#but he does stammer under pressure. not exactly in a shy way. in an excited

[listenheresweaty]

Ok uh here goes

Can I get revivedbur headcanons for a reader who was very hurt by his betrayal? Like all rev wants to do is be nice to reader and love them but they want nothing to do with him?

-roses 🥀

ohhh boy my first ask

first off i wanna say that i absolutely love this idea. perfect angst fodder mmm

im not that great at writing angst. when im not sure what to write i add a lot of insignificant details until i get motivation. so hopefully this is satisfying :) If not, i'll try to come up with some more concise headcanons for wilbur trying to regain the reader's affections.

-----

First off, I'd like to point out that Wilbur right after revival and Wilbur a couple days after revival (especially after the events of hitting on 16) are quite different

When he's freshly revived, Wilbur is ecstatic. He's alive, rejuvenated, and ready to cause mayhem in every conceivable corner of the server.

Ever the ambitious man, his first concerns are with gaining power--- or, rather, interfering with power. He wants to become relevant, involved in the incessant, political push-and-pull of mankind that has interested him since a young age.

Eventually, though, the adrenaline wears off and he starts thinking about the people in his life. Tommy, who he had immediately recruited for his expeditions to Las Nevadas. Phil and Technoblade, who he visited gladly. And you. You're there, just a short 5 minute walk from Technoblade's house.

Wilbur's sitting at the table with Phil, making small talk about the weather or something when you walk in, throwing open the door with a huff and brushing the snow out of your hair. You look a mess, hair wet and plastered to your cheeks and your nose red and sniffling.

God, how he's missed you.

You freeze when you see him, your voice dying in your throat.

Wilbur smiles oh so sweetly, opening his mouth to speak.

Phil accidentally interrupts him, standing up and explaining the situation to you--- yes, the rumors were true. Yes, Dream is on his necromancer arc. No, he's not Ghostbur.

Wilbur tries his best to speak with you, but it's hard with Phil and Techno there. And for some reason you won't speak to him directly, asking all questions about him to Phil, such as "When was he revived? Was it really dream who revived him?"

When you do address him, your answers are clipped, polite but distant.

He figures it's just because it's awkward with Phil around.

But even when he manages to catch you alone, you try to push him away, glaring at him before stalking off with your jaw clenched and your face hidden from his view.

ouch.

That doesn't deter him for long: Quackity had brushed him off with an eye roll and a dismissive wave of the hand, and yet their rivalry is still underlined by a vague sense of respect and friendliness. (keyword: vague). So, he'll just act the same as he does with Quackity!

But as soon as he starts pestering you too, popping up in your house to nick a few items and smirk at you, the look in your eyes stops him dead in his tracks.

"Get out of my house, Soot!" Your tone of voice catches him off guard. There isn't a trace of amusement or playful exasperation. Your annoyance is so profound it borders on disgust.

All the lighthearted mischievousness that had been previously dancing in his rib cage is extinguished in a heartbeat. His smirk fades, and he stands in silence.

"Didn't you fucking hear me? Get out!"

"Darling, I-I.. " He laughs nervously. "I was just joking, you can have your stuff back---"

"I don't care if you steal, leave or burn them. I want you out of my house."

"But--... I don't--"

"---And don't call me darling."

"I don't understand."

"What? What don't you understand?"

"I didn't.. I just want to talk." He raises his hands in surrender, exhaling slowly. "I just wanted to talk."

"I don't want to talk." You say, quiet and composed once more. "You aren't welcome here. Just--- get out. Please."

He wanted to stay and argue, but something about the way you were looking at him was almost more suffocating than Limbo. He turned tail and nearly bolted out of there.

---

He doesn't visit you for a while after that. It's even worse if you had been attached to Ghostbur--- because of course you were attached to Ghostbur.

And after hitting on 16? When he goes on his apology arc?

If people don't accept your apology, Phil had said, you need to let them go.

And so Wilbur does the same thing with you as he did with Tommy: avoiding you like the plague in fear of having to inevitably let you go.

He still spends his time thinking about you, of course. Whenever you two accidentally end up in the same area, he stands to the side, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

The only way he's going to end up talking to you is if Eret sets it up, not revealing it to either of you until you're face to face.

You've calmed down since your last encounter with Wilbur. Although your opinions haven't changed, you willingly sit down to talk with him.

He, too, is less insistent with his apology. "Listen, I-I.. I know this won't fix things. I don't expect them to."

Wilbur pauses, and you raise an eyebrow for him to continue.

"But you-- you mean a lot to me." He says, wincing at the immediate scoff from you. "You do. You mean the world to me."

"Months. Months you lied to me, in Pogtopia. Months we all spent slaving away to get L'Manburg back-- and I did it all for you! I fought for that country because you loved it like life itself. You watched us fight for it, you let us bleed and sweat and shed tears for it, all while knowing all our efforts would be in vain because you'd be blowing it to pieces regardless. And then you up and left! You left us all, left us to pick up your pieces and drag your body to be buried. "

" ______." Wilbur said your name, quietly.

"-- And you proposed to me! The day beforewe were about to fight to get back L'Manburg, you got down on one knee and proposed.--"

"______." Wilbur repeated.

"You promised we'd have a life after the war. You looked me in the eyes and promised me this, knowing damn well what would happen the next day."

Wilbur doesn't say anything. His shoulders sag, deflating.

You sigh too. "And then you're revived. Months go by, I don't hear a word from you--- not that I was asking to--- and now you're apologizing."

Wilbur falls silent. "I'm selfish."

You purse your lips and move to speak, but he cuts you off.

"I'm not saying that to provoke pity or fish for compliments or serve an excuse. I'm just stating the fact. I am, at heart, a selfish person. I-- that's why I proposed to you that day. I-I knew it would hurt. I thought it would.. keep you closer, wanting to avoid you leaving me. Even though I was the one leaving." He exhales, running a hand through his hair.

The brutal honesty has you dumbfounded, searching for any traces of trickery or manipulation-- but not finding any. He seems genuine. Incredibly self-depreciating, but genuine.

"..And that's the reason I haven't apologized to you until now." Wilbur continues, seeing that you weren't going to speak. "I didn't.. I couldn't bear to hear a formal rejection."

You don't know what to do, having exhausted yourself with your outburst earlier. So you just nod in understanding.

"I-I'm going to be honest. I really, really don't want to let you go. But I've promised myself that that's what I'll do if you don't accept my apology. If you want me to leave you alone, say the word. You won't have to see me again. But if there's anything I can do, anything to earn a second chance for myself--- I'll do it." He rambles on. "I don't need you to love me. I want you to--- I really want you too-- but I don't need you to. I just don't want you to hate me."

You chew on your bottom lip thoughtfully. "I don't hate you."

He looks relieved, hope lighting up his features.

"...But I don't know if I'll accept your apology."

His face falls.

"I know I don't accept it right now. And I think that's understandable. I want to accept it sometime in the future, Wilbur, I just.. I need time."

Wilbur nods, mouth twitching as he works up the nerve to speak. "Would you.. prefer if I stayed away, during that time?"

"I don't want you to outright avoid me." You admit. "If we happen to end up in the same place together, I´ll talk to you. But I think some distance would be helpful."

"Yeah." He manages, clearing his throat. "Yeah, I'll... I can wait."

Wilbur looks back up at you. "I'll wait for you." He promises.

and then he leaves for utah

[criminalmindzjunkie]

Reassurance

masterlist

part one

Summary: Spencer feels insecure, and Reader puts his worries to rest. 

A/N: I got several requests to write a follow-up to Avoidance , and after writing almost the whole entire thing, only to scrap it all because it was literal trash, here we are! I initially planned to go a different route with this, but it didn’t flow right and I ended up changing the entire plot line somewhere along the way. I really like how this turned out, and I hope you guys enjoy it, too!

Pairing: sub!Spencer/femdom!Reader

Content warnings: cursing, Spencer being insecure, hand job, oral sex (male receiving), anal fingering, pegging, light degradation, Spencer experiencing sub-drop

Word Count: 6k

           Spencer’s lips drag against mine at a slow, deliberate pace as I sit perched on his lap, my hands tugging lightly at where his hair curls at the nape of his neck. One particularly harsh tug has Spencer gasping into my mouth and tightening his grip on my hips, pulling me down until I’m fully sat on his lap. The bulge tenting his slacks comes in full contact with my clothed core and I hum appreciatively against his lips.

           “Getting excited there, baby?”

           Spencer lets out a whine of protest when I pull away, leaning forward in an attempt to reunite our lips. I press my hand flat against his chest and push him back until he rests against the couch cushions.

           “I thought you wanted to watch a movie tonight?” I ask him, my lips curled up into a knowing smile. Spencer’s thumbs begin to rub soothing circles into my hips as he fixes me with a shy smile.

           “Maybe later,” he replies, sheepish. He looks breathtaking - bathed in the soft glow of the lamp light, shadows dancing across every perfectly chiseled inch of his face. Faint purple bruises dot the underside of his jaw line, remnants of the last time we had been afforded enough time to get tangled up under the bedsheets. I press my thumb to one of them, applying just enough pressure to cause Spencer’s breath to hitch. In another day or two, the purple and yellow discoloration would be gone, leaving no trace of our time together.

           I release my hold on his jaw and make a mental note to see to it that he has another set of pretty marks before the weekend is over.

           “Later?” I lift the hand that was splayed across his chest until I’m able to fiddle with the top button on his dress shirt. “You talk as if you have something else you’d like to do first. Care to share?”            Spencer squirms underneath my gaze, eyes flitting between my lips and where I’m pressed firmly against his erection. I watch him flounder to come up with a response before deciding to forgo words completely and rut himself against me, eyelids fluttering closed as he lets out a low whine.

           I click my tongue at him and raise up until my center hovers over him, torturously close but not quite close enough to touch.

           “What’s the matter, Doctor? It’s not like you to be at a loss for words,” I taunt as I pop open the last three buttons of his shirt. Now that the milky white skin of his chest is on full display, I waste no time in dragging my fingernails from his collarbone down to his navel, light and teasing. The action elicits a shiver from Spencer, who looks up at me with glossy eyes and blown pupils.

           “P-Please,” he stutters out.

           “Please, what?” I prod, cocking my head to the side. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

           Spencer’s tongue pokes out to run across his bottom lip.

           “I want you,” he breathes out, low and sultry. “Now. Don’t wanna wait.”

           I let out a pleased sigh as I lean forward to capture Spencer’s lips in a heated kiss. Spencer’s quick to reciprocate, eagerly licking into my mouth as soon as my lips brush against his.

           It’s not long until I feel the hands on my waist begin to tug me back down onto his lap, eliciting a giggle from me.

           “Such a needy little thing,” I murmur against his lips.

           Usually, a comment like this would be met by some sort of mumbled affirmation. But this time, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel Spencer’s whole body tense up beneath me.

           “Does… Does that bother you?”

           I pull away and give Spencer an inquisitive look.

           “Does what bother me?”

           Spencer averts his eyes, “That I’m so submissive.” He spits the word out like it burns his mouth – like it’s something to be ashamed of – and I can’t suppress my frown.

           “Why would that ever bother me?”

           Spencer gives a feeble shrug of his shoulders, still refusing to pull his gaze from where it rests on the floor.

           “I read an article in Psychology Today that discussed a survey in which 172 German adults completed a personality questionnaire and then measured their own preference for a dominant partner. Not only was the general consensus that both genders prefer dominant partners, the participants also agreed with statements like ‘a very nice partner is often boring’ and ‘I feel attracted to assertive partners.’ So, it’s only natural that you might get tired of me always being such a pushover and search for a more exciting partner than can keep you stimulated-”

           I clamp my hand down on Spencer’s mouth, effectively ending his self-deprecating rant and forcing him to look up from where his eyes were burning a hole into the floor. When I know he isn’t going to try and continue down that particularly awful train of thought, I remove my hand.

           “First of all, you are not a pushover. Insinuating that you are a pushover would also be insinuating that I’m taking advantage of you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?” Spencer’s eyes grow wide and he frantically shakes his head.

           “Absolutely not. I… I love what you do to me – with me. What we do together. I-I just want to be sure that you like it to. That you’re not just humoring me until someone who can actually give you what you want comes around.”

           I feel my mouth fall open from shock somewhere during the middle of his spiel. He can’t actually be so oblivious to the fact that I enjoy the hell out of our sex life, can he?

           Apparently, he can and he is, because Spencer takes my silence as affirmation.

           “I could try? To d-dom you, that is. I’ve been reading up on it and-”

           “Spencer, where on earth did this come from?”

           Spencer blinks hard, “I told you – I read it in Psychology Today.”

           I shake my head at him and slip off of his lap and onto the couch cushion beside him.

           “No, that’s not what I meant. What made you think that I’m not happy with our sex life?”

           “N-Nothing in particular,” Spencer stammers. “I just know that I’m not exactly the most masculine guy, and I want to make sure that you’re, you know… happy. With me.”

           And there it is.

           I reach for Spencer’s hand and link our fingers together.

           “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that comment Derek made this morning, would it?” Spencer doesn’t answer, but the way his eyes drop to his lap tells me everything I need to know. I tighten my grip on his hand. “You know he was just messing with you, right? As out of line as it was, he was just being… Derek.”

           “He wasn’t wrong, though. I am extremely docile – along with a litany of other very passive traits. I’m not strong or assertive or confident like Derek; I’m basically the complete opposite of the ideal male partner. All I’m good for is spouting out information that’s only sometimes useful. No wonder you don’t want to-” Spencer clamps his mouth shut and his cheeks burn red. “Forget it. C-Can we pretend this conversation never happened?”

           “No wonder I don’t want to what?” I prod, brows furrowed in confusion. But still, Spencer refuses to meet my eyes. “And as far as all the other stuff goes, it doesn’t matter if you’re assertive or strong. I prefer my sweet, gentle boy over guys like Derek Morgan, any day. My ideal male partner just so happens to be pretty boys with curly brown hair and massive IQs, not aggressive alpha males with overinflated egos.” I bring Spencer’s hand up to my lips and place a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I’m being serious, Spence. There’s a lot to love about you.”

           Spencer’s next words are hushed, so quiet that I almost don’t hear him when he says, “Then why haven’t you told anyone about us yet?”

           In the two months since our first time together, neither of us had been brave enough to broach the subject of what exactly we were doing. With neither of us quite sure how to go about defining the relationship, we’d fallen into a sort of routine. Whenever it came time to pair off for the night and retreat to our hotel rooms, Spencer and I always made sure that we were paired together. Hotch never seemed to care – he was just happy that we weren’t walking on eggshells around each other anymore - and the others were kind enough to keep their suspicions to themselves. On the weekends, or really any time that we weren’t working a case, time off was spent in each other’s company, be it at Spencer’s place or mine. Days full of impromptu adventures to farmer’s markets and niche antique shops devolved into passionate nights spent learning every inch of each other’s skin until no stone was left unturned. It was the perfect arrangement.

           Or at least it would’ve been, if Spencer and I hadn’t managed to fall half way in love somewhere along the way. It was glaringly obvious early on that it was way more than just sexual chemistry that kept us both coming back for more, but owning up to that fact was a whole other issue that neither of us was ready to deal with.

           Until now, apparently.

           “I-I mean, we haven’t talked about what exactly this is, so I wasn’t quite sure how to go about that,” I stammer. “But now that you’ve brought it up…”

           Spencer finally looks up and his eyes are filled to the brim with equal parts fear and hope.

           “I-I really want there to be an us,” he whispers. “I kind of thought that much was obvious.”

           “And I thought the fact that I have absolutely zero complaints in the bedroom was obvious, but here we are,” I tease, and Spencer lets out an involuntary giggle when I poke at his side. “I want there to be an us, too. And for what it’s worth, I like you just the way you are, Spencer Reid - just so we’re clear.”

           “Really?” Spencer persists. From anyone else, it would seem like they were fishing for compliments, but from Spencer? I knew my sweet, darling boy just needed some reassurance.

           I lean forward and capture his lips in a long, languid kiss.

           “Really really,” I mumble when I pull away. “Have I done a thorough enough job drilling that into your head, or do you need some more convincing?”

           “More convincing,” Spencer replies as he ducks in for another kiss. “Lots and lots of convincing.”

           I smile against his lips, “That’s good to hear, because I sorta had a little something special planned for you.”

           “Something special?”

           I slide my hand from its place on his knee until my fingers glide across the tip of his clothed cock.

           “Remember that thing we talked about last week?”

           I can feel the way Spencer’s cock twitches under my hand and I have to bite back a smile.

           “Y-Yeah?”

           I give his bulge a light squeeze that has Spencer moaning low in his throat.

           “Only if you want to. There’s no pressure at all. I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with. I’d be perfectly fine if you just wanna watch that movie and cuddle a bit - you know that right?”

           “Yes, but I still want to,” Spencer chokes out. “Very, very much.” And then he’s bringing a hand up to cup my face before slotting our lips together again.

           The kiss is sloppy, seeing as we’re both much too excited to worry about being precise. Spencer spends time exploring my body with his free hand, starting at my hips and then dipping underneath my t-shirt. Spencer’s hand is just shy of skimming over my bra when I pull back and he lets out a frustrated whine when I pull his hands off of me.

           “I wanna ask you a few things before we do this, okay, baby?” Spencer flushes a deep crimson as he nods. “Have you ever experimented with any sort of anal play before?”

           “N-No, I haven’t. Is that okay?”

           Spencer Reid, you are going to be the death of me.

           “That’s perfectly fine, sweet boy,” I coo. “I’m just trying to get a feel for what’s going to be the most comfortable for you. We’ll start small and work our way up, okay?” Spencer nods, prompting me to tack on an, “Assuming that you want to, that is. This is all on your terms, and I need to make sure that you know that nothing’s going to happen that you don’t expressly consent to first.”

           Spencer’s lips pull up into a sweet smile.

           “I know, and I trust you,” he says. “And I consent to it. To all of it.”

           “You’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific than that,” I chuckle. “What exactly are you consenting to?”

           Spencer shifts in his seat, “Y-You know.”

           “Yes, but I want to hear you say it, baby.”

           Spencer gulps hard, “I-I want you to fuck me. Please.”

           I let out a satisfied hum and remove my hand from Spencer’s lap.

           “I want you to go to the bedroom and take off all your clothes. Then I want you to lie in the center of the bed and if I walk in and see you touching yourself, I’ll walk right back out and I won’t touch you for a month. Are we clear?”

           “Y-Yes, Miss.”

--

           I spend much longer than necessary in the living room, sitting on the couch and scrolling through my phone for nearly ten minutes before getting up and making my way to the bedroom. The anticipation is half of the fun, in my opinion, and I take great pleasure in imagining Spencer squirming against the sheets, desperate for me to walk through that door.

           I rid myself of my skirt and blouse as I make my way down the hallway, leaving me in only my panties and bralette. I can hear Spencer’s heavy breathing before I even reach the bedroom, and it makes my stomach flip excitedly as I push open the door.

           Spencer lays in the middle of the bed, hands grabbing at the sheets as he rolls his hips in vain. His cock stands painfully hard, leaking precum and bobbing up and down with every motion of his hips. Spencer doesn’t see or hear me when I come in – his eyes are closed tight and his bottom lip is nestled between his teeth, blissfully oblivious as he ruts up into nothing.

           “It seems like my poor, needy boy has worked himself up into quite a state.”

           The sound of my voice startles him and he immediately halts the movement of his hips. Spencer’s eyes watch on and I walk over to the night stand, taking my time as I remove a bottle of lube, my harness, and the newly purchased dildo bought especially for my sweet boy.

           Spencer’s eyes linger on the silicone member, wide and curious as I set the items on the bed and crawl in between his legs. He spreads his legs without being prompted, leaving him completely exposed to me, and the action makes my heart swell with pride. My good boy has learned so much in the past two months.

           “M’gonna suck that pretty cock of yours now, and I want you to keep your hips still. Can you do that for me, baby?”

           Spencer nods frantically, “Y-Yes, Miss. Please – I need your mouth. I’ll be still, I promise.”

           I let out a pleased hum as I take him into my hand, dragging my fist up and down, spreading precum across the entirety of his length.

           “I know you will, baby. You’re always so good for me. So eager to please.”

           I lean down and begin placing kisses to the sensitive skin of his thighs, all while continuing to work my hand against him. I nip lightly at the skin above his right hip and Spencer sucks in a ragged breath when I suck a pretty purple bruise in the very same spot. It contrasts starkly with his porcelain skin, and I enjoy the way it looks so much that I continue until a plethora of love bites litter his inner thighs. When I finally sit back and admire my work, Spencer’s writhing so pitifully against the mattress that I decide to put him out of his misery.

           Spencer devolves into a whimpering mess the moment I take his tip into my mouth, his head thrashing wildly against the mattress when I swirl my tongue around him. I take my time with him, not at all rushing my descent onto his cock, choosing instead to tease him with a slow, steady pace. If Spencer minded my slower than usual pace, he didn’t say so. He was too busy choking out an unrelenting string of the most wanton moans I’d ever heard as he watched himself disappear into my mouth.

           I decide now is as good a time as any to up the ante and I pull my mouth away from him.

           “W-Why did you stop?” Spencer stutters, chest heaving up and down.

           I raise an eyebrow at him, “Are you being ungrateful, Doctor? Because if you are, I could always just leave you here like this - cock hard and leaky with no way to get off other than your own hand. That wouldn’t be nearly as fun as having me fuck that pretty little ass of yours.”

           “No, please! I’m so sorry,” Spencer mewls. “I’ll be good, just please don’t leave!”

            I loosely grasp Spencer’s cock in my hand and run my thumb across his slit.

           “You sound so pretty when you beg, baby. I can’t wait to hear how pretty you are when you’re begging for me to fuck you harder.”

           Spencer’s eyes roll back into his head and his mouth hangs open, panting hard.

           “I want it so bad. Please, please, please, Miss.���

           I use my free hand to reach up and push two fingers into Spencer’s mouth, “Suck. I want them real nice and wet so that I can use them to get you ready for me.”

           Spencer moans around my fingers, laving his tongue around the them as he hollows his cheeks. When I retract my fingers from his mouth they’re practically dripping and I reward his effort by tightening my grip on his cock.

           “Good job, baby. Are you ready for me to finger that tight little hole of yours?” I ask him as I release his cock and grab the bottle of lube. I drizzle a healthy amount onto my fingers before dragging one across his puckered hole, eliciting a high-pitched cry from Spencer.

           “Yes!” Spencer gasps as he attempts to wiggle closer. “So ready for you, Miss. Use your f-fingers on me, please!”

           I start by slowly pressing one in, so as not to overwhelm him, and to my endless delight, it glides in almost effortlessly.

           “Already so ready for my fingers, Doctor. You sure you haven’t touched yourself here before?” I ask as I begin to work my finger in and out in slow thrusts.

           “N-Never. O-Only you,” Spencer stutters out between moans. “C-Can you add another, Miss?”

           I pull my finger out, only to add another and resume my efforts at a slightly faster pace. Spencer’s back arches up off the bed when my fingers brush against his prostate and he lets out a half startled, half delighted yelp.

           “Oh fuck!” Spencer moans as he grinds down onto my fingers. “Again, please, Miss!”

I comply, and with every press of my fingers against the fleshy bundle of tissue, Spencer’s body jolts from the sensation.

           “S’that feel good, baby? Do you like how my fingers feel?”

           “Oh, God, yes! F-Feels so good. Never felt like this b-before,” Spencer sobs. “I-I’m getting close, Miss.”

           “I didn’t say that you can cum, baby. I wanna save that for when I’ve got my cock buried inside you. How’s that sound?”

           “Y-Yes, Iwantitsobad,” Spencer slurs, his words running together as he draws nearer and near to the end. “Want you to fuck me, Miss! Please, I’ll do anything-”

           I take pity on him and withdraw my fingers, which makes Spencer keen in protest.

           “Calm down, greedy boy. Just gotta get ready so I can give you what you want.”

           I crawl off of the bed and step into the harness, fastening it in place and making sure that the dildo is secure before I crawl in between his legs. Spencer watches on with rapt fascination as I pour lube into my palm and work it over the silicone cock until every inch of it glistens.

           “What’s your color, baby?” I ask as rub the tip of the cock over his hole.

           Spencer’s breath catches in his throat and his whole-body tenses with anticipation.

           “So green, Miss. So fucking green,” Spencer whimpers.

           I raise a hand up to his hip and begin to rub soothing circles into the skin there.

           “Gonna need you to relax for me, sweetheart. Can you do that?”            Spencer bites his lip and nods his head. I watch as the tension begins to melt away, and when I see him relax back into the mattress, I bring up my hand to stroke his cock. I keep my touch light, barely applying pressure – I knew if I applied too much, Spencer wouldn’t be able to hold out longer than a few thrusts. He was already teetering on the edge as it was.

           Mine and Spencer’s eyes meet and he smiles up at me, dopey and drunk from pleasure, and it’s all the permission I need. I press into him slowly, and I’m left in awe as I watch Spencer Reid completely unravel beneath me.

           “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Spencer curses, head flying back and hitting the pillows. It never ceases to amaze me at how fucking responsive he is, and tonight is no exception. It’s like his body is a live wire, trembling beautifully as I press in further and further and further. I stop just shy of being fully sheathed inside him, trying to allow him a moment to adjust, but Spencer seems to have other plans.

           “Keep going, Miss, don’t stop, please! I want all of it, please give it to me! I can take it, please let me show you!”

           He looks up at me and those beautiful brown eyes are so wild, so positively feral that I can’t even entertain the idea of denying him any longer.

           Spencer looks positively ruined by the time I bottom out inside him. His hair sticks to the sheen of sweat that gathers on his forehead, and his lips look positively abused from the way he’s been biting down on them. His eyelids flutter closed every few seconds, and every time he blinks them back open, I’m able to see that his pupils are so blown that his eyes look almost black.

           I pull back until all that’s left inside him is the very tip of the cock, and just as he opens that bratty little mouth to beg for more, I give particularly harsh thrust of my hips until I’m fully sheathed inside him. Spencer lets out a surprised cry as I set an unforgiving pace, all the while still loosely jerking him off as I bury myself inside him again and again and again.

           “Yes, yes, yes, yes!” Spencer chants loudly, face contorted beautifully in an expression of pure ecstasy. I spare a brief thought to Spencer’s poor neighbors and make mental note to invest in a ball gag.

           “S’that feel good, baby? You look so pretty taking my cock like the good boy you are. My pretty little cock slut. Such a shame nobody’s fucked you like this before,” I hum as I focus my attention on the head of his cock, thumbing lightly at where he leaks for me.

           “D-Don’t want anyone else, just wanna be good for y-you. Wanna m-make you proud,” Spencer whines, tripping over his words as he struggles to form a coherent sentence. The sentiment sends a jolt of heat down to my already soaking core, but I do my best to ignore the slickness running down my thighs for the time being. Right now, my only focus is the boy chanting my name, praying for a type of salvation that only I can give him.

           I smile down at him and my hand drifts lower to where I’m steadily thrusting in and out of him. Spencer’s body jolts as the pad of my thumb brushes against the sensitive skin of his hole.

           “Of course, I’m proud of you. Look at how well you’re taking me, baby. It’s like you were made to take my cock,” I praise him.

           My words, mixed with the way I’m working both Spencer’s cock and his tight little ass, seem to be getting the better of him, because Spencer doesn’t even try to formulate a response. He just continues to let out strangled moans that almost sound like sobs as his hands grasp at the sheets until his knuckles turn white.

           It doesn’t take long until I feel the muscles in Spencer’s stomach and thighs begin to tense, and when his cock twitches in my hand I can tell Spencer won’t last much longer.

           “Are you gonna cum for me, baby?” I ask him as I grind my hips against his, and Spencer’s reply comes in the form of an incoherent, garbled moan.

           “What’s the matter, baby? Have I fucked you so stupid that you can’t answer me anymore?” I taunt him. I use the leverage I have from the hand placed on his hip to propel myself deeper. “Is my poor dumb baby incapable of replying?”

           Spencer makes a feeble attempt at a reply, “P-Please let me – f-fuck – cum! Oh, God, m’socloseMiss. Harder, please!”

           I take a minute to bask in the way he’s completely fallen apart at my hands - relishing in the way his eyes are glossy and dark with lust, in the way that his chest is flushed a deep red, and in the way that precum beads at the tip of his cock, aching for a release. He looks beautiful like this, whining and squirming, hips grinding down in search of more, more, more. I’d never imagined in a million years that I’d be so lucky as to see the illustrious Spencer Reid fucked absolutely senseless, but here he was, waiting for my permission to throw himself off the edge and into the best kind of oblivion.

           “Cum for me, pretty boy,” I say in the softest voice imaginable. “Show me how good you are.”

           The tension that had been steadily building since the first press of my lips against his snaps in an instant, and copious amounts of cum spurt out from his cock, painting his chest in thick, white ropes. Spencer chants out muddled thank yous as I fuck him through his release, pushing in and out of him in shallow strokes as slowly comes back down from the high.

           When his breathing slows down to a normal rate, I pull out of him, quickly freeing myself from the harness and tossing it aside to be dealt with later. I crawl up until I’m at eye level and begin pressing soft, sweet kisses to Spencer’s face.

           “You did so well, Spence,” I murmur against his skin. “You’re amazing, baby. Thank you so much for trusting me to be with you like that.”

           Spencer lifts a shaky hand to my hair and pulls me down into a heated kiss. I indulge him and pour every ounce of passion I have into my efforts, hoping to express my gratitude with every swipe of my lips against his. And when I pull away, my pretty boy smiles up at me, sated and full of adoration, and it’s beautiful.

           “D’you think you can handle taking a shower with me?” I ask as I pull away, and Spencer gives a shy nod in response. He sits up in the bed and swings his legs until his feet hit the floor. I’m just about to stand when his hand comes down on my wrist to stop me.

           “What about you? You didn’t . . .”

           “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. Tonight was all about you.”

           I move off of the bed and help him to his feet, holding him steady when his legs begin to shake. “Might be a little sore for a while, but it should go away within a day or so.”

           I help him to the bathroom and turn on the shower, and when it’s warm enough I rid myself of my bra and panties and motion for him to join me. I urge Spencer to step under the spray first, but his arms snake around me and pull me with him.

           Spencer nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck and he lets out a deep sigh.

           “You okay, bubs?” I ask him as I tangle my arms around his torso and begin to rub soothing circles into his back.

           “I just feel a little… down? I-Is this a sub drop? I read a little bit about them, but I don’t k-know…” he trails off, sniffling pitifully against my neck. “I-I just know that I want to hold you. Is that o-okay?”

           My heart lurches painfully in my chest as his voice wavers, and I pull back just enough that I can look into his weary eyes.

           “Baby, that’s more than okay. Sub drops are a perfectly normal thing to experience, and I’ll be right here to hold you for as long as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

           Spencer’s eyes fill with tears and he makes no attempt to hold them back, choosing to let them fall freely and mix in with the water pouring from the shower head.

           “T-Tell me you want me,” Spencer begs, lip wobbling pitifully. “I-I just feel like I’m not good enough for you, and I know it’s all in my head, and I know how you feel about me, but I just think it would help if you just… s-said it. Please?”

           I feel my heart break for the man that stood before me. The implication his words carry - that this wonderful, kind-hearted, extraordinarily gifted man could ever think so little of himself – was enough to bring tears to my own eyes. I swallow down the lump that forms in my throat and, with all the sincerity I can possibly muster, I reply.

           “I want you, Spencer Reid. I don’t want anyone else – only you,” I tell him, never once breaking eye contact. “For as long as you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

           Spencer chokes out a weak laugh, “And if I want you forever?”

           I nudge his nose with my own, and the act feels almost more intimate than everything that preceded it.

           “Then forever, it is,” I murmur. I press a chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away and reaching for the shampoo. “Now, turn around, pretty boy. Let me pamper you.”

--

           “Y/N!” Penelope calls out, sauntering over to me in a flash of hot pink taffeta. I’m in the middle of throwing my satchel over my shoulder when she runs up to me, excited smile on her face. “Me, you, JJ, Elle, and a bottle of tequila. You in?”

           On a normal day, the answer would have been a resounding hell yes. But today? I let my eyes wander over to where Spencer lingers near the glass doors, trying to look like he isn’t listening in. Very subtle.

           “I’m gonna have to pass on this one, Penelope.”

           Penelope’s smile transforms into a pout.

           “This is the third weekend in a row you’ve ditched us!” she whines, stomping her kitten heeled foot like a petulant child. “Either you’re avoiding us or you’ve got some secret lover we don’t know about. And if that’s the case, then we have a whole other problem, because that’s the kind of thing I expect to be told about immediately.”

           The giddy smile that stretches across my face gives me away before I even have the chance to open my mouth, sending Penelope into an absolute frenzy.

           “Oh my God, I cannot believe this. We’ll talk about how angry I am about being kept in the dark later because right now, I need details,” Penelope gushes. “Who is he? Where did you two meet? Is he hot?” Penelope barely gets the words out before she’s shaking her head. “Wait, that’s a dumb question. Of course, he’s hot - just look at you. Do I know him? When do I get to meet him?”

           I can’t help but laugh at Penelope’s enthusiasm.

           “Slow down, Pen,” I chuckle. “I didn’t tell you about it because it’s still relatively new, and it wasn’t until this past weekend that we finally decided to put a label on it.”

           “A label? Does that mean this guy is your boyfriend? Oh my God, I thought this day would never come,” Penelope sighs dreamily. But the far-away look in her eye quickly fades and Penelope begins to grill me with renewed fervor. “Y/N, you have to tell me who it is. It’s like, practically a crime that I’m only just now hearing about this, so you owe me this much. And I’ll be needing his first and last name, along with a DOB so that I can run a full back ground check ASAP. Don’t even try to talk me out of it – we deal with enough freakiness during our day jobs, and I insist on making sure the freakiness ends there.”

           I can feel a flush spread over my cheeks and I fiddle with the strap of my bag.

           “I, uh, don’t think a background check is going to be necessary. You know this guy pretty well already.”

           If Penelope had been worked up before, she was practically vibrating with excitement now.

           “I know him? Oh my God, this is so huge. Is it Brendon from down in sex crimes? Or maybe James from counter-terrorism?” Penelope muses aloud, before her eyes go almost comically wide. “Holy hell, it’s Anderson, isn’t it?”

           “It definitely isn’t Anderson, or any of the others, for that matter,” I laugh. “Do you want a hint?”

           “What I really want is for you to just tell me, but if you insist on dragging this out then yes, I would very much like a hint!”

           I cut my eyes over to where Spencer stands, and it’s impossible to miss the giddy grin on his face. So much for trying to remain subtle, Doctor Reid.

           I fake like I’m looking around for anyone within earshot before motioning for Penelope to lean in. She’s quick to comply, and I do one last exaggerated sweep of the room.

           “Alright then, here’s your hint,” I whisper into her ear. “He’s got an IQ of 187, and he’s a pretty kickass magician.”

           I lean back and adjust the strap of my bag, sparing one last, parting glance at Penelope, whose jaw is practically on the floor.

           “See you on Monday, Pen.”

           “W-Wait, are you serious?” Penelope calls out after me. “Reid is your mystery man?! Y/N, get back here right now and explain yourself! Derek, did you hear that?!”

           By the time I reach Spencer, Penelope’s voice fades into background noise as I focus all my attention on the way he smiles down at me. I link my hand with his and I’m vaguely aware of an increase in volume coming from Penelope’s direction, but I ignore in favor of smiling back at him.

           “You ready to get out of here, boyfriend?”

           Spencer squeezes my hand in his and he nods.

           “Ready when you are, girlfriend.”

-

-

-

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[whimsicallyreading]

Part Four~

(Part Three)

Aelin loved Elide. She did. The tiny brunette was like a little sister to her.

But if she said Lorcan Salvaterre’s name one more time she was going to throttle her.

Aelin smiled through her annoyance, as Elide filled her in on her new boyfriend. They organized shelves, set up displays, cleaned couches, as she gushed on and on.

If it was anyone besides that walking, talking, ass, she would be thrilled for Elide. She didn’t go on dates often. After the car wreck when she’d lost her left leg, Elide became shy and timid with people she was unfamiliar with.

Aelin wanted to fill her in on what happened the night before. Tell her that exactly how her new boyfriend treated women when she wasn’t around, and the crowd he hung out with. She just- Aelin frowns and rubs the space between her eyebrows. She didn’t want to damper Elide’s happiness.

“He took me to this little restaurant on the Avery River last weekend. It was adorable,” Elide babbled as she rearranged the new releases. “He didn’t even blink when I told him I don’t drink and ordered a Shirley Temple.”

Aelin laughs. “Your ordered a Shirley Temple on a date?”

Elide blushes, “they look fancier than a soda.”

That was a lie. Elide just loved everything cherry flavored.

“Enough about me,” Aelin startled as the tiny girl turned on her. “Tell me how your night went!” Elide beamed. “You went to the rodeo with Aedion, right?”

She gasps as the realization strikes her. “Did you see Lorcan ride? I haven’t even seen him compete, yet! I’m so jealous.”

“Yeah, I saw him.” Aelin answers vaguely, hoping Elide would take the vague answer and carry on.

“He told me he came in second last night.” Elide frowns. “He was really unhappy about it, and I told him that second was great. I don’t think he believed me. Lorcan is such a perfectionist.”

Yeah. So perfect he does drugs with his crappy, friends in a dimly lit bar. Aelin shoves a book onto the shelf a little too aggressively.

“I wish he wasn’t so hard on himself. It’s such a competitive sport, though. His buddies ride as well, and I think that makes it worse. He wants to impress them.”

Aelin looks back, realizing she’d stacked over half the shelf by herself, and sees Elide sitting on the floor behind her. She had a far off look on her face, and her chin was rested on one knee while her prosthetic leg was stretched in front of her.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to swallow back the annoyance creeping up on her. “Elide.”

“It’s just, a lot of peer pressure you know?” Elide continues talking as if she hasn’t heard her. “Despite all of that and the drama, he still makes time for me. It’s honestly really sweet and-“

“Elide,” Aelin tries to catch her attention gently.

“I still haven’t met his friends yet. I’m not sure if it’s just too soon for that, but his best friend Rowan is coming over tomorrow and-“

“Elide,” Aelin bites our sharply, cutting the girl off mid sentence. “I’m glad to hear you are happy, and that your boyfriend gives a shit but can you please help me do the shelving like I pay you to do?”

Guilt. Instantaneous guilt as the younger girl wilts like a flower under a gale-force wind. “Sorry, Lin.” Elide whispers and scurries away, her cheeks reddening.

Shit. Aelin taps her head against the shelf in front of her. She felt like a piece of shit.

Aelin has been dealing with her issues for years, going to therapist after therapist, but she was still prone to bouts of anger and depression. She had it mostly under control, but sometimes it slipped from her. Being tired and skipping lunch hadn’t helped.

As Yrene always told her- “The first step in better mental health is taking care of your body” Something Aelin had never been good about.

Elide hadn’t deserved her ire, she would have to figure out a way to make it up to her. Aelin sighs in resignation, already knowing what she’d have to do.

Aelin finishes the shelves first, figuring Elide would need a minute to compose herself. Her phone dings with the reply to her text message.

Lysandra- Tonight at 6:00

“Elide?” she searches around the shop for her and finds her sitting behind the computer at the front desk.

“Yeah?” Elide replies, her voice is a little gravely and she refuses to meet Aelin’s eyes.

Aelin slinks behind the desk and wraps an arm around Elide’s shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t kind.” She wouldn’t lie, she felt a bit like a toddler having to apologize for her short temper. A little embarrassment was better than an unhappy friend.

“It’s fine, Lin. I know I’m a little much to handle,” Elide still doesn’t look at her.

“No, it’s not okay, but I’m going to make it up to you,” Aelin smiles even if inside she’s cringing.

“Yeah?” Elide finally looks her in the eye, curiosity sparkling there.

“I texted Lys about the party she’s having tonight,” Aelin starts and Elide’s grow wide. “Would you want to go with me?”

“To a party? You hate parties,” she questions but Elide is already thrumming with excitement.

Aelin grabs Elide’s hand and squeezes. She doesn’t hate parties. Contrary, Aelin loves night out a little too much. That was her downfall. Now she was wary of them, but it didn’t mean she hated them.

“Really? You will go?” Elide smiles and stands up. “I’m so excited. Wow. Okay. I’ll go do with you.”

“Great, we can walk over together at five-thirty?” They lived the in the same apartment complex, it was easy for them to meet up and go places after work.

Elide is grinning ear to ear now as she hustles to finish up her chores for the day. “Sounds great. I’m so excited!”

Aelin is feeling a little upbeat herself. Even if parties weren’t really her scene anymore, attending would be fun. Elide being there would keep her from getting into any trouble, so what’s the harm?

She should know that’s the question that always goes before the fall.

~~~

Aeljn was feeling good.

She pulled on her slinky, green-velvet dress, and braided her hair into a crown like Aunt Marion used to do for her. Dressing up felt like armor to Aelin and she was a warrior who would turn heads tonight.

Elide has also done a great job dressing up. Billowing black pants and a silver singlet. She didn’t enjoy dressing up as much as Aelin, being the center of attention made her anxious, but she didn’t give herself enough credit. Elide was beautiful and Aelin would make sure her friend new that this evening.

Lysandra lived in a loft in downtown Rifthold. She was old money and Aelin was a frequent of her outrageous parties in highschool. Some of her most iconic teenage memories happened in Lysandra’s family home.

Not her proudest, but memorable for sure.

It was already in full swing when they arrived. Music played over Bluetooth speakers, various concoctions were passed around in red cups and people mingles and moved against one another in every open space.

Elide looked a little overwhelmed, but Aelin smiled at her reassuringly.

“Lin!” Lysandra appears from the crowd like a leopard from a jungle. She filings her arms around Aelin’s neck and kisses her cheek. “I’m so glad you are here!”

“It’s been too long since I’ve been to one of your get together,” Aelin wrapped her arms tightly around Lysandra.

“This is my friend Elide,” she gestures to the girl standing stiffly behind her. “Elide this is one of my oldest friends Lysandra. Possibly my soon to be sister-in-law.”

Aelin throws and wink at Lys who immediately retaliates with a pinch to her arm. “I love you and Aedion but I’m too young for that,” she scolds.

“Sure you are,” Aelin teases sliding back to Elide’s side and wrapping a comforting arm around her waist. “Those two are stupid in love don’t let her fool you,” she wiggles her fingers and Elide laughs.

“Stay right here, I’ll go get us some drinks.” Lysandra smiles and disappears into the crowd.

Almost as soon as she’s gone, there’s a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, absolute dread fills her gut. “I swear you all are stalking me,” Aelin moans.

Rowan Whitethorn is standing behind them, drink in hand and a scowl on his face. “What do you mean? This is the first time I’ve seen you since you ran out on me.” There’s an edge in his voice and Aelin knows he’s there for trouble. “I just thought I’d say hello and ask what the hell is wrong with you?”

“What the hell is wrong with me?” Aelin is indignant. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Um,” Elide stammers. “Should I give you two space?”

“I really liked you, and you stormed out on me.” Rowan growls lowly. “I don’t know what I did wrong? You humiliated me in front of my friends.”

Aelin throws her head back and laughs. A sense of satisfaction brews in her chest when she sees the forest fire beginning in his eyes. “I embarrassed you? Your friends treated me like shit.” She hisses between her teeth.

Rowan’s frown deepens into a near snarl, “I’m not responsible for what those idiots say.”

“You-“ she jabs a finger into his chest. “Stood bye and let them say it, that makes you implicit. If you respected me in the slightest my comfort and dignity would have mattered to you.”

Aelin makes to jab him again but his hand catches her wrist and she can’t control the flinch.

His eyes widen, but a body appears in between them. Elide Lochan stands like a solider in front of the man who is twice her size. “You don’t touch her.”

Rowan backed off a step, his voice raising. “She was prodding me-“ he stops himself and takes a breath, a crease forming in his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ll back off.”

“What’s going on over here?” Lysandra’s voice cuts through the noise of the party. She doesn’t look happy.

“He put his hands on her,” Elide hisses and Rowan’s eyes go from anger to shock.

He holds up his hands and looks to Lysandra. “I didn’t. I swear.”

Lysandra stands next to Elide forming a wall between him and Aelin. As one of the few people who knew about Aelin’s drama of the last couple of years, the look of this situation boiled her blood.

“Lys, he didn’t-“ Aelin tries to douse the scene they were about to create.

Lysandra gives her a look that makes Aelin quiet. “I love you Lin, but I don’t trust your excuses.”

That hurt. Her heart feels like it was wrung in her chest. Aelin crosses her arms in front of her, suddenly feeling withdrawn from the situation.

Elide hasn’t broken her stare from Rowan. “You should probably leave.”

“What?” He flounders looking equal parts shocked and horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare her. We know each other.”

“I agree,” Lysandra tilts her chin to the door. “You aren’t welcome here any longer.”

Rowan looks at her for help, and she feels bad for him. Aelin knows she touched him first, but Lysandra’s comment was like a cold knife in her side and she was still bleeding. She didn’t know what to do or say.

“Rowan? What’s going on?” Lorcan appears behind Rowan, placing a hand on his shoulder. Aelin knows the moment he sees Elide standing in front of her, because his face deflated.

“You know him?” Elide’s voice is cold.

Lorcan, a beast of a male, cowers in front of little Elide. His mouth gapes like a fish. He can’t deny her question, but affirming it seemed worse. “Ellie,” her name comes out strangled.

“These are your friends, Lorcan? The people you seem to be keeping me from?” Elide darkens further as she looks at Rowan. “I guess I understand why.”

“Both of you can leave, then.” Lysandra smiles maliciously.

“I’m sorry, Aelin.” Rowan rubs both of his hands across his face then through his hair. “Damn it, I didn’t mean for this to go like it did. I wanted to apologize.” He says mostly to himself.

“Elide. He’s my friend. I don’t know what’s going on-“ Lorcan scrambles to cover his ass, but Elide isn’t having it.

“This is Lysandra’s house.” Elide says so calmly it would have been kinder if she yelled. “She asked you to leave.”

Lorcan looks at her, absolutely fuming and Aelin knows he’s beyond pissed. “I don’t know what this lying bitch-“

A slap broke like thunder between them.

Lorcan holds his cheek as Aelin gapes at Elide in shock. There are no tears to be seen in the younger girls expression. Her shoulders are trembling, not with fear but anger.

“Let’s go.” Rowan chokes out. He grabs Lorcan’s shoulder and pulls him away from the trio of women.

Lysandra watches them like a predator until they clear her front door. Her tense shoulders only relax when they leave. She releases a breath and looks at Elide.

“You are hella cool, Ellie. You deserve something better than that piss-poor beer I brought.” She nods to the solo cups that had been abandoned on the table. “I’ve got better shit in my room. Let’s go.”

Elide looks follows Lysandra with an elated look on her face. Aelin smiles dimly, she could see them becoming fast friends. Elide would be a good addition to the group.

They pushed through the crowd, and up the stairs. Aelin wasn’t in the partying mood anymore, which was disappointing. She’d been looking forward to it, and so had Elide.

Shaking her head, Aelin decides she will take a small reprieve in Lysandra’s room then suggest they go back downstairs. Elide was only comfortable coming to a party because she was going to be with her. Now not only was her night ruined, but she was on the outs with Lorcan because of her.

The very least she could do was make sure the night ended on a good note for Elide. Lysandra would be totally willing to help Aelin get her to let loose.

When they reach the bedroom Lysandra stops the outside the door. “You can go in, Ellie. I need to talk to Aelin for just a second.”

Elide nods happily and shuffles inside.

“Lys,” Aelin starts before Lysandra can. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“You promised me before,” her voice is hard but not unloving. “Who was that Aelin?”

She doesn’t miss the use of her full name. “Just some guy I went out for drinks with one time. I honestly don’t even know him.” Aelin assures.

“Has he been bothering you? If he is I will castrate him and feed his own-“ Aelin covers her ears.

“No, no. We just bumped into each other, it was a misunderstanding,” Aelin swears. “Honestly, you didn’t need to kick him out.”

“Yes,” Lysandra hisses. “I did. You aren’t going through that again, Aelin. Not over my dead body.”

“I appreciate that you love me so much,” Aelin whispers, not wanting Elide to pick up on their conversation. “But I can take care of myself. I’m not broken, Lys. Just hurt.”

Lysandra groans sadly, her dark lashes fan against her cheeks as if she’s fighting tears back. Suddenly Lys is hugging her again, and Aelin sinks into her embrace like always.

“I know you aren’t broken. I’m sorry that I’m so fussy.” Aelin let’s her tuck itself into Lys shoulder, aware that she was a safe person to be open with.

After a moment they pull apart. “Please. Just be careful,” Lysandra pleads.

“Of course,” Aelin promises. “Thank you for always having my back.”

“Never again,” Lysandra reiterates, reaching out to grab her hand.

“Never again.” Aeljn squeezes it.

“Lysandra! Your cat is so cute!” Elide coos from behind the door. The tension is broken and the two of them look at the other and laugh.

“Let’s go.” Aelin says, and Lysandra holds the door for the both of them.

Never again would Aelin submit to a cruel man’s will.

Not even for a man like Rowan Whitethorn.

Part Two of the birthday mass update! Thank you guys so much for reading 💚

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@charincharge

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[catboythanatos]

Adrinette April Day 14

here’s some sweet fluff to make up for not writing yesterday;;;;;;; i really like this one, actually, so i hope yall do too c:

@adrinetteapril

Day 14: Confess

“And then, I would confess to him, but, oh, I can't do that, can I-”

“Of course you can! You can do anything, Marinette!”

Marinette huffed, blushing, curling up in the corner of her bed where she and Alya sat, discussing the logistics of Marinette’s longtime crush.

“You've been friends for like, almost a year, babe, I know you wouldn't be ruining your guys’ friendship. You want him to know, don't you?”

“Yeah, but, like… only if he likes me back,” squeaked Marinette.

“Marinette,” Alya assured gently, placing her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “He will. He does.”

“You don't know that.”

“Sure I do.”

“But what if he doesn't!? I know you say it wouldn't ruin our friendship, but wouldn't it be awkward if he knew I liked him? And he didn't like me back!? I know it’d make me feel pretty guilty…”

“But c’mon, think about it; You're still friends with Nathaniel, and you know he had a crush on you. And Nino did, too. Remember? It'll work out, no matter what, okay?”

“Okay…” Marinette was obviously still unsure. “I guess…”

Alya didn't know what else to say to reassure her. She wanted her friends to stop dancing around their obvious crushes on each other and just get together already. And she knew that, as ridiculous as it may sound looking at Marinette’s shy disposition and obvious aversion to making the first move, the blue-haired girl had to be the one to initiate in this situation. Adrien was adorable and oh so sweet, and Alya loved him to pieces, but he was just downright oblivious. He didn't know he had a crush on Mari, but he did. She knew he did. It was obvious to everyone but himself... and Marinette.

Their entire class was getting sick and tired of hearing the two pine over each other so air-headedly. Marinette, at least, knew that she was gushing over him. Adrien didn't even seem to have a clue what he was doing. In his defense, he was extremely repressed, and had never actually had friends before (Chloé notwithstanding) let alone a girlfriend.

“Girl,” Alya sighed. “Don't worry so much. If you're not ready to confess to Adrien, then you don't have to. I think you should, but this is about you, not me. It's okay if you don't yet.”

“No, I do want to!” Marinette suddenly exclaimed. “I do! I wanna tell him.” Then she pouted, excitement levels plummeting. “I'm just scared. I'm scared of what he’ll say, and I'm scared of what I’ll say, I'm so bad with my words, what if I just say something embarrassing…”

“It'll be fine, Marinette. I'm sure of it.”

“Okay…”

“You’re going on another coffee date with him tomorrow after school, aren't you?”

“Well, not a date, no, just a-”

“And you said you were wanting to tell him then, right?”

“Yeah… But… No… I don't know.” Marinette sighed heavily. “I did say that. But what if I can't?”

“Then it's no big deal! There's no pressure, Mari. Like, go for it, but don't feel bad if you have to stay in your comfort zone either. You're Adrien’s best friend! I'm sure he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable either. He will understand. No matter what happens, it'll be okay. I'm sure.”

“One hundred percent?”

“One hundred thousand percent.”

“That's not how percentages work,” Marinette smiled as Alya pulled her in for a hug.

“You'll do fine. Now, c’mon, let's go have some of those cookies your dad’s making. You'll feel better.”

--

Marinette and Adrien sat in the café, sipping their drinks in relative silence. Adrien smiled at her, she fidgeted with the hem of her top under the table.

“So, Marinette,” Adrien broke the silence.

Marinette looked up at him from where she’d been hyper fixated on the one loose string coming off of her shirt. “Hm?”

“Have you played the new Mecha Strike game yet?”

“Oh, uh, no. I haven't bought it yet. Is it any good?”

“It's awesome! You should come over and play it sometime!”

Like a date? thought Marinette. Yeah. That was smooth. She imagined herself saying it five separate times, with different hand movements and mannerisms, but the words just couldn't come out of her mouth for some reason. She looked down at her hands.

“Y-yeah, for sure! I'd love that…” Her mouth suddenly felt really dry, and she wished that she had ordered something besides a coffee.

“Marinette? Is something wrong?”

“Uhh, n-no… no…”

“You sure?” Adrien tilted his head to the side a little, curious but perfectly concerned. Marinette melted down into her seat under his questioning gaze.

“Uh, um, I, the, uh,” she stammered. She knew that she should tell him -- he already knew something was on her mind… But she really hadn’t wanted to make a scene about it. She wanted to curl up and pout; barely 10 minutes in and she was ruining everything already.

Adrien was still just looking at her, with that worry in his lovely green eyes, and his lips set into a slight frown.

“I-it’s not…” she managed, swallowing the lump in her throat. “It’s nothing. Really.”

“Are you sure?” It was obvious that Adrien didn’t believe her.

Ughhhhhhhhhhh.

Marinette tried to remind herself of what Alya had said. It would go fine, no matter what.

“If there’s something on your mind, you can tell me.” Adrien’s eyes were gazing into her soul, in a way she normally would have loved, but right now, she just couldn’t bear it. She stared down at her lap.

“There… is something, I guess. B-but it’s not a big deal.”

“If it’s upsetting you, then-”

“N-no, I’m not upset! Just… nervous.” Marinette met Adrien’s wide eyes finally, offering him the most petite of smiles. He seemed to light up at it, and her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. He was so wonderful...

“I like you,” she blurted out suddenly. She then gasped at herself, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“No, no, no, don’t be embarrassed.” Adrien’s cheeks were tainted a faded pink. “What did you say?”

“I-I, um…!” Marinette’s voice came out as a small, high-pitched squeak. “I-I… I l-l-li….”

Adrien blinked at her.

“Like… you…”

“Like me?” he echoed.

Marinette nodded very slightly, burning up with embarrassment.

“You…” Adrien quickly rouged at the realisation. “Oh, um…”

Marinette was avoiding looking at him, hoping that if she concentrated hard enough, she could cease to exist and become one with the leather chair; willing an akuma to burst through the window of the cafe and kill her and Adrien both to end this misery.

“Marinette, I…” Adrien swallowed, chuckling nervously and rubbing his neck. “I think I like you, too.”

Marinette looked up, wide-eyed. Her lips parted in a small ‘o’ of surprise. She couldn’t even find the words to express how she felt. Really? She wanted to say. For real? You, Adrien Agreste, like me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng? There’s no mix-up here? Really really? But the words didn’t come out. She just continued to gape.

“M-Marinette? You’re making me nervous here.”

“Oh! Um! Oh gosh…”

“Haha, it’s alright…”

“No, I…”

“It’s okay… y-you don’t have to say anything…”

“Okay.”

They looked at each other, each embarrassed for their own silly and nonsensical reasons. They both liked each other! There was really no need for any of this. But that was okay.

“So, are we like-- did-did you wanna be like...” Adrien said, clearing his throat. The next word came out in a whisper that sounded a little bit scared, and very unsure: “Dating?”

Marinette would have laughed at his treatment of the word ‘dating’, but it sounded fairly foreign to her, too. She swallowed. “Only…. Only if you wanted to be.”

“I think I want to be.”

“Really?”

Marinette stared up at him, eyes still blown wide. Adrien cracked a smile finally.

“Absolutely.”

Marinette thought she might melt. “O-okay!”

The rest of the date went on comfortably, and almost the same as normal, except Marinette caught Adrien blushing and stuttering, and Adrien couldn’t stop noticing the girl’s adorable freckles…

Even though it hadn’t exactly gone the way Marinette had planned, she was still ecstatic.

The pair both went home that evening with big, dumb smiles on their faces that they couldn’t shake off.

--

When Adrien arrived finally in the sanctuary of his room, his kwami emerged from his coat pocket, and immediately started laughing, as if he had been about to burst the entire date from holding in all of his teasing side comments.

“What was with all that stuttering?” Plagg howled. “Aren’t you normally cooler than that? Where’s Chat Noir, huh? Who’s this loser!?”

“Shut up!”

“I’ve never heard you so nervous! What were you even nervous about -- you already knew she liked you back!”

Adrien was bright red with embarrassment. “Yeah, but… I dunno, Plagg. She just… She’s so…!” He failed to find a comparison. “Even Ladybug has never made me feel that way before. She’s really somethin’ special.”

Plagg rolled his eyes at his chosen, who was sprawled across his couch in a theatrical swoon, looking like a human version of the heart eyes emoji. “I’ll never understand you.”

“Me either,” sighed the blond boy, sounding nothing short of delirious.

Plagg shook his head. “I’m still proud o’ you, though.”

“Proud of me? Why?”

“Ehhh…” the kwami shrugged. “Well... You’re alright, kid.”

Adrien didn’t really understand what that meant, but he’d accept any compliment from the normally sarcastic kwami. “You’re alright, too.”

Adrien sighed dreamily again.

“I’m better than alright, though. I have a girlfriend, Plagg. Oh wow… That feels kinda funny to say, doesn’t it… Girlfriend…” Adrien was giggling like a baby, or someone high on something you can only find in a dentist’s office.

“Alright, I take it back. I don’t even have words for how much you’re embarrassing me, Adrien. I’m going to ignore you now.”

“Mmm, okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“Uh huh.”

“Like, if an akuma attacked right now, I wouldn’t even hear you say ‘transform me.’ Although you probably wouldn’t notice it anyway, you wouldn’t notice an akuma even if it punched you in the face, you’re so wrapped up in your own little world here.”

Adrien just laughed lightly. “Yup, sure, whatever.”

“Whoa, wait, I’m ignoring you, you’re not ignoring me. Stop that. I’m trying to complain about you.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Hey!!”

Adrien closed his eyes and leaned back on the couch. Plagg continued to protest, but he had really stopped listening now. Marinette is my girlfriend….

“Hey, Adrien!! Adrien!!! Ugh, the nerve! Goddammit. He’s so dumb. He never listens. He’s an idiot. A lovesick idiot. She’s Ladybug, too. Not that he cares, no, he doesn’t even care. I know who Ladybug is and it’s his goddamn girlfriend and he doesn’t even care!” Plagg huffed. “Kids these days…”

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, P3 Peter Parker x Reader

Author’s Note: Thank you again to everyone who liked Part 1 and Part 2! Each notification I get makes me embarrassingly happy - it really means a lot. I appreciate your notes more than I can say! (and if you want to leave a review, that’s super appreciated as well!)

About the story: I am so excited for the next chapter update! It’s awful writing Peter being as rude as he seems during this section, but upcoming chapters will fluctuate between his P.O.V. and the reader’s. Hopefully, that’ll clear things up and he'll seem more in character. I really love writing his chapters, they’re my favorites.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11

Anyway, here we go!

Then Again, Part 3:

(Word count: 1,813)

Aside from Peter’s obtrusive moodiness, the dinner ends up better than I imagined. We try to avoid too much debating - to save our brainpower for the coming tournament... and, though no one says it, to avoid being kicked out of the restaurant because Peter was getting way too loud while arguing with Flash.

Instead, we go a different route. We breathe life back into a handful of school memories, the kind I hope we always remember, even when we’re eighty. A personal favorite of mine is the time the captain of our baseball team misheard “shoe string” as “g-string” during the “Lost and Found” pep assembly game and, without hesitation, reached into his pocket and threw one down to Mr. Harrington (whose face was appropriately horrified). Or, a favorite of everyone’s, the time Abe spilled saline on Flash in Chemistry. Most of us were there when Flash pulled the emergency shower and started stripping in the middle of class because he assumed the liquid was acid and Abe was laughing too hard to tell him otherwise.

“Seriously? That’s so old!” (It was only two months ago.) Flash can’t let that story slip without protesting, yet he has to force his own laughter down. His mouth might be running, but I can tell he’s mostly amused, partly embarrassed. For once, he doesn’t seem like such an asshole. “And you shouldn’t laugh, Y/N, given what you did in first grade!”

I raise an eyebrow.

“Me? What about first grade?” I ask. He raises an eyebrow back to me as I squint, trying to recall. After a long pause, I remember. “Oh.... That about first grade.”

Of course he remembers. My face is changing colors, I know it is.

“Are you blushing?” Ned asks, astonished and intrigued.

I try to stifle the laughter rising in my throat. It bursts out anyway. I really can’t believe I forgot about this. If Flash hadn’t mentioned it, maybe by the grace of God, it would never have crossed my mind again. Damn you, Flash.

Peter shifts in his seat. His arm brushes mine as Flash begins to boast; he pulls it back. It makes me jump, just barely, from the warmth.

“Miss Goodie Goodie Two Shoes dragged me,” Flash says, “an innocent young boy, under the slide - during recess - to kiss me. And boy did she.”

Flash leans back in his chair, arms crossed, with an I won smirk that he directs at me, then Peter.

Screw you, Flash.

“You did not,” Michelle says in disbelief. “You kissed Flash?! And never mentioned it?”

“Hold on!” I say. Side conversations have halted for this piece of old gossip and there is no way Flash gets to bring me that low with something from a decade ago. “Back then, he was little, brainy Genie. And to be fair, he had a gumball machine delivered to my house. Yeah, Flash, don’t think I won’t bring up the fact you liked me, not the other way around. I assumed he was a rich prince and that if I kissed him, he would turn into a frog and I could steal his money from his locker and his desk. It wasn’t like I got naked in front of twenty-eight students and my teacher two months ago!”

“That’s so not how the fairytales go, Y/N,” Ned mutters. “Was your childhood okay?”

“You thought he was a frog?” Peter asks, speaking to me for the first time tonight. He crosses his arms.

“Yes, Peter Parker. I thought I could rob a magic frog prince. It borders on childhood criminal fantasy, but the point is: I was a child. You can’t make fun of me for something I did at six years old.”

“Oh, really? And what does frog taste like?”

His shoulder nudges mine as he leans in close, his eyes flickering to my lips for emphasis. My heartbeat is pulsing at the tips of my ears. I untuck my hair from them in case they turn red. I never thought he would look at me like this. Even if that look is for the wrong reason, it’s like a finger curling around my collar bone building pressure as it pulls downward. My breathing verges on painful.

What was the kiss like?

I pause.

“Dirt,” I say. Make this funny again. “Even as I dragged him to the slide, his hands were stuffing his mouth with dirt.”

Laughter erupts again. Thank God. Soon, Abe is almost in tears over it, clapping Flash on the back as Flash stammers to defend his choice of lunch ten years ago.

Peter goes silent again, eyes on the floor. Against my will, I can picture a tiny Peter Parker sulking inside my brain picking at the loose threads of my mental Perfect Day tapestry. My optimism is coming completely undone. Frustration or anxiety or both are pushing me off of my little “today” high.

We exit the restaurant at 10:27. Goodbyes and “See you in the morning!”’s pass between everyone in a jumble of half-conversations. I eavesdrop on Ned and Betty, both leaning against the window, cloaked in neon red glow with taxi headlights gliding over their kneecaps.

“So lame that Mr. Harrington won’t let us bring non-team members,” Ned’s saying. “He’s always being such a stick in the mud. Somebody should just... I don’t know.” He stumbles for words. “Like, kill him or something.”

Betty lets out an awkward chuckle.

“You know,” he hurries, “as, like, a prank.”

She snorts, covering her mouth as she doubles over.

“Totally. I’ll write the Morning Announcement piece on it and everything. See you in Psych in a few days?”

“Yeah! If I’m not in jail for murder, you know?”

Now they’re both laughing. Little stars of excitement bloom in my chest. I’m so glad Betty came. I’m thinking about all the future excuses I can muster up to force them to work with one another in class. My daydream dissolves as Michelle hip checks me back into the present.

“I hope you’re ready to lose a seventh hour buddy,” she whispers.

“Nah. I’ll stay on that love train as a third wheel. Gotta make sure the conductor doesn’t wreck it.”

“Trains have like, 8 wheels per segment.”

“Per car, you mean.”

“Exactly. I think Ned can handle it.”

“This must be a new record for us derailing a metaphor because I don’t follow the tracks you’re laying down.”

“Those are terrible puns and you know it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. The phrase I love my friends should be etched into the bone of each of my ribs. The phrase repeats itself so often in my head I like to visualize it that way.

As Cindy, Abe, Sally, and Betty wave goodbye, I turn to Ned. He’s waving back at them, a grin sprawled across his face. Eventually I catch his eye and smirk.

“You saw what you saw,” he mouths, jerking his head slightly to where Betty had been standing and giving me his best “cool guy” attitude.

Before I can respond, Flash finishes his conversation with Peter (which... though tense, didn’t seem hostile for once), and addresses the remaining four of us.

“You know, I thought this dinner thing was a joke at first, but it was actually... not the worse idea in the history of Midtown Tech. It gets an official Flash rating of Not Totally Lame.”

Michelle raises her eyebrows. Ned and Peter look vaguely annoyed. Personally, I’m not that surprised. (I’m kind of surprised - that he vocalized it.)

“You’re wel-”

“Yeah, dude, well, you were only invited a few hours ago,” Peter says. He scratches the bridge of his nose and rubs his eyebrow before making eye contact with Flash again. “And the rest of us planned this last month. Like, ages ago.”

Everyone freezes.

“Cool,” Flash says. “Bye guys. Fuck you, Penis Parker.”

Peter doesn’t speak a word as we walk back to his and May’s apartment. His behavior is so foreign, so drastically cold even compared to how he’s been all week, that Ned, Michelle, and I keep our mouths shut too. Until we reach the door.

Peter unlocks it and turns around.

“You guys staying here tonight?”

“Yeah,” says Ned with the tone of obviously.

“Do you want us to go home?” I ask.

He looks at the ground as he shrugs. He seems almost as shy as the first time I met him, years ago.

What is going on in Spider Town?

“Just thought you guys might sleep better in beds. I know that couch sucks.”

“The couch is fine,” I say, wondering if he needs the reassurance of us wanting to be there. “MJ is what sucks. She pushed me off in her sleep half a dozen times. This time, she gets to sleep on the edge.”

Michelle nods. “But if you try to spoon me even once, I’m going to roll over and crush you.”

Peter stops listening and pushes the door open.

I fight the urge to kick at his heel while I follow. Peter Parker has always been the sweetest person in this city. Right now, though, he’s genuinely pissing me off. He’s acted worse than Flash has tonight, completely unlike himself. If anything, he’s making Flash look like a better friend.

After faces are washed, teeth brushed, and retainers stuck into place (everyone but Michelle - her teeth are naturally perfect), we turn off the lights and head to our usual sleeping stations. Michelle and I on the couch, Peter and Ned in the bunk beds. I lie on the couch for fifteen minutes, itching my index finger.

“Hey, I’ll be right back. Don’t steal my spot.”

Because of my retainers, it sounds more like, “Don’t thteal my thpot.” I take them out.

Maybe I can end this on a good note.

I stumble in the dark for a few steps until I find the hallway with my hands. I reach Peter’s door and turn the knob. A quiet conversation stops.

“Ned,” I whisper from the doorway. “Before I go to bed, I just need to clarify: if you do murder Mr. Harrington, legally I’ll have to testify against you. And I don’t want to see you behind bars. Try a different way to impress her, maybe?”

“Oh my goddd,” Ned groans. “I.... I still have no idea why I said that.”

I imagine Peter smiling on his bunk. He probably isn’t. If he were in a good mood, he would laugh and ask what we were talking about. If he were in a better mood at all, he would know by now.

“I know,” I say. “Goodnight!”

As I pop back out of the room, I hear Ned’s reply and Peter’s quiet, “Yeah.”

Who says “Yeah” to a “Goodnight”?

Peter Parker, apparently.

Tomorrow, I’m either going to hug him or kill him.

Part 4

Next update: Saturday 7. 

Or Friday 6 - whichever day you guys prefer.

I hope you guys enjoyed this! Let me know what you think!

P.S. I apologize for my awful frog jokes in P2 and P3.

[hoseokhearts-blog]

Bad for Me (Min Yoongi x Reader) Part Four

4] restless- infatuation 

A/N: You'll understand this picture later on in the chapter. I thought you guys might want a visual of the description!

|||||

You and Yoongi began to fall into a rhyme and rhythm.

It'd been about 6 weeks since he first start working at Youth & Impulse, and the two of you had a rather consistent routine that was followed every single Tuesday and Thursday at work. Yoongi would always arrive at 5:30, a half hour before he actually needed to be there. You would make him a latte as you'd been doing before, but you began trying out different designs on the top. He would rate your new designs from one to ten, and help you decide on which ones were good enough to sell to actual customers.

Then, Yoongi would play piano for the next 2 and half hours after that, and you would watch him from behind the counter. Stevens had gotten onto you several times for not paying enough of attention to the guests, but no matter how many warnings you got about it, you found it nearly impossible to keep your eyes off of Yoongi. His charm and classy look about him as he played the piano drew you in, and you literally never wanted to stop looking at him. Even as Stevens was snapping his fingers in front of your face, or as your eyes began burning and drooping from drowsiness, you didn't want to pull your eyes away.

Your infatuation with him only grew every time you saw him and every time you learned something new about him. He could tell you something as trivial as how much he liked oatmeal raisin cookies and you would still be thinking about it hours later. This was the first time a single person had so much influence over your everyday thoughts.

After the shop closed, Yoongi would stick around to help you and Stevens clean up. Sometimes he would walk you to your dorm, other times the two of you would grab at a late dinner at the 7-Eleven down the street, and rarely, you two simply parted ways at the end of your shifts. You hated the nights where he just left. You didn't like it when you didn't get to spend the extra time with him, as that time after work was when he seemed the most real, and the closest to you. Those nights where you spent time alone with him, no matter how small the amount of time was, left you wanting more and more.

The uncomfortable and awkward tension that the two of you had previously experienced was no completely gone on both ends. You were learning to trust him and to believe him wholeheartedly, even though you knew it was a dangerous game to allow yourself to fall for someone that fast. You couldn't find it within youreslf to be overly cautious; all you wanted was to be close to Yoongi.

All you wanted was him.

~YOONGI'S POV~

As he clutched the contest flyer in his hand, Yoongi realized that he was nervous to go into work. He had exciting news that he was desperate to share with You, but there was something that he had to come clean about first. What he needed to tell you wasn't exactly a big deal, or a big secret, but it still was a rather large part about his pending music career. Truthfully, he felt guilty for not revealing this part of himself to you sooner.

He could tell how invested you were becoming in him, and that simple fact always managed to make his heart beat faster. He didn't take your time or attention for granted as he could acknowledge that he'd never felt so close to someone in his life. For the first time in a very long time, Yoongi was truly beginning to feel...happy. And it was all because of you.

He took a deep breath as he turned the corner, approaching the front of the cafe at 5:30 as he usually did. He couldn't help but smile as he watched you perk up from behind the counter when he walked in. After hanging up his coat, he went over to you. He still felt slightly nervous, but upon seeing your face, excitment began to drown out the other negative emotions and worries that he had.

"Yoongi! What's up?" you exclaimed, and he grinned at your enthusiasm to see him. He nearly blurted out the words "You're cute", but bit his tongue, knowing that the comment would be a bit out of line.

"Y/N, I have good news," He teased you, his excitement now blatant.

"And?" he watched your face spread into a smile, waiting not-so-patiently for an answer.

"I've been accepted into a music competition, and recruiters from small talent agencies will be there," He grinned, cheeks turning red as you ran out from behind the counter. Out of nowhere, you were flinging your arms around him, exclaiming, "Yoongi, that's so great! I told you you'd get your chance eventually!"

Yoongi stiffened under your arms, not because he didn't like you being that close to him, but because he was surprised at how casually you embraced him. He felt guilty as you pulled away, seemingly taken notice of how he had practically just rejected your hug. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly as you mumbled out an apology.

"Oh no, no! You just caught me off guard," Yoongi stammered, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. "Anyway, about the competition," he changed the subject swiftly, desperately trying to recover from the uncomfortable moment, "There's something about my music I haven't exactly told you yet."

You raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not just a pianist," he began.

"Okay?"

"I'm a rapper," he said slowly, watching you carefully to gauge your reaction.

"Oh, really?" You sounded surprised, but your tone was full of curiosity, not judgement. "You always look so gentle and calm while you're playing music...I never would've pegged you as a rapper," You chuckled, and Yoongi was relieved.

"That's how I'll be competing in the contest...I'll be rapping, not playing the piano," he explained.

"I'm so happy that you're finally getting a real opportunity, Yoongi. You deserve it, honestly," you said sincerely to him, his heart becoming elated.

"So, does that mean you'll come then?" He asked hopefully, biting his lip. He wasn't quite sure when it first started, but somewhere along the way in his relationship with you, he had suddenly begun to care a great deal about what you thought about him. He wanted you there, not just to support him, but also because he wanted to share that moment with you. He wanted you to see him doing what he was most passionate about; performing his music for others. He wanted you to be impressed with him, and to feel proud of him.

He cared what you thought.

"Come where? The competition?" You asked, seemingly excited by the idea.

"Yeah, if you can. I would like it if you came," he replied shyly.

"Of course! I would love to come! When is it?"

"Tomorrow night. 9 o'clock."

"I'll be there for sure," you nodded, and Yoongi really couldn't control the huge smile that was on his face. He wanted to play it cool, but he just couldn't.

"I'll meet you here tomorrow night then? We can go together?" He offered.

"Sounds great."

|||||

~YOUR POV~

Yoongi showed up at Youth & Impulse at 8:30 the next night, right at the end of your shift so the two of you could walk to his competition together. Given that the cafe was right in the middle of the city, most other things were in near proximity, making walking more convinient and cheaper than taking a taxi.

Yoongi walked in the door, gaining eyes from customers as he swiftly walked up to the counter to meet you. He looked different tonight; his hair was messier than ever, but it looked like it had been styled that way on purpose. He was wearing a black and white striped cut off T-Shirt and a black hoodie. But, the hoodie was only covering one shoulder, and slipping off of the other one, exposing his pale yet obviously toned arms. It took an incredible amount of conscience effort for you to remind yourself that it would be innapropriate to continue staring at his arm muscles, no matter how bad you didn't want to look away.

He was wearing hoop earrings, replacing the small black studs that he typically wore. He was wearing three different rings across his hands, with a chain bracelet and neclace to match. As he approached, you could tell he was even wearing makeup; it was faint, but black eyeliner allowed his eyes to pop. In that moment, Yoongi truly looked like a star. He looked like someone who was famous, someone who was rich, and someone who was important. Perhaps that's why his entrance into the cafe caused so many heads to turn, so many eyes to stare, and so many people to whisper.

"Y/N! You ready?" He asked through a gummy smile, fidgeting out of apparent excitement and nervousness. You felt shy as so many people's eyes were on you. You didn't like copious amounts of attention; you found it invasive and uncomfortable.

"I am!" You replied with enthusiasm, despite the fact you were uncomfortable with all of the intruding eyes. You slipped your apron off over your clothes, simply wearing a black sweater and skinny jeans as Yoongi informed you that the dress would be very casual.

"Stevens, Yoongi and I are heading out, okay?" You called out to Stevens who was busy making a caramel macchiato.

"Yeah, yeah. Go have fun! Good luck, Yoongi," Stevens said without even turning around, too busy drizzling caramel from a squeeze bottle onto the top of the drink.

"Thank you, Sir," Yoongi replied earnestly as you made your way out from behind the counter. "Alright, let's go then."

The two of you walked through the cafe to the front door, looking like a million dollar pairing. You blushed as you noticed people's heads continuing to turn to get a look at the two of you, while Yoongi seemed unphased by the attention, if he had even noticed it at all. You took note of fame would suit him well; you were happy he was the one that had the chance to become a star, and not you. You would never be able to handle all of the privacy intrusion, the demeaning eyes, the pressure. That kind of life wasn't something you wanted. However, Yoongi seemed perfectly cut out for it.

He was walking a bit faster along the sidewalks that night. You pegged it to be his nervous yet excited energy, and all of that energy began to rub off on you. You hadn't realized how excited you were to see Yoongi perform until the two were about a block way from the venue. There were cars parked bumper to bumper along the sides of the streets, making you realize how big of a deal this really was. Perhaps it appeared like some lame underground rap competition, but after seeing the amount of people that were going to be there, you began to think otherwise.

"You said that recruiters from talent agencies are going to be here tonight, right?" You spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence that you had been walking in.

"That's right," Yoongi breathed, his breath showing in the freezing cold air.

"So, this really is a huge opportunity isn't it?" You asked, even though you already knew the answer.

"It really is," he sighed, biting his lip as you looked over at him. He didn't look so excited anymore; he looked more nervous, and you couldn't blame him.

"Hey, listen. Try not to let the pressure get to you, okay? I'm sure you'll do great. And even if you don't, this won't be your last shot," you tried to reassure him, tried to bring him a bit of comfort even though you knew that no amount of words would remove the butterflies he was likely feeling in the pit of his stomach. You wanted to reach out and try to hold his hand, but after how weird he'd been about the hug yesterday, you decided against it.

"Thanks," he offered you a small smile as the two of you found yourself standing in front of the competition venue; an old warehouse. Through the open front doors, you could see the neon lights and the crowds of people that were already there.

Yoongi was at a standstill, taking in the crowd and the energy silently.

"Ready to go inside?" You asked quietly, glancing over at him.

"Yes," he said simply, catching your eye for a short moment, before moving forward, you right beside him.

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Yoongi was the 8th person to perform, so throughout the first performances, he stood out in the crowd with you. While the people performing were Yoongi's competition, you could tell how much fun he was having while watching everyone rap. You spent a lot of time looking at him, how his facial expression was influenced by different lyrics and different emotions from the various rappers. You watched him have fun through the flashing of the neon lights and in the midst of several other sweaty bodies in the crowd. You were pressed against Yoongi's side due to the mass amounts of people that were cramped into the small space, but you didn't feel uncomfortable being beside him like that.

When his name was called out, he grabbed your hand quickly, meeting your eyes for a short second and offering one of those knee-weakening smiles, before leaving your side and running up to the stage.

The only way you could describe his performance was by using the word "flawless." He didn't skip a single beat, each word comfortably rolling off of his tongue with confidence. The emotion behind the lyrics made your heart ache for him, that he had felt that way. But that aching was distracted and disrupted by his incredible charisma while being up on that stage. You eyes were so stuck on him, you weren't sure if you had even blinked once throughout his entire performance.

You saw a different side of Yoongi come out while he was on that stage; a darker and a wilder side. You could see how much he loved what he was doing, and how much heart and passion he truly put into it. You felt true awe while standing there amidst the flashing lights and the energy and the chaos. You watched the sweat roll down his forehead as he gripped the microphone tighter, his words flowing even faster.

You watched as he worked to make his dreams come true.

Coming down from off the stage, Yoongi was clearly ecstatic. For once, he seemed entirely confident about his performance, proud of himself for a job well done. You watched as he made his way to you, unable to even register what was happening as his arms were around you, pulling you into a hug. He was hot and sweaty and practically panting because he was so out of breath. But, instead of rushing for some cold water, he went straight to you.

The moment was so surreal as Yoongi tightened his arms around your waist, you almost wondered if maybe you were dreaming. But as he whispered in your ear, "Y/N, I think I might really make it," you finally could acknowledge how real the entire situation really was. You hugged him, pressing your hands into his back to bring him closer even though his entire shirt was soaked through with sweat.

But for some reason, even though his sweat was getting all over you and several people were watching you and you were incredibly hot, you didn't want him to pull away.

You would've stayed there, embracing Yoongi, tucked against his chest for hours if you could've.

You would've stayed there, heart beating out of your chest, cheeks flushed, Yoongi pressed against you for days if you could've.

You would've stayed like that forever, really.

But like all good things, the hug had to end. And when Yoongi pulled away, there was a smile brighter than the sun on his face. He was seemed so happy and so proud, you wished you could've frozen time and taken a snapshot of that exact moment.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said softly, before hugging you quickly one more time.