#burned dreams

[critical-quoter]

Don't just accept the hand you've been dealt in life. Sometimes, you need to be the dealer.

Burned Dreams - Neva Altaj

[bookhighlightss]

Goodreads 1 star review of Burned dreams

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

my favorite "bad" dream is being back in high school. bc at first it sucks but invariably i realize "no wait, I already finished with this bullshit."

and then i instigate a riot

[whimsyvixen]

Ask me what type of romantic dreams I have at night.

The man in my dreams:

(He wasn't happy I escaped from my gilded cage)

[ruubesz-draws]

I saw Burning Godzilla running with a knife in my dream last night.

This is EXACTLY how he looked y'all I ain't even lying.

[hyuckiefluff]

casual | mark lee

pairing: idol! mark lee x waitress! fem. reader genre: fluff, strangers to lovers wc: 8k summary: you wouldn’t normally fall for a guy who left his number on a dinner bill. too bad that guy was mark fucking lee. content warnings: slightly suggestive content (making out), light cursing, food mentioned, parasocial themes, reader works a service job, a very overworked mark lee :(. no explicit smut in this part. a/n: hiii before anyone yells at me—yes, i know this isn’t the haechan fic i’m supposed to be working on (promise i’m still on it!!) but listen… i went to the smtown concert last week and it fully reignited my delusions, so i wrote this as a coping mechanism :P ik we’ve all been out with friends maybe at a restaurant, and thought, “what if my bias walked in right now?” right?? that’s basically the entire premise of this fic. pretty unrealistic but super fun to write & i hope it’s just as fun to read! also no smut… yall know what that means lol if you want a part 2... just say the word. ps: if you’re ever at an italian restaurant, do yourself a favor and get the gnocchi. trust me.

giving up your one free day to cover someone else’s shift wasn’t how you planned to spend saturday. but when your coworker begged with teary eyes and a story about her sick cat, saying no felt impossible.

so instead of sinking into your couch with a pint of chocolate ice cream and pride and prejudice on repeat, you were hustling through a saturday night at one of the city’s busiest restaurants.

it was hour six of your shift and you were at that breaking point where one starts fantasizing about quitting—or at least hiding in the walk-in freezer for five peaceful minutes.

any weekend here was a carnage with nonstop orders, zero patience, and customers who thought yelling would grill a steak faster.

but it was finally past eleven which meant the dinner rush had slowed and the only remaining stragglers were either couples too in love to notice the time or office workers too tired to cook at home. just two more hours, you thought to yourself.

“y/n! table four,” your coworker called, rushing past with a stack of empty plates.

you snapped out of your daze and walked over, expecting tired business executives or another couple feeding each other breadsticks. instead, you made eye contact with the two people you least expected to see here.

mark lee and johnny suh were looking right at you.

your heart dropped to your ass. for a second, you actually considered turning around. but even with your brain buffering, you knew you had to keep it together. the last thing you wanted was to make them uncomfortable.

you stopped beside their table, immediately recognizing the other two who had their backs to you as haechan and jungwoo. internally, you were combusting, but externally you prayed your expression didn’t scream that you were seconds from melting into the floor.

“hi, welcome to cecconi’s,” you said, voice steady enough despite your heart hammering your ribs.

when you handed over their menus, your fingers brushed mark’s briefly and you hoped he didn’t notice you flinch. that’s when you noticed the book peeking out of the front pocket of his hoodie.

you recognized the cover instantly— south of the border, west of the sun by murakami.

you cleared your throat, smiling before you could stop yourself. “that’s a good one.”

mark’s eyes followed where you were pointing and his eyebrows shoot up when he realized “wait… you’ve read this?”

you nodded, trying to be casual, as if you hadn’t picked that book apart alone on your bedroom floor at 2 a.m. two months ago. “i’ve read all of his stuff. but this one was a whole different experience.”

“i literally can’t put it down.” mark said, angling his body to yours with excitement. you could see he was tired but the small talk seemed to give him an energy boost.

“right? anything by murakami makes me feel like i’m eavesdropping on my own memories,” you said, mostly to yourself.

“that’s exactly it!” he said, eyes going wide. “i never knew how to put it into words before.” you had to look away before you got caught smiling at how boyish he looked when he got excited.

the other members stared with amused expressions on their faces, so you quickly straightened up and went back into server mode.

“right… uhm, our special tonight is black truffle gnocchi in a garlic cream reduction, topped with parmesan and chive oil. would you like something to drink while you look over the menu?”

“what kind of beers do you have?” johnny asked, leaning back in his seat.

you rattled off the list, stepping in to point them out on the menu. your hand was visibly shaking, but you hoped they’d chalk it up to general social awkwardness and not the fact that your four favorite idols were sitting in front of you.

“just water for me,” mark said softly. despite his smile, you could clearly hear how strained his voice was.

“great, i’ll bring those right out.”

they must’ve come straight from the venue. tonight’s show—the very one you’d missed because of this shift—had ended less than two hours ago. and now they were here, in your section, eating dinner. 

you walked to the bar, filled the glasses as requested except for mark’s. for him, you brewed a mug of hot water, dropped in a slice of lemon, a swirl of honey, and a small nub of ginger. it wasn’t even on the menu but something about his tired eyes and strained voice made you move on instinct.

you brought the tray back with all the drinks, placing them down carefully. when you reached mark, you set the mug in front of him.

“i hope this is okay,” you said quietly. “honey-ginger tea. it’s good for your throat.”

mark blinked, taken off guard. “oh… thank you.” he looked down at the mug, then back up at you. “seriously. that’s really thoughtful.”

you just smiled, brushing a stray hair behind your ear. “are you guys ready to order?”

they each placed their orders, nothing too extravagant. jungwoo wanted pasta, johnny asked for a steak medium rare, and haechan—after a dramatic five minute debate with himself—settled on the truffle gnocchi. mark went last.

“can i get the steak medium rare? and the mashed potatoes instead of the fries, if that’s okay,” he asked, glancing up again, voice still carrying that soft exhaustion.

“of course,” you said, jotting it down. “i’ll get those in for you.”

you dropped the order slip at the kitchen window, still feeling weirdly out of sync with your body. it didn’t help that you had to keep circling their table to serve other guests. table five had just ordered dessert, the group behind them needed their wine refilled, and your feet barely touched the floor before you were moving again. 

still, awareness prickled at the back of your neck whenever you passed their table.

you turned your head slightly, pretending to scan the room. mark was looking right at you but quickly glanced away, suddenly very invested in the tea in front of him.

you hesitated. maybe they needed something?

smoothing your apron, you walked back to their table. your heart thudded way harder than it needed to, but you managed a smile.

“everything okay here?” you asked.

mark cleared his throat, shaking his head as a faint flush crept up his neck. “we’re good. thanks, though.”

johnny’s lips twitched, and haechan was very clearly hiding a smirk behind his glass.

you smiled again, warmth rising in your chest at how shy he looked. “no worries. food should be out soon.”

back behind the bar, you tried to focus. really, you did. but your eyes kept drifting back to their table. thankfully, they seemed too wrapped up in their conversation to notice. every now and then, though, mark’s gaze would flicker your way.

he’s probably just zoning out, you told yourself. or exhausted, probably both. don’t be weird about it.

still… he kept looking. did you have something on your face? was it obvious you recognized them? god, what if he thought the tea was too much?

you groaned softly and buried your face in your hands when no one was looking.

pull it together, y/n. finish the shift. freak out later.

they are pretty quickly and eventually, their table quieted down. it was past midnight now, and the restaurant was finally starting to shut down. you printed their bill, then hesitated, chewing your lip as your pulse ticked higher.

should i?

this was your shot. it was maybe a little silly and borderline embarrassing, but if you didn’t say something now, you’d regret it forever.

before you could second-guess yourself any more, you scribbled a note at the bottom of the receipt:

"hii, hope this isn’t weird but i’m a really big fan. you’re amazing and i hope you enjoyed your meal and that the tea helped. get some rest tonight! :)"

you took a breath, walked back over, and placed it gently in the center of the table.

“here’s your bill,” you said quietly. “no rush, of course.”

mark looked up first. the smile he gave you was a little tired, but genuine.

“thank you,” he said warmly.

you nodded and stepped away, legs wobbling slightly as you disappeared into the back.

it’s done, you told yourself. no going back now.

as you busied yourself cleaning other tables, you watched from the corner of your eye as they got up. haechan said something that made mark laugh quietly, eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your stomach flutter helplessly.

then they were gone.

you waited a few extra minutes before heading over just to be sure. as you cleared the plates, you reached for the bill with your heart already racing, though you told yourself not to expect anything.

but when you opened the leather folder, your breath hitched.

they’d left a generous tip—but that wasn’t what caught your eye. there was something written under your message, a response scribbled quickly in neat handwriting:

"thanks for taking care of us tonight. especially the tea! :)"

followed by a number.

your heart kicked so hard you had to brace a hand on the table edge. there was no name at all, just the number. the ink looked a little smudged near the dash like whoever wrote it had closed the presenter in a hurry.

holy shit.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

it was past one when you finally made it home, hair smelling like garlic butter and burnt steak. the city lay quiet, your apartment even quieter, yet your brain refused to join the calm.

with a tired sigh, you tossed your bag onto the couch and collapsed beside it, fingers still gripping the bill tightly.

you’d reread the message ten times already. the ink was even more smudged now from your fingers, but the number was still clear.

you exhaled loudly, then groaned into a throw pillow.

“what the hell is happening.”

it had to be mark. right? it felt obvious. 

then again, maybe another member had simply appreciated the gesture and thanked you on behalf of mark. after all, their handwriting wasn't exactly familiar. you’d seen them a few times on signed albums or online fan letters, but not enough to be certain. 

suddenly determined, you sat upright, snapped a quick photo, and zoomed in immediately.

“this is insane,” you muttered.

 but that didn’t stop you from opening a tab to search: mark lee handwriting.

this wasn’t your best moment. you were tired, emotionally compromised, and clearly spiraling. still you opened a second tab and went deeper until you were staring at stan twitter handwriting threads for half an hour.

after many more side-by-sides, you sat back and stared at the screen like it could confess to you.

“it looks like his,” you whispered.

just text him. what's the worst that could happen?

the thought alone conjured every embarrassing scenario possible and made you nearly throw your phone across the room. how would you even start that conversation?

“hi, is this mark lee from nct? because i’m lowkey in love with you and i really hope you're the one who left your number at my workplace tonight?”

your heart nearly stopped at the thought. you glanced at the clock again—2:17 a.m.

yeah. no. you needed to lie down. you’d sleep on it. calm down a bit and gain some perspective.

but three days passed.

three whole days. that’s how long you spent agonizing over a single text. you'd written and deleted at least twenty drafts—too casual, too eager, too weird. one even included a joke you cringed at the second you typed it, and deleted just as fast.

he’s probably already back in korea, you reminded yourself while folding napkins at the restaurant on tuesday. fan accounts had posted airport photos before you even got out of bed. mark in a beanie and headphones, eyes puffy with exhaustion.

two more days passed. eventually, courage outweighed dread.

on thursday night, curled up in your pajamas, you stared at the too-bright glow of your phone while netflix asked if you were still watching. just do it, you told yourself. again.

you opened a new message. typed. erased. retyped. your pulse pounded, drowning out mr. darcy’s proposal in the background.

hi! this is y/n, the server from cecconi’s last saturday night. i know you’re probably crazy busy, but i just wanted to say thanks again for coming in. hope you’re resting well :)

it was friendly and not too over the top… right?

you hit send and immediately shoved the phone under your blanket, like that could somehow shield you from the rejection.

an hour passed, then three more, and nothing. you forced yourself to sleep, pretending the tight knot in your chest wasn’t disappointment. the next morning, you checked your phone before even opening both eyes.

still nothing. not even a read receipt.

it’s fine. they were idols. they were busy. you’d waited too long anyway. the group was back in rehearsals, buried in schedules. who had time to answer a text from a random server in another country?

another day passed with no reply. you tried to talk yourself down. maybe it wasn’t even his number. maybe it was a manager’s. maybe his phone was off. maybe international sims are weird. maybe—

“why did you wait so long,” you muttered into the couch, face buried in a pillow.

you were just about ready to let it go when your phone buzzed softly against the coffee table.

your heart nearly launched itself out of your chest. you scrambled for it, almost knocking over the entire table in the process.

a new message.

sorry!! things got crazy once we got back to korea. i’m really glad you texted though. and we’re resting (sort of haha). it’s mark btw :)

you stared at the screen.

read it. then read it again. and again.

warmth flooded your chest. you'd been right.

it was him.

your thumb hovered over the keyboard, brain scrambling for something to say. but for the first time in days, all you could do was smile.

you hadn’t realized how easily a single text could flip your whole mood until he replied. you must’ve read that message ten times before you even responded.

somehow, the conversation flowed naturally from there.

it started with casual back-and-forths. he’d talk about the tour, and you about your shifts. it quickly turned more personal though like blurry late-night snack pics from his studio, or mirror selfies of your server fits before dinner rushes.

none of it felt forced. but still… what was this?

you’d be wiping down table six or pulling espresso shots for a regular who never tipped, and suddenly your phone would buzz with a text message.

mark: can’t believe you’ve never seen inception…

you: maybe i was busy having friends

he sent back a string of laughing emojis and a photo of his laptop playing it.

mark: you’re watching it with me next time. no excuses.

next time.

you didn’t know what that meant, but it echoed in your head for the rest of the shift.

by the second week, it wasn’t just texts.

sometimes he’d call when your time zones aligned, and you were both free. once while you were folding laundry. another while he walked home from the studio, breath fogging the cold air as he complained about his busted heater.

“i feel like an old man,” he said once, voice scratchy. “my knees hurt”

“you’re twenty-five.”

“and breaking down.”

you laughed until your stomach hurt. he was quiet for a second, then said, “i like your laugh.”

you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright.

a month later came the first video call.

it was early morning. you were still half-asleep, texting with one eye open, when your screen lit up with a facetime request. you froze.

no makeup. puffy eyes. pimple cream still on your chin. but your fingers accepted the call before your brain could stop you.

he was lying down, hoodie half over his face.

“oh thank god,” he mumbled. “i thought you weren’t gonna pick up.”

“i almost didn’t,” you laughed, pulling the covers up to hide half your face. “you caught me in a vulnerable state.”

his eyes crinkled. “you look cute.”

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you just tucked your face further into the blanket.

after a few hours, the call fell into a comfortable silence, his eyes starting to flutter shut as you both lay in your respective beds.

you should’ve hung up, but you didn’t. you just stayed on the call, watching him sleep.

video calls became routine after that.

at first, they were short—ten, maybe fifteen minutes. he’d call after practice, his hair a mess, face still damp with sweat. the phone would be propped against his water bottle as he peeled off his hoodie and complained about sore calves.

but the calls started stretching longer. sometimes he was lying on a hotel bed, cheek pressed into the pillow, telling you about his comeback preparations. other times, he wandered through whatever city he was in, showing you the neon signs, quiet side streets, and cafés tucked into corners no tourist would ever find.

“i’ll take you here one day,” he said once, camera panning to a ramen shop. “i mean… if you ever visit.”

you didn’t answer right away. just smiled and pretended the idea didn’t stick in your chest like a pebble you couldn’t shake loose.

you started saving little things throughout the day just to tell him later. customer stories, songs that reminded you of him, strange headlines you knew would make him laugh. without realizing it, your brain made notes labeled tell mark this later.

he did the same. he sent you photos of whatever snack he was eating on set, told you about a dream where you both worked in a space bakery, asked what you thought of new songs he was writing. he never sent full demos, just a few seconds here and there—but it still felt intimate.

you started noticing things you hadn’t, even after all your years as a fan. how he bit the soft skin of his knuckles when he was anxious or the fact that he brushed his teeth for 6 minutes (yes, you counted).

neither of you brought up what this was. and maybe that was okay.

still, on some nights, you’d wonder does he text other people like this? has he done this before, video calls, sleepy laughter and quietly sharing his day?

you never asked.

you didn’t want to ruin the quiet magic of it all by needing too much too soon.

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

mark eased you into his life bit by bit.

on a random thursday night, you were sprawled on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through tiktok when your phone buzzed. you smiled automatically when you saw his name and hit accept.

but it wasn’t him when the call connected.

“yo! she’s real!” johnny’s voice boomed through the speaker, far too loud and way too amused.

you blinked. “wait—what?”

the screen shook as mark scrambled to get the phone back. “okay, okay, stop—hyung, give it back!”

“nice to meet you,” jungwoo added brightly in the background. “finally!”

haechan’s face popped into view next. he hovered close to the camera, flashing a crooked grin. “she’s the one, right? the reason he’s always giggling at his phone like a loser.”

they were all speaking in korean, except for johnny—who made sure you caught the gist. you weren’t fluent, but you knew enough to piece it together. their tone said a lot, anyway.

“what did he say?” you asked, laughing nervously.

johnny leaned in. “he said mark’s obsessed with you.”

mark groaned in the background. “don’t translate that.”

“he talks about you,” haechan added in english, still half-hiding behind jungwoo but clearly enjoying himself. “all. the. time.”

you stared at the screen, wide-eyed, face already burning. “oh god—wait, we just—”

“aigoo, she’s cute,” jungwoo said with a grin, nudging haechan’s shoulder. “mark, you’re done for.”

mark finally got his phone back, his flushed face filling the screen. he was breathless from laughing.

“i’m so sorry,” he mumbled. “that was… i didn’t mean for that to happen.”

you were still blushing but grinning too. “so you talk about me all the time?”

he covered his face with one hand. “please. don’t start, they won’t let me live this down”

after that night, it became a running thing. sometimes you’d call just to talk to mark and end up ambushed by his members. taeyong once popped into frame with a plate of fruit, offering you a piece through the screen like you could actually take it. “for energy,” he said in halting English, then smiled and wandered off.

chenle appeared a few times asking random questions as if you’d been friends forever, one time he asked “do you like mark as much as he likes you?”

you sputtered something while mark tried (and failed) to shut him up.

renjun showed up once too, squinting at the screen. “so this is the girl,” he said, then walked off dramatically without another word.

it was chaotic, awkward, and constantly embarrassing but it also made your chest ache in the best way. knowing you weren’t some secret he was hiding. you were someone he wanted them to know.

and then one night, a few weeks later, mark called with a different kind of energy.

“guess what?” he said, barely able to sit still.

you blinked at him through the screen. “what?”

“we’re going to the US,” he grinned, and your heart nearly stopped.

“wait, seriously?”

“yeah, for a festival. just one weekend, but i’ll have a couple free days before the flight out. i—” he paused, scratching the back of his neck. “i was really hoping i could see you.”

you stared at him, stunned for a second.

“you want to see me?” you asked softly.

“yeah,” he said immediately. “i mean, only if you want to, obviously. i just… i’ve been thinking about it for a while. texting and calling is great but,.. i kind of miss being in the same room as you.”

not just the same city,  not just in passing. but in the same room with you.

you swallowed past the nerves bubbling up in your chest and nodded, trying to keep your voice steady.

“i want that too.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you tried for tickets the second they went live.

you had alarms set, several tabs open, your card ready. but none of it mattered…

they sold out in minutes.

you stared at the screen in disbelief, refreshing the page over and over hoping the outcome would change. it didn’t. your chest tightened with each failed refresh.

you were so close. and now, you had no idea how to tell mark.

you waited a whole day, thinking they’d release more tickets, maybe someone would resell—but the prices were insane, triple what you could afford, and the longer you waited, the more hopeless it felt.

when he finally called you that night, you tried to act normal for about ten seconds before it all came spilling out.

“i didn’t get tickets,” you said, voice cracking before you could stop it. “they sold out so fast and now the only ones left are like impossible. and i know you’re going to be super busy and probably won’t be able to meet up anyway, but i was really looking forward to seeing you perform, and now i don’t even know if i’ll get to see you at all—”

“hey, hey, slow down.” mark’s voice was soft. “breathe, y/n.”

you inhaled shakily, pressing your forehead to your knee, curled up on the couch. “sorry. i just… i really wanted to be there.”

“i know,” he said gently. “and i want you there too.”

you went quiet, biting the inside of your cheek.

“but we’ll figure something out, okay?” mark continued. “don’t stress about it too much. just… trust me a little.”

“what do you mean…,” you said slowly, suspicion creeping in.

he chuckled. “nothing. just saying... maybe don’t give up hope yet.”

you narrowed your eyes at your phone. “you’re being cryptic.”

“am i?” he said, way too innocently.

you groaned into your pillow. “don’t do this to me.”

“i’m not doing anything,” he replied. “just... keep the day of the festival open, okay?”

you wanted to press him, but the look in his eyes was too confident. so you nodded slowly, heart still a little heavy but soothed by the warmth in his voice.

the day they landed in the US, you got the call while brushing your teeth.

your phone lit up with his name, and you answered with a mouthful of foam, spitting it out quickly as you mumbled, “hey, did you land?”

“we did,” mark said, voice laced with excitement. “and i have good news.”

“what?”

“a car’s going to pick you up the day of the show,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “my team helped sort it out. we wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

you blinked, wide-eyed, toothbrush still in hand. “wait what? you—what do you mean? mark—”

“you’re coming to the festival, y/n. you’re not missing this. not if i can help it.”

you clutched your phone, stunned into silence, overwhelmed by how much care he’d tucked into those few words.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i know,” he interrupted, voice softer now. “but i wanted to.”

͏͏͏𝄞͏͏ ͏͏ ͏͏͏♥︎̼

you’d never felt more nervous getting ready for anything in your entire life. not for job interviews, not for first dates, not even for a final exam. nothing compared to the fluttering anxiety buzzing in your chest right now.

it was almost ridiculous how much effort you'd put in. your hair was carefully styled in waves that took you half an hour to do, your makeup was done and redone multiple times until you finally settled on something subtle but pretty. your outfit had taken ages to choose, you didn’t want to look too casual but also didn’t want to make it seem like you were trying too hard. so you settled for a regular black skirt and a white long sleeved top, it was comfortable but not boring. you wanted to look good, even though mark had already seen you at your most tired, sweaty, and disheveled.

the car arrived precisely at the time mark had promised. your heart jumped to your throat when the driver opened the door for you, offering a polite nod. 

your hands trembled slightly in your lap the entire ride to the venue. you felt giddy, overwhelmed, and deeply nervous all at once.

but when you finally arrived, the excitement abruptly shifted into self-awareness. several staff members glanced at you warily, some whispering to each other and throwing quick looks your way. suddenly, you felt very out of place, shrinking slightly under their scrutinizing gazes.

“excuse me,” came a sharp voice behind you. you turned around to see a woman approaching, her expression serious, a clipboard held firmly in her hands. “you must be y/n?”

“yes,” you replied nervously.

“there are some documents you'll need to sign,” she informed you.

“documents? like—”

“standard NDAs, confidentiality agreements, liability waivers,” she cut in and handed you a clipboard, flipping briskly through pages filled with dense legal text. “you'll need to sign these before we move forward.”

you stood frozen for a moment, feeling incredibly naive and small as reality hit you like a slap to the face. you’d let yourself get carried away, almost forgetting who exactly mark was—who exactly these people were. they weren't just regular guys; they were idols, celebrities, people with management teams and carefully guarded images.

this was serious and you had somehow underestimated all of it.

the woman noticed your hesitation, her expression softening just a fraction. “it’s standard procedure,” she said, “mark personally asked us to ensure you’re comfortable, but we need to protect everyone involved.”

“okay,” you whispered shakily, taking the pen from her hand. your fingers felt numb as you signed, barely registering the words printed on the paper. 

once the woman was satisfied, she took the clipboard back, nodded curtly, and gestured for you to follow her. your heart thundered in your chest as you walked through the busy hallway.

then she stopped in front of a dressing room door, knocking sharply once before opening it slightly. “mark? your guest is here.”

you held your breath as the door slowly swung open, your pulse so loud you could hardly hear anything else.

mark appeared in the doorway, eyes widening slightly as he took you in. suddenly, all the anxiety, paperwork, and awkwardness faded into the background. his expression softened immediately, that familiar warmth returning as his eyes crinkled in a gentl smile.

“hey,” he breathed softly, clearly just as relieved to see you as you were to see him. “you made it.”

mark steps fully into the hallway, blocking the view of the bustling green-room behind him. for half a beat you both just stare, soaking in the fact that you’re finally sharing the same oxygen again instead of pixels on a phone screen.

“wow…” he breathes, cheeks coloring as his eyes scan you. “you look so—” he catches himself, smiles sheepishly, and opens his arms. “can i?”

you nod before your brain supplies coherent language, letting him tug you forward. the hug is quick—he’s hyper-aware of everyone around you—but his hand stays at your elbow afterward, grounding you.

“sorry about the fuss,” he murmurs, voice pitched low so only you can hear. 

“it’s okay… just a bit intense.”

“i know.” his thumb sweeps a tiny circle on your sleeve. “but you’re here now. c’mon, the guys are waiting.”

when you walk inside the room is buzzing with energy. there’s stylists zipping garment bags, a makeup artist following jungwoo around to touch up his lips, haechan drumming on a folding table with two half-empty water bottles. the second he spots you, his face splits into a grin.

“look who made it!” he crows, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “mark’s special guest.”

johnny swivels in a chair. “oh, the infamous y/n at last.” he stands, offering a hand that turns into a gentle half-hug when you take it. “nice seeing you again.”

jungwoo waves from a corner, cheeks puffed with gummy bears. “hi! mark’s talked a lot about you,” he says around the candy. 

mark groans. “ignore them, they’ve been insufferable since i told them you were coming.”

“insufferable?” haechan clutches his chest theatrically. “hyung, we’re just supporting your relationship!”

you feel your face go nuclear. “it’s not— we’re just—”

“friends,” mark supplies, shooting haechan a warning glance. but the tips of his ears have gone pink, and the little smile tugging at his mouth totally betrays him.

johnny leans closer, whispering, “lies, he’s always grinnung at his phone like a middle schooler whenever you talk.”

you let out a mortified laugh that turns into a squeak when mark nudges johnny away. “we have to be on stage in ten minutes, maybe focus?”

jungwoo claps. “right! you can watch backstage with staff.”

an assistant appears then, handing mark an in-ear pack. he hesitates, then squeezes your hand once before following the others toward wardrobe.

“sorry i gotta get dressed,” he says over his shoulder, “see you in a bit.”

you exhale for the first time since stepping off the car, pulse finally settling as the door swings shut. you tuck a stray hair behind your ear, catching your reflection in a vanity mirror. your cheeks are flushed and there’s a stunned little smile on your lips.

the staff member that escorted you in approaches again, her expression now more polite but still distant as she walks you down a narrow hallway. “you’ll be watching from here,” she explains as you reach a curtained-off section just beside the stage entrance.

the space is just wide enough for a couple of folding chairs, and a monitor showing the stage feed. even through the curtain, you can hear the low rumble of the crowd growing louder by the second—cheers, screams, the crowd chanting “ilichil, we love you!” 

you perch at the edge of a chair, feeling entirely out of place and wildly overwhelmed.

what am i even doing here?

this wasn’t some fantasy anymore. you weren’t watching fancams in your pajamas or whispering to your screen during late-night video calls. you were backstage, in their world, and everyone around you belonged to it except you.

you looked down at your outfit again, smoothing invisible wrinkles, suddenly doubting every choice you’d made that morning. your nails, your shoes, even the way you’d done your eyeliner. it all felt too much and not enough at the same time.

a soft noise pulls your attention back to the side curtain. one of the stylists slips through, handing off a mic pack to someone just outside your view. you recognize mark’s voice quickly.

he’s laughing at something jungwoo said, but even through the laughter you can hear the edge of nerves in his voice. it makes you feel… less alone in your own.

you peek around the edge of the curtain. they’re all gathered near the wings, adjusting their in-ears and bouncing on their heels to shake out last-minute jitters. mark’s back is turned at first, but then he glances over his shoulder almost like he can feel your eyes on him.

your breath catches when his gaze finds yours. through all the chaos and noise, his eyes meet yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he doesn’t wave or call out—he just smiles.

he turns back as staff starts to guide them toward the entrance tunnel, and you’re left sitting there with your heart doing an unholy rhythm in your chest.

you hadn’t expected this, the building pressure in your chest, the way your emotions feel too big to hold.

but underneath all of it, layered between the nerves and the noise inside your own head, there’s a flicker of anticipation.

he’s just a few feet away now. he’s about to be on stage, doing what he was born to do, and you’ll be right here, watching not just as a fan anymore.

but as someone who matters to him.

the stage lights cut to black, and the low hum of the backing track pulses through the arena like a heartbeat. from your narrow perch in the wings you can feel the vibration under your soles, a physical reminder that this isn’t a dream.

a lone spotlight slices across the darkness—jungwoo steps into it, and the crowd erupts. the boys fan out behind him in practiced formation.

mark is near the center, head lowered, hand cupped over his earpiece as he settles into position. you’ve watched this opening on countless fancams, but up close everything is magnified: the hiss of their in-ears, the snap of jacket fabric when they turn, the ragged inhale before the first line.

johnny’s deep vocal rolls out, haechan answers with his bright harmony, and suddenly the whole place is singing along..

mark’s part hits next. he steps forward, eyes scanning the sea of faces before flicking to you. it’s only a second, a brush of attention so quick the crowd would never catch it, but it lands like a spark in your lungs. he grins, then pivots into choreography.

you never understood how performers could look both effortless and deadly focused until now. sweat beads at their hairlines within minutes, but they don’t miss a beat. haechan riffs a playful ad-lib, doyoung shoots him a mock glare, johnny laughs into his mic; the crowd screams, drunk on the interaction.

halfway through the set, they perform gold dust as a surprise, the stage lights go yellow. mark moves to the far edge closer to you and delivers his verse straight ahead. but on his last bar he tilts his head, eyes skimming the shadows where you’re standing. his voice drops into that warm, gritty register you know too well from late-night calls, and despite the roar of the arena the moment feels impossibly intimate.

you tuck your hands under your arms, trying to calm the goosebumps, but the sheer thrill of seeing him own that stage while still tossing these tiny pieces of himself your way is overwhelming.

the final song explodes in confetti cannons. the boys hit their last pose, breathing hard, grinning wide. the screams from the audience are deafening; even the backstage staff exchange awed looks.

mark bows with the others, shouting “thank you!” into his mic, but as they turn to exit he catches your gaze one more time. he taps two fingers against his chest, then points subtly toward the hallway where you’re waiting and mouths the words stay right there, i’ll find you.

and you waited exactly where he told you to.

or… at least tried to.

but the moment the boys disappeared off stage, chaos swallowed everything whole. several stagehands rushed past with crates, wires and gear flying in every direction, staff barking orders into walkies while backup dancers and security weaved in and out of the narrow corridors.

you stepped back into the corner, trying not to get trampled, but every second you waited the crowd thickened, people shouting over each other, crew passing by so quickly that you were bumped into more than once. you caught glimpses of the members being swept off into different directions—haechan laughing breathlessly with a towel around his neck, johnny taking a water bottle from someone. but there was no sight of mark.

“you can’t stand here,” someone snaps, grabbing your elbow and steering you quickly away. “please, move along.”

“wait, i was supposed to—” you start, but your protest drowns in the noise as you’re guided through the maze of corridors. 

you glance over your shoulder anxiously, panic rising in your throat. mark said he’d find you but you don’t even know where you’re going.

the staff member stops abruptly near a back exit, where a van is parked outside the open door. he gestures hurriedly. “wait in there, please. someone will be with you shortly.”

before you can question it, he’s already vanished back into the building. hesitantly, you climb into the empty van, settling awkwardly on the leather seat. not even a minute later your phone buzzes with a text from mark.

mark: where are you??? backstage is insane, i can’t find you.

you quickly reply: someone moved me to a van near the back entrance?

your heart pounds as minutes stretch into eternity and doubt starts gnawing at you—they will probably film some behind the scenes content now, interviews, livestreams, what if he doesn’t have time to find you before he’s sent away?

but just as anxiety peaks, the van door suddenly slides open. your eyes widen as mark appears, breathing heavily like he ran to reach you, his stage makeup slightly smudged, hair damp and tousled from the performance. he sighs in relief, shoulders visibly relaxing the second he sees you.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes, climbing quickly into the van and closing the door behind him. “i was so worried. everything okay?”

“yeah, it was just really hectic—” you start, but your words fade as he sits beside you, closer than you’ve ever really been. close enough that you can see the faint glitter along his jaw, the sweat glistening at his temples, the warmth in his gaze as it settles fully on your face.

“you were incredible out there,” you say softly. “i’ve never…  it’s different seeing it up close.”

his cheeks pink despite the post-performance flush. “i kept looking for you.” 

“i noticed,” you admit, smiling.

mark’s gaze drops to your hands twisting in your lap and he reaches out.

“thanks for being here,” he murmurs. 

your laugh is a shaky exhale. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“also…the NDA,” he starts quietly. “i didn’t want you to feel like i was cornering you into some weird situation. that’s not what this is.”

“mark, i didn’t think that. i mean—it was overwhelming, yeah, but i get it. you’re…” you gesture helplessly. “you.”

he laughs softly, but there’s no real humor behind it. “i hate it. you know, not being able to just… hang out with you. not having the freedom to do normal things, like… i don’t know—go get coffee or show you the city or tell people about you without it turning into a whole thing.”

“is that what this is? am i…” you hesitate. “something you’d want to tell people about?”

he looks up at you, and there’s not a trace of hesitation when he says, “yes. i think about it all the time.”

you blink, throat suddenly dry.

he leans in slightly. “i just… i didn’t want you to think i was trying to make you sign your silence just so i could keep you a secret. it’s not about hiding you. it’s about protecting something that means a lot to me.”

and there it is. the part he hadn’t said yet.

you mean a lot to him.

your chest tightens with the weight of being chosen in a world that doesn’t make space for this kind of closeness, that demands boundaries, a good image and clean lines drawn in ink. and yet here he is, blurring those lines for you.

“thank you for saying that,” you murmur, voice trembling a little. “i didn’t realize how much i needed to hear it.”

mark reaches across the space then, taking your other hand. “i don’t want this to feel like you’re walking on eggshells because of my life. i want it to feel real.”

your fingers tighten around his instinctively.

“it already does,” you whisper.

and when he finally closes the distance between you, pulling you into a quiet, careful hug, it feels so right.

his arms wrap around you and for a second the world outside the van ceases to exist. he’s warm even through his stage jacket, you can feel his heartbeat thudding fast against your cheek. you breathe him in, clean sweat and fabric softener.

when he pulls back, he doesn’t release your hand. his thumb brushes lazy paths over your knuckles.

“i kept picturing this,” he admits quietly. “all week. wondering if it would feel the same in person as it did in my head.”

“and?” you whisper.

“it’s even better,” he says without hesitation.

he shifts slightly, the space between you rapidly shrinking. his gaze flickers briefly down to your lips, and the movement sends your pulse racing.

“mark,” you whisper, voice barely audible, “i—”

his other hand gently finds your cheek, thumb tracing lightly along your skin, tipping your chin up just a fraction. he searches your face, breathing shallow and eyes heavy with something soft and vulnerable.

you lean in instinctively, eyes fluttering closed as his breath ghosts warm over your lips—

and then the van door suddenly swings open, a burst of noise and harsh backstage lighting flooding in.

“mark hyung, manager hyung says—oh shit.” haechan freezes halfway inside the doorway. “ohhh, sorry… was i interrupting something?”

mark jerks back, cheeks blazing crimson as his hand quickly leaves your cheek and lands awkwardly in his lap. “dude, are you serious?” he groans, dropping his head with a sigh and muttering a very un-idol-like curse word. 

you cover your mouth, laughing breathlessly through the embarrassment even as your pulse continues hammering in your ears.

“sorry, sorry,” haechan says, grinning wickedly, clearly not sorry at all. “but uh, we gotta go. manager hyung’s freaking out. we got an interview, hurry up.”

“yeah. coming.” he searches your face, apology written in his eyes “they’ll herd us to the hotel soon. can you wait a little longer? i want to ride with you after they clear the crowd.”

you nod, trying to ignore the throb of almost-kiss still sparking across your lips. “i’m not going anywhere.”

“give me twenty minutes tops, and then i’m kidnapping you for actual food.”

“bold of you to assume i’d say no.”

as he slips out, you catch the faintest curve of a smile before the door thuds shut and you’re alone again.

thirty minutes later, mark slips back into the van. this time freshly changed, hair still damp but swept under a dark cap.

“sorry that took forever.” he drops into the seat opposite you, knee bouncing with leftover adrenaline. “do you wanna come meet the other members properly before we leave?”

you follow him back through a quieter service corridor to a smaller green room that smells heavily like hair spray. inside, half the members are sprawled on sofas in various states of post-show exhaustion. the energy shifts the second mark ushers you in.

“guys, this is y/n,” he says.

taeyong shoots up first, hand extended. “the legend herself,” he jokes, grinning wide enough to prove he’s still riding his performance high. jaehyun offers a shy wave and drags over a chair so you won’t have to hover. yuta, also walks over and introduces himself politely.

doyoung is the only one who stays seated, arms folded. his eyes flick between you and mark, assessing. it lasts all of three seconds before he notices how relaxed mark looks—those shoulders that usually sit somewhere near his ears are loose, his smile easy. doyoung’s expression softens.

“thanks for cheering him up,” he says quietly, a little sheepish. “he’s been impossible the last few weeks.” the tease lands gentle, and mark flicks a sweat towel at him in retaliation.

the small talk bubbles up easily. the topic shifting from favorite festival moments, to whose in-ears cut out, and the confetti that caught in doyoung’s mouth during a high note. the atmosphere is warm and surprisingly normal, until a manager pops his head in to remind everyone they’ve got early rehearsals tomorrow.

mark steers you quickly back to the van after saying a quick goodbye.

“so…” he ran a hand through his hair and put his hat back on. “food?”

“please,” you groaned, head falling back against the seat. “i’m starving.”

“wanna go to a restaurant?” he offered.

you winced. “too risky.”

he nodded slowly. “true, my hotel’s worse.”

you turned your head to face him. “sasaengs?”

“they wait outside sometimes, follow the vans from the venue” he trailed off, already looking annoyed with the reality of it.

“we could…” you swallow, then barrel through. “we could go to my place? it’s not far, and no one knows where i live. we can order in.”

mark’s head tilts, surprised but already nodding. “are you sure?”

“only if you’re okay hiding out in a tiny apartment that smells like scented candles and stale coffee.”

he smiles brightly. “sounds perfect.”

you rattle off your address to the driver, heart hammering as you drive through the city. mark’s knee bumps yours every time the van hits a pothole, but neither of you moves away.

he glances over. “thank you for trusting me with your space.”

you breathe out a shaky laugh. “thank you for trusting me with… all of this.”

his fingers brush yours on the seat between you. outside, the van slows to a stop at your curb. the driver kills the lights for discretion. thankfully, the street is empty.

you turn to mark, pulse racing for an entirely new reason now. “welcome to my part of the world.”

he grins, tugging his cap lower and reaching for the door handle. “lead the way.”

your apartment is small, cluttered with book stacks and half-burned candles, but it’s yours—and when mark steps in, slipping off his shoes at the door like he’s done it a hundred times, it feels suddenly, impossibly domestic.

“so,” he murmurs, looking around with quiet curiosity. “what’s good for takeout around here?”

you settle on thai food after a chaotic five-minute debate that ends with mark looking up from your couch and going, “okay but do you trust me with your spice tolerance?”

you blink at him. “mark. i watched you cry eating jalapeño chips during that one livestream.”

“they were ghost pepper!” he defends, slightly pouting. “and i didn’t cry, my eyes were just... dry.”

you giggle and the tension that had followed you into the apartment fades with it.

while you wait for the food, he wanders around your space with curiosity. never touching too much, just observing. he stops at your bookcase, smiles at the titles stacked sideways, fingers brushing one of the cracked spines.

“so this is where you’ve been calling from,” he says as he returns to the couch, flopping down beside you. “it’s cozy.”

“that’s code for small, right?”

he tilts his head, grinning softly. “no. cozy means i don’t want to leave.”

you glance over at him, heartbeat spiking in your throat. his hoodie’s a little rumpled from the ride, cap tossed somewhere by your front door, and he’s leaned so close your shoulders brush.

“you’re kind of the only boy who’s ever said that,” you murmur.

“then they’re idiots.”

your lips twitch with a smile. mark leans his head back on the cushion, you get distracted by the cute bump on his nose and the lines of his jaw.

you both fall quiet for a while, your legs stretched out beside his on the couch, ankles knocking occasionally. your body relaxes more than you expect, as if it remembers this feeling from all those calls and imaginary versions of this moment.

when the takeout finally arrives, you both eat cross-legged on the couch, plastic containers open between you, your playlist humming low in the background.

you talk through mouthfuls of noodles about everything and nothing—his weird craving for peaches whenever he’s overseas, your childhood phase of putting ketchup on rice, how you both secretly judge people who don’t rewind movies when they pause.

somewhere between “i really miss my mom’s kimchi stew” and your story about the nightmare customer who demanded gluten-free breadsticks, your shoulders touch. a minute later his arm slips along the back of the couch, fingers grazing your shoulder each time he shifts. your nerves fizz under your skin, but the contact feels safe.

You lean into him. He doesn’t move away.

the conversation slows and when you glance up to make a joke, your nose brushes the edge of his jaw. his breath hitches at this, then a warm hand settles on your knee.

“this feels…” he starts, swallowing. “kinda unreal.”

“yeah.” a whisper—because your voice has gone missing.

his palm lifts to your cheek, thumb soft against your skin. “can I kiss you?”

you’re already nodding.

the first kiss is shy and careful, more smile than pressure. The next slips deeper, mouths moving in a lazy rhythm neither of you rush. Your fingers tangle in the hem of his hoodie; his other hand skims your waist, pulling you just close enough to feel the quiet drum of his heart.

eventually the couch gets too cramped. mark breaks the kiss with a sheepish laugh. “my back is dying,” he murmurs.

you tug him down the hall to your room, giggling when he nearly trips on a sneaker. he perches on the edge of the bed and you climb into his lap without thinking, legs draped around him. his hands settle on your hips and he sighs.

“i really, really like you,” he says, forehead resting against yours.

“i like you too. a lot.”

he kisses you again. you spend the next half hour like that, trading soft laughs and softer kisses until the adrenaline drains from his limbs. head falls heavy on your shoulder, he mumbles something about the best night of his life…and falls asleep mid-sentence.

You ease him back onto the pillows, kick off your skirt, and curl into the space beneath his arm. One leg hooks over yours; his hand rests at the small of your back, protective even in sleep.

it’s the tenth call that finally wakes him the next morning.

mark groans into your pillow, dragging his phone blindly toward his face. “what…”

a second goes by and then he jolts upright. “shit. shit.”

you blink groggily, one arm reaching out for him. “what’s wrong?”

he’s already stumbling for his shirt which he doesn’t even remember taking off last nigh. “i slept in. i never—fuck, i never sleep in.”

you sit up slowly, watching him try to shove his hat over tousled hair while checking his phone. “i have like ten missed calls.”

he answers the incoming call hurriedly, voice tense and apologetic. “yeah, i’m sorry, i know… i’m on my way now, just got… held up. i’ll explain later.”

he glances down at you then, taking in your messy hair, swollen lips and sleepy eyes, and the look on his face softens just a little.

when he finally hangs up, he rushes back to your side, quickly pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i gotta run, but i'll text you as soon as i can. i promise.”

you smile sleepily up at him, already missing the warmth of his body against yours. “go. don’t get in trouble.”

he pauses briefly before leaving. “last night was… perfect. thank you.”

and then he’s gone, leaving you to curl back into your pillow, still feeling the ghost of his touch and the lingering warmth of everything you shared.

[technikki]

this island is a fucking nightmare

[laceandlipstick]

while you were sleeping | s.r

spencer reid x BAU!reader

MDNI

masterlist

word count: 3.7k

summary: “It was a dream,” you whispered.“About you.” spencer stared at you like he didn’t quite believe it. “I didn’t want to move,” he said softly. “But I didn’t want to wake you either.”

warnings: SMUT, wet dream, unprotected p in v, fingering, creampie, soft dom!spencer, dirty talk, slight somnophilia if u squint, fluffy aftercare, tooth achingly sweet ending, lmk if i missed any!

a/n: inspired by my extremely vivid dream of spencer last night i hope u all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it

The case was over.

The bodies were gone.

The press had packed up.

And now… now there was just silence.

You stepped out of the cab and dragged your go-bag up the steps, every part of you aching with exhaustion. The type that didn’t go away with sleep — not that you’d gotten much in the last four days.

Your apartment building was dim and quiet, a rare luxury. Usually someone’s dog barked through the walls or an upstairs tenant dropped weights. But tonight it was just you and the hallway, empty and still.

You fumbled for your keys.

Nothing.

Panic sparked, just a little. You checked your other coat pocket. Then your jeans. Your bag. Inside sweatshirt pocket.

Your phone was in the cab.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath.

The hallway felt colder now. Like the world had shifted slightly left and everything was off balance. Maybe it was the case still clinging to your skin like soot. Maybe it was the deadbolt keeping you locked out of the only place you ever let yourself fall apart.

You turned, slowly, like you were considering your options. But you weren’t.

There was only one.

Apartment 4C.

Directly across the hall.

Spencer Reid’s apartment.

You’d known he lived there for about six months now, since the morning he’d awkwardly stepped out at the same time as you, two coffee cups in hand and a jacket hanging off his arm like he’d slept in it. The surprise on both your faces had been immediate — followed by soft laughter.

It had started with sharing mail mix-ups. Book recs. The occasional “hey, I made too much tea — want some?”

But it was different after a case.

There was something unspoken about needing to see someone else who got it.

Your knuckles hovered over the door.

You hesitated.

He was probably asleep. It was past 1 a.m. But the thought of a hotel, or sitting in the hallway like a stray, made your stomach twist. And you weren’t ready to be alone yet.

So you knocked.

Soft. Twice.

The sound of footsteps came quickly. A soft thud. Then the door creaked open.

Spencer stood there, backlit by the warm glow of his living room lamp. His hair was rumpled, his t-shirt wrinkled. He looked exactly how you felt — like someone who hadn’t slept in days and didn’t know how to start.

“Hey,” he said softly. His voice was gravelly from disuse, his brow furrowing as he took you in. “Are you okay?”

You tried to speak, but it came out thin. You swallowed. “I locked myself out. I think I left my phone in the cab too.”

Spencer blinked, then stepped back without hesitation, opening the door wider. “Come in.”

Warm air wrapped around you as you stepped inside. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t make a single joke. Just let you exist in the quiet.

His apartment smelled like chamomile tea and the last pages of a worn book. A stack of files sat half-forgotten on his coffee table, but he hadn’t touched them. You could tell.

“I can call someone in the morning,” you offered lamely, not knowing where else to put your hands. “Maintenance or—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted, voice still soft. “You’re staying here tonight.”

Your lips parted. “Spencer, I don’t want to—”

“I want you to,” he said simply. “You shouldn’t be alone after… after everything.”

You nodded, throat tight. You weren’t going to argue. Not when you’d been hoping, deep down, that he’d say exactly that.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a little awkward. “Do you want the couch or…?”

You blinked. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch in your own apartment.”

Spencer hesitated, then gave a tired, crooked smile. “Okay. We can share the bed. It’s a queen.”

Your heart kicked a little in your chest, but you ignored it. “Thanks, Spence.”

He nodded. Then motioned gently toward the hallway. “Come on. I’ll grab you some sweats.”

You followed him, not knowing that this night — this quiet moment in the doorway — was going to change everything.

You followed Spencer down the short hallway that led to his bedroom. The space was tidy, minimalist, and comforting in a way that surprised you. A bookshelf lined one entire wall. Another overflowed onto his nightstand — psychology texts, medical journals, poetry, a worn paperback of Slaughterhouse-Five with a cracked spine and a sticky note peeking out.

He opened a drawer and rummaged through it, pulling out a folded t-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants. “These should work,” he murmured, placing them gently on the edge of the bed. “They’re clean.”

You smiled, just a little. “Thanks.”

“I, uh, won’t look.” He cleared his throat and turned toward the hallway. “You can change. I’ll brush my teeth.”

You watched his back disappear down the hallway. He gave you the dignity of space, which somehow only made your chest ache more.

You took your time peeling off the remnants of the day — your work pants, the blouse that still smelled faintly of the cheap soap at the precinct, the bra that had dug into your ribs all day. Sliding into his clothes felt… safe. Like you were wrapping yourself in something that had never let you down.

The fabric of the shirt was soft, worn in the way old favorites always were. It smelled like Spencer. Like clean linen and something faintly citrus, barely-there cologne he probably only wore out of politeness.

By the time he came back, you were curled up on the left side of the bed, his pillow tucked under your chin. He paused in the doorway when he saw you, just for a second.

His gaze met yours, tired but soft. He gave a shy smile. “That shirt looks better on you than it ever did on me.”

Your throat caught. You didn’t respond — just smiled softly and watched him cross the room.

He turned off the lamp, plunging the space into the soft blue hue of streetlight filtering through the window blinds. He moved carefully, slipping into bed on the opposite side. The mattress dipped under his weight. The comforter shifted, brushing your arm.

You both lay still.

The silence stretched.

And not the awkward kind. Not quite. It was laced with something older — something familiar and tender and a little unbearable. Like every word that should’ve been said between you was tucked under the blanket now, pulsing between the quiet spaces.

You were very aware of him.

The warmth of his body.

The sound of his breathing.

The faint creak of the bed when he adjusted the blanket around his shoulders.

Neither of you said goodnight.

Neither of you needed to.

Eventually, your eyes slipped shut.

And maybe it was the soft bed.

Maybe it was Spencer just being there.

But for the first time in days, your body started to unwind.

And sleep took you.

⸻

The dream didn’t come right away. It crept in like fog — slow and steady and careful.

At first, it was only a sensation. Warmth at your back. The weight of someone holding you. The steady exhale of breath against your neck.

Then hands.

Familiar ones.

One at your waist. The other sliding up your side, not rushed, not greedy. Fingers skating under fabric, curling around your ribs, brushing against your breast.

Your breath hitched in your dream.

You leaned back into him.

And in the dream, he moaned.

You murmured something — soft and incoherent. Hips shifting lazily, like your body already knew what it wanted. His name on your tongue, only half-formed.

Spencer.

In the dream, he kissed the back of your neck. Said your name.

It was only when your body arched slightly — when the press of his cock nestled hot and full between your thighs — that the fog started to thin.

You gasped in your sleep. Your thighs clenched. Your hips moved again.

And this time, the moan wasn’t just in the dream.

You felt it.

A low, strangled sound behind you. Real. Too real.

Your eyes fluttered open.

The room was dark. Quiet. But your body knew before your brain did.

You were grinding on him.

And he was hard.

Fully, completely hard — pressed right against your ass.

The air stilled in your lungs.

Spencer’s hand was on your waist, but he wasn’t pulling. He wasn’t even moving.

You stayed frozen for a moment, brain catching up, heat blooming between your legs again — this time for real.

His hips were still. But he was trembling.

And breathing hard.

That’s when you realized…

He was awake.

Your body had gone still.

But your heart was racing.

Every nerve sparked like you were still dreaming, except now you could feel everything: the way Spencer’s breath stuttered behind you, the warm press of his cock through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, the faint tremble in the hand on your waist.

It was real.

And so was the heat slick between your thighs.

You swallowed hard and whispered, “Spence?”

He froze. His hand twitched slightly, then slowly lifted off your waist like he’d been burned. “Shit,” he breathed.

You shifted, carefully rolling onto your back. You didn’t look at him right away. Your brain was still catching up, but your body already missed the contact.

When you did finally glance over, Spencer was wide-eyed in the dark, breathing shallowly, his curls a mess from the pillow. He looked completely wrecked with guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, voice hushed and frayed at the edges. “You were asleep, I didn’t mean to— I wasn’t trying to—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I didn’t want to move,” he continued, like he hadn’t heard you. “But you were— you started grinding and I thought— I don’t know, I thought maybe you were having a nightmare and then I realized—”

“Spencer.”

His breath caught. “Yeah?”

You reached for his hand under the blanket. His fingers tensed beneath yours before curling around them tightly, like he was afraid to lose the moment.

“It was a dream,” you said softly. “About you.”

He stared at you. Really stared. Like he didn’t quite believe what he was hearing.

You gave him a small, nervous smile. “It felt… good.”

Spencer exhaled slowly, shakily, like he’d been holding his breath for years. “I didn’t want to wake you. But I— I didn’t want to move either.”

You brushed your thumb over the back of his hand. “You’re hard,” you said, quiet but direct.

His face flushed in the shadows. He laughed breathlessly, helplessly. “Yeah. I know. I’ve been trying so hard not to make it worse.”

“You’re not,” you murmured.

You watched his throat bob as he swallowed hard. “This isn’t how I ever imagined this would happen,” he whispered. “If it ever happened at all.”

Your heart thudded. “You’ve thought about it?”

He nodded, voice barely there. “More than I should’ve.”

The confession made your stomach flip. You shifted slightly closer, still holding his hand. “Me too.”

He looked like he didn’t know what to do with that. The hand that had pulled away earlier returned tentatively to your waist, resting there like he was afraid you’d vanish.

“Can I…” His voice cracked. He tried again. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded once.

The moment hung there, suspended — years of stolen glances and unsaid things curling up between you like mist.

Then finally, Spencer leaned in.

His lips met yours in a whisper of a kiss, barely a breath between you. Slow, searching, like he needed to map out the shape of your mouth with his own. You sighed into it, curling your fingers in his shirt as his other hand slid up, cradling your jaw.

It was soft.

Deliberate.

Every inch of you was lit up, every thought stilled except the way his mouth moved with yours. And how right it felt.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re sure?” he asked, voice rough. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not ready for.”

You smiled. “I’m ready.”

His hand skimmed down your side under the blanket, fingers brushing bare skin where your borrowed shirt had ridden up. You shivered — not from cold.

“You feel…” He closed his eyes like it hurt. “God, you feel so good.”

You guided his hand lower, just enough. “Then touch me.”

Spencer inhaled sharply.

He dipped his fingers between your thighs, and when he felt how soaked you were, he groaned like it physically pained him. “Oh my god,” he whispered. “That’s from the dream?”

You nodded, cheeks burning. “Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

“I don’t want you to help it,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again.

His fingers explored slowly — carefully. He stroked over your folds like he was memorizing the feel of you, soft circles around your clit until your hips tilted into his palm with a breathy gasp.

He watched your face the entire time.

“Beautiful,” he whispered. “You’re so responsive.”

“Spence…”

“I want to make you feel good,” he said, kissing your jaw. “I’ve thought about this for so long.”

Spencer kissed you like he had all the time in the world.

No rush. No hunger. Just heat—controlled, steady, soft as it built inside your skin like a slow wave warming every inch of you.

His lips dragged down your jaw to your neck, pressing there like he needed to mark the moment — like he wanted to leave something of himself behind.

And he was still touching you.

His fingers slick and careful, sliding through your folds like he was trying to write a poem in your body. His thumb circled your clit slowly — patient, gentle — the kind of rhythm that made your toes curl and your throat release the smallest whimper.

You felt like you were unraveling. Quietly. Intimately.

Your hands fumbled under the blanket, found the waistband of his sweatpants. You nudged gently. He froze for a second, breath catching.

“You can…” he started, but the words faded. You were already sliding them down, just far enough to free his cock.

He hissed softly when your fingers brushed it — thick, hot, already leaking.

“Fuck,” you whispered, cheeks flushing at the size of him. “Spence…”

His head dropped to your shoulder, breath shaking.

“I want to be inside you,” he said it like a secret. “But only if—”

“Please,” you cut him off, hand at the back of his neck. “I need it.”

You felt him tremble.

“Are you sure you want me to keep going?” he asked softly, forehead resting against yours.

You nodded. “Yes. Please. I want to feel you.”

Spencer’s breath stuttered like you’d punched the air from his lungs. “God,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “You have no idea what that does to me.”

He adjusted, leaning back just enough to settle between your thighs. The head of his cock dragged through your wetness, slow and teasing.

And then—he paused.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered. “If you change your mind. Even a second in.”

“I won’t.”

He guided himself to your entrance and pushed in — slowly.

The stretch was immediate. Not painful, but full. Deep. It stole the breath from your lungs.

Your hands clutched his biceps, holding tight as he inched deeper. Spencer’s eyes never left yours.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped. “You’re… fuck, you’re so tight.”

You gasped, half-laughing. “You’re huge.”

He flushed. Smiled. “You’re perfect.”

Every inch filled you like he’d been made for it. When he bottomed out, he stopped moving. Just hovered there inside you, letting you adjust.

You both breathed like the world was ending — quietly, carefully.

“I’ve never…” he started. “I’ve never wanted anything this much.”

Your eyes stung.

“Move,” you whispered. “Please, Spencer. I want you to move.”

His first thrust was shallow. A test. You gasped. He did it again, slightly deeper.

Then he found a rhythm — slow, deep, dragging every inch of him inside you like he was trying to memorize how it felt.

You wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer.

Every thrust was patient. Controlled. His eyes stayed locked on yours the entire time, his mouth parted, breath heavy with restraint.

You were already close. The pressure built with each stroke. The tension in your stomach coiled tighter every time his hips met yours, his thumb brushing slow circles over your clit again.

“Spence—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathed, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

You came with a broken moan, clutching him, legs trembling as your body clenched tight around him. Spencer groaned, deep and low, and buried himself as deep as he could go.

“Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re— fuck— I can’t—”

“Come inside me,” you whispered, still shaking. “I want to feel you.”

His hips jerked once, twice, and then he was spilling into you with a strangled cry, forehead pressed to your neck, one arm tight around your waist like he was holding on for dear life.

You stayed wrapped around each other, both of you panting, sweat-damp and still connected.

And in the quiet afterward, he didn’t pull away.

He stayed inside you. Just breathing. Just holding you.

Your fingers ran lazily through his hair, his heart pounding against your chest.

He kissed your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then the hollow of your throat.

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You smiled against his temple.

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t think I could go back.”

⸻

Sunlight was already slipping in through the blinds when you woke.

It was warm. Gentle. A few strands of your hair glowed in it where they’d spilled across Spencer’s pillow.

And Spencer—

Was still there.

Curled around you.

His chest against your back, one arm slung around your waist, his hand resting just below your chin. Not possessive. Just… present.

You smiled into the pillow, letting yourself feel it for a long, still moment. The soft ache between your thighs. The weight of his body behind you. The way your hand was already tangled with his under the covers, like neither of you had wanted to let go.

His breath was slow and even.

You turned slightly to watch him.

His mouth was parted a little, a pillow crease on his cheek, curls messy in every direction. You resisted the urge to brush one back from his forehead.

You’d seen Spencer exhausted before. Sleep-deprived. Bloody, even.

But never like this.

Never soft.

Never yours.

Your chest ached in a completely different way now.

And just when you thought you could watch him forever, his brow furrowed faintly and his lashes fluttered. You kissed his cheek.

“Hey,” you whispered.

He inhaled deeply, eyes still closed. “Mmm.”

“You’re awake.”

“Barely,” he murmured, voice rough and sleepy. “Don’t move yet.”

You didn’t.

You stayed tucked against him, letting the silence stretch. His fingers tightened a little at your waist like he still thought he was dreaming.

Finally, he opened one eye. It landed on your face and softened instantly.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.”

Spencer leaned forward and kissed you — sleepy, slow, just a press of lips and breath and belonging.

You melted into it.

Eventually, you both shifted. The stretch made your legs ache slightly, and when you winced, he immediately tensed.

“Did I—?”

“No,” you laughed gently. “I’m just sore. In a good way.”

He flushed, but his grin was proud. “Oh.”

You both chuckled softly and lay back, side by side, your knees touching under the blanket.

“Last night…” you began.

Spencer turned toward you fully, propped up on his elbow. “Was not a mistake.”

Your breath caught.

“I meant what I said,” he continued. “I don’t want that to be a one-time thing.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because I don’t think I could handle pretending nothing happened.”

He reached for your hand again, lacing your fingers together like it was second nature. “You don’t have to.”

There was a beat of silence. You stared at his hand in yours.

“I was scared for a second,” you admitted. “That this would only happen because we were tired and vulnerable.”

“I don’t want you just because we had a bad case,” he said softly. “I want you because I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”

Your eyes widened.

Spencer froze. “Too much?”

“No,” you breathed. “I just… I didn’t know.”

He gave a tiny smile. “That’s okay. You do now.”

You leaned forward, kissing him again — this time with a quiet certainty that hadn’t existed the night before.

⸻

Later, you sat on one of his stools at the kitchen island, wearing the same shirt from the night before and sipping coffee from a chipped BAU mug. Spencer stood barefoot in his kitchen, pouring more coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world to have you there.

He glanced over at you and paused. “Oh—” he said suddenly, turning toward the bowl near the door.

“What?”

He came back, hand extended.

Your spare key.

“I’ve had it since the super needed a backup to fix your sink that one time,” he said sheepishly. “I kept meaning to return it but…”

You took it slowly from his hand.

“Maybe I’ll leave it here,” you said, “just in case.”

Spencer’s eyes softened.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Just in case.”

You leaned into his space, wrapping your arms around his waist. He pulled you in without hesitation, resting his chin atop your head.

And in the sunlight, the quiet, the scent of coffee and skin and safety—you realized something:

You were already home.

[moodyvoid]

Imagine dating Dabi and he’s sick in bed with a flu and you’ve been watching over him while he sleeps it off.

He starts mumbling in his sleep, “so hot… won’t stop… burning.” and you feel his forehead, it’s even hotter than usual.

You start dabbing an icy, cold rag on his face. The coldness wakes him up and in between that moment of asleep and awake he whispers, “Mom?”

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Bedhead 🐮👅

[anniebeckcalla]

tiramisu and coffee .fic recommendations by calla

nothing left to read? these works will have you hooked for hours!

wanted: dead or alive @lisired (+18)

pairing: johnny suh x reader, nakamoto yuta x reader, lee haechan x reader (not all in one go ofc, in the separate stories)

genre: fluff, angst, smut

rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

description: three individual stories written about johnny, yuta, and haechan.

forever yours @lisired (+18)

pairing: lee haechan x reader

genre: smut, angst, fluff

rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

description: y/n, her bf, haechan, and their friends on a camping trip to the infamous chimera forest. what could possibly go wrong?

fire and brimstone (and you're a moth made of gasoline) @hannie-dul-set (+18)

pairing: na jaemin x reader

genre: comedy, drama, criminal au, enemies to lovers

rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

description: after graduating from law school, you find yourself in the very place you were against- a dodgy law firm. what's worse, na jaemin works there, too.

who is it? @kongjjen (+18)

pairing: lee haechan x reader

genre: slow burn, smut, angst

rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

description: haechan's intricate plan he'd woven when marrying you untangles...

us, nearly @neonc1tylights

pairing: mark lee x reader

genre: angst, slow burn

rating: ☆☆☆☆☆

description: being a kpop idol is easy...or is it? as if the pain of the industry isn't bad enough, you're in love with your co-worker, mark lee.

if you are one of the authors of these works and don't want them included in my recommendations, please let me know.

[lilly-jevil]

Cookie run au: knowledge and dreams (part 2)

-transcription and more stuff under the cut-

Someone here didn't read the letters

part 1/part 2/part 3 (not here yet)

(this comic has now a fic! The story will be updated faster on ao3.)

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME THIS WAS GOING TO BE THIS DIFFICULT

anyways here's the pre corruption beast designs

My little guys 💔

Also sorry if the dialogue is not peak writing English is not my first language 😔

ET: Dear friends, has someone heard from Shining milk cookie? I've been sending him letters but they received no response, Im a bit worried.

Transcription:

-Eternal Sugar

BS: Eternal sugar,i too haven't heard from him since his meeting with the witches. I remember him saying it was really important, he may still be at their castle but im not sure.

-Burning Spice

MF: Eternal sugar, i haven't heard from shining milk but some of his students came to me and it seems he is at the academy. I think we should give him a visit.

I'll also ask the others.

-Mystic Flour

ES: Dear mystic flour I totally agree! It's been so much time since our last reunion! Give me a couple of weeks to pack and I'll be on my way.

-Echoing Salt

---

student: headmaster shining milk cookie...the legendary heroes have come to visit....

SM: oh my friends are here? That's nice....

.

My friends are WHAT

[vxlentinescookies]

Ajax listen,,,,listen to me Ajax-

Self Aware AU, where the cookies come to the player's/reader's world. Pick whichever characters you wanna include, I just need to see this 🙏

→ ❛Part of your world❜

→ Characters ; Longan Dragon Cookie, Burning Spice Cookie, Shadow Milk Cookie, Timekeeper Cookie & Millennial Tree Cookie → Quote ; ❛❛If someone came to you and told you “One day you’ll have those who you love the most in the palm of your hand”, well… you never thought that’d become true, nor that it’d be a metaphor…❜❜ → Genre ; Headcanons/Drabble → A/N ; This took me a whole ass night to make and 2500+ words to finish, I hope you like it /lh

Longan Dragon Cookie

“How quaint… to believe someone like you lives in such a… small place”

Having Longan Dragon in your home was… curious to say the least. Not something you expected, yet here you were, with a dragon looking at you as they squatted in your bedroom.

Longan would be hypercritical of the place you lived, noting things like “This looks cheap” or “Its far too small”

Despite that, Longan would be quite intrigued in your life, wanting to see how you worked or what you did, they’d follow you around when not sitting in your living room and meditating.

Nevertheless, they’re there for a reason, they’re with you for a reason, and they’ll make that reason known very, very soon.

It’d take Longan a few months, but eventually, they would come to sit by your side at the table, not sitting down on a chair but instead, sitting down by your side quite literally. They’d stare at you for long moments before finally leaning their head on your shoulder, the weight catching you off guard as you looked at them. 

“... I’ll make sure you live like you deserve one of these days” They’d say, and in that moment, you understood why there had been so many disappearances of delinquents and robbers nearby…

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

One of the few favorite activities of Longan was to read, so much so, that you had to request books from the library more often than not, but with the way Longan was reading them… It had just been a few months, and yet this dragon had consumed almost all of your local library’s books.  So, when they finished reading most of your books, they’d chose to write them. And they’d write about what they saw, about everything they had seen around them, everything they had seen in this new world, and in some sense, it was intriguing to see how a dragon explored the new world they were in, the little things that werent intriguing to you were greatly important to them, in a way that got you even more intrigued by how they saw you.

“... You want to know how I see you?” They’d ask.

You knew fully well that you shouldnt expect much, after all, this was Longan Dragon we were talking about, they werent a kind dragon, they saw cookies as lesser beings, and humans now by extensions, but as you asked them that question, they’d only smile and pat your head softly.

“You’re the reason Im here… Of course I would think highly of you”

A genuine smile, it made your heart flutter as they spoke, a hand going to cup your chin in it.

“You’re interesting, perhaps, one of the most interesting things I’ve seen in this world.”

Besides writing, they’d follow you around and take note of everything you’d do… And by night, they’d curl by your side, taking most of the bed as they allow you to take rest in their chest, as they allow you to take rest in their breaths while their hands thread on your hair.

Burning Spice Cookie

“How intriguing…! Never would I have expected your home to be so… so… erm…”

Another one who seems to heavily judge your house, but also, another one who appears in your home kneeling because it is so small compared to him.

Either way, he gets eased into the ambient quite easily, his search for entertainment leading him to see through everything and all the world has to offer.

Until he… gets bored, again, because your world isnt as different from his (and in some sense, it is… actually… more boring than his old world…)

So, he moves to the next thing closest to him for entertainment!

“Little one, come here” 

He’d call forward to you once, looking at you with dark yet fiery eyes and an everlasting smile, though you knew this once it hid something, after all, despite him coming to your world for x or y reason, it involved you, it always involved you…

“Entertain me” Would be his words once you approached him, his smile becoming only more cryptic as you lifted an eyebrow at his voice. Entertain, him? In what sense or way would you be able to entertain someone akin to a god? 

Seeming to sense your doubt, Burning Spice would only come and hold you from your shirt, lifting you up before staring at you and then…

“Hahahah, you should’ve looked at your face, you really are an interesting one!”

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

Besides seeking something for entertainment, Burning spice is in some sense able to somewhat pass through the crowd, and by that I mean he can somewhat pass as just a very tall human. Nonetheless, between choosing to hit the gym and sending you pictures, he’ll also follow you around, finding even the most monotonous tasks fairly entertaining if it has you in it. Its a weird combo, being outside with a dude in a hoodie and sweat pants following you around while doing groceries, or being in the metro and getting a fairly nice picture of him flexing for you. Burning spice is a menace…

“Aye, welcome home! I took care of some pesky people while you were gone… It was fun hearing their screams…”

…in far more ways than one.

Either way, you two also share a bed, its not like you have a choice with how clingy he can become when sleeping, pulling you in his arms in a heated hug (in the sense that he literally irradiates heat) while snoring loudly, you’ve gotten complaints from neighbors (if you live in an apartment), but somehow… they’ve… they’ve quieted down recently… However, when you ask Burning Spice, he just laughs it off.

Shadow Milk Cookie

“Woowee, what do we have here, sweetheart?”

Not as judgemental of your home, no, for once someone isnt as focused on where you live but…

He is focused on you, looking at you up and down, before hitting his head on the roof of your room, ouch!

He spends most of the days following you around though, using his magic to stay hidden from most people, so much that people may find you crazy for seeing you talk to… nothing!

Either way, much like the others, he’s there for a reason…

“Why Im here?”

You asked Shadow Milk once, after a good few months, what the jester had come to do in your own home. In fact, it perplexed you so much that when you asked him, the feeling seemed to be shared. It was… intriguing to say the least, but he’d only smile before clasping his hands together and saying in a song-esque tune.

“Becuase you’re sooooooooooo interesting, darlin! Just look at you, how could I NOT come here with you?”

Truth to be told, he saw you as who you really were, in some sense he saw you as someone who didnt fall for lies easily, he saw you as someone who saw beyond that and you were… interesting. You were a shot in the dark, and he just had, to have you near.

“You’re so silly, darlin, sososososo silly” He’d add in, patting your head softly as you only smiled and blushed slightly, even while knowing his smile and gaze hid a million of thoughts, and a million of even more ideas.

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not reading around in your home, or following you to the library to read some books, he’d be looking over your shoulder, reading every single note, watching every single thing you do, it makes him curious, how someone so quaint has him wrapped around your finger. And yet, he cant help but smile at the idea of being just like that, wrapped around your finger in a sweet loving embrace.

He’d be the most romantic of the bunch, the one that makes it the most prominent that he’s there with you because he likes you, he dosent even hide it fully despite his jester-esque persona, he just cant hide it! So, when you ask him about what he was doing one day in the balcony of your apartment, he’d only turn and smile softly.

“Why, I'm recreating one of your world’s theatre plays!” He’d say, and you make a mental note to go to the theatre more often… “And you’ve come just in time, silly (y/n)! I need someone to play dearest Juliet!”

You add that it is a tragic love story, and he only brushes it off, adding in that “actors are actors, sweetheart, now come in and act!” so you do, and you have a fun time doing a monologue to a bunch of people who stay and watch, before claps fill the air.

And when time comes to bed, he’ll be the first to curl up in your bed, curl like a cat who welcomes you into his arms so sweetly, you feel the scent of milk, lactonic as it is, and for once you feel safe.

Timekeeper Cookie

“Well, look what we have here!”

To find Timekeeper in your home means to have done something either right or wrong. In your case, its right.

They’re very much curious about everything from the things you do on a daily basis to your home and how electronics work.

Still, and much like some others in this list, they become quickly bored about it, choosing to focus on you as main form of entertainment

Still, you can expect certain shenanigans to ensue.

It was late at night when it happened, just as you were playing when a portal opened and dragged you inside of it. You were scared shitless that much is true but, when you saw the person who dragged you in, you simply could sigh in slight annoyance.

“What? Cant I drag my favorite person in for some fun?” They’d say with that ever present smile, Timekeeper chuckling as she smiled widely at you, before noticing… “Oh, right, it is night where you’re from, guess I took you out at the wrong time!”

You huffed and yawned, before sitting up and looking at your phone… Right, it didnt exactly work when in time rifts, but then again that raised the question, why did they bring you here to begin with? As if being presented with the question loud and clear, they’d clear her throat and speak yet again.

“I simply wanted to see you, nothing wrong with that now?” They’d say quite mischievously, picking you up and bringing you into her lap “Go on, lets- Hm?”

You’d fall asleep into her arms as soon as she picked you up, your calm quiet face being shown to her as you were held in her arms. Well, guess fun had to wait.

If you’re wondering what they’d do in your world, then…

Much like the others, they also enjoy reading, however, they focus on reading about engineering and mechanics, more so about the mechanics of your world to see if they’re any different from the ones of her world. To say there isnt much difference is but an understatement, there was a hefty amount of difference counting the technology from the TBD was far more advanced, but, even then, you’d be able to get the timekeeper intrigued by the nature of your world.

“Tell me more about your world, c’mon!” They’d ask one day, floating from a time rift as you cooked dinner. 

Unlike the others Timekeeper wasnt keen on staying in one place, still finding comfort in being inside time rifts most of the time, though they still visited you more often than not, more often than other places. Seeing them you’d ask her what she wanted to know, to which she’d hum before saying.

“Anything, I dont really find it entertaining seeing it myself—Explain your world to me yourself, doll!”

So when night comes after a long day chatting, it is you who clings to her softly, as she watches you sleep cozily by her side. She smiles and pats your head, because as much as she’d prefer to fade into a time rift, she knows she cant let you go so easily, no. Not when you finally showed her happiness.

“Interesting, this place is… quite interesting…”

Seeing someone as tall as Millennial Tree in your home is but a piece of the whole puzzle. You are dumbfounded but in some sense, seeing them kneel to greet you is almost laughable.

He’s big, very tall and a gentle giant overall, and it shows when he holds your hand and tells you that your world is interesting to him.

He’s just as curious as everyone else, looking at everything, looking at everyone, he’s curious about you, curious about your world, yet he knows it’d be dangerous to leave on his own.

So, you take him to the forest, planing on leaving him go but…

“I dont want to leave you alone…”

He’d speak with conviction, looking at you as your eyes widened and your face dropped. Just what you feared would happen. He’d hold your hands together, looking at you with some concern before smiling softly, kissing both of your palms.

“I came here for a reason, that much I know, and I know that reason is within you… Allow me to stay by your side, and I’ll do everything in my power to make it worth it.”

You have no power in you to say no, to turn down his offer after his gentle and sweet words, that day you realized that perhaps he did come to your world for a reason, a world so clad in evil and pain…

If you’re wondering what he’d do in your world, then…

When not travelling nor reading, he’s at home with you, cooking or revisiting each place he has gone to to help. He’s become… a sort of Messiah, you cant help it, become public enemy no.1 to some, and a savior to others, it truly depended on who you were asking. Your gaze would follow his as he trailed on a book you both were reading before he’d lean and kiss your forehead, things were… easy, happy with him there… You felt much happier.

“Is something the matter, sapling?” He’d ask, his gentleness carrying over to his voice as he hummed at your words saying it was nothing, but he knew better, still, he wouldnt push. “Are you perhaps tired?”

You pouted slightly before nodding, yes, you were quite tired, but you didnt want to admit to it. Still, he’d nod before moving the book to the side and lifting you into his arms. He’d carry you to your shared bedroom, careful on his way there before setting you on the bed with him, cozily, softly, carrying you to him as he pressed his lips on your forehead and your body to his.

“Sleep well, sunshine” He’d say, brushing hairs off your face before speaking again “Thank you for accepting me into your world…”

Honestly, how could you not at this point? With that thought in your head… You fell asleep.

[marejadilla]

Rand Burns, "Snowdrops", 2021, acrylic on canvas. American artist.

[densewentz]

Unnecessarily Complex Fit Inktober Day 3 is for Hope!Hob who made the mistake of letting his ridiculous stranger pick his Hope threads rip (look its unnecessarily complex for Hob, and also me, because I am a tired worm)

[beastyeastfreak]

could we get beast headcanons for a reader who has long since grown exhausted life’s struggles and becomes perfectly happy to play pet? no need to work so hard for scraps, the only thing expected of them is their loyalty and to sit there looking pretty—what bliss!

(bonus points if we get to see each respective ancient’s reactions to such “mindless” compliance)

(bonus bonus points if the main reason reader was so exhausted is because they were being trained as that ancient’s apprentice of sorts)

I kinda love this idea because i absolutely would fold too

Cw and tags: Romantic, beasts partially see reader as a pet/toy/decor/trophy but not completely dehumanized(written as reader being ok with/liking it), kidnapping, theres a good bit of time between beasts escaping and being defeated in ESC’s and MFC’s just to make it make sense.

Written before the silent salt update

Mystic Flour

🌾 - Every cookie in the cacao kingdom was overworked, you were just the only one who could admit it. You wanted to leave the kingdom at many times, but the weather was simply too hazardous. You staying lead to you going further and further up the ranks until landing you at Dark Cacaos advisor. Your seat at the table had been empty for some time and you soon learned why. You would not have taken the opportunity if you knew surveillance would be apart of it. No one wanted another Affogato incident and neither did you! Everything you said was always double checked, everyone automatically assumed there was a chance you were lying. You didn’t even know the guy and yet he was making an already hard job harder.

🌾 - She is not surprised when she finds you and you give up without any threats to you or the kingdom. Anyone would turn to apathy after enduring such hardships and distrust. When she found you, she was surprised your entire head icing had not gone grey. If peace were a cookie, you were every opposite to it. She saw within you was distress, hidden under sternness and “playing nice to appear less suspicious”. At first she welcomes you just to pull you away from Dark Cacao, but as her interest grows her intentions deviate. She’ll find you sitting alone many days, unable to rest even despite the serenity of the pagoda and the amount of sweet food given to you during your stay here. Eternal Sugar herself delivered a tooth achingly sweet berry for you and still nothing worked. You were as tough and tasteless as dark chocolate slabs.

🌾 - Such devotion to a futile cause and devotion to work, she wanted to change that. She wanted apathy to swallow you whole, for you to realize how much your kingdom had made you work, for you to completely break and trail behind her like a decoration but ultimately find peace. You seemed likely to be submissive with little push, she just has to break down those walls brick by brick, and by the witches she will do that.

🌾 - It starts slow. No more of your old attire. You were too far gone to find apathy on your own so you had to stay with her. By now you already lived in the mountains with her but she makes sure you can’t leave. Her plan for you is for each step further you became ok with the last step taken, you would not realize you were becoming undone. Isolation was another helpful bonus, without the discriminatory eyes of outside cookies it was much easier for her. She expects you to revolt or cringe at whatever she has in mind for you, strangely you do not. You nod at her demands and thank her when she gifts you something to wear.

🌾 - Your gaze became softer, you fretted less over small inconveniences and mistakes. Without being asked you accompanied her when she wasn’t meditating alone, and soon you joined her there too. It became less of an attack on Dark Cacao and more of her just enjoying your presence and wanting you to be without all the stress that came with life that she had not carved. Now instead of worrying for your people, juggling duties for your kingdom and tossing in bed you were hers. You were compliant, calm, apathetic. Her actions which could once be misinterpreted as friendly became more tender, indulgent even. She wanted you to be close because she liked you from the beginning, but now she was honest about it.

🌾 - Slowly, she allows you to break down her walls and rules. Her standard for what apathy should look like on normal cookies had changed but only when it was you. For some time she tries to form a gap between you both, her desire was clouding her judgment and making you less and less apathetic in her eyes. She wasn’t the right influence, ironically enough. Still, you bridged that gap with the same patience she had bestowed upon you. Finally, she decided there could be a middle ground. Just for you.

🌾 - When Dark Cacao sees Mystic Flour again you’re with her. He’s angry, she dared cast a spell on you? Kidnap his trusted advisor! She assures him for you, there is no magic, she granted you peace and he will be next. She takes your chin not in a grab or a hold, just placed there and you follow her hand like a dog moves towards petting. She graces your lips with a light, slow peck. “They made the decision to allow me in, and now they have accepted apathy into their heart and their needless struggles will hurt them no more.” She says, he is still furious but his anger is still guided at her, he finds your state repulsive and will either exile you or try to fix you when he eventually defeats her.

(Reader isn’t affiliated with the cheese kingdom in this one sorry, broly poly)

Burning Spice

🏜️ - Burning Spice had eradicated many places off the face of earthbread and history. In his crusade for complete destruction, there was only one hypocrisy. He was known to take home trophies of his own on rare occasions, forfeiting from the idea he had completely wiped something away. Usually it was highly important artifacts that he’d snatch away just to destroy later on or use as blackmail… and destroy after he gets what he wants. Sometimes it was food and drinks, maybe even jewelry or status symbols of some kind. But one time, it was a cookie.

🏜️ - You belonged to a busy kingdom, bustling due to an influx of cookies seeking safety from the Beast epidemic. Cookies saviors had turned their backs to them and they needed someone to look to. Said cookie that everyone turned to was the king of said city, and you the advisor. Though sometimes it felt like you had taken all the kingly responsibilities without the according payment. So obviously as more cookies came into the city escaping the beasts wrath, more duties pawned onto you while he lounged around. So, your irritation grew, it became a tangled storm within you which could not be tamed.

🏜️ - In due time, the gaze of destruction settled upon the land. The wind grew like an announcement, or perhaps a warning. You were told of the approaching swarm and were able to evacuate many cookies, as many as you were able to but soon you were caught in the crossfire. Forced to hide within the castle with the king and a few select servants and knights. There, unknowingly being overheard by The Great Destroyer himself behind the protective door you voice your frustrations knowing death was coming for you. You let him know every little thing that angered you, finishing with something like “i would have rather been at the feet of some beast then serve another day with you. I will take great pleasure from my grave seeing your crumbs atop this destroyed city!” Among other profanities.

🏜️ - Finding amusement in your words, when he breaks the door down he decides to spare you. He pretends to not have heard anything, looks at you as the spice swarm comes in to finish everyone off. He doesn’t ask your name, “you are mine now” and your fate was sealed. You thought it would be a life of servitude in store for you, that was all you had known after all. To your surprise, no work waited for you. You were given clothing, food all for you to basically be a pet. Honestly after dealing with all you had gone through, you just gave in and accepted the role. No longer ‘advisor y/n cookie’ now whatever the strangely affectionate name of the week was.

🏜️ - Gradually as you and Burning Spice got closer, he saw you less as a pet or a trophy and more like a partner. Every time he returned from another massacre or hunting trip, you’d be there to greet him. He wasn’t used to this kind of affection, or feelings. His possessiveness of you grew strangely and he hated it. He did not want to sound greedy by saying you were his, but everyone sort of just figures it out anyway. Your living situation was already quite luxurious but now you were basically treated the same as him, partially because you never leave his side and because no one wants to anger him for mistreating you. Somehow, the underpaid worker became The Great Destroyers only treasure.

Eternal sugar

🌷 - You weren’t particularly high class, that was your problem. You were trying to get by selling your wares and working extra jobs in the hollyberry kingdom. It was no ones fault but circumstances, you simply were born poor. You would have to live this life, sing a song sung before. Hollyberrian pride and willpower was the only thing that kept you going… and maybe a little too much juice than you’d like to say. You would be lying if you said you didn’t envy royals who only worried about how soft their cushions were and the style of whatever juice they were sipping on.

🌷 - When the beasts first escaped, Eternal Sugar seemed to immediately locate her other halfs kingdom and have a look around though she was very unseen. Oh, all these poor hard working cookies! She thought it was bad until she saw you, she told herself she would try to hold back on taking any suffering cookie home but she couldn’t resist! You simply couldn’t wait, you needed her help now. So she waited for dusk to come so she could take you with no issues from anyone else. You began to make your way home, shoulders slumped and face down. In disguise(really just hiding the wings honestly), she bumped into you causing her to fall. You help her up as she assumed you would, then comes some acting lessons from shadow milk. She was visiting the city but it was so busy this time of year and she had no where to stay as all the hotels were booked. Though you could have given her directions to a friends house, you offer to let her stay on your couch unknowingly inviting a beast into your home.

🌷 - Over dinner, she has you talk all about yourself. She doesn’t break your walls, she grows vines and uses them to climb. For once your struggles were seen heard. Soon she gets you to admit what she was waiting for: “Even though its not very.. hollyberrian, i just want to stop working, sit down and rest for like.. ever.. you know?” She smiles, “i can help with that.” Then begins to stand up, she walks with her back facing away and drops her metaphorical cloak, wings now billowing out and any other beast like feature she was hiding now for you to see. She explains who she is and what she does, she expects fear or excuses, but you sit in weary shock then crack a joke, “do you still need to stay on my couch?” Obviously you already have her heart.

🌷 - You leave soon after, taking a few things and leaving a note so your friends wont think you’ve been kidnapped (you have but willingly). Love blossoms between you two somewhat quickly, she eased tension in your body and mind. Kisses felt like resolve slowly dropping, poison spreading delightfully through your system. Juice hadn’t even come close to creating a feeling like being with her. She keeps you with her, you’re always leaning against each other or tangled up in either lap. Like the angel she was, she had delivered you from a life of hard work for nothing and you had given her your presence which was payment enough.

🌷 - By the time Hollyberry and her friends arrive you had already been well adjusted into the garden. When Hollyberry arrives in the heart, where you reside, she tries to talk to you. She thinks you were captured and are playing the long game to escape, or maybe you were under a spell. Tiger lily tries to get you to eat a berry and you do but nothing happens, disproving their claims. Hollyberry isn’t upset, with you at least, she’s glad you found happiness here but knows one day you may come to regret it. You on the other hand couldn’t be happier.

Shadow Milk

🃏 - Ever since Pure Vanilla was just blind healer, you were at his side. Rebuilding the Vanilla Kingdom among every other hardship you endured slowly built up a lot of tolls you were taking. When Pure Vanilla began his travels to beast yeast, he chose you to go with him. Despite your overwhelming tiredness, which you had been hiding quite well, you agreed with no hesitation. If someone was threatening the safety of your kingdom you had to help Pure Vanilla take care of them.

🃏 - The night before you left for beast yeast you were plagued with a nightmare. A dark void with blue eyes and stars all around, a voice coming from beyond. “A little liar are we? I wonder how much it’ll take for me to knock you over!” You felt as though you were pushed to the ground though there was no ground in sight. “It’s a shame you’re on the wrong side, I wouldn’t have treated you sooo bad,” someone obscured by darkness floated around you. You were so knee deep in work you didn’t oppose though you knew this entity was of darkness. “Hmm? Whats that? Cant hear you… did you not say anything? Oh its almost like you.. you want to come with me!” He breaks into laughter, whoever was in this dream with you was weirding you out. “Weeeelll~ if you want to so badly.. i do need another plaything, its not like you’d have to do anything! Come on, this deal ends soon!” He says in a singsong voice but almost on command you’re awakened by knocking on your door. Apparently you had slept in.

🃏 - When you do finally meet face to face with Shadow Milk, he’s quick to pull you away from the others to ask if you made up your mind which makes you realize who he was. He reminds you of all you went through, and you decide yes you will go with him just not to be flaunted at Pure Vanilla. He sends you to his other realm, when he handles them then he’ll bring you out and you can be his little puppet for the rest of eternity, how enticing. He proceeds to lose, and return to the silver tree for some time with you still with him.

🃏 - He did not need his ego stroked, but strangely that was something you did that landed you a lot of rewards. He spends the entire time back in the silver tree avoiding the other beasts for screwing up. They know they’ll be back out again pretty quickly but still, they cant help but make some attempts on his life. He entertains you with puppet shows, stories which are definitely not 100 % true and messing with Pure Vanillas dreams. You do nothing but float around him looking pretty but still are praised by the other beasts for “putting up with him”. He’s very annoying by their standards.

🃏 - When they all escape again, he gets you brand new matching clothes and a room in the spire. He all but keeps you away from the fun, you now have to watch all your friends fight him and Pure Vanilla struggle. Shadow Milk uses you as a way to torment him. Eventually he becomes Truthless Recluse, who has no real opinion on you. He just thinks your lapdog behavior is kind of annoying, but so is shadow milks behavior so maybe you’re destined for eachother