thing—“

“it is normal. for us, it’s normal. for him, it’s normal.”

you sigh, a weight on your chest, a burning in your throat. “well, maybe it shouldn’t be.”

you're not going to start crying now. not with satoru watching, not when he gets to know just how much you care.

satoru scoffs. “so you’d just have everyone defend themselves--"

"i don't know how you're arrogant enough to believe that you can save everyone--"

"--you’d just forget that we’re strong for a reason, that we--“

“but you’re never going to be strong enough, satoru. never.”

satoru stares at you. he doesn’t say a thing, doesn’t hesitate, and doesn’t bother to argue.

and after a moment he turns around. you reach your hand out to grab him--hold onto him and keep him here, because this isn't finished, and you're not done with him. you haven't even started.

but you run into a wall. you look down and your hand is dangling idly in front of his arm, stuck in the air.

you can't see satoru's eyes, but you can feel his heart--your heart--as it skips a beat in realization.

but then satoru shakes you off, pushes you infinitely farther away from infinity, and keeps going.

he walks out the door, slamming it shut.

you stand there for a moment, watching. you wait for the door to open again, for satoru to come back, for him to laugh--tell you that everything's fine, that it'll all be fine. that it's okay if you're angry, that he doesn't care.

but after a minute, he doesn't return.

and after another, you have to lean against the counter. your hand burns--but maybe that's just your imagination. you're pretty sure that infinity has no drawbacks, that there's no consequence for touching, for not touching satoru.

pretty sure.

but you still look over your skin, trying to see if he's left some mark. it would be nice to have some evidence of what he's done to you. you clench your fist, but the feeling doesn't go away.

and maybe it's not your hand. maybe it's your chest. maybe it's these weeks of feeling separated, feeling miles apart from him, feeling like it's all your fault that any of this has happened.

you... you can't even remember what you were arguing about.

you feel like a kid again, hiding yourself in your room just so your parents don't have to deal with you. you feel like that little girl who hid in the cupboards, trying to escape the monsters that no one else could see. you feel like that smaller, reckless version of yourself that left home at the first chance, who knew she wasn't allowed back.

are you allowed here? you wonder. is it going to happen again? are these monsters--real and fake--too much for your family to handle again?

you exhale, trying to catch your breath again. none of this feels right, normal, easy.

should you--should you call him? should you wait for him to come back?

is he going to come back?

the slam of the door is still echoing throughout the house when they creep down the hallway, making sure their footsteps are soft, but also loud enough for you to hear.

maybe you've only been standing there, waiting for satoru to turn around, for thirty seconds.

but it feels like an hour.

"mom?" a tiny voice asks, and both of them are turning around the corner, taking hesitant steps towards you.

you have to swallow. you need some water, an icepack maybe, to get rid of the burning feeling in your throat. the telltale signs that you're going to cry--that you've suffered blows to the core, and you can't backtrack now.

but you don't want to cry in front of them. you refuse to. if you didn't want to cry in front of satoru, you won't cry in front of the kids.

so you turn around, swallow again, and fill a glass of water.

you chug it down, wanting it to wash away that feeling, that ache.

you can't say anything just yet because then you'll actually fall apart.

megumi and tsumiki watch you, both of them silent as they wait for your direction. for some solution you should have.

you take a deep breath, then turn, almost faltering when you see the worried look on both of their faces, the concern in their eyes. neither of them should have to worry about this.

god, how could you forget that they were there? that they could hear everything?

how could you make another mistake?

"hey, guys," you say, clearing your throat. you want to be nonchalant, and casual, but you've never been either a day in your life.

"where did gojo go?"

"i, um," you take another sip of water, because that feeling crawls up your throat, makes itself known again. "i think he went on a walk."

"is he okay?" tsumiki asks.

"are you okay?" megumi follows.

"yeah, he's fine. he's good. i--he just needed some space, you know? um... a break."

"from us?"

your eyes widen. "no, no, no. of course not, never you guys. he's... just been busy this week. working a lot. and, i, well, he's good. we're good."

megumi leans on the counter next to you, looking at you very closely. "are you okay?" he repeats.

"i'm good, megs. it's..." you smile. "it's fine. um, did satoru get you anything to eat while you were out? i'm not sure what we've got, but i can make something if you--"

"when is he going to be back?"

you stop, sighing. you shouldn't have taught either of them how to read emotions, or how to eavesdrop. you shouldn't be speaking to anyone, or trusted with anything.

"i'm not sure, buddy. he'll be back when he's ready."

"is he going to stay out all night?" tsumiki asks, worried.

"no, i'm sure--" you stop again. "gojo will be back in time for bed, okay?"

they're both staring at you, waiting for you to say something profound, something to make it actually okay.

but you have nothing. is satoru going to come back? is he going to stay somewhere else? you know he'll exhaust himself just to avoid coming home--

this is why you shouldn't have moved in--

this is why you never should've agreed to this, allowed himself to burrow a hole in your heart, in your soul--

"hey," megumi takes a step towards you. and then, before you can blink the tears out of your eyes, reassure him that it's fine, his arms are around your waist.

he nuzzles his face into your side, squeezing tighter than you thought a little boy could.

theres only a second of this before tsumiki's on your other side, and squeezing just as hard.

your hands fall on both of their backs, and you take a breath that feels more like never breathing again. your lungs won't fill, and your chest is incomplete

but they stand there with you, and eventually, your heart begins to match theirs, and their little hands keep you together.

you can't cry, but you really want to.

satoru's entire body feels different.

he knows what it's lacking, the changes he's made in a short period of time--giving himself no time to acclimate, no pause where he slowly adapts to the differences.

he misses you.

it's been like this before--when suguru left and satoru couldn't bear to look at himself in the mirror, nonetheless you in the eyes--but it's never felt so severe.

because you're right there. you've been there every day, waking him up, making the kids breakfast, laughing when megumi bullies him, smiling at tsumiki's attempts at mediating.

you're there in the morning, in the afternoon, and every night. you're right there for him--and he can't say a word.

he doesn't want this, this thing to be real.

denial is his favorite emotion, and recently, he can't even muster the strength to go through with it.

and now, he feels even more hopeless, lacking, never ever enough.

but he walks through the door because he has nowhere else to go. he has no other home--besides the three of you.

it's dark outside when he comes back, and the door is unlocked, so he knows that you've been waiting. that you had to deal with the aftermath of shouted voices and scared children who he felt lurking behind a wall before he got the chance to think about any of it.

he needs to talk to you. satoru knows that, he really does. but he's not sure what to say.

he could apologize for tonight--could tell you that he won't make any more decisions, that he won't wreck this thing you've built--but it's not enough.

he should probably apologize for the last seven years. for letting himself grow attached to you, and then continue to hold you at arms length. he should probably apologize for being himself, for being less than he could be.

but those words feel too rotten to say aloud.

so, when he walks up to your door, waiting to feel your obvious presence--to see it, like he always does, the wall of cursed energy that you are--he feels like running away again.

you don't even need to know that he's home. satoru could go to bed, and he could probably pretend that nothing happened in the morning and you would follow along.

but he doesn't want to do that. not to you.

and he needs to see you, needs to say something before he figures it all out--should he leave, or stay? should he continue to push you away to protect you? should he tell you all of it?

it doesn't matter, he knows, because he probably won't be able to do any of it.

and for the first time in years, satoru makes sure to knock before he opens your door. just a small repetition of his knuckles, but he might as well be breaking down a tradition.

there's no answer, but he's not waiting, so he creaks the door open, looking for you immediately.

and he sees you, lying in bed.

and he sees your shoulders shaking slightly, with you curled up in the fetal position, and he can hear the sniffle before the door is all the way open.

there's no choice, he knows. he's not going to let you cry yourself to sleep without saying anything. he's not going to leave you alone.

you don't turn around, but satoru knows that you must know he's there. he walks across the floor, sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting for you to turn to him.

and yell, maybe. tell him to leave again. tell him that you don't want to look at him anymore.

but you don't move. your shaking is slightly stifled, and satoru can tell that you're trying to keep your breathing low, to keep him from noticing you cry.

it's foolish, really, because satoru hasn't missed a single detail about you since he was seventeen.

he doesn't say anything, but it's a natural reflex to tap your legs, to stand and slip off his shoes, gently pushing you off of the edge of the bed, towards the middle.

and then he's laying there, curling his limbs around yours, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him.

immediately, there's a release somewhere inside of him. that yearning--that ridiculous need is finally satiated.

satoru swallows. he needs to say something, he knows, but he's not sure what. should he apologize right now? should he tell you that he hates it when you cry--that he never feels more desperate to be more than in moments like this?

should he whisper that he loves you, just to get it off his chest?

but you cough, body shuttering as you relax into him, never pushing him away. and your voice is so small when you say, "you can't leave."

satoru feels the pieces of him crack into even more.

he tries to hold you tighter, but you move in his hold, turning so that you're facing him, and you nuzzle your face into his neck--trying to hide, but making sure that he's there.

your hands cling onto him, leaving marks.

he can feel your tears against his skin, your entire body on overdrive.

"you can't leave," you repeat, voice breaking. satoru feels it against the very outline of his soul.

"okay," he says, quickly. "i won't."

"i can't lose you too."

he pales, body going still. his heart might stop for a moment. "you won't. i'm not going anywhere." he sighs. "i'm sorry."

"i can't--" you're still crying, and you begin to shake again. "i can't do this without you. i won't."

"you don't have to."

"you can't leave, satoru," you say, leaning up to meet his eyes--yours glistening with years full of hurt, a lifetime of secrets and unsaid words. "please don't leave."

"i won't," he repeats, feeling a bit desperate. what can he say to prove to you that he's not like everyone else? that he would trap you within his atoms, if he could? that he would stay in this bed, holding you, even if it meant nothing, forever?

there's nothing, he knows. nothing but the truth. but that doesn't come out--it can't, now. it's not the right time.

so instead, satoru wipes the tears from your face, even though they're replaced immediately, your breath coming in short, short bursts. he wraps his arm around your back, pulling you back to him again.

"i'm sorry," you whisper against his skin, so quietly that he can barely hear it.

"i'm not going anywhere," he answers.

and, just for tonight, it's enough.

he'll fix the rest of it tomorrow.

next part | series masterlist

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logaenhowlett · 5 months ago

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IF ONLY YOU KNEW PART TWO - L.H.

Summary: Dealing with the aftermath of everything that occurred last night, Logan decides it's time to stop running from his desires. [Set during Logan (2017)]

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Themes of grief and death, Language

A/N: Thank you so much for the love on part one! Didn't expect it to blow up that much. Good news is, it gave me the motivation to write more, so I have lots of ideas for Logan fics!

MASTERLIST | PART ONE

Over two hundred years, Death had become all too familiar for Logan. A foe that kept barreling in his direction, but always fizzled out before it reached him, instead striking those he cherished the most. When he was younger, he used to revel in feeling of being indestructible, immortal even. That faded away rather quickly once he realised what a curse it was, a cruel joke he grew tired of. Alas, the universe continued laughing.

He thought he could avoid all the unnecessary pain and misery by severing all ties to humanity, retreating to the ends of the world all by his lonesome. But not even the strongest soldier could resist the craving for connection for that long. When Charles had offered a place in his sanctuary, he refused at first, wondering why the universe always seemed to work against him.

Eventually, the need to distance himself from everything and everyone became smaller. Charles had given him a home, a family, a sense of belonging and after a while, you. Logan was not one for retrospection, but he often recollects how drastically his life had changed once he’d accepted the responsibility of being an X-Man. How he’d gained a new purpose. He owed everything to Charles Xavier.

The shovel in his hand gets heavier by the second. He stops digging for a moment, sensing a whole lot of anger, sorrow and desperation waiting to burst out of him. He knew the end was near for Charles, ever since the incident the old man was barely hanging on. There were times when he wished Charles would just let go, just stop fighting against his mind and body, for his own sake. But that didn’t make his death hurt any less.

His own exhaustion was catching up to him too, having spent the last few days - hell, the last few months - putting everyone else before himself. He hasn’t been able to rest despite all your efforts.

As the last of the dirt falls onto the grave, Logan staggers backwards, his shoulders knock into the tree. He slides against the trunk a little as his knees begin to loosen under his weight, unsure whether it’ll be the adamantium poisoning or heartache that’ll get him first.

Laura’s sniffling snaps his attention, he watches as she curls into your embrace, nothing you were saying stops the tears from escaping. He can see you’re trying to keep your composure for the little girl, but he knows you’re just inches away from completely breaking down. Charles was the father you’d chosen, he had saved your life just as he’d done for countless others, brought you into his arms and gave you something to live and fight for. He knows you’re as defeated as he is right now. Despite every cell in his body aching to comfort you, he understands you need the time and space to grieve in your own way.

After moments of silence, the three of you return to the car. There wasn’t a lot of time left for Laura to find her friends and cross the border to get to freedom. Logan uses that to ground himself to reality, helping her would be a way to honour Charles, for everything he had done and represented. He vows that he’ll grant her wishes, even if it’s the last thing he’ll do. He owes that to Laura, to Charles and to you.

The stars twinkle miles above, painting the night sky with their luminous hue. Logan pulls into the roadside near a lake, deciding it’s in the best interest of everyone to rest tonight. He steps out the car, scouting for a decent place to start a fire. Laura silently accompanies him to gather wood, her eyes follow you as you wander towards the lake, away from the two of them.

Logan senses her need rush to your side, he shakes his head slightly, understanding her distress, “She’ll be okay, kid.” It comes out a little hoarse, having been the first words he’d spoken all day.

All the smoking he’d done in the last two centuries comes in handy, he uses his lighter to spark flames, tending to it before it settles into a calm fire. He runs his hand down his face, his mind has been in overdrive for too long and all he wants is for one moment of quiet. Where he can surrender, stop trying to survive and just live.

“Why are you hiding?” Laura asks him, holding her hands toward the flame.

“What?”

She turns her head to find you in the distance sitting down on the grass with your feet in the water, “From her.”

Logan follows her line of sight, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, kid.”

“You want to die. Charles told me.”

He scoffs, the name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, “What else did he tell you?”

“To not let you.” She stands, finally meeting his eyes. “Tell her. If you want to be happy.” She doesn’t stick around for his response, instead making her way back to the car to sleep.

Her words strike a chord in him, he huffs lightly, ducking his head into his chest. What the hell did she know? Happiness wasn’t something he envisioned for himself. No, that often came in the form of alcohol or stupid cage fights. He never let himself indulge in anything else, having learned his lessons from what seems like a lifetime ago.

The leaves crunching under your footsteps draws his attention, you sit down an arm's length away, prodding the fire with a stick. He doesn’t know how to address the giant elephant hanging in between the two of you. Last night, when you’d asked the question, the answer was right there on the tip of his tongue. So easy and so simple. But he withdrew, in such a cowardly manner too, deflecting as if he doesn’t ache for you with each passing day.

“He taught me how to play chess.”

He studies you for a brief moment, the tear tracks on your face shine against the orange hue of the fire.

“We used to sit every day, in the garden, I’d run straight to him after classes were done.” You continue, a fond smile on your face, “I was convinced he was cheating, you know? I never beat him.”

Your resolve crumbles and sadness washes over you once again, “And I never will.”

It dawns on him too, the finality of what had happened last night. He almost laughs at the thought of Charles, beloved by so many, resting in an unmarked grave in the middle of nowhere. The universe is a cynical motherfucker.

If anything, he hopes the man felt proud in his last moments, happy for all he’d achieved in his lifetime. Logan wishes he could be even half the person his mentor was. He always berated him to reach out to those around him. To you. That joy was but a breath away from his grasp, all he needed to do is let you in. He must’ve sensed how well the two of you would get along, how you needed each other’s presence as a pillar of support.

“Why did you keep coming back?”

The question renders him a little speechless. Memories flash across his mind - Rogue, Bobby, Storm, but mostly, you. The two of you had always tiptoed around each other when it came to feelings, at times getting enough courage to finally say something, but never following through.

You stand up, thinking he’s absolutely not in the mood to talk. You don’t blame him either. That’s the thing between you two - there was always some silent understanding of the other.

“You.”

It leaves him so quietly, he’s not sure if you heard him. He’s already looking at you when you turn around, something in your eyes he’s never noticed before. Tell her. If you want to be happy. There’s no reason to hide anymore.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first,” He starts slowly, “You kept… creeping into my life and I… I couldn’t stay away.” A smile, a genuine smile, appears on his face, one that hadn’t graced him in a long while.

“I’ve been around for a long time - more than I should’ve.” He continues, his eyes never leaving yours, “I always… felt like I didn’t deserve to survive. It shouldn’t be me, standing here instead of someone else. But you, being around you… made me want to try.” A weight forms in his throat, he swallows it down, “Try to live not just for you - but for me too. I can never thank you enough for that. For sticking with me, for trusting me, for letting me… love you.”

You close the distance, gently resting your hand against his cheek. He leans into your touch almost instantly, even that simple gesture is enough for him. But you don't end there.

"Logan... I love you too."

He thinks his heart stops, your admission knocks the wind out of him. The old man was right, everything he'd wanted was right in front of him. He leans into you, tilting your chin upwards and kisses you with a burning passion. All the pain he'd suffered sinks to the back of his mind, nothing but a shadow compared to what he's feeling at the moment. When you pull back, doe-eyed and out of breath, he realises this is it. You're it.

In the distance, he catches a smile form on Laura's face, her eyes still shut as she pretends to sleep.

And we're done! Always going to be a happy ending.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan x you #logan howlett imagine #old man logan x reader #old man logan #logan howlett fluff #logan howlett angst #wolverine x you #wolverine #wolverine x reader #wolverine imagine #arya’s logan howlett

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mooniiify · 5 months ago

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what about tsukishima with a girlfriend who’s insecure about her glasses?

it starts off a little into their third year of high school. she keeps complaining that her eyes are burning during every study session, sometimes they even water up. and once tsukishima showed her something on his phone and y/n asked him to give her the phone because she couldn’t see, tsukishima pointed out she probably needed glasses.

she scoffed. “no, i don’t. the typing is just too small.”

“i see it perfectly fine with my glasses,” tsukishima pointed out. “when was the last time you got your eyes checked?”

silence fell between the two for a moment. y/n played with her thumbs. “. . . never?”

tsukishima sighed. “just go get them checked. you might not need them, but it’s better to know. otherwise you’re just straining your eyes.”

she waved him off, but decided to actually take his advice and book an appointment. tsukishima hadn’t heard about it, not until she called him on a tuesday two weeks later.

“i look so fucking ugly.” she cried dramatically on the other side of the phone.

tsukishima, who’d been sitting on his desk doing his homework at his house, put his pen down and furrowed his eyebrows. “what are you talking about?”

“you were right, my eyes are shit snd i got glasses but i hate them. i’m never wearing them.”

tsukishima scoffed as he leaned back in his chair. “they can’t be that bad. show me.”

“no. they’re ugly.”

“well, i can’t judge if i don’t see them.”

“you’ll never see them. i don’t need your judgement, too!”

tsukishima took his phone off his ear and tired to switch the call to a video call, which y/n immediately rejected. “don’t even try! i’m refusing to wear them.”

“i’m sure you look fine, dumbass,” tsukishima tried to reassure her. he touched his own glasses for a moment. “can you at least see better with them?”

“. . . yes, i can. the doctors said i should wear them all the time if possible so i don’t strain my eyes further, but i don’t want to.”

“you’re being dramatic, it really can’t be that bad.”

“dramatic?” y/n scoffed in the other side. “fuck off. i’m going to go and self-pity since my boyfriend won’t allow me to.”

before tsukishima could say anything the call ended. he sighed and got up, grabbing his wallet and keys on the way.

y/n, on the other hand, sat on her desk. a small mirror faced her as she held her brand new glasses — those ugly little things. she didn’t want to put them on, not again. those had looked good in the store but now they made her face look so odd; she hated it. she was never—

a knock. y/n stilled in her seat. “you in there?”

his voice. “how did you get here?”

“your mom let me in. can i come in?”

y/n sighed. “fine.”

she heard the door open, then close. she heard tsukishima’s footsteps approaching her, then saw from the corner of her eye as he placed a plastic bag on the desk, right next to her elbow.

“i got you something from the store.” tsukishima’s long finger pointed at the glasses still in y/n’s hand. “so that’s them?”

“yup.”

tsukishima took a moment, his eyes stuck on the glasses. “it’s just some average glasses. that you need to see.”

“yes, i’m aware. thank you.”

tsukishima sighed. “come on, put them on.”

“no.”

“you know, you’ll have to wear them eventually. if you don’t, you’ll strain your eyes more and your eye sight is gonna get worse and it’ll start to sting, and—“

“okay, okay! i get it,” y/n cut him off, grumbling as she opened the frames. “why do you always have to be so reasonable?”

normally, he would’ve teased her further, but seeing as she was finally feeling comfortable enough to put on her glasses, he didn’t want to ruin it for her. he was an asshole, but not that big.

the glasses were on and y/n stood up, looking at him. “there they are, ugly as hell. you happy?”

“do you see with them?”

y/n was taken aback. that wasn’t the response she was expecting. “huh? i mean, i guess so.”

“yeah? i see with my glasses, too.” tsukishima took a step closer. he didn’t touch her, keeping his hands on his hips. “and you know what i see with them? i see you, just as i’d see you every day, and you look as pretty as usual. if anything, in my eyes you look better, knowing your blind ass can finally see.”

y/n wasn’t sure if she wanted to punch him or kiss him.

“why can’t you ever compliment me normally?”

“that’s not what you signed up for.”

still, his words stuck with her. he’d helped, in his weird, tsukishima-esque way.

#x reader #anime #haikyuu #tsukishima #tsukishimakei #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #lowkey self-indulgent #tsukki #tsukki x reader #drabble #tsukishima fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu x reader

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mercy-burning · 5 months ago

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A Kindness You Can't Afford

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Summary: Something that started out as 'stress relief between co-workers' is now a little concerning to you, but for some reason you can't help but keep letting Spencer walk through your door... Rating: Mature (18+) Content: Strong language, unprotected sex, rough sex, fingering, blink-and-you'll-miss-it choking, squirting (As always, let me know if I missed anything!) Word Count: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: @imagining-in-the-margins sent me lyrics to Hozier's It Will Come Back to entice me to write something for her monthly challenge (which is themed Friends With Benefits), and then this happened. You can thank her for this. And also Emily Henry, because I read Happy Place and Beach Read back to back recently, and DAMN IT if I wasn't itching to do some romance-writing of my own. Sure, this one is less romance and more porn without plot, but I digress. The inspiration is there and that's all that matters. Plus I've started working on something else that probably won't see the light of day for a long while, but it's nice to feel the motivation. I'm starting to feel like myself again :) I don't know how long this creative sparkling cloud of dust is going to last, but I'm grateful to be living in it, if at least for a little while. It feels good to be there again <3

Enjoy!!

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There's a small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. A chill permeates your nervous system and sends you off on shaky limbs until you reach it, and as your palm comes in contact with the cool metal of the doorknob, you're disappointed to discover that the contrast does nothing to comfort the hot and clammy skin. Unless the person behind the door turns out not to be who you think, you will not know that comfort.

You open the door anyway, already used to this feeling of unease. It's a feeling you've come to tolerate, and sometimes even crave in desperate moments. Tonight has not seen one of those moments, but you suppose that doesn't really matter because you've already agreed to his terms, and unless you call it off, you're stuck. You've seriously considered doing it a few times, but something deep inside tells you he might not like it very much, and you're unsure of how he'll react.

It isn't a risk you're willing to take.

And so, you meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm. He looks a little sleep deprived, but it's nothing new. Your work is exhausting. It was a major deciding factor and is the driving force behind your agreement in the first place. A way to relieve stress. Somewhere along the way, it seemed to have turned into something darker, though in retrospect that darkness has always been there. You often think back to the first time you initiated intimacy— how excited you were that he seemed willing to take you up on the offer... How your head swam through glittering mist and your heart beat quickly at his words.

"God, Y/N, I need you to be sure... Because once we go there, once you let me in... Even after I leave, I'm always going to be there... You're going to feel me everywhere you go, and that's a promise..."

In the moment it even sounded romantic, and in some twisted way, it might still be. But you don't want to let your brain misconstrue this whole situation. You've promptly decided to take it for what it is and accept the fact that he has some deep desires he needs to expel, and you're just a convenient companion for the journey.

"Spencer, you're here late..."

He exhales through his nose. "No later than usual."

"Right... Come on in." You widen the door and confidently step aside like you wouldn't know any different.

Rather than let you close the door, he'd taken your words as an invitation to make himself at home, pushing it shut with his foot and jolting you forward with it, subsequently pulling you towards him. His hands are quick to guide your face to his own, and without a second more in passing, the night has officially begun.

Electricity is immediate, sizzling through your core at Spencer's drive. It's true that when you're alone, it's difficult not to overthink the situation and rope the emotional and logical side of it to the forefront of your mind. But being with him like this dissipates the thinking entirely. All you know is that it feels so good, and it's absolutely worth all the turmoil you put your brain through.

It's worth it when his tongue possesses your own and coaxes the most sinful, desperate noises from the depths of your chest, and when your delicate fingers find purchase in his hair. It's worth it when your back is up against the door with his knee wedged between your thighs. It's worth it when his hand glides down your jaw until each finger curls around your neck, not choking you but simply resting there like a necklace would. He squeezes gently for a second each time you twitch your hips, desperate to feel friction, and you whimper.

You've come to learn that the more noises you make, the more he rewards you with... well, more. So it doesn't take very long for him to decide that enough is enough, and he pulls away from you to turn you around. You brace your arms on the door and lean your head to the left so he can work.

Warm lips attach to your neck as nimble fingers snake around your front and dip below the band of your lounge shorts and underwear. Your insides hum to life, and your legs naturally spread apart a little further, making Spencer laugh against your skin. You half expect him to tease you, but the surprise leaves your body in the form of a rather whorish Oh! when he spreads you apart and glides his fingers through your warm cunt. He explores you thoroughly, circling and spreading and plunging his fingers inside you, until eventually he continues a slow and steady pace running up and down your clit. You can feel it in his breath, in the way it stutters over your neck— He's about to give you your first orgasm of the night. If his skilled hands wouldn't do it (which you know they will), his words definitely would.

"Mmmm, I love how warm you are, Y/N," he slurs into your neck. Then he lightly nips at your shoulder and quickens the pace and pressure on your clit. "And how fucking messy you get for me..."

You know what he wants, but even if you hadn't, it still would have happened. The first time he made you squirt, he'd been determined to do it again. And again. In every different way possible. Over the course of your stress-relief-escapades you've come to learn that this particular way (with his hand down your loose-fitting shorts) is his favorite. He never strives to do it anymore unless you're wearing a pair. Perhaps it's the sounds, or the feeling of your damp clothes and the desperate need to peel them away in favor of something more solid, but it's become your favorite way, too.

Your nails scratch at the door as you pant and sigh your way through an intense building orgasm, and Spencer leans forward with you, using his free hand to assist in holding you up as he furiously works at your clit with the other. His chin rests on your shoulder as he huffs out, "Go on, baby, let it out..."

He knows you're close, and those final encouraging words seem to snap the coil tightening inside you. Your thighs tense for just a second before you feel every wave of pleasure crashing into every limb. And then, you're able to relax and ride it out, letting him hold you up and pull the orgasm out of you like magic. It's wet, it's warm, and it's fucking sensational...

You can practically see the wild look in Spencer's eyes even if you couldn't actually see him at all. His presence is always, as promised, so inherently there, that even now it's a vivid image. His pupils are an empty abyss, and if you look too closely you're sure to fall in. Hell, you're not even positive that you haven't already fallen in, because the thought of calling it all off when it feels this good seems, simply put, wrong. Why would you ever want to deprive yourself of this feeling? His possessive, damn-near monstrous way of loving you as concerning as it is, had taken you to the highest places you'd ever known. Even if it isn't 'love' on paper, you certainly love it anyway. And he must love it, too, otherwise he wouldn't keep coming back.

He only comes back because you let him in in the first place, the rational part of your brain tries to reason, though it can't quite break through the fog of lust. At this point, it's so thick that you aren't sure it's ever going to clear.

Not that, right now, you'd mind...

Once your breathing slows and your legs gather the strength to pivot, Spencer removes his hand from your shorts and gently guides you to turn around. His lips are on yours immediately, and he's tugging at your shorts and underwear to pull them down. They drop to the ground and without a second to spare, he tugs you along through your living room and over to the couch. It's practically a straight shot to the bedroom from here, but apparently time is not a luxury he can afford this evening, because you barely have time to anticipate what his next move might be before he makes it.

Mouths still attached, the two of you nearly fall on the couch, and Spencer's weight covers you like a blanket. His hips pin yours down and his arms have taken to pinning your own above your head. He nips at your bottom lip and pulls away for a moment, but you chase him, trying to lean up and keep kissing him and whimpering when you can't.

A low laugh exhales from his chest. "And I thought I was the needy one in this relationship..."

He shifts then, getting up and kneeling between your bare legs to start undoing his pants. Meanwhile you lift your shirt over your head, grateful you'd already ditched the bra earlier in the afternoon. Less time to waste.

Seeing you completely bare from head to toe and ready for him seems to amplify that animalistic quality in Spencer that's so unlike the aura of the boy you met years and years ago. Whether he had that quality before he'd met you is unknown, but it's hard to imagine. You like to think that you and you alone have single-handedly created this primal sexual being simply by expressing interest in what youcould offer him amongst the joint understanding of the daily hardships that leech onto a BAU agent. Regardless of the truth, the sheer sense of power it fills you with... In every deep stroke of his cock, in every mark left behind, and in every praise sung, there is this irreplaceable strength that you cling to long after he's gone.

No hard truth would ever take that feeling away, and so you can't help the grin that manifests at his urgency. You can tell he wants nothing more than to sink into you immediately; he visibly struggles for a moment before opting to fully slide his pants and underwear off together until they're tossed over somewhere into the abyss. You half-expect him to whip his shirt off to join them, but instead he lunges forward and covers you again, muffling your whimpers with his mouth as one hand guides himself into your slick cunt.

You can feel the rumble in his chest the moment he's all the way in and you clench around him. He rests his forehead to yours and kisses you deeply before asking, "You ready for me, Y/N?"

The low echoing tone in his voice seems to answer in the momentary silence that follows.

You better be...

It sends a chill down to the marrow of your bones.

You barely whisper out, "Yes," and before the last letter leaves your mouth, Spencer has pulled back and snapped his hips forward, starting a slow and brutal pace inside you. Your legs spread wide naturally, giving him all the room in the world to position himself to handle you however he wants. He opts for holding your breasts in his palms, holding himself steady and pinning you down firmly to the couch cushions.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to start their descent to the back of your head, until they flutter shut and you're seeing stars behind closed lids. His pace quickens, still hard and determined, and yet you know he has more in him. Part of you itches to whine and beg for him to go farther, to push him to his limits and make him fuck you until you're nearly unconscious and delirious. And truthfully, that's still a high possibility, but you also wouldn't mind staying like this forever.

Then, one of his hands shifts and glides up to your neck again. You open your eyes and find Spencer staring down at your body with hair falling down in front of his face and sweat forming on his brow. His mouth hangs open and then grins when he catches you staring, the sight making you sigh out and grip the bottom hem of his shirt with your fingers for any kind of stability.

You're teetering on the edge of another orgasm, and by the way his face is slightly scrunching you can tell that he's not far behind you.

Just the flash-forward thought of him filling you up sends a jolt through your body, and before you know it, your legs are tensing again, and you're yelling out his name in broken syllables as a flood of warmth spreads through your body. For a split second you wonder if you've both come undone at the same time, but this feeling is different and more intense. Familiar.

The sounds filling the room only confirms your conclusion, and then Spencer's words as he pauses and feels you twitching around him.

"Twice in one night, huh?"

You force yourself to look at him, to see the unhinged pride pooling in his eyes as you finish and wait for him to follow suit. It both empowers and frightens you at the same time, an odd combination of feelings that you're sure to have a crisis about in the morning. But for now, you can't help but lean back and watch the ceiling as Spencer grips your hips and starts fucking you relentlessly into the couch.

Finally, he pauses at the hilt inside you and holds himself there, stuttering out expletives and coming. He pulls back and then forwards a couple times, gently rocking himself through it, and then his grip on your body loosens and you're able to pull him down to you.

You wrap your legs around him to keep him still, unwilling to let go of this feeling quite yet. It's there— that strength that he gives you, whether he knows it's there or not.

And in about an hour after you wash up and go to bed, he will be gone, and that strength will slowly fizzle out overnight, and like clockwork, you'll long to feel it again some time after the concern runs its course— After you replay the night in your head, over and over, analyzing every look and every touch and every reaction. After you frighten yourself into believing that he must be in tune with some level of evil to use you for rough sex and then leave you alone during the day and act like it never happened, even though it's literally what you agreed to.

The back and forth will only make living harder, and so you'll push it all away and focus on work. Until Spencer eventually brushes your arm with the back of his hand as he passes you, or hands you a cup of coffee with a kind smile, and then you'll come right back to wondering how such a gentle soul could hold such intensity. It will unnerve you until you tell yourself that it's just the complexities of the human condition and that every soul contains multitudes. You see it every day. It's not uncommon. It's completely normal.

The thought will calm you enough to get you through the rest of the afternoon, and when you get home, you'll settle in for the night without a second thought. You'll make dinner, watch a show, read a book, endlessly scroll online, or talk to Penelope about whatever show she's watching... You'll keep yourself busy.

And then the sun will set. Your house will grow quiet. You'll start to feel it: the small pit in your gut that only deepens when you hear a knock at the door. You'll meet Spencer Reid with a bright smile, pretending not to know why he could possibly be outside your door past 9pm.

So, yes. For now, you will hold onto him a little longer and bask in the afterglow of this exercise in 'stress relief'. Because even if it doesn't mean anything greater, and whether there's even anything within Spencer's motivations to decode in the first place... This moment in time, each time, is the most relieved you ever feel.

Your fingers flex gently over his shoulders, and through the soft, even exhaling of his breath across your cheek, you know for certain he feels the same.

*******

PERMANENT TAGLIST (tags not working are struck out):

@starrylang @xoxospencerreid @lovejules888 @awesomebooklover17 @yourmisosoup @gubswh0re @venomsvl @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @umbreonwolfy @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencerreidsmommy @abby2661 @youabitchhhh @reidsbabe @shemarmooresfedora @donald4spiderman @moonlight-2-6 @chaoticcatie @flipperpenguins @muffin-cup @centiaaa @foreveryoungxx3 @happymangospot @matthew-gray-gubler-lover

If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist, feel free to message me or leave a comment and I’ll get on it right away!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x fem!Reader smut #criminal minds fanfic

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websterss · 6 months ago

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SECOND CHANCE — TYLER HARRISON

SUMMARY: Let’s pretend the group survives because Tyler finds out his ex-girlfriend had his baby, so Tyler decides to stay.

WARNING(S): angst, fluff, mentions of pregnancy, back-and-forth banter

WORD COUNT: 6,603

PAIRING: Tyler Harrison x fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! Don't ask me where this idea came from, I don't know either. Feedback is always welcomed! <3

MASTERLIST

“Y/n?” You paused mid-step as you slowly turned around to garner the attention of Kay. You thanked the vendor and placed the meal inside your bag. Her curly hair wasn’t hard to miss amongst the colony.

“Kay…hi.” You offer her a small grin.

“Oh my god, I haven’t seen you in so long. What’s it been like three years.” You didn’t mind the hug she gave you as she stepped forward.

“Four actually.” You grin with a faint laugh patting her back gently. You can’t stand to bear a second of the awkward silence so you continue. Asking the dreaded question Kay had hoped to hear from you to report back to her brother when she returned home. “H-How is…everyone? Navarro? Bjorn?��Tyler? Yeah, what’s he been up to lately?” You pocket your hands into your coat.

“Miserable, lost without you.” You roll your eyes at her exaggerated confession. “It’s true!” Her grin widens. “He can’t shut up about you not since you broke up.”

“Sure…” You hum in genuine curiosity.

“He misses you. We all do…” You give her a faint smile, it not entirely reaching your eyes.

“When’s the last time you’ve seen Rain?” Thoughts of how her and Tyler had a small thing going flooded your mind. “I haven’t seen her since I left.”

“Rain?”

“Yeah?” You nod.

“I haven’t seen Rain since her parents died.”

“Oh…that's awful.” You gape in shock. “I hadn’t known.” You muttered.

“We didn’t either till the news spread. News around here travels fast.”

“Hopefully not too fast.” You breathe a laugh.

Kay stood back watching how your posture used to be better and how your comfort showed itself amongst the people. You had never shied away from anything apart from public speaking, looking at you now was like staring at your ghost. A hollow version of what she knew you to truly be like. For her, for Kay, news traveled at lightning speed, and you try to play it off as though motherhood doesn’t define your entire being at the moment. Kay was well aware of the secret you thought you did well to keep.

“How is she?” You don’t even look at her to try and understand what she means by ‘she’. You knew you had caught sight of her curly locks all those years ago when you picked Jup up from her lessons. You close your eyes, a heavy weighted sigh leaves you as you fight the urge to cry out.

“I assumed it was you. No one else stands and lingers like a creepy stalker.” You muster a faint laugh.

“Would it have made any difference then, from now, knowing about her?”

“No.” You look off to the side. Watching as the hustle and bustle of your colony’s people flowed and moved. “I still wouldn’t have told you…or him.”

“I think you should.” Kay suggests.

“I think you need to stay out of my business Kay.” You try and shove past her, but she doesn't let up easy.

"Y/n-" She grabs you by your arm.

"He left!" You whip around in her face. "He left, Kay. He was scared to be more and he walked away and got with Rain. I don't hold anything against her for it. She'd be stupid not to fall in love with him...I fell in love with him...and yet I was stuck trying to survive and eat for two on this stupid mining colonization." Your facade falling. “She’s three Kay…She'll never get to see the sun.” Your arms fall against your sides in a slump.

"Then come with us...we have a plan. Tyler has a plan!" Kay pleaded. "But you have to tell him. You have to tell him about her!"

"I don't think I can Kay, not now at least. I got to go!"

"No wait we can figure this all-"

"Kay, I got to go." You pleaded, then took off. Knowing it was never good to leave Jup on her own. She knew to stay, but even then, if you took longer than usual, she'd wake up and begin to wonder where you were.

You had pushed through your shelter's door with a huff as your frantic mind gazed at the empty cot. "Jup baby, I'm here!" You call out to her.

"Who goes 'dere?" You whip around. The voice was far from intimidating as the high-pitched tone suddenly appeared from under a sheet on your small dining table meant for two, and two only.

You emit a sigh of relief as you lower yourself to her eye level. You tilt your head at her weapon of choice. A spoon...

"Do okay?" She wonders as she peers past your shoulder. You had taught her in a manner of speaking that only her three-year-old mind could come to grasp and knowing your baby girl she was quick to catch on. Your heart melts at the anticipation behind her eyes. The braved expression she held for you, but it was her eyes, ones you wouldn't dare admit to Kay that you missed, that gave Jup away. Where she tried to be fearless, she was still just your baby, fear hidden behind those brown eyes– like his.

"Just like we practiced..." You haul her up into your arms and press a greeting onto her cheek. "How was your nap?"

"Good..." She murmurs.

"Yeah? That's good. Hey, guess what I brought?" You gasp enthusiastically. "I got us breakfast and dinner for this whole week!" You cheer, bouncing her on your hip. She brings her hands together and claps in excitement. "Maybe, next week we can score ourselves a rare steak. Heard those are hard to come by." You set her down and begin to unpack your bag with the food you were able to trade for scraps and material you had.

While you worked, Jup sat on your bed and began to play with her stuffed toy, a black bear made up from scraps of fabric and stuffed with leftovers of some pants that no longer fit. Jup's long dark hair is tied into a messy ponytail as she mumbles to herself quietly. You smile at her playing mindlessly.

You move around your small kitchen keeping one eye on her and the shadows of those that pass your shelter. You would wonder if Tyler would show up on one random night, knocking. You'd open the door and his gaze would meet yours then slowly meet that of the little girl whose hair and eyes reflected his own. You knew you'd never truly be able to get away from him. From the inevitable introduction of a father meeting his daughter for the first time. You just hoped that if the time ever did call for it. He wouldn't hate you for it like he does fiercely in your dreams.

After a little while, it's almost time to eat, so you go over to Jup and scoop her off of the bed. "Hey little lady, you hungry yet?" You ask her as she nods her head, her messy hair bobbing with her movement. You kiss her head and set her down in her seat at the small table. You give her a little portion of her dinner and a tall cup of water, then you take your seat. You sit in silence. Small sounds of chewing as she does her best to reach the tabletop. You offer her a smile as you poke at another stale cauliflower. It wasn't the best but there was more to complain about than the food on Jackson Star.

Jup begins to drink from her cup, but her interest is piqued when suddenly there's a knock at the door. She takes a small sip as she places the cup carefully back on the table, and looks to you for reassurance.

You were slightly taken aback. You hadn't been expecting anyone. For the most part, the only person who ever came to your door was your neighbor, Sue, she lent you stuff she thinks you'd find useful for you and little Juniper. But the knock sounded different. Heavier. You glance down at Jup then haul her up the seat. You tense hearing another knock before you make up your mind and decide the small closet is your safest bet. You set her down and go to close the door behind you. "Baby, you stay right here and stay quiet, I'll see who it is, okay?" You tell her as you slowly begin to stand up.

With one last glance at her, you close the door behind you. Another knock rings out and you take a small, deep breath in. Though another glance at the table you hastily store her leftovers away on the kitchen counter.

You walk over to the metal hatch door and unlatch it slowly. It opens with a small creak, revealing not your neighbor, nor an unfamiliar face, but Tyler. Your heart feels as though it's about to give out in your chest. You were frozen in place as you took in the sight of him. He never seemed to stray from the whole dark, tall, and handsome stereotype. It almost made you want to laugh, but you kept still as your hand gripped the door handle. "Ty?"

Tyler breathes out at the sight of you. How lovely you are. How beautiful you are. He never stopped reminding you how you'd always find ways to render him breathless. Albeit, it'd get him a punch or two in the shoulder but he would have complimented you over and over if it allowed him to see you smile once more. How he wished for it now, seeing your weary-eyed expression. You were breaking his heart and all you had barely done was look at him and call him 'Ty' after four years.

He didn't know quite how to approach you now. The look he earned from you was one of exhaustion. He could hardly read you, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. Not only was the thought of talking to you after so long terrifying, but the thought of messing it up terrified him further. "Hey." He mumbled through his thick accent, his eyes scanning how you had the door only slightly open. "Mind if I come in?"

Tyler almost grimaced seeing how you had closed the door an inch more, limiting the space between you both. He knew then and there the forward approach had been the wrong approach, especially when it came to you. You instantly put your walls up around you. He could see it from your tensed-up shoulders that you wanted to get him out of here as fast as you could.

The silence was loud between both of you. He wanted to say something. Maybe a compliment would get you to crack, but he wouldn't take the risk. He wouldn't risk scaring you off. Tyler's eyes had a look in them that showed his desperation to keep you from shutting the door in his face. He wouldn't hold it against you if you did. He could tell you wouldn't let him in. "Y/n-" He began.

"What are you doing here, Tyler?"

He almost visibly winces at the tone of your strained voice. He looks past you, into your home. Tyler's gaze lands on the small table with only one setting and his heart sinks. You notice his look and your grip tightens on the door. He couldn't help it. He had to ask. "Are you…alone right now?"

The look on your face doesn't waver. You know exactly where he's going with the question, yet you can't bring yourself to shut the door. You're frozen, but you refuse to answer him. It takes everything in you to keep your cool. You bite the inside of your cheek and avert your gaze.

He had wanted to say so much to you. To apologize for the way he had left you and treated you. To tell you he had missed you and to see you again without the fear of you shutting him out. But he found it hard to find all the words that he wanted to say. "Y/n, let me in." He stepped over the threshold as your hand shot out to stop his entry.

"Y/n-"

"What did Kay tell you?" You asked with grit in your voice. "I haven't seen your face in four years, why now? What the hell did she tell you?" You shove against his chest.

Tyler catches your arm as you shove him, he's holding it between you. He's taken by surprise by your reaction to him showing up. He looks down at you with his widened eyes as he tries to come up with the words. "She didn't- Y/n, just stop." He grabs hold of your wrists, stopping you from pushing against his hold. "I just want to talk to you. Just let me talk to you." Tyler pleads. He was scared. The anger you're releasing was almost unexpected but not unwelcome. Anger was something he could deal with. Anything was better than silence from you.

"Don't lie to me, Tyler." You say through gritted teeth, trying to pull your arm back to yourself. "Why are you here all of a sudden, huh?"

"Huh?" You go to shove him again. He grabs your wrists and uses his strength to shove you against the wall next to your door, pinning both of your arms on either side of your head. You look over in time to see him kick close your door. The slam drowning out your heavy breathing. Tyler looms over you, his chest rising and falling.

The air between you is thick and charged as he keeps you held against the wall. His chest was flush against yours and he held your wrists over your head as he stared down at you. You watched his gaze move from your eyes which burned into his own. He's staring at your heaving chest, the curve of your collarbone before he looks back down at your face. His own heart was pounding, so loud it almost drowned out the sound of your own. You could only hear one another's heavy breathing.

"Get out…" You slump back against the wall.

Tyler's expression falters. He doesn't listen, of course. No, he only grips your wrists tighter in response as he leans in closer. His body pushes against yours more until there's almost no space between you both. "No." He says to your request, his voice is heavy and deep. There's a desperation in his tone. "I'm not leaving till you talk to me." His lips are close to yours and he doesn't miss how your eyes lower to glance at them. "Only if you talk to me."

"The nerve you have to show your face now-" You begin to give it to him.

He takes it as he keeps you pinned to the wall. He almost flinches at the harshness in your voice, but he doesn't say anything about it. This was nothing new. Tyler always seemed to love it when you gave him an earful. He enjoyed seeing the frustration in your eyes, how your lips would get in a pout. He watched as you opened your mouth again only he spoke before you could voice your opinion. "Just shut up for a second and listen to me damn it!"

That shuts you up for him. He almost smirks but catches himself, though you can see him almost enjoying the look of annoyance in your eyes. He didn't miss the way your eyes once again glanced down at his parted lips. "No more yelling. Just listen." Tyler mutters, his head moving slightly closer.

"You're yelling though…" You furrow your brows at him.

He almost chuckles, almost. How stubborn you still were. But he was trying to be serious with you for once. He lifts his hold around your wrists, his nose almost touching yours. "Because you're being stubborn-headed." He lets his voice soften as he looks at you.

"I think you're just being a gigantic dick."

Tyler raises an eyebrow at you now. He almost wanted to laugh at you. What he does instead is tighten his grip on you again as he stares down at you. "And you're being a pain in my arse." He responds to you with a huff. "Always have been, always will be."

"Tyler…what did Kay say to you?"

That stops him and his cocky demeanor suddenly falters. Tyler is silent for a moment, his lips in a straight line as he refuses to meet your gaze. "She said…" He begins to say but almost feels ashamed to tell you. "She said that I have-"

"Mommy…do good?"

Too engrossed by each other you had forgotten about the small human you had tucked away from sight. Her voice was small and curious. You look past Tyler, your eyes instantly falling onto Juniper.

You almost gasped, as did Tyler as both of your heads snapped to look at Jup in the moment of surprise. She was standing by the small little counter you had, still holding her stuffed bear tight in her grip. The sight of her causes Tyler to slowly step back away from you, his eyes are widened in disbelief.

"-a daughter." He freezes, and his shoulders drop as does your heart at the sight of Jup who was supposed to stay hidden, and in that moment Tyler looks back over at you. He watches you as he sees the guilt wash over your features.

You grimace as you go over and haul her up into your arms. Her head laid against your shoulder, clinging to her bear in her little hands.

"Ty, this is Juniper. Your daughter."

Tyler's mind went a mile a minute as he took in the sight of the little girl staring at him from the safety of your arms. He could see the guilt in your eyes, almost as though you were caught doing something you weren't meant to be doing. He looks down at his daughter, her messy black locks and big dark eyes. The girl was a mini version of himself. Apart from her ears, smile, and nose. She was his.

"I almost tore a new one into Kay after she got home and told me. Almost didn't believe her." His laugh fainted. "All this time?"

You had gotten her tray of food and sat her down on her chair. Juniper obliged but still kept a cautious eye on the random man in her home. "Tyler, you didn't want this." You gesture between you both. "You wanted an out, so I let you go."

Tyler couldn’t take his eyes off of the little girl. His daughter. He couldn’t believe it. He knew Kay was never one to lie about something so big, but to see it right before his eyes was a completely different story. “You could’ve told me.” He said, more quietly than he thought possible.

"You would have stayed for her. When I needed you to stay because of her, and because of me. But you didn't want anything serious, and I wasn't gonna sit by and watch you stay for a baby, not when you couldn't even look me in the eye anymore."

Those words hit him hard, almost like a punch in the gut. He wanted to defend himself. You were right. He couldn't deny that you were. He had wanted freedom, he wanted off this colony, a new life. No strings attached. But now standing there, he wasn't so sure anymore. He could've had so much more than what he had settled for. He had pushed you away and ran because he was scared of something real. And as he looked at his daughter, he could see the proof of his cowardice.

“You should have told me,” Tyler repeated, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. He looked back at you. “I had a right to know.”

"No Ty, you didn't. Not then." You deny.

"And why not??" Tyler's voice rises. He couldn't believe it. He had a daughter this whole time. He had gotten you pregnant and ran away and you hid that fact from him for almost four years. “You decided that on your own.” He retorted back. Tyler took a step forward, his hands went to his pocket, in a desperate attempt to look indifferent. He watched as you sat down beside Jup, running a hand along her messy hair. "I should have been a part of her life. I should have been with you- Y/n, I had a right to know about her, damn it.”

"You left me. You gave me no other choice." You peer up at him through watered eyes. "I needed you…"

“And I needed space goddamn it.” Tyler snapped. He took a step back, as though to distance himself from you. But when he saw the tears in your eyes, something inside him ached. He wanted to walk over and comfort you, but he didn’t. He stood there like a jackass, watching you fight back tears. “I just needed time to think…I couldn’t breathe when I was with you. You overwhelmed me.” He admits, his shoulders slumped.

"Oh…" Your voice dies down at his words. You muster a nod before you look over at Jup watching the scene unfold before her.

She was watching with big curious eyes, taking in the atmosphere of this new man that was in her home. Tyler could see the similarities between himself in the little girl. How she looked and moved, it was as though he was looking at a reflection of himself in the small child. He watched as you smiled at her, reassuring her that everything was fine.

Tyler’s breath gets stuck in his chest as he watches how you are with his daughter. The two of you looked and moved naturally together. And here he was raising his voice wondering if she thought the worst of him. He notices your change in demeanor and suddenly, he’s kicking himself. He hadn’t meant for it to come out that way. He hadn’t meant for those words to be backhanded. But they were and he hurt you once more.

"I'm sorry." You glance up at him as he starts. "That came out wrong, I didn't mean for it to. Heat of the moment…" He palms his face. Tyler sighs his mind and heart racing. He’s hurt you by saying that. He hadn't meant it in that way, but he knew how it sounded. “Y/n, that’s not what I meant.”

"Yeah, but you still said it Tyler. Such a shitty thing to say too!"

“Yeah, I did and I’m sorry, okay.” He lets out a frustrated sigh as he runs his hands along his face again. It was frustrating. It was all so damn frustrating. Everything about this was. He was frustrated for hurting you, for saying those words and he was frustrated for having a daughter that he should have known about years ago. “Damn it-“ He mumbles, shaking his head.

"You know the more you keep swearing in front of our kid, the more bad habits she'll be likely to pick up."

That shuts him up.

Tyler lets out a huff as he looks down at his daughter. He takes a few steps towards you and Jup. He’s watching you, how you caress back her hair and keep her reassured as you try to act like everything is normal. He stops to stand beside her. He looks down at her, taking in the details of her face now that he’s up close to her. He smiles softly for her, hoping to appear as less of a threat to her.

"You're still a jackass..." You mutter under your breath, but the smirk that grows on his lips tells you he heard you loud and clear.

He snorts softly at that, unable to deny it. Tyler doesn’t hesitate to lean down and whisper a response back to you. “And you’re still the love of my life.”

You still. Frozen from the shock and complete obscurity of his words.

Tyler grins at your reaction. He straightens up, hands back in his pockets. His eyes are almost mischievous as he watches you falter. “Perhaps I should have kept that to myself.” He teases.

"Yeah, that might've been wiser." You huff with a laugh.

“Yeah, I’ve never been one to make smart decisions.” Tyler chuckles. He leans himself against the table, keeping his eyes on you. He’s watching how you still have a hand on top of Jup’s messy hair as a reassuring touch. He nods his head at the sight. “She looks like me, but it’s your ears.” He teases. "You're smile and nose."

"Well thank god, it wasn't your ears."

"Hey, what's wrong with my ears?" He says as he puts a hand over his heart, the other one goes to his ear and acts offended by your statement.

You feign a grimace.

Tyler huffs under his breath at your expression. "Oh, real mature." He grumbles as he crosses his arms, a pout visible on his face. "You never had a problem with my ears before."

You surrender.

Tyler grins at the sight, watching you throw in the towel. He takes his hands from his chest and ear, leaning himself down again so he gets close to you.

“I do mean it though. You are and always have been the love of my life."

"I'm a loss in your life, Tyler." You correct.

His head almost snaps back in disbelief at your statement. Tyler shakes his head. "No, you have never been a loss to me. You are- you have only ever been the best part of my life. I just-" He pauses as he suddenly feels himself get frustrated with himself all over again. "Damn it, can you just stop putting words in my mouth, and listen to the fact that I never stopped loving you! Even when I left to train. Even when we were over. I never stopped."

"Tyler this is crazy-"

"No this isn't crazy!" Tyler snaps again, but his tone quickly deflates as he looks to make sure that Jup hasn't heard him. He takes a breath as he runs a hand over his hair again in frustration. "It’s not. You're everything I want. Everything I have ever wanted. You're the light of my life, and I can’t let you go again. I have spent so many years miserable that-"

"Kay did mention that." He gave you a look. "Sorry."

"-I was never happy when I was away from you, I didn't know how miserable I truly was until I left."

"It's not that easy for me. Tyler, you just told me a few minutes ago that you couldn't breathe around me, that I overwhelmed you. Make it make sense!"

"You do overwhelm me, damn it!" Tyler snaps again, he stands straight now, and he can feel a rush of adrenaline suddenly running through his body. "You make my heart race a million miles a minute. You're the only person who can piss me off and make me feel like a damn fool in love. You don't take my shit and make me want to kiss you every time we've argued. You make me feel so much all at once and sometimes I can't handle it. But I don't want to feel numb anymore! I didn't know what I had until I lost it. Until I lost you. No one else makes me feel that…god not even Rain."

"Oh god...Tyler." You ran a hand down your face.

Tyler sighs as he watches you, seeing your expression change yet again. "I got my second chance right here with you. With Juniper. Us."

You tilt your head hearing his words. "Ty…"

Tyler reaches over and grabs your hand, it surprises you by the sudden touch. He gently pulls you back up to your feet, getting you to stand in front of him. He’s got a tight grip on your hand like if he lets go you might disappear. "I want us. I want you. I want you and our kid and I-" He struggles for the right words that he so desperately wants to say. "I want this family more than anything."

"You do?"

Tyler can hear the uncertainty in your voice. He hates it. He reaches up and cups your face with his hand, forcing you to look at him directly. He gazes into your eyes, almost pleading for you to see that he’s being sincere. "Yes," He answers simply, quietly. He leans in, resting his head against yours. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Tyler if you leave us, I will never forgive you-"

"I won’t." He exclaims. He’s gripping your hand in his like a vice. "I’m not leaving. Not this time. I made that mistake before, you’re not getting rid of me." He gently presses his forehead against yours. He’s looking at you carefully. "…do you believe me? Do you trust me?"

Your faint nod had him relaxing.

Tyler lets out a relieved sigh at your nod. He’s got all of this energy, adrenaline, and fear coursing through his body and it takes all of it to not just grab you and kiss you. Instead, he just pulls you against him and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight. He closes his eyes as he buries his face in your hair, pressing kisses into your skin.

You wrap your arms around him and inhale his scent. Your hug only lasts so long when Juniper has you both pulling away again. "Mommy."

You can both hear her soft voice and when you and Tyler pull away from each other, you see that little Jup has come to stand beside you both. Her bear and now a picture you were all too familiar with in her hands. She’s looking up at you with her big brown eyes, and her messy hair. She tugs on your shirt with a soft pout of her lips.

"What do you have there baby? Is this for me?" You haul her up into your arms. Tyler lingers behind you, watching your interactions.

Jup happily climbs up into your arms and she is careful of the picture she’s holding as she tucks her face into your neck. She’s still holding onto it tightly between her little hands as she mumbles something against your skin, but her words are muffled. She pulls back slightly so she can hold up the picture to you.

Tyler registers what is it before you can turn it over. "You kept it."

Your eyes are now fixated on the picture in your hands. It’s the picture you had taken the day you found out you were pregnant with Jup. Your hair was done, and you dawned one of your nicer shirts. Both you and Tyler were looking at each other while his arms were wrapped around your waist and his chin was resting against your shoulder. He had kept the picture in the inside pocket of his jacket for a while. Now you held onto it.

In the picture, the essence of your happiness had been captured. It was one of the happiest days you had ever felt. The month that followed after that day. You tried to forget it ever happened.

Yes, you had kept it. You’d kept it under yours and Jup's cot all these years.

"You gave it to me remember."

"I would've thought you'd thrown it out by now."

You were both silent for what felt like an eternity as you looked down at the picture, running your thumb over your faces.

"No, I couldn't." You admit, softly. "It meant too much to throw away. Besides, it's the closest thing I got to an ultrasound around here." You shrug.

Jup peers out of your neck as she watches the two of you talk, still not quite registering who this man is. “Who?” She says, with her head at a tilt.

"Jup this is Tyler, Tyler…He's your-" You peer up at him not knowing what to officially label him as.

Tyler clears his throat as he’s suddenly put on the spot. He looks at her, seeing how she looks at him with such curiosity. He feels his heart suddenly flutter again when he hears the word your, like some sort of proof of belonging.

“I’m your dad,” He answers confidently, smiling softly at her and her messy head of hair. "Your daddy." His accent coming through. "I'm here to stay if you'll have me. If your mommy will have me." He peers cheekily into your eyes, where you have to fight the urge to roll your own.

"What do you think Jup. Should we let him stay?"

Jup’s eyes go wide at the question and her interest is perked by the sudden proposal. Her head suddenly pops away from your neck as she looks at you and she nods her head, with her messy hair flailing. It was a rather eager nod on her part. "Yes!"

"Yeah?" Tyler's grin widens.

Jup nods her head. "Yes!" She confirms again, more excitedly this time. She's looking down at Tyler with those big brown eyes, and she's got a smile on her face. Tyler leans in and pecks her curls, grinning from ear to ear, knowing he has her approval. "Looks like I'm sticking around then, Jup's orders," He replies, meeting your gaze.

"Guess so, soldier."

"Guess so." Tyler repeats back, with that damn smirk of his. He can’t take his eyes off you. He’s watching you like you’re something he's finally got to have again. It makes his heart clench.

Tyler takes you by surprise when he’s suddenly close enough to touch you. He brings his hand to your neck, cupping it in the palm of his large hands as he leans in, using the leverage to pull you into him. His lips are on yours in an instant, firm and eager against your mouth. Your surprised gasp has your mouth open to his and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

You use one of your hands to pull him closer.

Tyler pulls away, breathing heavily against your lips. "I've been wanting to do that since you opened the door." His chuckle makes your grin widen.

"So stupid…" You shake your head.

Tyler lets out a huff as he grins. He cups the side of your face with his hand, resting his forehead against yours. “Damn you. You drive me mad, woman.”

"Yeah? Well, you're gonna have to get used to it around here."

"I think I'll manage. I'm tougher than I look." Tyler grins as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. He's close enough that you can hear his accent through his words as he peers into your eyes.

"No, you're not…"

"No?" Tyler’s eyes were narrow as he picked up a bit of a teasing tone in your voice. "Oh, it's like that then, is it?" He says as he raises an eyebrow. "You hear this Jup, your mum says I'm not tough." He feigns hurt.

"Tuff." Jup repeats back to him. "Tuff, tuff, tuff."

Tyler grins. "That's right, Jup." He says as he gently reaches out and boops her nose with his finger, earning a little giggle out of her and the sound makes his heart warm.

"Please don't encourage her. She doesn't need to learn bad habits from her dad."

"Oh come on, she’s not going to pick up my bad habits…" Tyler glances between you and her. "Besides, she already has your cautiousness, so it's too late."

"Well, I'd rather that than have her watch your macho tough guy act unfold. Jackson Star knows I've seen enough of it."

Tyler huffs. "It’s not macho. It’s called having a backbone." He snaps back, with a tone that you know is more playful than serious. "I’m teaching my daughter to be strong."

"I think you mean thick-headed, excuse me it's time for her bedtime." You walk around him to get her settled onto the cot.

"Hey! I'm not thick-headed." Tyler protests as he gives you a look of disbelief. He glances over at Jup who is sitting quietly in your arms and suddenly he looks concerned. “W-Wait, bedtime? How early does she sleep?”

"Tyler, It's a quarter past eleven." You gesture to the hologram clock on the small counter. Tyler turns to look at it.

He blinks. "It’s that late already?" He exclaims in disbelief as he looks from you to the clock and back again.

“Quarter past eleven. No wonder she’s so tired,” He muses as he looks back over Jup. Sure enough, your daughter is fighting to keep her eyes open, and her head is slowly drooping against your shoulder. "Damn, I guess I didn’t realize we had been talking for that long."

You shift her so that her head is on the pillow you share. "I put her down early, but you showed so I really couldn't at the moment. The best I could do is get her to eat her meal."

Tyler steps to your side as he watches you gently arrange her on the cot. He can’t help but smile as he watches you make sure Jup is comfortable before you give her a soft kiss on her forehead. “She’s a big girl.” He muses, softly, as he watches her little head fall back against the pillow and the even little puffs of her breath.

"I wouldn't say that. She still needs mommy to tuck her in."

Tyler glances at you as he grins. He lets out a huff of a laugh. “I’m guessing she inherited that from you, huh?” He teases. "Does mommy need daddy to tuck her in?"

"No." You huff with a laugh, shoving his shoulder.

Tyler laughs as he rubs his shoulder. “Ow.” Despite it being a very soft shove. He glances down at you, his eyes scanning over your features. "You are just as stubborn as I remember you being. I'm telling you, love." He muses as he steps closer to you, using his height to try and intimidate you.

"Just like you remember?" You hum.

"Yeah…" Tyler slowly nods as he takes another step closer to you. He stands in front of you, and you have to have your head tilted back to look up at him. "Just like I remember. Stubborn. And beautiful. A deadly combination, I’m telling you."

"I'm glad you came." You admit. Tyler’s smile softens at your words. He reaches down and takes your hand in his, squeezing it.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” He apologizes, softly.

"Took you about four years...but who's counting." You shrug.

Tyler rubs the back of his neck embarrassed. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m sorry it took me a while to get my head out of my own arse." He glances at you, looking sheepish. “I’m here now, though. I’m not going anywhere else.”

"Good, 'cause if you do. I’ll throw you into outer space." You lean in and peck his lips for a sweet kiss.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you would.” A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest.

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