#but i just saw her and felt seen in return

[shizuturnspages]

kind of a vague request but how would yan childe be with a reader who doesn’t know about his job? would he avoid telling them and keep it a secret? how would he react to reader finding out?

Bloodstained Secrets

Pairing: Yandere Childe x Reader

Childe isn’t just good at keeping secrets—he’s a master at it.

A lifetime of deception, of balancing the mask of a playful older brother with the reality of a ruthless Harbinger, had made him an expert at hiding the blood on his hands. And with you? He had to keep the truth buried.

You weren’t like him. You didn’t understand war, death, or the weight of the Fatui’s name. You didn’t flinch at the sound of his footsteps, didn’t look at him with fear, didn’t hesitate to wrap your arms around him after he returned from his so-called “business trips.” You trusted him.

And he couldn’t lose that.

So, he did what he always did—he lied.

"I work under the Tsaritsa," he’d say casually when you asked about his job. It wasn’t a complete lie. Technically, everyone in the Fatui worked under Her Majesty.

"Office work is dull, but someone’s gotta do it." Also not a complete lie. Paperwork was part of his responsibilities. Of course, he omitted the fact that most of those documents were reports of who needed to die next.

"The bruises? Ah, don’t worry about ‘em, sweetheart. Just training with some of the recruits." Another half-truth. There were recruits involved, but they were often on the receiving end of his blade.

He played the part of the hardworking boyfriend well. Too well. He never let you see too much, never let you overhear a conversation that would make you question him. If you got too curious, he’d kiss you breathless, his lips pressing against yours until you forgot whatever had been bothering you. If you asked too many questions, he’d buy you something expensive to distract you.

But he knew.

He knew it wouldn’t last forever.

Secrets always had a way of clawing their way to the surface, no matter how deeply buried.

It happened so stupidly that Childe could almost laugh.

One mistake. One tiny slip.

A letter, sealed with the Fatui insignia, left half-open on his desk. Not even a particularly damning one—just an order, something vague about ensuring a merchant in Liyue Harbour complied with their rules. But it was enough.

Because when he walked into the room and saw you standing there, that letter trembling in your hands, your lips slightly parted in realisation—

Something in his world shifted.

You didn’t look at him like you usually did. There was no warmth in your gaze, no blind trust, no soft affection.

Just fear.

The silence stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

"You’re a Harbinger, aren’t you?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, but it cut through him.

Childe tilted his head, his lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Took you long enough." His voice was light, teasing, but there was something else behind it. A tension. A warning.

You stepped back. He noticed.

And he hated it.

It was subtle—the way your fingers twitched like you wanted to run. The way your breathing had turned uneven, as if you were just now realizing the weight of the situation.

Ah.

So this was what it felt like.

He had seen this expression before. On enemies who knew they weren’t walking away from a fight. On people who begged for their lives just before he cut them down.

He never thought he’d see it on you.

The realisation burned.

"I—" You swallowed. "I need to think."

No. No, you didn’t.

Childe moved before you could take another step back, closing the distance between you in an instant. His hand wrapped around your wrist—gentle, but unyielding.

"No."

Your breath hitched. His grip tightened.

"You don’t need to think about anything." His voice was lower now, a quiet, steady thing that left no room for argument.

You stared at him, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs. "Childe—"

"Ajax." He corrected, leaning closer, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Say it."

You didn’t. But it didn’t matter. Because at that moment, he made a decision.

If you were afraid of the truth, then he would make sure you never had a reason to run from it.

He would keep you safe. He would keep you close.

And he would never let you leave.

Because he can’t lose you.

Not now. Not when he’s finally had a taste of something pure, something untouched by the darkness he wades through every day.

He’ll do anything to keep you.

Lie again. Promise you he’ll change. Beg, if he has to.

And if that doesn’t work?

Then… maybe it’s better if you never leave his side.

Because the world he lives in? The one filled with war and betrayal and death?

You wouldn’t last a day in it.

And if the only way to protect you is to keep you close—

Then so be it.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 24 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

Content Warnings: Implications of being stabbed and decapitated.

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Opening your eyes slowly, you found yourself back in that place.

The world that existed somewhere between reality and a dream, where the bejeweled night an ever-watchful presence over rows upon rows of spider lilies stretching out into the horizons. Where the stems of gently swaying crimson blooms surfaced from the shallow expanse of water, liquid ground a crystalline mirror to the galaxies above. The unknown breeze felt sacred, as though the universe itself dared not intrude.

"Excuse me," a voice called out softly, breaking the tranquility.

You turned, the flowing silken fabric of your dress trailing behind you like a whisper. Standing a few paces away, your gaze fell upon a man—a tall, rugged figure with a tattered ensemble. His appearance was worn, speaking of battles fought in places far harsher than this one. But it wasn’t the state of his attire that caught your attention—it was his sharp, more experienced, gray eyes and shaggy black hair.

He was achingly familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory.

A picture on page, one that reminded you so much of—

The man moved, dropping to one knee with his head bowed in solemn respect.

"I'm—"

"Sung Il-Hwan." his name fell from your lips as though it had always been there, just waiting on the tip of your tongue. Thus your voice carried certainty, soft yet steady. "There's no need to bow to me, Mr. Sung. Please, stand."

For a moment, he remained still. Then, the corner of his lips lifted in a quiet chuckle. “As expected, you already know my identity.”

He rose to his full height, his presence imposing yet not unkind. There was something about him—something that felt both formidable and comforting. It felt like he regarded you with a newfound warmth compared to the previous formality.

“Then, I believe this little one is yours."

Il-Hwan extended his hand, revealing a soft light cupped within his palm. As the glow dimmed, you saw it—a delicate, silvery-blue butterfly, its fragile body shimmering faintly. But your breath caught at the sight of its missing wing, the severed fragment lying beside it like a fallen petal.

"Aria!"

The name tumbled out of you, laced with panic. Without hesitation, you gathered the front of your dress and hurried toward him, mindful not to trip on the pooling fabric. The little beads clinking subtle chimes as chaining ripples formed beneath bare steps light, not a single splash to be seen.

Il-Hwan watched as you approached, his eyes softening, the quiet curiosity barely hidden now. His hand remained steady, allowing the weakened summon to crawl from his fingers to your cupped hands. Handling the broken wing with utmost care, he placed it beside the tiny creature.

Aria trembled faintly in your hold, her tiny movements making your brows furrow further.

“Mama…I’ve…returned…”

The small whimper at the end, carried through your bond, broke your heart.

Hush now, child. You’re in no shape to let out a tune.

To her, the sound was tender yet firm, urging her to rest. Your eyes traced the jagged edge of her missing wing—a clean, circular cut, as though a shard of crystal had severed it at high speed. A faint trail of glimmering dust clung to the wound, the remnants of her former splendor scattering like lost stars.

"Poor thing found me at an unfortunate time," Il-Hwan began, his tone apologetic. "She got caught in my skirmish with the Monarch of Frost. I managed to spot her just in time and shield her before it was too late."

He sighed, a tinge of regret, as if he wished this meeting had taken place under better circumstances. “I suppose you’ve been trying to reach me for quite some time?”

"Yes." you whispered, the word barely audible as you cradled Aria closer. Gently, you stroked her remaining wing with your thumb, channeling a soothing pulse of your healing into her form. The faint golden glow of your power intertwined with her oceanic glitter, igniting the smallest flicker of life back into her.

Still, Aria shivered, as if just now registering how freezing she was in contrast to your touch.

Did she absorb too much of the Frost Monarch’s magic as a defense mechanism? Then the opposing energy that managed to tied her over until now was—

"Thank you for saving her." you said at last, lifting your gaze to Il-Hwan with sincerest gratitude.

Il-Hwan waved it off with a small smile. "No need to thank me, Young Lady. It’s all in a day’s work."

His voice was lighthearted, but something flickered in his gray eyes. A shift so subtle, so fleeting, that it almost went unnoticed.

Sadness. Longing. A sorrow that lingered like the ghost of a memory.

For a single, unguarded moment, his smile faltered.

The words had left his lips so effortlessly, yet you could sense it—the quiet ache of a man who had once said them often, long before his life had unraveled.

A life in another time.

You wondered what he was thinking of in that moment. The past, his own struggles, the lives left behind, the moments missed, what he had to do now, what he could do now, with little chance to reconcile—his losses.

You couldn’t help but saw a reflection of him again.

Like father, like son—couldn’t have rung truer.

Before you could speak, Il-Hwan continued. “As a matter of fact, you saved me the effort.”

Before your eyes, his irises turned bright yellow, and your breath hitched.

"Young Lady, I have a message for you."

My body…why am I reacting like this?  

His words carried an off-placed weight, as though he were no longer just a man but a conduit for something far greater.

{Flee.}

The glitching voice—distant yet achingly familiar—sent a shiver down your spine. A pang of dread lodged itself deep within. A mounting of it with no identifiable source. At least, none that made sense.

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, and your throat started to close up, cutting off air supply. You took a step back—

Your hands twitched on instinct, a chain of motions you weren’t fully aware of, muscles bracing to envelop Aria in a protective cocoon. Subtle, hidden, as if one wrong move and you would—

“Ma…ma…?”

Aria’s weak, worried call echoed, but it was distant, muffled, as though she were calling to you from behind a thick veil. Your breath came short. You felt suffocated, like the air itself grew thick, pressing down on you with an unseen force.

{What are you doing?}

Even in this state, you managed a quick glance over her before sending her away—back home, back to safety. You had to. You had to.

"They would like to have an audience with you."

The words sent a ripple through your consciousness, like a drop of ink bleeding into water. You went rigid. It felt as though you had lost control of your body altogether. No, not lost—surrendered.

Was it because you had already predicted this? You had always known, that this moment would come?

{Move!}

Cold sweat trailed down the side of your—like a delayed reaction, your hand slowly came up to your cheek, where you swore you felt the droplet of moisture. Yet, when you touched the spot, it was dry, there was nothing there.

The glint of silver, the sharp tip as it was raised high felt like déjà vu.

"Due to circumstances," Il-Hwan added, his tone softening just slightly, "They would be honored if you took the first initiative."

You’re scared.

The thought was not your own, yet it was. Overlapping. Intertwining. A relentless loop that refused to cease.

Stab!

A sharp, blinding pain bloomed in your chest. You gasped, hand pressing against your sternum, fingers trembling as though expecting to meet the hilt of a blade that torn through your very core.

Scared for your children’s life.

“…Young Lady?”

Scared for you.

{RUN—

A scream tore itself from your throat—

Chop!

—And was swallowed whole by the nothingness.

Your legs buckled. You barely registered the sensation of falling, barely noticed when Sung Il-Hwan stopped mid-sentence and rushed to your side.

Both of your hands flew to your neck, fingers pressing frantically against your skin, feeling around, over and over, searching for something—Still there. They were still there. But your irises darted wildly, scanning the surroundings, the ground, as if making sure—making absolutely sure—that your head wasn’t rolling around somewhere else.

“A-ah… ugh…”

Your breath came in heaving gasps, dizzying as nausea churned, twisted your stomach violently. Your body convulsed, but no bile came up. Only saliva, thick and warm, slipping past your lips, trickling down your chin, and dripping into the water below. Mixing in the blooms’ reflections, tiny ripples expanding outward. Yet, even in your delirium, you had to be sure, you still needed to make sure—your shaking gaze dropped to your trembling fingers, the ones that brushed against the clear dampness, checking, checking—that it wasn’t red. That the coppery taste lingering on your tongue wasn’t real.

You dimly realized the hand rested against your back, firm yet careful, grounding you as reality sluggishly crept back into place.

Drip. Drop.

You remained in that hunched position, shoulders trembling, even as the phantom agony receded, leaving behind only an echo of pain and confusion. For how long, you couldn’t say. It was hard to pinpoint time in this strange space, but it felt like an eternity before you could even muster the effort to breathe properly again. Slowly, excruciatingly so, the searing pain pressing against your chest dulled with each inhale, eased just enough for you to think. The logic creeping back in, fighting through the haze of resurfacing horrors.

When you finally dared to look up, Sung Il-Hwan’s met your gaze, his irises no longer glowed that eerie yellow. Just the usual grey, filled with concern as he kneeled on your side.

The first coherent thought that surfaced was how you had just displayed an utterly disturbing breakdown in front of a very anticipated guest.

“My apologies. I don’t now what came over me.” A white handkerchief materialized between your fingers, and with as much composure as you could muster, you dabbed at your mouth, erasing the remnants of your episode, in a feeble attempt to salvage what little dignity you had left.

“About what you said before—"

“Are you okay, Young Lady?”

You stilled.

Am I?

The look in his eyes tugged something loose in your chest, made you feel small. Like a guilty child caught in a lie.

“I know we’re practically strangers,” he started, his voice gentle, measured.

Did he read my mind somehow?

“But this old man still has some great advices.” He jabbed a thumb toward himself, flashing an easy-going grin. Then, realizing he might’ve overstepped, might have come on too strong, his smile wavered slightly as he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. “Only if you want to talk about it, of course.”

A curious feeling unfurled in your chest.

This warmth. This concern. The kind that didn’t demand, didn’t expect, didn’t bargain.

It was not the wary deference of the Hunters. Nor the admiration of civilians. Not even the camaraderie of raid mates who called you ‘friend.’

Not conditional on experiences, didn’t need to be earned. Foundational, that exists simply because you are.

Steadier. Quieter. Certain.

Is this… how my children feel when I’m with them?

Was this what parental love felt like?

Don’t you remember?

The rhetorical question in your subconscious was met with startling certainty:

I don’t.

Because there was nothing to remember. Faces, voices, attachments—nothing before all of this. Only stories, books, pictures, songs, games—remnants of entertainment consumed in a life you no longer had access to.

And you hadn’t fully came to terms with that fact.

You buried those thoughts to be revisited another time. Were you running away? Maybe. But right now—

“Thank you. I…” You pulled your knees to your chest, tilting your head back to gaze up at the endless expanse above, trying to make sense of it all. “I’m not sure how to put it into words yet. There are still so much missing. I feel like I need to figure them out first, to piece together… well, everything.”

Il-Hwan studied you for a long moment, as if searching for something—once again, in a manner that reminded you so much of Jinwoo—before sitting down cross-legged, making himself comfortable beside you.

Take your time.

Together, the two of you sat beneath the vast, starry sky.

-----

It was silent between you for a while until he was the first to break it.

“It’s been about a decade, but somehow, your stubbornness reminded me of my son.”

You stayed silent and continued to listen.

“He’s supposed to be in his twenties now. I was around his age when I met the love of my life, his and my daughter’s mother. Now, I often wondered if he already has his own special someone.”

He will.

You closed your eyes, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you thought of your ever-reliable friend, letting the warmth of your love for her overshadow the quiet ache blooming in your chest.

…Bel would’ve loved that one. The thought made you huff a silent laugh. If that child of yours was here, she’d catch the unintended pun immediately.

How easier it is. To shift my focus elsewhere, from something just not meant to be.

“My love, my son, and my little daughter… I wonder how they are doing right now.” The longing in his voice was palpable. “I thought I could check on them while completing my mission, but I haven’t had the chance.”

{DO NOT, in anyway, teleport character <Sung Il-Hwan> to meet his family OR give him something to contact them, ‘Trial Player’.}

…Damn it.

You bit your tongue while Il-Hwan could only sigh.

“Well, I guess I can only hope to get one soon.”

You won’t. Your fist clenched on fabric. Not if everything goes according to the original.

When he turned to face you again, you met him head-on.

 “Do you have a question, Young Lady?”

Your lips pressed into a straight line, then you nodded. “How do I contact them?”

"Physical contact with their vessels, any one of them, is the only key needed." Il-Hwan scratched his head, looking slightly confused. “I’m not exactly privy to the details, but I was told you came across two of us before.”

Two?

You remembered your chance encounter with Thomas Andre, and you did note that he reacted strangely. A normal eye would only see how he froze like a statue, but a trained one would notice the slight tremble in his muscles, the visible veins as if he was struggling against something internally—Yikes. You suddenly felt bad if you were indeed the cause.

That was one. But two?

You didn’t recall coming across another Ruler’s vessel, except Jinwoo, but you were pretty sure Ashborn didn’t keep in contact with his former brothers-in-arms. Otherwise, they would know of his plan, and Sung Il-Hwan would already be aware of Jinwoo’s position—which he clearly wasn’t, judging by his reaction. So, the only other possible option you could think of was—

The Chairman.

Il-Hwan’s eyes turned bright yellow again, and that same uncomfortable feeling from before returned. It took a lot of effort, but you managed to suppress most of the unease this time.

Gone was his more relaxed expression, replaced by a reverent seriousness. The shift was sudden, unsettling—more so than before. A disturbing realization settled. This wasn’t just Il-Hwan speaking on behalf of an authority not his own.

This was the authority speaking.

"We will patiently await your call."

The silence stretched as Il-Hwan’s eyes returned to normal, his form less tense.

“Well,” he said, still somewhat taken aback by the revelation. “It looks like they really want to meet you. They don’t usually choose to possess a vessel like this.”

You knew that.

Of course, you knew that fact. It was made quite clear why the Rulers' vessels didn’t stand a chance against the Monarchs in their vessels—because they chose to borrow rather than take, unlike the Monarchs. That knowledge, however, didn’t make your situation any less stressful. If anything, it only made it worse.

What could the Rulers want with me?

That vision you saw back at the Demon Castle—the only memory you could associate with the scene you had experienced was the panels depicting the death of the Absolute Being, speared upon his throne.

The glint of silver, the sharp tip as it was raised high felt like déjà vu—

Your fingers twitched involuntarily.

I must think this through.

{ . . . }

…? System?

What was this... resentment, you felt?

Sung Il-Hwan seemed to notice your state, even without knowing the full context.

"I reckon this meeting doesn't count?"

His attempt to lighten the mood was poor, but you appreciated it nonetheless. The uneasiness lingered, but it did subside quicker thanks to him.

"No." You shook your head, mirroring his smile.

“From my understanding, this place is like a dreamscape. Only our thoughts are connected while our bodies are… 'asleep.' Well, at least they’re suspended… somewhere.” You winced slightly at your own explanation. “Sorry for the bad description, I’m still trying to figure it out—”

Instead of being offended or getting more embarrassed, Il-Hwan’s sudden laughing caught you off guard with how free it sounded. His shoulders shook, as if the weights he carried had been lifted—if only for this fleeting moment at the boundary between reality and dream.

“You finally stopped speaking like that,” Il-Hwan rasped after his laughter died down.

You blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

Il-Hwan only grinned. “'Pardon my crude explanation. I am currently in the process of studying the mechanism—'” His attempt to mimic your formal tone was wackier than anything else.

“—That’s the gist of what I got after we started talking for a while. I thought you’d go on and on like that.”

You coughed into your hand, eyes darting to the side in an attempt to save yourself. “That’s… that is how I normally talk—”

“Then you’re a good kid. Stop apologizing so much and cut yourself some slack.”

His hand ruffled your hair, leaving it slightly messy. You didn’t know exactly how to respond, other than nodding shyly.

“Okay.”

Il-Hwan’s grin stayed as he ruffled your hair a second time for good measure.

“So, what were you going to say about this place?”

“Ah.” You snapped out of it and continued where you last left off. “Since this place is like an imagined land, only the maker and their specific invitees are able to attend. I’m guessing this restriction is what canceled out your Ruler’s possession at the last moment.”

Sung Il-Hwan seemed to contemplate your words.

“My child—Aria is the invitation, your lifeforce is the requirement to enter. But,” You closed your eyes, recalling your last glimpse of her before you sent her away to be cared for by the others back in the garden. The silver of her wing had looked better, the seasick pallor not as pronounced as before, but she wouldn’t have been here if not for his help.

Your hands curled slightly as you exhaled. “I can't thank you enough, for also allowing her to feed off your lifeforce. I would have lost her otherwise." This time, it was you who bowed deeply to him, gratitude etched into every fiber of your being. When you straightened up, you held out both of your hands, staring straight into his eyes.

“I wanted to do something to repay your kindness.”

Sung Il-Hwan’s brows furrowed slightly, a hesitant smile on his face. “Young Lady, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The words came out firmer than you expected. You swallowed, steadying yourself.

You remembered those images vividly—the ones from the story, the ones that had once only been fiction to you. His body dissolving into shards of light, scattering into the wind. The embrace he shared with Jinwoo, the apologies for not being there, for not being enough. The image of Jinwoo standing there, forced to watch, unable to stop it. You remembered how your tears had dripped onto your phone screen, mirroring the ones Jinwoo could not shed fast enough.

It was as if you had felt his pain. As if you had lost your father, too.

Except now—you didn’t even remember what yours looked like. If you even had one.

Your fingers trembled slightly. “Please…” The plea barely made it past your lips, a whisper carried away by the unseen breeze. You cast your gaze downward, watching the way the red blooms swayed around you. “Please, let me do this for you.”

Silence stretched between you, punctuated only by the faint rustling of petals brushing against fabric.

Then, warmth.

Calloused, bandaged palms pressed against your own. You exhaled, only now realizing you’d been holding your breath. Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused, golden embers flickering to life between your entwined hands. You wasted no time, channeling a portion of lifeforce into him, hoping—praying—that it would be enough. Enough to prolong his time, to give him a chance not only to speak to Jinwoo, but to meet his wife and daughter as well.

Even if his body still crumbled in the end, even if you couldn’t change his fate completely, at least he could say a proper goodbye.

You saw the shadow of weariness hidden behind his smile; you could hear it in his voice as he talked. And now, you could feel it in the depths of his soul.

His wish was to be reunited with his family.

He had never asked for more than that.

And yet—

{Target cannot receive <Blessings of [][][][]>}

-----

What Il-Hwan noticed first was the squeeze on his hands, firm but trembling. And then, just as quickly, the warmth of magic was severed.

"Young Lady?" His voice was gentle, but concern laced his tone.

Your head remained down, strands of hair falling over your face, obscuring it from view, but he could see the way your shoulders began to shake. He noticed the faint ripples forming at your feet—quiet and unchecked, salty droplets dripping down onto the red-drenched field below.

"Why...?" Your voice wavered, barely above a whisper, but the rawness in it felt louder than any shout. "Why can't I...?"

When his hand rested upon your head again, your head snapped up at him. What was reflected in his grey eyes were your blank ones, so vacant they might as well have been hollow, carrying an exhaustion so deep it felt... ancient.

A toothy smile stretched across your tear-streaked face, a smile that just didn't belong. Despaired. Broken.

Twice too late, twice forbidden when you were able to help. And now, even here, in this imagined land, you were denied the chance to—not even to save him, but to grant his only wish that you now knew, for certain, would never get to be fulfilled in this lifetime. 

"You're dying."

You whispered the words as if saying them aloud would make them real, as if they hadn’t already settled deep into your bones. The muscles of your cheeks straining.

Yet, Il-Hwan wasn’t troubled by the sliver of mania laced in your voice, nor the anger buried beneath he knew was not aimed at him. Because, in that moment, he saw a child—the little girl who clung to his legs before he left for work, tears soaking into the fabric of his pants, unwilling to see her father leave for just a few hours.

Neither of them knowing, one was too young at the time to fully understand, that they wouldn't be able to see each other again.

So, with the same assuring smile he once gave his young daughter, he gently patted your head, and watched as the mask you wore shattered. Your lip trembling before you let out a sob, your hand clutched at him—at anything—just to ground yourself, to keep yourself from breaking further.

A lighthearted chuckle rumbled from Il-Hwan’s chest when your sobs slowly dwindled to small snivels.

"Didn’t I just say to cut yourself some slack, Young Lady?" His voice was warm, comforting.

You nodded, though it was pitiful, barely a gesture at all.

Then, the distant rumble echoed through the space.

Sung Il-Hwan patted your head one last time with that caring expression still plastered on his face. "Well, I suppose this is goodbye."

His hand left your head, and he turned—but your grip tightened on the other, halting him in place.

"Young Lady...?"

Your eyes fell on the silver band dangling from the chain around his neck. Your earlier thoughts resurfaced, your resolve finding its way back to you.

If you couldn’t give him more time— If you couldn’t grant him his wish— Fine.

Then the least you could do was ease his heart. Even if it was just by a little!

"Mr. Sung, your family is well!"

Admittedly, Sung Il-Hwan was startled when you near screamed the words out loud, but you were too focused on ensuring that he heard every single piece.

"Mrs. Sung is as healthy as can be. Jinah is studying hard to become a doctor!" Were you afraid that you wouldn’t get this chance again?

"And Jinwoo—!"

{The current information cannot be shared. Tread wisely, 'Trial Player.'}

"Jin... woo..." Your throat tightened.

Your hand squeezed his as the other fist crumpled the fabric of your dress. Your gaze locked onto Il-Hwan’s own, desperate to convey what words could not.

"He's doing the best he can."

You didn’t know what kind of face you were making, but Sung Il-Hwan did. He could see it, as clear as the bright sky above.

"He always has."

Something stirred. Distant, a familiar sensation.

And I wanted to make sure that—

Barely registering the pain anymore, the overwhelming fatigue, the utter emptiness within.

"They miss you..."

When on the edge, a single glimpse into fragmented memories. Fingertips ghosting over a face on a smooth surface. Aching at the sight, yet unable—unwilling—to look away.

He’ll reach his happy ending.

A spider's thread, and a lifeline lost somewhere in the abyss. A new will, a new reason to live, however flawed.

He and his loved ones.

"So, so much."

You clung to it. To a promised happiness.

{What about your own?}

{ . . . }

Silence.

The rumble drew closer, louder. Sung Il-Hwan’s mouth parted, then closed. The way his messy bangs cast a shadow over his eyes.

Perhaps it was a trick of the light, the way his shoulders trembled.

Then, his voice, quieter this time. "Young Lady, may I ask your name?"

Had you said something wrong? Had you overstepped?

"I'm... (Name)..." You took a deep breath to try and quell the nervousness. "You can call me (Name), Mr. Sung."

"(Name)."

For some reason, you flinched at the way he said it. Not out of fear, but uncertainty. What was it in his tone that tugged at your heartstrings?

Then, he turned to you fully, and your breath caught.

"It is truly the highest of honors to meet you, Young Lady."

Warmth. You felt... warm.

Thank you.

The tiny butterflies of light fluttered rampantly from every direction, obscuring view. The cracks working their way in from the edges, the world shattering.

You were forced to let go of his hand.

"And thank you for answering my inquiry, (Name)."

Following those last words, was a voice filled with contentment.

And then, you woke up.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [25/01/2025]

Can you all tell how many times I cried while writing this chapter? Or am I just that sensitive? 🥲

I hope my portrayal of Sung Il-Hwan in this chapter fits in his character at least.

Anyway, if it's not obvious, the "inquiry" Sung Il-Hwan referred to is the-"I wonder if my son already has his special someone.”

So, in a nutshell: We just got father-in-law's approval, and we didn't even realize it (at least, not currently in the story). 😉

[dangerpronebuddie]

For the fic prompts - #39 for buddie?

I am so sorry this took me so long! 😭 Maybe these dorks will help you forgive me? 😁🩷

“This is more embarrassing than the time I fell down the stairs at the observatory,” Eddie’s patient, Maria, says with a self-deprecating laugh, watching as Eddie bandages her sprained wrist. In terms of embarrassing moments, a slip by the pool doesn't even make top thirty in the list of calls Eddie has seen. “My partner loves taking the kid there,” Eddie says in an effort to ease her embarrassment, realizing how the words sound a little too late. Buck's head snaps to him. Eddie resolutely does not look at him. “It’s so cute watching them geek out together, isn't it?” Maria smiles, a lovestruck look Eddie knows he wears regularly. “Yeah,” he agrees, recalling the many times Buck and Chris have returned home, excitedly discussing what they saw. “The gift shop bill, I could do without though.” “You try saying no to Chris' puppy eyes!” Buck protests. Maria chuckles. “Tell me about it. Axel has an entire shelf in his room of things he and his dad buy.” Eddie finishes bandaging Maria's hand and smiles. “I once came home to the entire dining table covered in stuff they bought.” “Again. Chris’ puppy eyes are my weakness! They're worse than your Bambi eyes,” Buck huffs good naturedly. Maria smiles at them. “Your partner?” Eddie clears his throat and Buck ducks his head. Eddie manages to smile and gives Maria care instructions for her hand and she thanks him before wandering away to find her family. Eddie can feel Buck staring at him. “Eddie,” he says slowly. “I know, I… slip of the tongue, that's all,” he waves off. “You… didn't correct yourself,” Buck points out, his voice carefully neutral. “I'm sorry,” Eddie says with a helpless shrug, “I forgot I was a single parent! But we kept talking and it… It felt so nice to act like…” “Like… what?” Buck persists. “Like you really were mine.” It sounds pathetic, and it is, but the warmth in his chest is worth it. To pretend, just for a moment, that he isn't living an almost of a life he really wants. “Eddie,” Buck says, his voice shaking. “I know,” Eddie says, zipping up the med bag. “We'll just… forget it, okay?” “I don't want to forget it,” Buck says, takes Eddie's hand before he can grab the bag and make a run for the engine. “I want to be yours.” Eddie looks at him so fast he thinks he gives himself whiplash. “You do?” Buck smiles and tugs Eddie closer. “I do. I have since… probably since you let me step inside with you; let me be your partner. On the job and at home.” Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever been rendered speechless before. Trust Buck to be the one to do it. He’s dreamt of how he’d tell Buck for years. Now he can’t seem to find the words. Instead, he takes hold of Buck’s turnouts and tugs him closer. “I love you,” he says softly, watches as a wide grin spreads across Buck’s face. “I love you too,” Buck says, and if Eddie wasn't clinging to his turnouts, he might just float away. Buck leans in with Eddie, cupping his cheek. The engine horn has them jumping apart. “Be disgusting later!” Chim yells, his head out the window. “No!” Buck yells back before dipping Eddie dramatically and kissing him senseless.

Send me a number!

[gf2bellamy]

hi lovely, i have another request!

one where the reader is the person who finds a victim’s body / the family of a kidnapped victim (you choose) and spencer is like comforting them

which means he didn’t know them before but he like thinks they’re really cute and wants to help them

you’re amazing !!

- 🐚

comfort — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of reader finding a body ,reader disturbed over seeing said body , a/n: hiii 🐚 !! missed you i hope you're doing good !! <333i hope you like this <3

The image wouldn’t leave your mind. It was burned into the back of your eyelids, replaying over and over like a broken record.

The body. The victim.

You felt sick to your stomach, as you stared blankly at the wall in front of you.

One of the agents had talked to you earlier. You were pretty sure her name was JJ—short for Jennifer Jareau, if you remembered correctly. She had been kind, patient, and gentle in her approach, but your mind had been too foggy, too overwhelmed to give her anything useful.

You had barely been able to answer her questions.

You felt guilty now. You wanted to help, to be useful, but every time you tried to focus, the image of the victim face flashed in your mind, and you felt like you were drowning all over again. 

The door creaked open, pulling you from your thoughts. You looked up, expecting to see JJ again, ready to apologize for being so unhelpful earlier. But instead, a tall, lanky man stepped into the room. His dark, curly hair was slightly messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his hazel eyes were warm as they met yours.

“Hi,” he greeted you softly. “I’m Spencer.” He paused for a moment, his hazel eyes scanning your face. “I’m with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Do you mind if I sit?”

You glanced up at him, your posture still cowered, your shoulders hunched as if you were trying to make yourself smaller, invisible. Spencer had seen you through the glass window earlier, your distant gaze and trembling hands catching his attention.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt the need to comfort you.

You nodded slightly, your movements hesitant, and he took a seat across from you. His eyes never left yours.

“I know I wasn’t much help earlier,” you said slowly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I can try again.” Your fingers tapped nervously on the table, a rhythmic, almost subconscious movement that betrayed the anxiety coursing through you.

Spencer’s gaze flicked down to your hands for a moment before returning to your face, his expression softening.

“I’m not here to ask you any more questions,” he said gently, his tone reassuring. “I just wanted to check on you. To see if you’re okay.”

His words caught you off guard. You had been bracing yourself for another round of interrogation, for more questions you weren’t sure you could answer. You blinked at him, unsure of how to respond.

“I…” you started, but your voice faltered. You looked down at your hands, still tapping against the table, and suddenly felt self-conscious. You clenched them into fists, trying to still the nervous energy, but it was no use.

Spencer noticed. Of course he did.He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” he said softly. “What you saw… it’s a lot for anyone to process. You don’t have to apologize for that.”

You looked up at him again, your eyes searching his. There was no judgment in his gaze, no impatience. Just understanding. And something about that—about the way he seemed to genuinely care—made the walls you had built around yourself start to crumble.

“I just…” you began, your voice trembling. “I can’t stop seeing it. Every time I close my eyes, it’s there. And I feel… I feel so helpless.”

Spencer nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That’s a normal reaction to trauma,” he said. “Your brain is trying to make sense of something that doesn’t make sense. It’s overwhelming, but it won’t always feel this way.”

You swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “How do you know?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

Spencer hesitated for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully. “Because I’ve been there,” he admitted. “Not in the same way, but… I’ve seen things that stay with you. Things that keep you up at night. It’s not easy, but it does get better. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek and quickly wiped it away, embarrassed. But Spencer didn’t seem to mind. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small packet of tissues, handing it to you without a word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the tissues and clutching them tightly in your hands.

Spencer gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said. “And you’re not alone in this. We’re going to figure this out, and we’re going to make sure nothing like this happens again.”

“Thank you,” you murmured again, your voice barely audible.

Spencer gave you a small, reassuring smile. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said softly. He hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say more, but then he simply stood up. “If you need anything—anything at all—just let me know, okay?”

You nodded, watching as he turned to leave. But before he reached the door, you found yourself speaking again, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Spencer?”

He paused, glancing back at you. “Yeah?”

“I… I’m glad you came in,” you said quietly, your cheeks flushing slightly at the admission.

For a moment, Spencer just looked at you, his expression unreadable. Then, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Me too,” he said simply before slipping out the door, leaving you with a strange, fluttering feeling in your chest that you couldn’t quite explain.

[ficsinhistory]

Do you have any headcanons for SCU!Amy?

You give me WAY to many power, anon. Let's go!

Amy comes from Little Planet. That's it, you can't convince me otherwise.

Because she was born on Little Planet, Amy can use her chaos energy for temporal manipulation. See the future and past, travel through time, etc.

Her people are a more pacifist, technological, diplomatic and peacemaking society. They believe in the power of the collective and that love transcends time. Hence part of her personality. They also believe that the flow of time has to be free from interference…something she doesn't agree with so much.

Amy actually knows Sonic, but neither of them remembers it because Little Planet only appears once a year for a month and she shows up the last time before he ran away. Amy landed on the island one day and ended up bumping into Sonic. They spent the month playing before she had to return for good and promising to come see him the following year. Amy never found Sonic again.

I believe Amy is a very powerful chaos energy user, especially since she is also a hedgehog. All of them, like Shadow and Sonic, have enormous and innate powers and I believe she does too. This even puts a target on her back.

She wasn't much older than Sonic when Little Planet was taken over. The whole thing was extremely traumatic for Amy who saw everything she knew and love die and the feeling of helplessness she felt motivated her to never be so helpless and incapable again.

She was captured by the creator of the Metal Sonics (probably Ivo) because of her powers when she was younger and had a quill stolen from her before could escape. This is how robots travel through time and why they have pink energy. They also can track her because of this. She blames herself for being the reason these threats are running wild and tries to make up for it.

Like Sonic, Amy was sent to Earth by a guardian who loved her, but she was instructed on a mission to protect (possibly protect the Time Stones and even Sonic) at any cost, even her own life. Contrasting Longclaw's instructions to Sonic which was to protect himself. Yes, it's so mess up to her as it's sounds.

She is on Earth at the same time as Sonic. However, she never left the New York area and being so good at hiding, never knew about him nor he about her.

Her hammer came from a factory of Little Planet, which canonically has an advanced industrial hub. She get it during the invasion to protect herself.

Amy has been fighting Metals for years and they always come back more refined and better. The only reason she hasn't been defeated is that her powers give her an advantage with vision of the future and Amy is naturally a strategic and inventive mind.

It's unnerving for her to destroy the Metal Army because they look similar to Sonic. Her mind can't remember him, but subconsciously, she knows she's seen that face somewhere. She's thrilled when she finally meets the real Sonic.

Just like Sonic's, Amy's powers are linked to emotions and since the trauma of the fall of Little Planet, her temporal abilities don't work very well. More specifically, her ability to see possible futures and remember her own past, is very scary for her. It's only when she meets Sonic again and they commit to dealing with the past together that it return to normal.

Amy's emotions in general are a mess. She is traumatized and lonely, while also being loving and optimistic. Because of her mission, she is afraid of putting even more people she cares about in danger, which leads to self-isolation. And just like Sonic, she tries to distract herself by wandering around New York and observing friends, couples, and families.

She's obsessed with musicals. She's also crazy about magical girls and has stacks of manga in her home. Amy also loves writing.

She lives in the post-credits park, in her own cave. In addition to manga, she has fairy lights, musical posters, various pink things, fashion magazines and exterotypically feminine things. Cloths? She loves it. Pop white girl music? You can bet. Rom-com? Please, she's a New Yorker.

The moon reminds her of Little Planet because it is also a satellite. Imagine her shock of seeing it split it.

She has survivor's guilt and thinks the Metals are her fault, so Amy has very little self-preservation. This leaves everyone, especially Sonic, a nervous wreck.

Amy believes in unconditional love, and is a lover of all living things. Following the philosophy that all life is valid and precious. Love is the only thing that transcend time.

When Amy meets the Wachowskis, she is delighted and excited. She has finally found people she can be around without fear, who she gets along with and who are part of her mission. Yes, she loves Maddie and Maddie loves her.

This girl collects friends and allies as Pokemons. Tom and Maddie? Folded for this cute, pink girl. Tails and Knuckles? Automatically siblings. Even Shadow can't handle this girl's absolute resolve for friendship. He knows resist is useless.

She and Sonic have a mutual crush, but they're really bad at it. Between the traumas and the similarities, it's just… amazing and scary to have someone understand you like that. Love is being seen, and Amy doesn't know how to feel about being so seen and vulnerable like that. All Amy knows is that she loves this boy very much and would hate to be responsible for taking him away from his family. That said, she can't hide it. Is so obvious.

Although she is in love with Sonic, her favorite Wachowski brother is Tails. They're tech siblings and strategic pals.

Knuckles and Amy get along very well. She has heard of his reputation as a warrior and he knows the stories of the mysterious Little Planet. They are both happy to finally have a sparring partner.

Amy's fighting style is very aggressive and destructive. She feels a lot of anger towards the Metals and this is quite a fuel. It reminds a bit of Shadow's practicality and brutality.

She is so empathetic and kind to the point of being disarming. Amy can get the truth out of anyone like that. One look into those green eyes and you are doomed. She will win you over with the power of unconditional love and non-judgmental listening.

Empathy plus temporal powers allow Amy to know everything about someone. It's scary and she knows it and likes it.

She is very good at hiding and uses this to her advantage when she visits New York. Although sometimes she likes to mess with people she finds rude by revealing herself a little and saying "no one will believe you" before smiling and walking away.

Amy has a temper and is very angry. And she is in New York. Pretty much the best place for her to hide.

She can love everyone but herself.

[spooklies]

# Sinister - Platonic!Yan!Mark Grayson & Older!Sis!Reader

♡ ... › Her little brother saw the worst of it that night and since witnessing the death of their mother he was never the same. Gone was her sweet and joyful little brother who’s smile could rival the sun — his diminished light leaving a sinister shadow of what once was. But she has hope he could return to his former self one day, unaware of what else she lost that night.

— Words - 3.2k

♡ ... › Warning(s) - Forced imprisonment. Forced eating. Mentions of death. Dubious/nonconsensual touching (hugs, hand on jaw, etc)

She should have stayed home that night, she shouldn’t have rolled her eyes at her mother before leaving, she shouldn’t have avoided her mother when she leaned in to kiss her forehead–

But she had, and now she’ll never get the chance to make it up to her. At the age of eleven, she’d been pulled aside by her friend’s parents asking if they could drive her to the hospital to go be by Mark’s side. Initially, she had assumed Mark was the one who got hurt, possibly snuck back onto the roof despite her constant warnings of why he shouldn’t be up there, but then she was pulled into an all-encompassing embrace with the words she’ll never forget whispered into her ear sorrowfully.

Your mother had been found dead.

They’re saying your little brother had seen it all happen.

Your father hasn’t responded to any of his calls or messages either, so they’re asking if you could go be by Mark’s side since he’s all alone at the hospital right now.

The drive to the hospital was spent with her staring at her hands as tension pounded into the sides of her head. She’d done her best not to think about her mother or the way they’d left things off earlier and instead put all her focus on Mark and his well-being. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what he must be feeling if what they were saying was true – at just seven years old, he’d watched his mother be killed.

She spent the rest of the drive trying not to puke, and by the time she made it to Mark all of the adrenaline that had been building up was instantly expelled. She ran to Mark’s side and pulled him into a hug, the blanket they had him draped in the only thing between them for a moment before she felt his little arms peek out from the fabric to wrap around her in return.

“You’re okay now, Mark. I got you, everything will be okay,” She continued to whisper to him, her lips meeting the crown of his head after each sentence. The more she repeated the reassurances, the more she questioned who they were really for – him or herself. Meanwhile, Mark hadn’t uttered a sound, nor had he shed a single tear like she’d started to. She found it concerning at first, and when she was pulled away from Mark and ushered out of the room she’d asked the nurses about why her little brother wasn’t saying anything, or why he wasn’t reacting like she was.

Mark was just recently traumatized, they explained. He’s most likely suffering through the first symptom of that which is shock. And given his recent witness of events, he’ll need to receive a constant flow of attentive care and affection from here on out. As his older sister, she didn’t hesitate in promising the nurses as well as herself that night that she’d do just that. She’d take her role as his older sister more seriously, unknowing that in Mark’s mind, he’d made a similar vow; to ensure that he’ll never be so weak as to let someone he cares about be hurt ever again.

\\\

Life after their mother’s death was incomparable to what it once was. With their father stricken with grief and a new motive for revenge against the person who’d taken his wife from him, he’d begun teaching her and Mark how to fight. She’d played along with the lessons in the beginning, if only for Mark’s sake. She wanted to be someone he could rely on more thoroughly, and the other reason which she wouldn’t outwardly admit given how allergic to affection her father had become, was seeing how happy the training made Mark.

It was rare to see her little brother smile so much after that eventful night, she’d done everything in her power to bring back that spark by using methods that would’ve worked before. She got him his favorite comics and even offered to read them with him. She offered countless times to play catch with him in their backyard all the while regretting the numerous times he used to do the same and she would decline. But none of her methods worked nowadays, the only ones that did were when she asked to spar and practice a new move she learned.

Mark was competitive, more so than before. He never held back with each punch, leaving her with a bruise or two on more occasions than not. Meanwhile, she let him. She knew that with her taller frame and more developed muscles she’d be able to win each fight effortlessly, but she wanted to be the reason her little brother smiled again – whether that be in victory from a fight, or when she’d playfully throw him to the ground and begin tickling him while pretending to be an enemy called, “The Tickle Monster”.

She tried her best to give Mark that semblance of a childhood back, it’s what their mother would have wanted. But she’s not around to help guide them anymore, which left their father in full control. His way of parenting contradicted everything their mother had preached; where she was gentle, he was harsh. He’d see the bruises Mark would give her and pull her aside and out of earshot to call her weak-minded for letting someone else win a fight they shouldn’t have won in the first place. And instead of arguing back, she’d bite her tongue, making empty promises to not do it again only to break that promise the very next day.

A bridge had begun to build between them, and she had convinced herself that she was fine with it. If it meant Mark could be a kid for a little longer, then she’d make those necessary sacrifices in a heartbeat. So by the time she turned eighteen and still hadn’t developed her powers, she was cast aside by him in favor of Mark. With her bags packed and at the door, she was quick to train her expression into calm neutrality at Mark’s expected appearance.

“You’re leaving? But why?” Anger carved harsh lines across Mark’s face, hardening his jaw and turning his cheekbones into slashes of tension. She felt a pinprick of anxiety poke its way into her heart, the sound of her blood pumping making her almost dizzy.

“I have to, Mark. Dad doesn’t want me around and… and this house isn’t what it used to be.” She needed a change of pace, she’d spent so long putting all of her time and energy into keeping the family together. But after all of these years of failure, it was time she faced reality and lived for herself for once.

“You can’t just leave! What would… what would mom say?” She shut her eyes, inhaling her initial anger at his words, and then exhaling any regrets she could have possibly felt at that moment towards Mark.

“Don’t, if Mom was here then she would have scolded you for even saying that.” Mark huffed, shaking his head and then turning away from her, his fists clenched.

“You can’t survive on your own, you’re weak. You’ll regret doing this.”

Y/n took in his words, and as she processed them another realization settled in – one she’d kept buried in the recesses of her mind.

“I know, and I’m sorry.” At her confession, Mark scoffed and walked back to his room. By the time he was out of frame, she cupped her mouth and hiccuped, tears warming her eyes and causing her nose to sting as if she were breathing in water instead of air.

She had failed Mark – she’d failed as an older sister.

After she’d left her childhood home and all but abandoned what she had left of her family, she stopped receiving random texts and calls from Mark. It wasn’t until four years later that all of that would change when the world would be forced to plummet into despair when she’d see him again.

But he was different, attempting to compare him to the sweet and outgoing boy from their youth was laughable. She’d heard of him through the news before everything would be changed to “Viltrumite” propaganda, that a person dressed in yellow and black had begun enslaving humans alongside the man she recognized to be her father.

So like everybody else, she’d gone into hiding. People who resisted the Viltrumite empire were slaughtered without remorse. And after a while rumors had begun to spread that those who went into hiding were deemed rebels too. She’d carved her death sentence the moment she joined a group known as the Resistance, that fact would only be given more merit when more rumors began to spread, this time involving her specifically.

“They’re looking for a person who matches your description, Y/n. And they’ve promised a reward to the first person to turn you in.” Eve, a prominent figure in the resistance, had been the first to break the news to her. Her features were drawn into concern, but her eyes told her a different story.

She had considered it at one point.

“And you’re telling me this because..?”

“I’m trying to warn you, there are people here who wouldn’t hesitate in turning you in if it means they get to save their hide.”

A hypocrite, everyone who had considered turning her in, or currently still is was a huge hypocrite in her eyes. But she needed to hear Eve out, she knows better than to take things like this at only its surface level. And what she’s beginning to understand from her words caused dread to coil furiously inside her gut.

“You’re going to suggest I leave, aren’t you?”

Eve heaved out an exasperated sigh, her elbows which were propped on the table they sat at brought into a position where she could cover her face with her hands. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I’ll give you supplies to leave with, but you being here risks the entire foundation of this group. People could begin turning on each other, or worse, they could start killing if it meant being the person who turns you in first.”

She didn’t want to argue with her either, she’d spent a year at the resistance already and the whole time of her staying there, she’d rarely contributed to the few excursions she was sent on. It was clear she’d overstayed her welcome, and that Eve wasn’t suggesting – she was demanding that she leave.

So without bothering to argue, she did. But without a clear destination in mind, she was lost. The rations they supplied her with were just enough to get by for a few days, a small mercy to reprieve the possible guilt they felt for forcing one of their own to fend for themselves in the ruins of what once was. She kept to the shadows, never lingering in one place for long, and found clothes to keep her identity better hidden. After a week of surviving on her own, videos began to display on every screen she’d come across – Mark, in his recent attire, asking that she come back home.

She didn’t want to for numerous reasons, but then the lives of others were threatened, a dozen people would be killed each day she didn’t return. So with a heavy heart, she finally relented and returned to the one place she promised to never return to.

She went home.

Upon opening the door, she was surprised to see everything perfectly intact. The other houses in the neighborhood were either ransacked or destroyed altogether. But stepping inside her old home was akin to traveling back in time. With trembling hands, she approached a picture frame of her family, her eyes immediately zeroing in on her mother’s smiling face as she held both her and Mark in her arms.

She didn’t know how long she was standing there just staring and stuck reminiscing in nostalgia, but she’d been there long enough to hear the door open and for the setting sun to paint the living room in orange hues. His shadow somewhat blocked her view of the picture frame, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into his chest was what blocked it entirely. He smelled of smoke and iron – she tried not to dwell on the implications of it either. His arms, which she remembered used to be barely long enough to reach the top of the counter, now held her in a vice-like grip as if she were still a flight risk. He rested his chin on top of her head and exhaled a shaky breath, a smile apparent in his voice as he said,

“I knew you’d come back,”

She wanted to curse at him, to refute his statement and defend her reasons for ever stepping foot in this place again. But Mark had become someone beyond reason – he only listened to what he wanted to hear. That day when she’d left, he claimed that she’d come to regret her decision. But Mark was wrong, she didn’t regret leaving, she regretted staying for as long as she had.

\\\

Mark never let her leave the house, claiming that she’d become all skin and bones compared to the last time he saw her, and that as a human she was more susceptible to disease given her prolonged lack of nutrients. She wanted to argue back with, “And who’s fault is that?” but bit her tongue, opting to give him the silent treatment instead. He’d tut, claiming her to be the childish one now whenever he didn’t get a response, and then he would leave her be as she remained cooped up in her old room. And like everything else in the house, nothing had changed. A few pictures of her as a kid enjoying her old hobbies had been moved around, some flipped upside down and others remained standing.

She had a guess on who had messed with her things, but she didn’t have plans to call him out on it anytime soon.

\\\

“Seriously? You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate!” Mark exclaimed, walking over to her untouched food with a scowl. “Wasn’t it you who used to scold me for skipping out on meals?”

She was bundled up in her blankets, her knees pulled to her chest as she faced away from him. She saw the irony in his words and remembered back when their mother had first died how difficult it was for Mark to finish meals if she weren’t around. It took their father reprimanding him and promising a more sure method to motivate him to eat again for Mark to change his bad habits.

She hopes Mark doesn’t resort to the same methods.

“Y/n… I even got your favorite, can’t you at least be a little bit grateful?”

She ignored him, like usual. Today it would seem that Mark wasn’t in the mood for her defiant nature. She heard the bed creak beside her, her entire body tensing at the proximity before she felt a hand grip onto her shoulder, just tight enough for the pressure to sting faintly.

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t give you a chance to eat by yourself.”

Fingers were suddenly wrapped around her jaw, forcing her to turn in his direction. Mark was unmasked, his eyes set into a glare as his eyes followed his other hand which came up with a pinch of her discarded dinner. Her eyes widened when she realized what he was about to do, she tried to squirm out of his grasp but given their difference in strength it was futile. His fingers were forced down her throat, she gagged and tried to spit the foot back out but everything he was giving her was forcefully swallowed. He made sure it was.

By the time the food on her plate was gone, she was a mess, snot running down her nose and tears pouring out from her eyes and dripping down her chin. Mark let out a sigh and finally released his grip on her in favor of grabbing a tissue to wipe his hands clean. Y/n backed up on the bed until her back hit the wall, not letting him leave her line of sight.

“Next time, don’t make me do that, please.”

She made sure to finish her meals after that before Mark would come to visit her.

\\\

“Please… just say something!” He yelled, the bags under his eyes had been gradually becoming more prominent with the passing week. She was curious about what had been causing his recent bout of exhaustion and partly blamed herself for contributing to it if her current situation was anything to go by.

“You haven’t spoken a word since coming home! Did you lose your voice? Did… did someone do something to you?” He was pacing back and forth in front of her, a hand over his mouth as he began to mutter to himself at a speed that was incomprehensible to her. She could just barely make out, “I’ll kill them” before he stopped altogether, both of his hands covering his face now before he knelt in front of her… and wrapped his arms around her waist. She had been sitting on the edge of her bed, having just finished her meal, when Mark had entered and decided to spiral right before her.

He pressed his head against her stomach, the sounds of his breathing beginning to settle and then quiet sniffles breaking the silence between them. “Y/n… Y/n…” He whimpered, his body beginning to shake as the last of his resolve crumpled and he began to sob unapologetically. “I thought you had died… I thought you were gone forever!”

“I missed you so much, why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Do you hate me that much? Please don’t ignore me, I don’t know what to do without you.”

“I was so lost without you, please never leave again!”

“No… no you won’t– you can’t leave, I’ll make sure of it…”

His rambling didn’t take long to escalate, his fraying sanity on full display as he sobbed into her shirt and soaked the fabric. If she shut her eyes and pretended she was elsewhere, then she could pretend that Mark was still that same boy that held onto her in the hospital that one night and not the murderer who he’d later become with delusions that his actions were necessary – that keeping her locked inside the house was something he had to do, and that if he didn’t she would die out there because she was human.

“I love you, Y/n… never abandon me again…” She imagined it was her little brother from before confessing this, and in her delusions, she decided to comfort that same boy by gently stroking his hair until his sobs had settled down.

“Everything will be okay, I’m here.” She rasped, her voice not coming out right due to weeks of disuse. “I got you, you’re okay.” Mark had settled in her lap, his breathing finally evening out as he fell into a peaceful slumber.

“Your big sisters got you…”

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Season 2 Part 12: ~

Do You Hate Me?:

So, this one is somewhat personal to me. Not in terms of what's being said, but the subject of having a parent working away from home for most of my childhood.

TW: Mentions of parental death. Anxiety.

July 6th 1975.

Jack gazed at his father's luggage that sat on his bed. The same grey backpack that would fit a man going on a daily hike, with worn straps and a broken zipper, was a curse to the teenager. His face fell, and a sense of dread came over him. He was leaving again.

The boy turned and stared at his parent's wedding photo that hung in the hallway. They looked so happy. Did his dad still feel that?

A knock on the front door and Gibbo answered. Irene let herself in with her suitcase and signature straw sunhat with an emerald green dragonfly broach. Jack wandered to his room and saw the cricket set he got last year. He was hoping he and his dad could play with it this summer. Now, it was going to gather dust until January. Jack felt a knot form in his throat, and lingering thoughts began to return. They made him feel sick and lose track of time. Fake scenarios ran through his mind. Soon, the boy found himself standing in the doorway of his room for a good thirty seconds, fighting a battle to put those thoughts to rest and force a smile.

'Jack, come and say hi to your nan!' Gibbo called.

'Okay!'

Smile for your dad, Jack.

It was quiet, which shouldn't be surprising, given the time of year. The A9 only had the occasional passing car or truck, and with the service station being on a slight hill, they didn't notice the obvious. For the adults, it was calm. For the children, it was boring.

The drivers were taking a small nap in their trucks after stretching their legs. Innes had used his bottle of water to wash and clean Muir's head and face, which was instantly followed by Cait asking to play before Simon pulled her away, claiming a monster was after them. That being Rennick, who was clearly enjoying being the 'fun one,' as he held up Maidie, who scream-laughed. Caz and Suze watched, holding their hands and sharing a BLT sandwich.

'Will you be alright?' Suze asked. 'Going to London.'

'I'm not going,' Caz quickly replied, not giving it a moments thought.

'What?'

'I'm done running, Suze.' There was a distant look in his eyes. His smile faded, and his eyes lingered to the ground. Caz aimlessly kicked one leg, gave a quiet sigh, and put his half-eaten sandwich back in the box. His appetite was gone. He turned to Suze, who looked upset, because deep down, she knew this was the only outcome. And, whilst she knew they could brave these waters, she didn't want it to happen. Of course, a part of her just wanted the family to run away. Vanish into the horizon and never be seen again. If only it was that simple. 'I'll drop you and the weans off at the flat, and then I'll drop myself off.' A pause. This really was it, and Caz was preparing himself. 'How long do you think I'm gonna get?'

'Don't make me answer that, Caz.' But if Suze had to guess, with the running away and lying low for months, at least five years, meaning he'll never see his girls grow up. Cait would have taken her GCSEs and hopefully gotten her first job, while Maidie would have only begun Year 7. All those Christmases and birthdays with one missing parent who would spend those days in a cold box. It was heartbreaking to think about. Suze squeezed his hand and rested her head on his shoulder. 'No luck with Kieran?'

'Not that I know of.' Maidie and Cait's distant laughs caught his attention. He felt a weight in his chest that he could only scoff at. 'Roy will look after you.'

'I don't want him looking after us.'

'He'll keep you safe. A lot better than I could.'

'Oh, Caz...'

Little did they know, Roy stood out of sight in the station building, listening to the pair from the partially open door. A wave of guilt washed over him, feeling as though he didn't do enough. True, he advised Caz that it might be best if he faced this situation, but of course, he didn't want him to go. Seeing his best mate in a place like Barlinnie? It was a good thing he didn't have a heart condition.

'Okay, let's go!' Trots called from afar. Roy waited until Caz and Suze moved away before he left, acting as if everything was fine. Rennick walked past him, and Roy quickly grabbed his arm.

'We need to talk.'

And they weren't the only ones. Jack looked up to his dad as they slowly began to regroup. They waited for everyone else to load up, lingering in the back towards the outdoor seating area. 'Can we get fish and chips when we get back, dad?'

'Sure, when I get back from London, we can.' Wrong answer. Jack's face slowly dropped, and he stood frozen in the snow. Gibbo stepped forward to climb inside, only to notice his son wasn't following. 'Jack?' He turned back with an unnerved feeling in his stomach.

'You're not coming home?'Jack had his hands in his pockets, trying to be stoic, but his shoulders were tense, and he played with some loose marbles in his coat, juggling them between his fingers. Gibbo placed a tendril on his shoulder with a sorrowful look on his face.

'I'm sorry, Jack,' he spoke softly. 'I need to see this through for Addair.'

'But you don't like Addair.'

'He needs support, but I'll come home as soon as I can. I promise.'

'Will you?' Anger slipped into Jack's tone of voice. He looked away from his dad, eyes sharpened, and his hands began fists. He sniffled from the cold. 'Are you going to disappear again for another six months?'

'No, of course not.'

'Leave me with Nan again?'

'Jack-' Jack slapped the tendril and walked away. The familiar knot formed in his throat, and the thoughts crept back into his mind. This time, however, Jack let them win and didn't even bother to form a smile. Gibbo followed, circling him to block his path. They ignored the possibility of everyone watching, who respectfully shut the doors. Roy and Rennick moved around to the side of the building. 'Jack, where's this coming from?'

'You missed Christmas again. You missed my football match again. I passed my tests and you weren't there. Did you know I got my first detention? No, you didn't. But fine, go away and continue to leave me for someone you don't even like.' Jack crossed his arms and slightly hunched over. 'Do you hate me?'

That was a punch in the face for Gibbo. His face fell, and he tried to grab his son again, who just shrugged him off. Another punch to the face.

'How could I ever hate you?'

'Because I'm the reason mum's dead.' Silence. Gibbo's eyes widened in shock, and his entire body went cold. Jack felt an instant regret in his stomach, but either out of pride or not wanting to look weak, he held his head high and didn't apologise. But, he still crossed his arms for self-comfort. 'Just admit it, dad. If it wasn't for me, she'd still be here. That's why you work away all the time, because you can't stand the sight of me. If you could trade me for mum, I know you wou-' Gibbo wrapped Jack into a tight embrace. The boy froze, but only for a moment, before he tried to break free. A losing battle, even if Gibbo wasn't infected.

'I miss her everyday,' Gibbo whispered. 'But, I'd never give you up. You were the greatest gift to me, Jack, and I know she'd be proud of you, just like I am. I'm sorry, I've not been a good dad, and I'm sorry you have to see me like this, but that's not going to stop me from seeing you grow up.'

Jack's weak attempt to escape stopped and merged into a hug. All the pentup anger was gone, replaced with tiredness and longing for his dad's comfort. He wrapped what his small frame could around his Gibbo and nestled his head into what he assumed to be his stomach. The thoughts vanished, but the knot remained. Gibbo stroked his hair and squeezed him tightly to tell him he was safe and everything was going to be okay. 'Sorry dad.'

'Don't be, but...' Gibbo pulled away and lowered his head to Jack's level. 'How did you get detention?'

'I punched Harry Martin.'

'Oh that little shit.'

'He said you hated me.'

'And you believed him?'

'No.'

'Jack.'

'Maybe a little.'

'Well, lesson learned, okay?'

'Okay.'

'But did you win?'

'I think so.'

'Think so?'

'Well, he slammed me into the coat hanger, then the teacher broke us up. But he lost his front tooth.'

'Well hopefully the tooth fairy ignored him.'

The pair laughed, before making their way back to the group. On cue, Roy and Rennick emerged from the side of the building, just as a worker was coming out for their smoke break. The young woman froze and watched Gibbo and Rennick climb into the truck, her cigarette dangling between her lips. No one bothered to explain what she was looking at. Roy just gave her a quick 'morning,' as the engines roared to life and peeled out onto the road again.

[ibrokeeverything]

🌈Inner Steel

[mad-hunts]

so... i've been thinking about auriel again because i actually did have an account for her once upon a time (just on another platform) + all i can remember is doing this roleplay on there with barton immediately asking the person whom told him they saw her was whether she was okay because she had went missing with no trace for years after all. and additionally, this was also while shedding tears like there was NO tomorrow, which is 😭 like he isn't a good person, y'all, but he does have his moments where it actually seems like he genuinely cares about people

[t-u-i-t-c]

chapter xlvii

[foldingfittedsheets]

The location of the sex shop I worked was a haven for spiders. We had tall ceilings and skylights and unused storage rooms. It was a spider paradise. We quickly sussed out which coworkers to call on in case of emergency. The Dorito lady was a solid ally for spiders but absolutely petrified of moths.

But there’s actually a hierarchy of fear. Most people don’t realize. The person least afraid is the one forced to deal with the bug in question. If coworker B was scared, but coworker A was petrified, well coworker B was gonna have to screw their courage to the sticking place because by the law of fear they were the most competent person on scene.

Thus enters Rick. Rick first appeared in the back storage room. This room doubled as a second bathroom so we went in on a semi frequent basis. The girl who’d gone in to pee shot out again gibbering with fear about the biggest spider she’d ever seen had just run across her boot.

We sicced Dorito lady on it. She returned, shaking her head. “He was squatting on a power cord where it plugs in. I couldn’t get a clean shot at Rick.”

“Rick?”

She shrugged. “Spiders that big need a name. Seemed like a Rick.”

Rick, freshly named, became a store menace. I’d normally say this was probably a case of multiple spiders being mistaken for one but everyone who encountered him swore up and down there could be no mistake. This spider was massive, fast, and distinct. A gladiator among arachnids.

I never encountered Rick. His exploits grew in the telling but the theme was consistent: no one could kill him. He’d hunker in places that no one could reach and dart away when a strike missed. He also chased off the more faint hearted, charging them in bold dashes. There could be no benign cup transplant to remove Rick from the premise. He was not leaving.

The saga of Rick continued for two months. Not seeing him was almost worse, a fearful wariness when going to the bathroom or stepping into quieter areas. I waited with dread, hoping my eventual run in would have me on shift with Dorito lady to protect me.

It was not to be. There was a girl the same who hated my one moment of singing that was absolute piss-herself scared of spiders. She’d slam straight into a panic attack and couldn’t think or speak. And so it was that one night on shift, I heard her scream.

It was unmistakable. I was in the front window turning off the open sign. Through an obstacle course of mannequins and lingerie I performed an acrobatic sprint out of the window, darting up to find her quivering at the front counter, fully crying. I radiated calm at her and said, “Just point.”

I knew it was Rick. Our destinies were intertwined and we had always been pulled toward the inexorable battle that was drawing nigh.

Her hand raised to point to our sandwich board sign at the front of the store. So Rick had the metaphorical high ground. There was no quick easy strike on the slanted signs surface.

I armed myself and marched into battle, my knuckles white on my chosen weapon. I would do this, because I must. Because there was no one else. And because I wanted to close and go home.

I saw Rick immediately and I honestly don’t think I’ve ever seen a bigger spider since. Outside of a tarantula, he was truly the most massive spider I’ve ever beheld outside a zoo enclosure or terrarium.

We regarded each other. Rick launched off the sign toward me and I stomped my foot reflexively, making him pause in his charge. Then I raised my weapon. Anything else, I believe Rick could have evaded. He’d bested most of the store thus far. But I had chosen chemical warfare.

I doused the shit out of that spider with cleaning spray, stunning him with a barrage of chemicals. While he froze, choking on the unexpected deluge, I dropped a paper towel over him. My foot came down.

I felt his exoskeleton crunch and I can feel it still to this day. The shattering was as of bones and I truly mourned that we had been forced into senseless war. If only he has cleaved tighter to the shadows. If only he’d crawled willing into a cup for relocation. I released a full body shudder of horror, fear, and adrenaline as I stepped back.

I took several quivering breaths. I donned a veneer of calm and tidied the battlefield of it’s corpse then went to reassure my coworker that all was well, while internally I still shook.

You fought well, Rick. I hope you sired many more monstrous children to haunt retail workers in the years to come. Rest in valor, you monster.

[beloveds-embrace]

(part two of here comes the sun: poly 141 x medic reader where you might as well be the sun to them)

Soap wasn’t subtle about it.

The moment he was cleared to leave the med tent, he started pushing. Hard, even if he knew there wouldn’t be much, actual opposition.

“Price,” he said, leaning against the captain’s desk like he wasn’t still healing. “John. We need her.”

Price didn’t even look up from his paperwork. “You need to sit down before you tear that wound open again.”

“I’m serious,” Soap insisted, gesturing wildly. “You saw her. She’s sharp, steady. Quick hands. Disnae panic under pressure. And-”

“And she’s not ours,” Price cut him off, finally looking up. “She’s stationed with another unit.”

“She could be ours,” Soap shot back, undeterred. “We need a medic. She’s the best one I’ve seen.”

Price gave him a long, measured look, and Soap could tell the captain was already considering it even before Soap burst into his office.

“She’s bright.” Price said after a beat, tone flat but amused, and sat back in his chair.

Soap grinned. “Aye. Easy ta spot.” What you, yourself, had said to him when he’d woken up in that tent. He kept going through that day again and again.

Price exhaled through his nose and reached for his phone, and Soap left feeling quite satisfied.

You arrived two weeks later.

The announcement was casual- just another personnel transfer- but the 141 treated it like the sun itself had walked into their orbit.

You stepped into the briefing room with the ease of someone who had faced fire and walked out the other side. Your bright gear stood out starkly against the muted greens and browns of the others, like a flare shot across a starless sky, and it reminded them so much of the day they had met you on that battlefield.

Gaz was the first to speak, offering a low whistle as he leaned back in his chair, offering you an easy smile. “Looks like it’s true. They really did send us the sun.”

You smiled at that, shoulders straight but relaxed, clearly used to the nickname by now. “I’ll try not to blind you, Sargeant.”

Soap’s eyes never left you. His grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and before he could think better of it, the words slipped out- low and rough like an ember still burning.

“Doubtful.”

You blinked, turning to him, but he quickly looked away and scratched at the back of his neck like it hadn’t meant anything. It did, though, and he knew everyone in the room had caught it.

“Well,” Price finally said, breaking the moment. “Welcome to the task force, medic. Let’s hope you live up to your reputation.”

You raised an eyebrow, that sharpness returning to your gaze as you stood a little straighter. “I don’t plan on letting you down, sir.”

Soap’s heart stumbled. That steady confidence- it was the same tone you’d used when you’d saved his life, the same fire he’d seen in your eyes as you’d pulled him back from the edge.

Here comes the sun, he thought again, and this time it didn’t feel like an omen.

It felt like a promise.

And now, you fit into the 141 like you’d always been there.

It didn’t happen all at once- trust like theirs was hard-earned, built in layers of sweat, blood, and battlefield grit. But it started quickly enough.

Price made it clear from day one. He didn’t just treat you as part of the team; he expected it. No fanfare, no hesitation. “You’re one of us now,” he said after your first successful op, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t forget it.”

Gaz took to you next, easy and natural. He lingered near you during drills, cracking jokes and testing your reflexes like it was a game. “Just making sure the sun doesn’t burn out,” he’d tease with a grin. But the way he always had your back in the field- never too far, always watching- spoke louder than words.

Soap made it impossible to keep your guard up, of course. He pulled you into conversations before you even realized it, throwing compliments and nicknames around like confetti with an easy grin. “The sun’s shining bright today,” he’d say whenever you joined a room, all charm and laughter. It was easy to laugh with him, easier still to trust him when things got serious.

Ghost was different. Quiet. Watchful. You never caught him outright staring, but you felt his presence. He didn’t say much at first- just short nods and simple instructions during missions. But then there were the small things. The way he passed you ammo without being asked. The way he moved closer during tense moments, his silence as steadying as any words.

And when he finally spoke up, it was never casual. “Good work,” he told you after a long, brutal mission. It wasn’t much, but it felt like everything.

You learned to move with them like clockwork. They learned to rely on you the same way. Missions came and went, and somewhere in between the chaos and quiet, you stopped feeling like the new addition and started feeling like home.

It wasn’t the colors of your gear that made you stand out anymore. It was the way you fit beside them- bright and steady, a fixed point in their orbit.

Soap caught himself watching you more often than he should’ve.

It wasn’t just the colors, though they still hit him first- those impossible reds and oranges that stood out like fire on a battlefield. They reminded him of sunrise after too many nights spent in the dark, of flames warding off the cold, and he didn’t think there’d come a day where the colors don’t surprise him. But it wasn’t just that.

It was the way you moved.

Steady. Deliberate. Like hesitation wasn’t in your vocabulary. You worked with purpose, not a single wasted motion, and it drew his eye every damn time. You stood out in ways that had nothing to do with the bright gear- like light breaking through fog, cutting through smoke and haze to reveal solid ground.

And he wasn’t the only one who saw it.

Price started calling you their beacon during briefings. At first, it had sounded like a joke, a casual nod to the nickname you’d earned, but it simply stuck.

“We follow the sun,” Price said once, tone half-serious, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “And if we lose track of her, we’re done for.”

Soap had laughed along with the others, but the words lingered.

Gaz, for his part, never made any effort to hide how much he liked having you around. He hovered close more often than not, easy-going and quick with compliments.

“It’s just the colors,” he’d insist whenever someone called him out for it. “You’re hard to miss.”

But Soap caught the way Gaz’s tone softened when he said it, like maybe it wasn’t just the colors after all.

Ghost… Ghost was different.

He didn’t flirt, didn’t tease- not like the others. But Soap had spent enough time with him to notice the shift. The slight tilt of his head whenever you spoke. The way his shoulders relaxed when you were in the room. The rare moments he let you touch him, patching up a wound or tightening a bandage, as if he trusted you without question.

Soap had nearly choked when he’d caught Ghost staring once, lingering too long while you tied off a suture on his arm. For all his jokes about Ghost being unflappable, even Soap couldn’t ignore the look he’d seen- the way Ghost had leaned just slightly into your touch, like he’d never wanted to leave it.

And Soap?

Soap was a mess.

Because no matter how much the others admired you- how much they trusted you, relied on you- he’d seen you first.

He’d been the one bleeding out in the dirt, thinking his time was up. He’d been the one who saw you cut through the smoke and fire like something out of a dream. And that fact burned in his chest like an ember that refused to go out.

Sometimes, he thought about what might’ve happened if you hadn’t been there. If you hadn’t run straight into hell to get to him. But those thoughts never lasted long- because all he had to do was look at you to remind himself that you had been there.

You’d saved him. And now, every time he saw you, with those bright colors and steady hands, it hit him all over again.

Here comes the sun, he thought.

And this time, he didn’t want to look away.

It was late one evening when it happened again.

The mission had gone south- not as badly as last time, but bad enough. They’d made it out, but Gaz had taken a hit, and comms had failed halfway through.

By the time they stumbled back to the evac point, Soap was covered in dirt and sweat, exhaustion weighing heavy in his limbs. But then-

You.

You came running, gear catching the fading light, colors flaring like fire in the dusk.

Soap’s breath hitched.

Here comes the sun.

He couldn’t stop thinking it. It looped through his head like a mantra as you fell to your knees beside Gaz, hands already moving, voice low and steady as you worked. The others lingered nearby, hovering but trying not to get in your way.

Soap stood frozen, watching.

Watching you save another life, same as you’d saved his.

It was Ghost who spoke first, breaking the silence. “Told you,” he murmured. “Sun’s hard to miss.”

Gaz let out a weak chuckle, though his voice was tight with pain. “Yeah… can’t look away, can you?”

Price didn’t say anything, but his expression was clear enough. Relief. Trust.

And Soap- Soap felt it more than ever.

The sun. Warmth in the cold. Fire in the dark.

He knew now, without a doubt, that they’d follow you anywhere.

(You’d never lead them wrong.)

[a-b-riddle]

Part Five

Can't stop thinking about the attempt of reconciliation and reader ain't having it. Our girl is going to be wilddddd y'all. Also goodnight. See y'all tomorrow (maybe)

You call Meredith when you get home.

You. Are. Fuming. She's not sure she can ever remember a time you using so many swear words at one time.

How fucking dare them? Immature? You're the immature one? You were the one trying your best to salvage four failing relationship meanwhile none of those assholes could be bothered to try and keep one. They had one person to manage: you.

"I wanna go out this weekend." "Wear something tight and borderline risk indecent exposure."

"You know what I always say," Meredith begins. "The best way to get over someone-"

"is to get under someone else." You finish. You weren't exactly keen on the idea of bringing someone to your bed just yet, but a little attention would do you some good. "I don't want to fuck someone just yet." You admitted. "I'm more on the getting drunk and making out."

"I didn't know we resorted back secondary school heavy petting?" She teased.

"University, Dear." You corrected. "I didn't peak until after I graduated."

"No." She argued. "You didn't put your books down long enough to realize that boys actually wanted to fuck you." You were glad she couldn't see you roll your eyes. "Saturday work for you? I have a late night Friday and won't be up for it."

"That works."

"Sorry." She apologized. "I plan on getting you absolutely smashed so I need to be ready to play the nanny. I know how you love to get drunk and run off."

It was true. You had always found it hilarious when you were drunk to just run. Quite literally run away. It got to a point during university where Meredith would handcuff you to her so you didn't stray.

"I won't run." Your sober mind promised.

"Uh huh." Meredith's tone told you that she knew that was a load of shit. "I'll text Tabs. Let her know the plan."

The next day at the shop was pretty uneventful. No more unexpected visitors. You still had them all blocked. Not caring if now they decided to offer up some bullshit apology.

Months. This had been a steady decline for six months. A text or a simply sorry won't fix this. You weren't sure anything could.

But it didn't matter. You were done and they obviously were too.

You had picked up enough take out to feed a family, but you didn't plan on making your lunch before work or cooking when you got home. The rest of the week you planned on just going through the motions until you could go out Saturday and hopefully get everything out.

You weren't paying attention as you walked down the hallway to your flat. Fishing in your purse for keys. You were at almost at your door when you saw him.

Sitting next to your door was a familiar face. A face you felt you haven't seen in forever.

“What are you doing here, Kyle?" Your voice was flat as you continued to blindly try and find your keys with one hand. Fuck. You really need to clean out your purse...

“My key wouldn’t work.” He explained. "So I’m out here.”

"I'm aware why you're not in my apartment since I changed the locks," you said, trying to keep your irritation at bay. "What I am asking is why did you come here?"

"You won't return any of our messages."

"You're all blocked, so technically I didn't really get any messages." "Besides, you don't get to complain to me about not responding to texts, Kyle Garrick." Your fingers finally wraps around them. God bless. "If you're here for your things, it'll have to wait. I have to sort through everyone's shit and I don't know whose is whose."

"We need to talk." He explains as you put the key into the lock, opening the door.

"Nah," you say scrunching your nose in that way he used to adore. "I'm good. But you can swing by tomorrow and pick up your things if you'd like." You say before trying to shut the door on him. You were stupid in thinking you could be faster than him.

Dammit.

"I know things haven't been good and I've definitely could have been better,'' he admits. "But can you at least try and let us apologize? Let us try and work it out."

"No." You answered, trying to close the door. Not caring if you had to resort to kicking his shins to get him out.

"Why not?" He countered.

“Maybe because I've already tried, Kyle?” You gave up on trying to shut him out. You were strong, but he didn't have any issues in besting you. “Because I actually tried with you. With all of you. You didn’t need to come here giving me excuses about your life being hectic because I’ve made the excuses for you.” You didn't miss how he practically flinched. He had always blamed his busy life. Family. Work. You stopped caring about whatever excuse he gave you and realized it was just that. An excuse. “I’ve been telling myself for months that everything you guys didn’t do for me wasn’t because you didn’t care about me. It was because of the stress of your deployments is the reason none of you tell me when you get back from until it’s time to fuck. I tell myself it’s because of the fucked up situation of me being with all of you that makes it awkward to meet your families. Families you all have that I now know I’m not worthy of meeting.” He wanted to correct you. You were. You were worthy. He was an idiot. “It’s not that I need your excuses to make me feel like what you did was justified. No matter what it was, it was apparently to you because you did it.”

He took a step back, processing everything you had said. He had been selfish. You were the reliable constant in his life. Someone he believed he never disappointed. Someone he couldn't disappoint no matter how many times he fucked up.

You took the opportunity to slam the door. Quickly turning the lock before he had a chance to open it back up.

God...

That felt good.

You had spent that evening collecting their thing in case Kyle did show back up tomorrow. You wouldn't make their lives easier by sorting all their shit and organizing it. Everything. One box. Let them figure it out. You almost had a mind to add a shirt that you knew didn't belong to any of them just to have them argue over it. Or least make them think there was someone else...

You were almost tempted if not for the premise that you wanted them to realize this was their fault. Their fuck up. But now that you were officially all broken up, you were free game.

[alsofoundinpeas]

No One's Ever Had Me (Not Like You)

Summary: After JJ's insensitive remarks toward Spencer become too much to ignore, Y/N steps in to comfort him, igniting a friendship that rapidly grows into something more. Though Y/N falls for him first, Spencer soon finds himself falling even harder, realizing no one has ever cared for him the way she does—and he's ready to return it in full.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Oral/Facesitting (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise kink (if you squint), masturbating (m!only), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected sex/PinV sex (wrap it before you tap it lovelies pls), c** swallowing (I don't know how else to put that HAHAHA), slight overstim (for both parties), slightly ooc!JJ (for the plot), one brief argument scene between the reader and JJ. Fluff and smut. Coworkers to friends to lovers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader/afab!reader

A/N: I love a little "she fell first, he fell harder" trope, so I'm hoping you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. :) I am once again pleading my case that I am NOT a JJ hater!! I just saw a clip of this scene from season 3 and was inspired because I too have been in Spencer's shoes and honestly it hurts, so I wanted to change up the outcome a little bit. The title comes from Taylor Swift's "So High School" but the fic isn't necessarily based around the song if that makes sense. As always, please tell me what you think! If you enjoy it, please like, reblog, and share it with your friends. <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

Y/N had never been particularly fond of JJ. They worked well together, of course—professionalism came first—but there was something about JJ that rubbed her the wrong way. It felt so high school to say, but Y/N had always seen her as a bit of a "mean girl."

Y/N had joined the BAU a year after Spencer, and she’d witnessed firsthand the awkwardness when Spencer, shy and eager, had asked JJ to go to a football game with him as a date after Gideon had given him tickets. A sweet, innocent gesture, only for JJ to show up with Penelope in tow, turning the evening into a humiliating disaster for Spencer. That was just one of the many moments Y/N had found herself bristling at JJ's treatment of him. Despite JJ’s consistent indifference and occasional cruelty, Spencer’s feelings for her had never wavered. 

Until today.

Spencer sat across from JJ on the jet, eager to share his excitement about the book he was reading and its similarities with Pinocchio, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm as he rambled on. He barely noticed the lack of interest in JJ's eyes, her eyebrows raised in a near-sarcastic expression as she muttered a disinterested "Wow" in the middle of his sentence. She tossed the case file onto the table without a second glance and stood. "Interesting. Coffee?" she asked, her voice dripping with faux sweetness, her smile a brittle, saccharine mask. 

Spencer froze, his words dying in his throat as she swiftly walked away. He felt a sinking sensation in his chest—an awkward mix of humiliation and disappointment. Was he that annoying? His hands trembled slightly as he glanced down at the book in his lap, the pages now feeling heavier than they had moments ago. He cleared his throat, but the discomfort lingered, thick in the air.

Y/N had been watching the whole exchange from her spot on the couch, her eyes narrowing as she watched JJ throw her head back in a loud laugh at something Morgan had said about “escaping the robot” from across the jet. That was the breaking point. Y/N's stomach twisted with frustration. She was tired—so tired—of watching JJ repeatedly gut the sweet boy simply because he had a hopeless crush on her, one that JJ clearly saw as beneath her.  

Swinging her legs from where they were tucked underneath her, Y/N stood and made her way to the seat JJ had previously been occupying, sliding into it abruptly.

Spencer’s head jerked up as she quickly filled the seat, blinking hard as confusion washed over his features. “Oh! Uh, hey Y/N… was there something you needed?” he asked softly, his gaze dropping back to the table, hoping she wouldn’t notice the wounded look in his eyes.

“I was listening to your conversation earlier and wanted to ask if you would continue. Please.”

Spencer’s mouth parted in surprise, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. She… wanted to listen to him? He swallowed, his brows furrowing slightly as he hesitated before speaking. “You... you don’t have to do that just to make me feel better, you know.”

Y/N shook her head firmly, her hands coming together on the table as she leaned in slightly, her eyes never leaving his. “Spencer,” she said softly, her voice steady. “I’m not asking you to continue because I feel sorry for you. I’m asking because I actually want to hear what you have to say.” Her tone was gentle yet sincere, and there was no mistaking the genuine interest in her words.

Spencer’s heart raced as he stared at her, his mind struggling to catch up with the moment before he finally opened his mouth, stumbling over the words to continue his excited rant from earlier. Spencer felt something shift inside him with every hum of acknowledgment, nod, and occasional question or light joke. It hit him all at once—this was how she always spoke to him: fully engaged, genuinely curious. She didn’t see him as the genius or the outcast. She saw him as... just Spencer. A person. Not a curiosity. Not a burden. Just him.

And for the rest of the flight, Y/N encouraged Spencer to spill every single thought that came to mind, entranced by the sweet boy in front of her for the entire time.

It was late when they finally landed, the team worn out and eager to get home. With quick goodbyes and Hotch’s promise of a day off tomorrow, the group trickled out of the office, one by one. When Spencer was left alone in the bullpen, he let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as he sat at his desk under the guise of needing to look for something before leaving. His thoughts kept drifting back to the interaction with Y/N on the jet. He couldn’t shake it. And for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.

It wasn’t like they weren’t already friends—talking to her was nothing out of the ordinary. But something about their interaction today felt different. Maybe it was how quickly she’d stepped in when she saw he was hurt? Then again, the more Spencer thought about it, the more he realized that wasn’t all that unusual either. He’d often felt out of place—whether it was the team’s teasing that sometimes went too far, JJ’s backhanded compliments that left him more bewildered than flattered, or the officers who looked past him because of his age or appearance.

And every time, without fail, Y/N had been there. She was always the one picking up the pieces of his bruised confidence, offering him quiet support with nothing more than a kind word or a warm smile, never asking for anything in return.

“Spencer?” 

Spencer jumped, the unexpected voice pulling him out of his thoughts. He spun around in his seat, heart racing, to find Y/N standing there, her hands raised in a placating gesture. He’d thought she’d already left with the rest of the team, but apparently, he’d been wrong.  

“Whoa, take it easy—it's just me. Are you okay?” Y/N approached slowly, her expression softening with concern as Spencer took slow, deep breaths, trying to steady his racing heart.

“Uh, yeah! I-I’m fine,” Spencer stammered, wincing as his voice cracked. “I just… I thought everyone had already left.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said with a chuckle, flashing a sheepish grin. “I told Hotch I’d drop everything off in evidence before heading out, but I kind of took my time.” She shrugged, then glanced at him. “What about you? Why are you still here?”

Spencer hesitated, his brow furrowing as he thought about her question. What was he still doing here, other than overthinking a simple conversation on the jet? He cleared his throat and stood up from his desk. “I thought I left a certain book here, but... it turns out it’s actually at home.” The weak excuse was followed by a nervous laugh as Spencer fidgeted with his fingers, silently hoping she wouldn’t question him further. 

It seemed luck was on his side, as she nodded slowly—her disbelief clear, but deciding not to press. Instead, she offered a soft smile and tilted her head toward the elevator. “Well, if you're heading out now, would you like to walk with me to my car?” Y/N asked, her voice laced with a hint of hope. “I can give you a ride so you don’t have to take the metro so late.”

Spencer was momentarily surprised by the offer, but before he could overanalyze it, he found himself nodding. She’d offered him rides before, and he’d always turned her down, worried he’d be inconveniencing her or that she was just being polite. But tonight, after the grueling case, he felt too drained to talk himself out of it. Honestly, he wasn’t opposed to spending a little more time with her—just the two of them.

“Um… that would be really nice, actually. Thank you.” 

Y/N waved it off with a playful grin. “It’s really no big deal, Spencer. I honestly wish you'd take me up on it more often. I worry about you on those late trains, and I live just five minutes from you. It’d be nice to have some company on the way home.” 

They continued their light conversation the entire way to the parking garage, pausing only when they got to her car. Y/N fumbled with her keys, unlocking the doors quickly before they slid inside.

The first thing Spencer noticed was the sweet fragrance of her perfume, filling the small space around them. He hadn’t really noticed it before, but now he found himself trying hard not to breathe in too deeply, captivated by the scent and wanting more of it. The smell of her shampoo blended with the fragrance, intensifying as she turned her head to back out of her parking spot. Spencer hadn’t even realized the car had started until that moment.

The next thing he noticed was the sticker on her dash reading Amor Fati. A faint smile curled at his lips as he shifted his gaze to her. He watched her silently for a moment as she focused on the road.

“Lover of fate, huh?”

“Hm?” Y/N frowned in confusion, shooting him a quick sideways glance as she stopped at a red light. It took a moment before she realized what he was referring to. “Oh, yeah. What about it, doc?” She chuckled, her voice light and teasing.

Spencer hummed, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Oh, nothing… But, did you know that Friedrich Nietzsche built most of his philosophy around that phrase?”

They plunged into a lively conversation, exchanging thoughts on various philosophers and their personal interpretations of the phrase. Spencer was captivated. The only other person who had ever indulged him in such “nerdy” discussions was Penelope (mostly about Doctor Who, of course). It was oddly refreshing, but at the same time, it only added fuel to the fire of his overthinking.

What was it that kept him so hopelessly fixated on JJ? She could be a good friend at times—he wouldn’t deny that—but there were moments when he felt like nothing more than a charity case. Like that kid who clings to someone at school, oblivious to the fact that they don’t actually want to talk to them. She was beautiful, of course—anyone could see that. But they didn’t share much in common, and their hobbies barely aligned. So why did he always end up seeking her out, when there were so many other people he could spend time with?

After the incident on the jet, Spencer had made a decision. He was done pouring so much energy into the blonde liaison and instead would focus on building a genuine friendship with Y/N. Not just the casual co-worker relationship they had, but something real. Maybe that’s why her sudden attention on the jet had caught him off guard. Maybe it wasn’t a crush forming, but rather a deep-rooted loneliness, a subconscious desire for a true friend. That had to be it.

The drive to his apartment seemed to fly by, and as Spencer stepped out of the car, he was surprised by the sense of reluctance that settled over him. He murmured his thanks and goodnight to Y/N, offering a shy smile, his thoughts lingering on the brief but unexpected moment of connection.

"Hey, Spencer?" Y/N called just as he was about to close the door. He paused, and she went on, her tone genuine. "I meant what I said. If you ever want to skip the metro and ride with me instead, I’d love the company. Honestly, I enjoyed our drive so much more than the usual Top 40 hits on the radio."

Spencer’s smile grew, a hesitant nod accompanying the soft bite of his lower lip. This was the opportunity to build something real with her, and for once, he decided not to second-guess it. “I’d really like that, actually.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, a blend of relief and excitement bubbling up inside her. A smile spread across her face as she let out a soft breath. "Great. I’m looking forward to it," she said, her voice warm. "Goodnight, Spencer. Enjoy your day off tomorrow."

The first week of Spencer’s newfound behavior had Y/N feeling… disoriented, for lack of a better term. It wasn’t a bad feeling, not at all. She was genuinely thrilled by the extra attention, but she couldn’t quite figure out what had caused the sudden shift in their dynamic.

Spencer had begun riding home with her after work, both of them quickly growing fond of the newfound companionship. Throughout the day, he found himself gravitating toward her desk more often, offering to help with paperwork or providing a second opinion when she second guessed something. As they spent more time together, their conversations became easier—what had started as awkward exchanges soon evolved into Spencer initiating talks, no longer waiting for her to take the lead.

The irritated huff that escaped JJ’s lips as she stormed past everyone and into her office after Spencer politely declined her offer to sit with her and sort through case files, made it clear—Y/N wasn’t the only one noticing the change.

The next notable shift came when the BAU was called to California for a case. As everyone filed onto the jet and took their usual seats, there was one exception: Spencer Reid. When Y/N settled onto the couch, she was greeted by a soft, uncertain voice.

“Can I join you?” Spencer asked, his fingers nervously tugging at the end of his cardigan sleeves as he blinked at her with those sweet, vulnerable brown eyes.

The entire team glanced up in surprise, caught off guard by Spencer's decision not to take his usual spot across from JJ. Y/N, both puzzled and pleased, quickly moved to make space, patting the seat beside her with an encouraging smile.

"Of course, Spence. Go right ahead."

Spencer let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders drooping in relief as he settled into the seat next to Y/N, the tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying easing from his body. Ignoring the gawking from the others, he leaned in slightly, feeling more at ease in her presence. As Y/N opened the case file, he glanced at her with a small smile, ready to dive into the work with her by his side.

Morgan chuckled from across the jet, looking at JJ with raised brows as she scoffed to herself. "What'd you do to piss off the kid?"

“I didn’t do anything! And when did she start calling him ‘Spence’?” JJ grumbled, her arms crossed defensively as she narrowed her eyes at the two of them.

“Whoa,” Morgan muttered, his smile dropping into a frown. “Didn’t realize I was hitting a sore spot. What’s it matter what she calls him, anyway?”

JJ stiffened, her words catching in her throat as she struggled to respond. Morgan was right—she wasn’t the only one who could give Spencer a nickname. But that was her name for him, and it stung a little more now, given the distance that had been growing between them.

"It’s nothing," JJ replied quickly, forcing a casual shrug. "I was just surprised, that’s all." But even as she spoke, she couldn’t shake the unease lingering in her chest, unsure why it bothered her so much.

The remainder of the flight was spent with the team discussing the case, Hotch assigning tasks for when they touched down. Once they had gone over everything they could, the conversation tapered off, and silence settled over the cabin. Each team member retreated into their own thoughts, but Y/N and Spencer remained deep in discussion, quietly exchanging ideas about the unsub.

As they leaned in to continue their conversation, they unknowingly inched closer, drawn together by the ease of their shared focus. And when Spencer felt Y/N's knee brush against his, he kept his leg still, savoring the contact in silence—his secret to keep.

It took Spencer just over two months to finally gather the courage to ask Y/N to hang out outside of work or their shared car rides—something he had started contributing to so he could get more comfortable with driving. She’d quickly climbed the ranks of people he favored and felt comfortable with, but the fear of rejection still held him back. He didn’t want to jeopardize the connection they’d built, especially when it felt so important to him.

Spencer’s fear dissolved when he asked Y/N to come over and watch a film he’d picked up at an antique shop. Her excited smile and enthusiastic "Duh, I'd love to!" made him realize that she’d likely been waiting for him to take the first step all along.

He was grateful for how Y/N allowed him to move at his own pace, understanding that his accelerated path through high school and college had made it difficult for him to form connections. She never rushed him, giving him the space to open up when he was ready and letting their relationship develop naturally.

Y/N arrived at Spencer’s apartment, her arms loaded with snacks and dressed in cozy clothes, her excitement palpable. She enjoyed their car rides, of course, but an hour together hardly seemed enough compared to the time she truly longed to spend with him.

Y/N had been captivated by Spencer for years, but the more time they spent together, the harder her heart beat for him—every smile, every laugh, every conversation only added to her growing feelings. She told herself she was content with just being friends, that having him in her life, even in the smallest way, was enough. But deep down, she knew the truth—her heart yearned for something more, something that seemed just out of reach.

"Y/N! Hi, welcome in!"

The door swung open to reveal Spencer, his grin wide with excitement as he motioned for her to step inside. The sight of him—beaming with an almost childlike enthusiasm—made her smile in return. His apartment matched her expectations in the best way possible: shelves overflowing with books and quirky knick-knacks, soft, ambient light spilling from lamps that cast a cozy glow across the room, and a desk strewn with an organized mess of case files and open journals. It was a perfect reflection of Spencer—intellectually chaotic, but with an undeniable charm and warmth.

Spencer's heart skipped a beat as she entered the living room, and for a moment, he lost track of everything around him. He had always seen her dressed up for work—polished, professional, a perfect image of control. But now, in her casual clothes, with her hair down and no hint of the usual makeup, she looked entirely different.

She was still stunning, but it was a softer kind of beauty, one that crept up on him and left him breathless before he even realized it. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable at first glance, but once he took her in, he couldn’t seem to pull his focus away. Spencer had always thought he knew Y/N, but this version of her… this version felt like a secret he wasn’t ready to discover yet.

"Where would you like these?" Y/N asked, lifting her arms up with the snacks.

The sound of her voice broke Spencer from his daze, and he quickly moved to help, grabbing a few items to set them down on the coffee table. "Oh, uh, you didn’t have to bring snacks," he stammered, his hands fumbling with the food as he awkwardly rearranged it. "I was just going to order takeout or something. You’re the guest," he added, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush. His mind was racing, still caught in the subtle sweetness of her perfume that lingered in the air as he leaned in to grab the bags, making it hard to focus.

Y/N shrugged, a small grin playing on her lips as she set the snacks down. "I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. And if you’re still craving takeout later, I won't stop you from ordering it. Sound good?"

He nodded, his nose twitching as he grinned, feeling his tension ease. It was just Y/N, he reminded himself. There was no reason to feel this flustered.

An hour later, with the movie playing and a bag of gummy bears between them, Spencer quickly realized he'd been wrong. He had plenty of reasons to feel flustered.

The film, which had subtitles, was riddled with translation errors. Each time a jumbled sentence appeared, Y/N would lean in close, her breath warm against his ear causing shivers up and down his spine as she whispered, "What does that one mean?" Her thigh brushed against his, neither of them making any effort to break the contact. Spencer felt an almost electric warmth spread through him from the slight touch, his body aching for more. Was he really that starved for affection?

That night seemed to crack something deep inside him, like a dam giving way to a flood of longing for touch.

Spencer—who had always been wary of physical contact—now found himself drawn to Y/N in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Every time they handed each other papers or worked on case files together, he’d make sure their fingers brushed. As he passed by her desk, he’d let his fingers trace along her shoulder blades, offering her a quiet smile that she always returned. After particularly exhausting days, he’d seek her out, leaning into her embrace, letting her arms offer him comfort and grounding. And during their hangouts, Spencer no longer hesitated to inch closer, letting his side press against hers, or allowing her to stretch her legs over his lap. The proximity felt natural, and he couldn’t help but crave it more.

It only got worse as time went on. He couldn't keep his hands off of her. It wasn't just casual touches anymore—it was almost as if every opportunity to be near her was a chance to close the distance between them. Y/N couldn't get enough of it. And the team? They definitely noticed. JJ, in particular, seemed to pick up on it right away.

JJ had attempted to confront Spencer about his growing closeness with Y/N before, but each time, he waved her off, insisting that he and Y/N had simply discovered they had more in common than he'd realized and that he just wanted to be her friend. JJ wasn’t convinced—not for a second. It was obvious to her that Spencer was falling for Y/N, and for reasons she couldn’t fully explain, it left a bad taste in her mouth. It wasn’t that she harbored romantic feelings for him, but she had grown accustomed to his attention. As much as she hated to admit it, she missed being the one to receive it.

The tension finally boiled over when the team was dispatched to a case in Oregon.

It had been six months since the incident on the jet, and Y/N and Spencer had become almost inseparable. Garcia and Morgan, delighted by their closeness, often teased them and playfully begged them to just admit they were dating—though both vehemently insisted that their relationship was purely platonic. Rossi and Emily often exchanged knowing looks on the jet, with Emily even going so far as to snap a picture of Y/N and Spencer sleeping on the couch after a case—a cute picture featuring Spencer’s head resting on Y/N’s and her face tucked into his shoulder as they peacefully dozed together. Even Hotch seemed to approve, having reviewed the Bureau’s internal fraternization policies just in case Strauss raised an issue. The only person who didn’t seem thrilled about it was JJ.

Two days in Oregon, and the team was already facing an uphill battle. They’d been working non-stop to build a profile for the unsub, but so far, nothing had gone right. There were no witnesses who could provide a description, a local officer had already compromised key evidence from the first crime scene, and the victims seemed to have no clear link to one another. Frustration was mounting for everyone, but for JJ it was mounting for an entirely separate reason.

Spencer had been managing his frustration through subtle touches with Y/N—brief brushes of his hand against her lower back as he passed, pressing his head into her shoulder with a frustrated groan after combing through their limited information for hours... But the moment that pushed JJ to her breaking point was when Spencer, noticing an officer staring at Y/N, pulled her possessively into him, his hand firmly gripping her waist until that officer left the room.

"Y/N?"

JJ's voice was tight as she stepped into the conference room the local officers had set up for the BAU to use during their case, spotting Y/N standing in front of the pinned-up map of the area as she studied the locations where the victims had been found. Spencer had just left, going to start more coffee for them since they were running low. The rest of the team was out in the field, reinvestigating the crime scenes for anything that may have been missed initially.

Y/N looked up, her brow furrowing as JJ closed the door. They weren’t close on a personal level, and Y/N couldn’t think of any reason, related to the case or otherwise, for JJ to want to speak with her alone.

"...Yes?"

JJ lingered near the end of the table, her arms crossed across her chest as she leveled Y/N with a look that immediately had her on edge. "I’m not trying to pry, but as his best friend, I have to ask… what’s going on between you and Spencer?" Her face was twisted in a scowl, her head tilting as she waited for a response.

Y/N's eyebrows nearly shot up into her hairline at that, a scoffed laugh leaving her lips before she could stop it. His best friend. Was she serious?

"Excuse me?"

"What's going on with you and Spencer?" JJ repeated, her voice deliberate. "Everyone’s noticed how he’s been acting—the constant touching, for one, is a bit much, don’t you think? He never wants to hang out with me anymore. It’s like he's all about you now. So, are you two seeing each other or what?"

Y/N turned to face JJ fully, her lips tightening into a thin line as she took a steadying breath. Her audacity was astounding, truly. The last thing she wanted today was to argue with this fucking—

"That's hilarious, Jennifer. Really," Y/N chuckled lowly, shaking her head. "Have you ever considered that maybe—just maybe—Spencer is an adult who can make his own decisions? I’m not the reason he doesn't want to spend time with you."

JJ stiffened at the mention of her name, scoffing in response. "Oh, clearly you have something to do with it. Before you started driving him home, he followed me around like a lost puppy. Now he barely even wants to be around me!"

That struck a nerve in Y/N, like a live wire finally sparked to life. A lost puppy? Was that truly how little she thought of him? Y/N's head tilted, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone as she spoke again.

"Don't you ever talk about Spencer like that again. He's not your fucking pet, Jennifer!"

Her voice was menacing as she stepped forward, grim satisfaction coursing through her as JJ stumbled backward.

"Spencer is a brilliant, capable man who’s never deserved the way you or anyone else have made him feel less than that. We’re not dating. But if we were, I wouldn’t be ashamed of him. Unlike you, who found the idea of a man like him adoring you repulsive instead of seeing it for the gift it was. Spencer Reid is a fucking treasure, and it’s entirely your fault you never realized how lucky you were to have his attention."

Y/N's face was flushed red with anger, her chest heaving as she seethed.

"So again, I have nothing to do with him not wanting to spend time with you anymore. Maybe he finally realized that you're just not as great of a person as you pretend to be."

Rather than waiting for the teary-eyed, speechless blonde to reply, Y/N grabbed her things and stormed out, heading out to take an early lunch. But as she swung the door open, she was met with Spencer standing right there, and before she could react, she collided with his chest. His hands immediately flew to her waist, steadying her as she looked up sheepishly.

"Shit! I’m sorry, Spence," Y/N muttered, still fuming from her conversation with JJ. Her face turned even redder when she realized he might have heard some of it, but she didn’t regret a word of what she’d said.

He hadn't just heard some of it... He'd heard all of it. When he’d left earlier, he’d turned back, intending to ask if she wanted to take a break from the map. Instead, he had been met with the sight of JJ closing the door, and he curiously (shamefully) pressed up against it to know what was going on.

Admittedly, it stung to hear JJ talk about him like that, even though he already knew she'd taken advantage of his past crush on her. But Y/N's words and how she defended him hit him harder than expected. It became clear in that instant—no one had ever been there for him the way she always had been, and somewhere along the way, he'd fallen deeply in love with her.

"Hey, hey, it’s alright," Spencer said quietly, his hands smoothing over her waist before resting gently on her shoulders. "Go take your lunch. You’ve earned a break. I’ll keep working on the geographical profile until you return."

Y/N offered a weary but grateful smile before walking away, leaving Spencer alone to process the revelation weighing on him.

That night, Spencer paced his hotel room, caught between waiting until they were home to tell Y/N how he felt or just saying it now. He felt like an idiot for not recognizing it sooner, for convincing himself his feelings for her were purely platonic. But now that he knew, it consumed him. He wanted to shout it to the heavens, to tell the world he was in love with her.

Spencer knew what he had to do. He realized that confessing his feelings in the middle of a case wasn’t ideal, but the thought of waiting any longer to let her know how much she meant to him was unbearable. That’s why, before he could talk himself out of it, he found himself standing outside her door at midnight, knocking softly.

"Spence? You okay?"

Her sleepy voice tugged at his heart as she opened the door, rubbing her eyes and letting out a soft yawn. She smiled faintly, gesturing for him to come in. The room was cloaked in darkness, but the moonlight spilling through the curtains illuminated the crumpled sheets, evidence of her restless sleep.

His heart hammered in his chest as he breathed in unsteadily, lowering himself onto the edge of her bed. She crawled back to the middle, flicking on the bedside lamp, the soft light casting a warm glow between them. His courage started to falter, but the gentle concern in her eyes anchored him. He remembered why he was here—because with her, he felt safe enough to face this, no matter how vulnerable he felt.

"Y/N, I—" Spencer began, his voice catching for a moment, but he continued anyway. "I heard what happened with JJ earlier, and it made me realize something I should’ve recognized a long time ago. I was so caught up in denial that it didn’t hit me until now. And I’m so sorry for that…"

Oh, fuck. He was starting to ramble. This isn't how he wanted this to go at all—

"Y/N... I'm in love with you. I am so, so in love with you that it aches. You are, without a doubt, the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. And it’s not just the way you look, though I could spend hours talking about how stunning you are. It’s who you are, the goodness that radiates from you. You make me want to be better, to wake up every day and try to be at least half the person you are. You care for everyone around you like it’s your purpose, and I want to be the one who takes care of you for once because you truly deserve that. I’ve never felt anything like this, and if you don’t feel the same way, that’s okay. But I just—I needed you to know."

Y/N’s jaw dropped as Spencer’s confession filled the air, her eyes welling with tears as the words she had longed for spilled from him. She moved swiftly, sitting up from the pillows and crawling toward him, a tear dripping down her cheek as she rested her hands on his shoulders.

"I love you too, Spencer Reid," she breathed, her voice trembling with sincerity. "I love you with everything I am."

Spencer’s lungs burned as he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He returned her watery smile, his heart overflowing with love for the woman before him. Carefully, he cupped her face, his thumb following the line of her cheeks, his eyes filled with a quiet mix of wonder and adoration.

“Can I kiss you? Please?”

Her lips were on his the second he uttered the last syllable.

The kiss was both gentle and intense, their lips meeting with a deliberate slowness as if savoring every moment of crossing the line from friendship into something more. There was a hunger beneath the tenderness, an unspoken yearning finally being released. Their lips parted for only a second, allowing them to suck in a quick breath before they were back on each other. Each kiss was a quiet revelation, better than they had ever dreamed.

What started as an innocent declaration of their feelings for each other quickly evolved into something more ravenous as Spencer’s tongue prodded at the seam of her lips. The soft exhale Y/N released as their tongues brushed together had Spencer groaning, one of his hands sliding to cradle the back of her head as he savored the taste of her and the feeling of her lips against his. His other hand gingerly slid down her body, settling on her hip as he leaned forward, guiding her to rest against the pillows.

Y/N’s thighs parted eagerly to make room for him between them, her hands lacing through his hair as she tugged him impossibly closer. His elbows dug into the mattress beside her body as he hovered above her, swallowing the moan that slipped from her lips when their hips pressed together. He chased her lips when she tipped her head back, kissing her with an intensity that made her dizzy and had her whining into his mouth.

"I-I want— Spence, please—"

Y/N pleaded as his lips trailed down the side of her neck to suck a mark into her collarbone, though she wasn't even sure what she was begging for. She just knew she needed him. Her body felt like it was aflame, ignited by the spark that was Spencer's tongue soothing the possessive bruise now blooming across her skin. She needed him so desperately that her mind became a blur, consumed by an endless craving, unable to focus on anything but the overwhelming desire for more—more of him, more of this, more of everything he offered.

The thin fabric of their pajamas did little to conceal the feeling of his stiff cock grinding against her in subtle rocks of his hips as his hands began to roam her body, only adding to the overwhelming need she felt coursing through her. Spencer hushed her with a gentle peck, his lips lingering against hers for a brief, sweet moment before he moved to kiss her nose, her cheeks, and finally her forehead. With each gentle kiss, she couldn't help but giggle softly, her laughter melting into the space between them.

"I know, pretty girl. You're already so worked up and all I've done is kiss you," he cooed, the words taking her by surprise. He wasn't wrong. A wet patch had started seeping through the cotton of her pants, something his fingers had taken an interest in as he began to lightly skim up and down her clit with his knuckles over the damp fabric. "No one ever takes care of you, do they, baby? Let me be the one to take care of you, Y/N. Please?" He paused, gently lifting her chin so he could meet her gaze.

Spencer’s words quieted the storm raging inside her, and she took a deep breath, her body finally relaxing. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt such a strong desire to let go, to stop carrying the weight of everything alone. To finally surrender and let someone take care of her. So she did exactly that.

"Yes. God, yes. Please, Spencer," Y/N whispered, her eyes searching his, full of need and trust.

It was as if a switch flipped the moment Spencer got the confirmation he needed.

His lips were back on hers in an instant, devouring her as though she'd melt away if he stopped touching her for even a second. He rolled them over, breaking the kiss to glide his hands underneath the rumpled t-shirt Y/N had on for bed and lifting it over her head in one swift motion. Ignoring her soft squeal of surprise, he brought his hands down to her hips, massaging the skin there before sliding his hands under the waistband of her pajama pants to grip her ass.

"Look at you… You're nothing short of incredible. Absolutely breathtaking," Spencer murmured, staring up at her in awe. The soft brown of his eyes had faded, overtaken by the dark void of his dilated pupils, as if a veil had been drawn across them. "I can't even begin to express how lucky I am to have you... how beautiful you are."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed under his gaze, her teeth gently catching her lower lip as she placed her hands beside his head for support. She shivered as her nipples brushed against the fabric of his shirt, hardened by the cool air of the hotel room and the desire she felt coursing through her. She answered with a hum and ducked her head shyly, mouthing at the sensitive skin underneath his jaw as she wriggled impatiently in his hold.

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, squeezing her ass again before retracting his hands. His fingers danced along the waistband of her pants teasingly before he began to tug them down, dragging her panties with them. His heart raced as she wiggled out of them, hammering against his chest with a rhythm that felt almost deafening. He couldn’t comprehend what he’d done to deserve someone like her, but he would spend a lifetime making sure she knew just how precious she was to him.

"It's your turn to strip," Y/N mumbled as she sat up, straddling his waist as her hands found their way under his shirt. "I feel so... exposed."

Spencer’s brows quirked in amusement, a quiet laugh slipping out before he could stop it as she shoved the shirt up and over his head. She slithered down his body, grinning up at him before placing a kiss on his hip bone. His pants soon joined the growing pile of clothes on the ground, followed shortly after by his boxers.

"There. Is that better, sweetheart?" Spencer teased, but the words went completely unheard as she gawked at him.

Y/N kneeled between his spread legs, her hands planted firmly on his thighs as she took in the sight of him. He lay before her like something straight out of her most vivid dreams, more stunning than she’d ever imagined. He was effortlessly handsome—his hair tousled, lips slightly swollen from their kisses, and freckles and scars scattered across his shoulders and chest like a map of his past. His muscles were lean and toned, and the sparse hair trailing down beneath his belly button was far more enticing than it should've been. His cock was as pretty as he was, the flushed head of his more than impressive arousal matching the pink of his cheeks.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

"C'mere. I'm supposed to be taking care of you," Spencer grinned, motioning for Y/N to crawl back over him.

Instead of letting her settle with her thighs around his hips like she had previously been, he tugged insistently, her brows furrowing in confusion as she wobbled above him.

"Spencer, what—"

"Get up here," Spencer crooned, finally managing to maneuver her forward so her pussy hovered over his mouth. "And sit down."

Y/N's jaw dropped, her hands flying out to catch herself as she gripped the headboard. She was taken aback, utterly speechless. Here she was, being manhandled by Spencer Reid. The same quiet, awkward genius who rambled endlessly about statistics and couldn’t sit still for more than a minute was man-handling her and demanding she sit on his face. Was she dreaming?

"Are you— are you sure?" Y/N squeaked, staring down at him with wide eyes. "You really don't have to—"

Spencer turned his head so he could pepper open-mouthed kisses up and down her inner thigh, coaxing a soft moan from her as his warm breath fanned across her soaked folds.

"Stop all that worrying, pretty girl. I told you I'd take care of you—let me keep my word."

Before she could protest, Spencer gripped her hips, pulling her down at the same time he tilted his head up to lap his tongue over her core. Any hesitation Y/N had left evaporated from her body as a guttural moan ripped its way from her throat, her eyes fluttering shut as Spencer dragged his tongue over her clit. His movements were languid but hungry as he reveled in the taste of her, relishing her essence as though it was the very thing he needed to fuel his existence.

The air was filled with a mixture of moans and the slick sound of Spencer's mouth working between her legs, only amplifying the intense pleasure swimming through her body. Once Spencer was sure Y/N would stay put, he let one of his hands fall away from her hips, tracing it down his body until it wrapped around his cock. The breathy sounds she was letting out had him painfully hard, his thumb spreading the bead of precum spilling from the tip down the length of him as he began to pump himself.

"Oh, fuck—" Y/N whined as she forced her eyes open, turning to look over her shoulder at the sound of Spencer touching himself. The sight had her thighs trembling, a low groan rumbling in her throat as she turned her gaze down to look at him underneath her.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows pinched together in pleasure as his hand began to move faster. It was downright sinful. She'd never seen anything more beautiful.

Spencer alternated between fucking his tongue into her and sucking gently at her clit, the combination hurtling her toward her orgasm at a speed she never thought was possible. Y/N's hips rocked against his face, frantic whimpers slipping from her lips as her face began to scrunch in pleasure. The needy moans he was letting out against her skin pushed her over the edge as a sharp gasp broke free into the air, followed by a loud cry as her hands dropped from the headboard to tangle into his hair while she came.

Spencer whimpered as he let go of himself, instead using his hands to anchor her down while he gently worked her through her climax. He pressed a small kiss to her clit before she squirmed away, falling onto the bed beside him as her chest heaved. A look of adoration lingered on his face as he stroked her side and hair, pressing his lips to her forehead while she caught her breath.

Y/N flashed a small grin, rolling her eyes at his proud expression. A comforting heaviness settled in her limbs, pulling her deeper into the bed as she released a soft sigh. It took her a few moments to push herself up on her elbow, shifting to face him instead of lying flat on her back.

"How am I ever supposed to get anything done again now that I know you can do that?" Y/N murmured with a hint of exasperation, tilting her head to nuzzle her nose against his.

Spencer’s breath hitched as she draped her leg across his waist, hissing quietly as the head of his cock brushed against her warmth. He hummed, feigning thought before shrugging with a playful grin. "Could be a reward for a job well done," he teased, brushing a lingering kiss across her lips as his hand rubbed up and down her thigh.

"Yeah?" Y/N's hips began to slowly rock back and forth, the friction from his cock pressing between her folds making her head spin. "Well, can I reward you for a job well done then?"

Spencer's fingers flexed against her thigh, a low noise escaping him as he fought to keep his eyes on hers.

It made sense to him now why sailors would plummet into icy waters at the sound of a siren's call. If that call was anything as alluring as the sound of her voice, he'd happily do the same. She could demand the most heinous things of him right now and he'd do them simply because she asked.

But tonight was about her.

So instead of caving and begging for her touch, he shook his head, his lips quirking up at the pout forming on her lips. "As much as I would love to take you up on that offer, I'm supposed to be taking care of you, sweetheart. Not the other way around."

"Okay... so then take care of me by fucking me. Please?"

Spencer's resolve broke at her words. How could he possibly deny her? He'd be an absolute fool not to give her whatever her heart wished for.

His lips met hers in a fervent kiss as he moved to hover over her once more. Two of his fingers found her soaked pussy and sank inside of her with little resistance, a smug grin finding its way to his face as she gasped loudly into his mouth. He broke the kiss, trailing his lips along her jaw before he whispered into her ear.

"Are you sure that's what you want?"

Y/N bucked her hips up into his touch, writhing underneath him as she nodded frantically. There wasn't a thing in this world that she wanted more. "Yes, Spence, please. Please fuck me. I need it—"

Spencer groaned, latching his lips onto the side of her neck as he inhaled sharply through his nose before he sat back on his heels. His fingers slipped out of her, her eyes widening as he brought the digits to his mouth and sucked them clean with a satisfied hum.

"Flip over."

Y/N followed his command without hesitation, the rush of anticipation making her feel almost detached, as though she were on autopilot, waiting to see what he would do next. Her breath caught in her throat as his lips pressed a gentle kiss to her shoulder before he reached for a pillow, tucking it underneath her hips to prop her up. A low whine emitted from her chest as she felt the flushed head of his arousal bump against her entrance, her hips canting back in an attempt to get him to push forward as he leaned forward, his chest brushing her back as he planted his hands into the mattress beside her.

"Do you want it like this, sweetheart? No condom? Because I can go find one..." Spencer murmured into her ear, his breathing labored as he teased her opening.

"Please— Wanna feel you, Spence," She whined into the pillow, arching her hips into his touch, though he remained just out of reach.

Spencer's eyes squeezed shut as a pang of arousal shot through him, taking a shuddering breath to mentally prepare himself not to blow his load before he even fucked her. With a kiss to the back of her head, Spencer began to press forward, easing into her inch by inch.

Y/N's mouth gaped open against the pillow she'd tugged underneath her head in a silent moan, the sensation of him finally filling her more intense than she'd expected. Her fingers gripped the sheets as he bottomed out, a pitiful whimper slipping free as she wiggled her hips in an attempt to adjust to the feeling. Her walls clenched around him instinctively as she adjusted, causing a broken moan to fall from his lips as his head rested against her shoulder, his breath puffing across her skin in warm bursts.

His right arm kept him braced above her while his left arm made its way under her chest, pulling her close as his hand began to grope at her breasts. His fingertips pinched one of her nipples, reveling in the soft moan she let out. "Are you ready for me to move, pretty girl?" He breathed, peppering kisses along the side of her face as he waited for her to relax.

At her nod, Spencer began to move, his thrusts slow but powerful as he repeatedly drove into her. He shifted up onto his knees, pulling her hips back into his languid thrusts as she moaned beneath him. The angle allowed him to brush her G-spot with every stroke, causing her toes to curl with each pang of pleasure that wracked her body. His hands squeezed the flesh of her ass, a low whine bubbling in his throat as he took in the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her.

It was downright erotic, the sight of her arousal coating the wiry curls at the base of him driving him insane. She was so fucking wet for him. The knowledge that he was making her feel this good made his head spin. He couldn't keep it to himself anymore. He needed to show her how deeply this was affecting him, to make her understand the intensity of the way she made him feel.

Everyone knew Spencer liked to run his mouth. It wasn't a surprise that this remained true during sex. What surprised Y/N, however, was how absolutely filthy of a mouth the man had. Spencer, the same Spencer who had barely uttered a curse in all the years she'd known him, was now stringing together words that would make even the most foul-mouthed person blush.

His pace increased with each word he murmured, small "ah, ah, ah's" spilling from her lips as he began to really pound into her.

"Does that feel good? Huh? Finally being taken care of the way you deserve?"

"Fuck— look at you, baby. Taking my cock so well. Do you like that? You like feeling me stretch you open?"

"Such a perfect pussy, sweetheart. So fucking good for me. So tight. My beautiful girl."

Every vulgar word he breathed into the space between them had her mind reeling, her body teetering on the edge of release as her walls fluttered around him. Desperate moans began to spill from her as she took everything he had to offer, her teeth digging into her lower lip to try to stifle the noises in an attempt not to wake everyone on that floor of the hotel. Spencer's gaze was locked on the way her ass rippled with each thrust, a look of pure ecstasy on his face as his brows pinched together and his mouth hung open.

"S-Spence— I'm so close—" Y/N whimpered, burying her face into the pillow beneath her as she moaned helplessly.

He dragged one of his hands away from where it was squeezing her hip, shoving it between her hips and the pillow propping her up as he began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts. "Let go, sweet girl. Cum around my cock. Show me how good I make you feel."

She cried out at that, thrashing underneath him as the tension coiling in her lower belly finally snapped. Spencer's hips stuttered, a guttural moan wrenching its way from his throat as she squeezed around him, her legs trembling as one of the most powerful orgasms she'd ever experienced washed over her in waves.

"God— fuck, I'm about to cum," Spencer grunted, his eyes squeezing shut briefly as he swallowed hard, his chest heaving with exertion as he fucked her through it. "Where do you want it, pretty girl?"

"Wanna taste you... Spence, please—" Y/N slurred beneath him, weakly pushing up on her elbows to turn and look at him over her shoulder. Her bottom lip was swollen and lightly bruised from how hard she'd been biting at it, and her eyes were watery with unshed tears as the pleasure began to overwhelm her.

The sight of her looking so ruined almost had him spilling inside of her, and with a muffled curse he pulled out of her, fisting his cock as she rolled onto her back and stuck her tongue out patiently. He shuffled up her body, bracing himself with one hand against the headboard as he gazed down at her reverently. The amusement he felt from the brief feeling of deja vu from having her in a similar position earlier that night was short-lived as his head tipped back, a strained whimper filling the air as her tongue brushed against the head of his cock.

It only took a few pumps for him to cum, his eyes rolling back into his head when she sat up to take him further into her mouth as rope after rope of his essence flooded her throat. Y/N sucked gently, working him through his orgasm until his hips were jerking and he was whining, pulling off of his softening cock with a slick 'pop'. He crumpled onto the bed next to her, his heart pounding almost painfully against his ribcage as he struggled to catch his breath.

Spencer wrapped her tightly in his arms, his lips brushing against the top of her head with soft, repeated kisses. Between each tender touch, he murmured how incredible she made him feel, how he couldn’t believe he was lucky enough to share this life with her, let alone love her the way he did. Y/N whispered back, her voice soft but full of conviction, telling him how deeply she cherished him and how every part of her was filled with love for him.

Her fingers idly traced patterns across the flushed skin of his chest until he caught her hand, pressing tender kisses to her knuckles before quietly slipping out of bed. She groaned petulantly as he pulled her to her feet, ushering her towards the bathroom with a pat to her butt and a mumbled but passionate lecture on the timeframe after sex in which she needed to pee to avoid getting a UTI. Even though she knew he was right, she still rolled her eyes as she trudged into the bathroom. She decided to brush her teeth while she was there as well, giggling to herself at the thought of kissing Spencer with the taste of him still in her mouth.

When she stepped out, Spencer had changed the sheets and set a bottle of water on the nightstand, flashing a drowsy grin as she slipped into bed next to him and turned the lamp out. "What's all this about?" she teased, her smile breaking into a yawn.

"I'm taking care of you, just like I said I would."

It didn’t take long for exhaustion to settle in, both of them murmuring good nights between soft kisses. As they drifted off together, Y/N felt certain he would be taking care of her for the rest of his life—and she was just as sure that she would do the same for him.

Continued A/N's: Happy (late) start to December!! I really hope you guys enjoy this :') I plan on doing a little something (maybe, possibly ;) ) for Christmas, so stay tuned for updates on what that little something may be. Also, a loving reminder that my requests are open! :) <3 K

REMINDER: I do NOT give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.

[dilf-docs]

I'm Happy Where The Devils Are

dbf!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: something something about forbidden things; you never learn, not until the heart you gave returns to you in shreds, bleeding out of love. what's left when you've given all of your heaven away? hell.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (but this time it's sad not hot or both idk), smut, p. in v., virgin!reader, (forced??) creampie, fingering, riding, oral (f. receiving), corruption kink, reader has no daddy issues ++her dad is lovely nor mommy issues like me but a secret third thing, ANGST IN CAPITAL, situationship™, jumping very late to this trend or series IDK hope someone still lurks around this neighbourhood, joel has no kids and is unmarried cause i need him to be BITTER, in short this is very AU canon divergence at max coded

word count: 7,629 words

side note: IF U SAW IT POSTED BEFORE NO U DIDN'T IT WAS A HONEST MISTAKE (clicked publish instead of save draft) OKAY i just searched thru my top 2024 songs by spotify for some inspo and well!!!!!! my yet to be dilf RM's (or joon as i, his wife, loves to call him endearingly) song called heaven popped up! those are the vibes if u wanna give it a listen (PLS DO OKAY HE RANKED TOP KOREAN ALBUM THIS YEAR AND I SEE I'M GETTING OFF THE HOOK BUT HE DESERVES IT RAHH I LOVE HIM SO MUCH) and yk i said it's got the miller vibe going on: ANGST™ okay stopping my rambling and letting y'all enjoy (or suffer, idk anymore: as u see, i have a thing for sad complicated old man and suffering myself, because i could've choose any other idea but here goes user dilf-docs the angst whore choosing to suffer again lolz)

part: I / II

It was winter when he first touched you.

Joel Miller: a name you've learned to pronounce like it was spoken on a different language that only you knew.

You've known him for years, a familiar face that stands in corners and only laughs when spoken to, begrundingly, like it's rather a favor than something of his amusement. A guy who would drop by your house until you learned his name like he'd learn the games you'd force him to play. A friend of your dad, who moved back to town and has haunted your house since he stepped a foot inside, tainting the walls with his pine phantom.

Joel's a face you've seen age as much as he's seen you grow out of your pigtails and child-like wonder: and perhaps that's why it's wrong.

It is all so wrong: the way your gaze lingers a bit too long over his tired and bitter expresion, looking for those flickers of softeness that appear when your dad calls him. Old friend, filled with affection, and Joel can't deny the only man who hasn't left his side a smile that he hopes is enough to express what he can't; he's not good with words.

It is all so wrong: how the sheets stick to your body while you scream his name, the sound drowning against your pillow, your body leaking with the secret of an unspoken desire that gets harder to hide with each passing day.

But you can't help it: one day the feelings started to blossom and the admiration left for the crush to harvest until it fully bloomed in your chest. Its petals have asfixiated you ever since.

On winter, you returned to town, like a vice. You always came back for the holidays, a silver of hope that shouldn't exist. You felt it in the air, impregnated with a heartbreak so cutting, it was hard to remember when the winter carried the happiness it should've; all that's left was the cold, harsh feeling.

"Y/n!" your dad embraces your body on a hug as warm as a fireplace, "you're home"

He passes you around the people over, because that's how he always is: joyful, the house full with guests that don't stop at family, but feel as close as those of blood. She came! he loudly yet proudly announces your homecoming, adding small sprinkles of how's college and how smart his little girl is (a nickname he can't let go of, not caring if you were ten then and now just above twenty), not caring if your face is as red as christmas easters.

"You have to stop, dad" you plead with annoyance, but a small smile betrays you, "no one wants to hear how I'm top of my class again, for the millionth time"

"Well, it's my house" he jokes, "so they better get used to it" he then looks around the room, as if he's forgetting something, "ah, someone I must bore with your stories is missing..."

He talks to some more people around and you have to plaster a smile and salute faces you can't recognize, but as on cue, the door flings open, some people near the entrance greeting a face you've yet to see and recognize. Your father gets there first, the smile that spreads across his face making your stomach tie in knots.

"Joel's here!" he delivers with excitement, unaware of how your polite smile falters.

"Joel's here" you repeat, grief laced within your words. Grief of what? You don't know, but you do know a part of you dies the more you look at Joel Miller the way you're not supposed to.

"Come say hi" your father insists, happy in his ignorance, despite your paced walk and stiff demeanor.

And walking your way is him, the man who owns your heart without knowing.

His hair is still as soft as ever, more tints of grey sprinkled through it. Your fingers itch to trace it, so you keep your fists closed until the red nails dig into the tight white flesh. He has more wrinkles, pronounced when his brows furrow at the sight of you.

"I know she's grown a lot, but I hope you still recognize her" your dad says with affection, "isn't she beautiful, my y/n? Grown into a whole lady"

Your heart hammers against your chest as Joel looks you up and down, but there is no emotion across his face.

"It's only been a year, but sure, she has" as stoic as ever, but it's enough to make your nerves wreck. You can't believe how much a simple stare and a few words can get to you.

But you were always like this: weak. Back then, at kindergarten grounds, when making a friend seemed the hardest task. Now, at university, when you wonder if something is wrong with you that always makes you the last option to choose.

Maybe that's why Joel, a man so strong in appearance and character, never liked you: that all those memories were a dream, and he just did it as an extension of his affection for your dad.

You'll never forget that dinner last year, on these same days, when for the first time, both your parents left you alone with Joel, their guest for the night. There was a storm outside, and it was almost funny how the brash wind against the window mimicked your steady heart. You didn't know he was coming, but when you did, you put on your best dress on purpose and dusted a makeup palette a friend gave you, yet he didn't even look your way.

"Do you hate me, Joel?" you asked in a whispered breathe, the cold silence as answer.

It's contradictory, really: your love grows where his hate does. More like hate, it's a disregard so cruel, you can't help but wonder if there's something wrong with you, making you attached to an older man that only seems to have apathy for you. Because one thing is attraction, but other is the deep adoration where you'd die if he were to ask you.

It's your fault, really, for turning his life into folklore. You still remember sitting on your father's lap as he talked your ear off, full of stories that Joel, always by his side, would quietly laugh, the fireplace casting shadow over a man who seemed to overpower the darkness that now is palpable on his gaze. He'd said your dad was making him greater than he really was, pinching your cheeks as he called you sugar, reasoning you were so sweet.

But since last year, something shifted: he started avoiding you, like he resented you.

And you never understood why. So every season you've searched in his eyes for a sign, anything, that can make you go back to that speacial relationship you had, missing him like a little kid. It's been a year, and you feel, if possible, more at loss than before.

Back to now, it's almost midnight, and most of the guests have gone already. You've tried to look cool in the eyes of those who are still there, conversation flowing easily through your eggnog-tinted tongue, yet you know it's all pretend.

"Excuse me" you can't take it anymore, the air suffocating you in anxiousness.

"Where are you going?" questions your mom, stopping you in your tracks before going up the stairs.

You turn around and feign a smile, "Up to my room"

"Are you okay?" your dad asks with worry.

"Yeah, just tired" you lie with ease, and the miles you've driven back it up.

"If you need anything, just tell" she says.

When you fall against the mattress, all the weight settles in. You close your eyes and count to ten, breathing in and breathing out.

The door creaks, so you get up as you open your eyes. "Dad" you start, knowing he's all about giving you talks, "Not now, please-"

"M' not y'r daddy"

You shiver despite the closed windows.

"Joel!" you jump, straightening yourself, "did dad send you?"

He doesn't respond, looking at you through brown warm eyes that reveal nothing. The pit in your stomach grows along awkward silence.

"It's cold outside, isn't it?" you attempt to make conversation, hating the silence. But you fail: he's still here, and regardless of his indifference, he doesn't leave.

Maybe it's the bit of alcohol from before, but you're standing over until you get close to his resting figure against the doorframe, the darkness of your room leaving his face, now barely lit by the light outside in the hallway. Joel's so close you can hear his breathing, and it surprises you the way it drags like a cigarette.

You feel confident for the first time, defiant even, tired of it all, like if it was his fault you loved him. You're sick of him viewing you like a naive kid who knows no better.

"Joel, why are you here?"

The lavender gets under his nose, his skin on fire. He looks at you again, but this time, the brown in his eyes darkens.

"Joel...?" you ask on a shaky breath.

Before you can register, there's warmth against your cheek. His fingers graze your face with an unspoken yearning on his fingertips, as he gently grabs your chin.

Your breath hitches, hand traveling to feel his on your face, to see if it's real and not a dream.

"Joel, what are you doing?"

He backs up, like your touch burns. And then looks at you, as if you're a stone on his shoe: just like all those boys back at the city, who have rejected you. You feel small, like crying.

"M' sorry" and walks out of your room, his scent up your nose. His limping figure walks down the hallway that now looks longer. You don't realize how long you've stared until you hear your father ask downstairs where was he.

It's like he was never there.

It was spring when he first kissed you.

It's funny how you still came back home after such disastrous holidays.

Joel stayed for the rest of the holidays, including Christmas and New Years, and when he hugged you in the living room full of guests, you had to pretend his fingers hadn't hold you differently before. You both lied your way out, and when you left, for the first time, you felt relieved, which is why it took some convincing from your father to make you return for spring.

"You couldn't miss this" he insists, "it's the best time to visit the cabin"

And you have to agree: a small cabin by the lake that your parents bought when they first moved in to town, a place you spent most of your childhood. Your father taught you how to fish there, and ever since, even as you moved away for college, you came back to do so, a tradition kept intact despite the years.

Your mom looks at you from the rear view mirror. "He wouldn't stop talking about it, afraid you wouldn't join us this year" your dad hushes her, embarrased, "oh! Don't act like you didn't"

Truth is, you'd still come: you miss the green tickling your bare feet, the cold water, and the sun kissing your skin as you lay outside. It's a lie you don't wait all year to leave the cold city and embrace the blooming spring.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, dad" you lay against the car's door, closing your eyes as you smile. He doesn't say anything, yet with the way your mom giggles, you know he probably got teary or something―your sappy old man.

The car stops, the cabin in front of you. You feel like crying, so many memories flooding you. Alright, you're being sappy just like your dad, but it's been a hard semester and you missed your family.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you something" he says as you get out. The small denim short rides up as you stretch, your legs numb from the trip.

"Yeah?"

A car honks from behind. You jump, loosing balance as you trip. "Ow!" you land on the grass, embarrasingly so.

"C'mere" you look up, the sun blinding his face. "Lemme help ya', sugar"

The nickname feels like a slap to your face, so you stay there stupid, body stiff as you raise up, Joel's face flooding your field of vision.

"That's what I forgot to tell you" your dad laughs, "or who"

You're not laughing. Joel Miller is here and it's ruines your trip.

"Well, you should've" you took his hand just for the show, because you know your mom is observant. If there was an electric rush, you must've imagined it, just as the way his hands fall to his sides, twitching.

Over the next couple of days, you try to ignore him as much as you can, pretending your spring hasn't changed: fishing, laying down, sun and baths.

"Hey"

Your sun glasses rest on your nose as you raise from your spot, laying on a towel on the grass as you sunbathe.

"What'd want, Joel?" your tone is icy, contrasting the warmer climate.

"M' going to the lake" he mumbles, then stays silent. It's almost as if he's waiting for you to answer.

"Okay?" you lay down again, "have fun"

"Y'r dad said you'd teach me" he raises a fishing row.

You groan in annoyance, getting up from your spot, "why doesn't he do it?"

"Said y'r the best" then coughs, "besides, I think him and your momma needed some time alone..."

You walk past, shoulder brushing against his. You've never been this childish before, but your anger fuels your emotions: rage when you see him and remember how the warm of his touch turned cold in seconds.

You arrive at the small dock, sitting on the rather hot wood. You don't flinch, trying to prove nothing. Joel sits next to you and makes a face at the burning sensation.

"What?" you mock, venom dripping from your tone, "can't handle some heat?"

He just scoffs, passing the row to you with a little more force than necessary.

Your petty revenge is splashing his shirt, damping the cotton with the lake's water.

"I'm sorry" you apologize, feigning an innocent tone, "wanted to freshen up"

"Thought ya could handle the heat" Joel grumbles.

Then he curses under his breath, taking the shirt off and tossing it to the side.

You take in now shirtless body, admiring the strong muscles, broad shoulders and sturdy back. He sits next to you, his belly pushing just above the seam of his shorts. You recoil, almost as if heat radiated off his body, your cheeks burning. Your hands tremble as you hold the row, and it takes every strength of you to not succumb to the dangerous view; it's all too tempting.

"Y'r gonna teach me or what?" he breaks your train of thoughts, his voice so low, as if you were a little animal he was trying not to scare off, "just gonna stare? Ain't y'r daddy taught ya some manners?"

A current shoots through your body and looses itself in the middle of your legs.

You divert your gaze, ashamed. "Don't know what you're talking about"

"Liar" but it's so soft, it sounds more like an observation than an accusation.

"Drop it, Joel" you focus on the water but you know your mind is elsewhere.

"Sugar..."

You feel like throwing up. Why after ignoring you is he calling you like he used to? When he was your favorite person in the world and you were his. He used to hold you close, but now acts like your touch is poisoned. Joel confuses you too much; he's got you feeling like screaming at the sky.

"I said drop it, Joel" you seethe, "you may be old, but you're not deaf"

"And you may be young" his fingers remove the glasses from your face, your wary eyes in exhibit, "but y'r too bold"

They stay there, on your face, his rough fingertips touching your soft sun-kissed skin.

You don't know why you do it, but you do.

You get up, your legs on his face. Until then, you don't realize how close you two were.

"I'm not bold, Joel" you whisper, "I'm scared"

And then you jump.

The world reduces to a blur, body as light as a feather. The sensation of falling is familiar and you don't know why.

It's barely a second, like a blink.

The cold water hitting your body brings you back to reality.

You can't see, it's all dark. But you feel free: you may be underwater, but over him.

You feel like you got the upper hand, but then the water starts moving and a huge splash next to you makes you look back.

Joel jumped too.

"What are you doing?!" you shout.

What are you doing to me? What do you want from me? What will you do to me?

"Takin' a splash" he answers, like it's obvious.

"You know what I meant" your tone is rather spiteful.

"And you had'a teach me" he's again in front of you, barely inches away, "so I guess we're both dissapointed we didn't get what we wanted"

There's water dripping from his hair, falling to his face. Water drops adorn his eyelashes, warm eyes deeper than ever, and you feel like drowning even as your body floats.

"And what do you want?" you challenge, the question implying only so much.

His lips clash into yours, hungry like a wolf. Your hands immediately grip his neck for support as his tongue forcefully gets inside of you, water droplets filling your taste buds. You gasp for air, all of your body pressed against his.

"That answer y'r question?" tone defiant, as if he's also a player on this game that's just started.

You just don't know yet how much you've got to loose.

It was summer when he became yours.

You'd never anticipated coming back home as much as now.

The lingering feeling of his scruffy beard against yours, back pressed against the walls of the shed at midnight while he devoured your lips in a hungry kiss has stayed with you since you left the cabin, trapped in the salt air. Now you're coming back for more, butterflies in the low of your belly as you remember his words:

"When y'get back, I'll have ya' a surprise"

You park at your house, searching for the keys under the rug, but they aren't there. You knock to no answer, so you call your dad and mom, only for both of the calls to go directly to voicemail. Yes, you came a day earlier than planned, but your parents are always home the week you arrive, so something must be going on.

Before you worry, a voice behind you says:

"Ain't nobody inside. Y'r folks went out"

It's Joel, looking as good as the last day you saw him. Just to taste him again, you were complaint on every single of his requirements, one being no contact. He claimed he didn't want to distract you back at college, and you didn't ask any more questions, afraid you'd press a wrong button and loose what felt like a dream.

"Really?" you walk out of your porch to where he is, resisting the urge to kiss him in the middle of your neighbourhood's street.

"Hmh" he nods, "said they ain't comin' back soon"

"They told you so?" you question, "why do I feel you had something to do with it?"

"Ain't do shit" he crosses his arms, the t-shirt sleeves making his arm muscles more prominent. He then coughs, "just recommended y'r dad a nice restaurant outside town. Maybe they'll be later than night, traffic is kinda packed at late"

You smile, "Joel?"

He doesn't look at you, "yes?"

You fail to suppress a giggle, "did you just get rid of my parents?"

"No" he answers, stern. "Now" he looks around, all doors closed, "why don't 'cha come inside? Sun is hittin' hard"

He's a terrible liar.

As soon as you enter his house, you can't believe you've never been there before, visits usually in your house.

It's exactly what you expected: a simple and sober decoration that hides a welcoming feeling somewhere. There's something else you notice: the lack of pictures.

"Make yourself comfortable" he says, coughing, looking akward all of a sudden. You want to laugh and coo his now insecure demeanor, shy in your present. If he seemed sure before, he doesn't anymore. "I''ll get ya' some water"

"Joel?" your voice comes out low, equalling a purr. His cock twitches in his pants at the way you call him.

"Yes?" he swallows, adam's apple bobbing.

"I hope you didn't bring me into your house just for a glass" then you sit on the couch, the small short you're wearing riding up your thighs. "Besides, I'm not thirsty"

He doesn't move, almost as if he's lost the ability to react; in a trance.

"What do you want?" voice deep, like he'd give you anything you ask.

"Have you forgot already, old man?" you quip. "You promised me something" even if your voice is steady, your fingers tremble when you start un-buttoning your shirt, "and I'm waiting for it"

If he could drool like a dog, he would. He slowly gets closer to you, until he's towering over your sitting figure.

"Ya' think it's funny tempting me like that, sugar? Playing with an old fuck as me like that?"

You whimper, resolve melting quickly. "N-no" you feel ashamed, hand ready to button yourself again until his hand grabs yours, stopping you from doing so.

"I'm sorry, sugar" he raises your body swiftly, making you stand up. "Actions have consequences, and I'm gonna teach ya' some"

When his lips land on yours, you feel you've reached heaven again. His mouth easily know your roads, traveling to every spot he can to deepen the kiss. He eats you out like he's starved, sweat starting to pool in your foreheads. He grabs you by the waist, pulling your closer if possible, your chest clashing against his pecs. His heart hammers against you, and that's all you hear aside your raggedy breaths and famished clashing. You grab his hair again, feeling the soft texture under your fingers. Joel moans against your lips when you bite his, something a friend told you to do, and it's proven to work.

"Where'd you learn that, huh?" you taste like strawberries, the proof on his now coated shiny lips and your disheveled gloss. His grip turns stronger, "thought ya' were innocent, little vixen"

"I still am" you avoid his gaze, and even if his hold falters, when you look again into his eyes, there's a flame burning in them. "But I want you to have it, Joel"

"Sugar-" starts, condescending.

"Don't" you immediatly cut him off. "I'm an adult, I know what I want"

"I just want ya' to be sure" but his cock is already hard, "don't want ya' to regret it"

"I could never regret you, Joel" you whisper.

He picks up your body, that despite the years, is still as strong as ever. He goes up the stairs, looking at you so lovingly, you feel like anything is possible.

Maybe this is how it feels like.

He softly drops you onto the mattress, that dips under your weight. You place yourself against the bed head, and when Joel gets in, it creaks.

"I'm gonna make ya' feel so good, sugar. I promise" he slurs, "Now be a good girl and open up for me"

Your part your legs, and he's taking down your shorts until your lingerine is exposed. With wandering fingers, he traces your inner thights, delighted at the way you squirm under his touch. He then travels to your pussy, the clothe the only thing separating him from your bare cunt.

"Has anyone eat ya' down here before?" he can smell your arousal, seeing the wet spot in the middle of your panties. He's salivating at the fresh meal. You deny, embarrased, but he seems content at that, "those dumb college boys haven't treated you right? Then lemme show y'how a real man's supposed to eat ya'"

He strips you off your panties, landing somewhere on the floor. You shudder at the sudden breeze on your bare core.

"Already drippin' for me?" he softly laughs, "we ain't even started"

He dives down, the rough of his facial hair sending tickles through your body. He gives a small lick at first, as if testing. When you let out a small moan, he feels invencible. He keeps the ministrations going, more cute sounds escaping your lips. He wants to hear more of them, addicted to the sound, heat pooling when he remembers he's the one causing them.

"Liking it, sugar?" he stops to ask, his voice provoking more vibrations that hit your core in a pleasant way.

"D-don't stop" you plead in the middle of a whine.

He eats you like a madman. Slurping and sloshing sounds bounce off the walls, your hands gripping his greying locks tightly as his face pushes further into your puffy heat, sucking on the sensitive clit. With his filthy mouth, he takes on of the lips on his mouth, robbing a loud groan out of you.

"Your pussy, God" his breath fans against it, "tastes so good, sugar, sweet like you" he licks more, making it get wetter. You didn't know you had that in you, nothing compared to when you tried to touch yourself back at your dorm, too ashamed to try anything else.

He groans against your heat, sending another wave of pleasure through your body.

He then gets up, showing you his thick digits like one shows something new to a baby, "guess what?" you have no idea, and your innocent doe eye'd gaze makes him squirm at the thought of being the first to touch untainted territories (in many ways).

"M' gonna finger you baby, okay? I promise's gonna feel good" Joel assures as he slowly inserts one of his fingers. You arch your back as you felt his fingers in your warm walls. He then puts another, thick fingers in and out of your pussy, your arousal dripping down his wrist. You squirm and whine, thighs shaking at the intensity of the pleasure he was giving you. There's a weird tension happening down there. "J-Joel" you pant, "I feel-" 

"Let it go, sugar" he doesn't stop, "I'm here for ya' and y'r sweet cunt"

Liquid soon gushes out. "Fuck" he curses. You shy away and looking everywhere but his eyes. 

"Feels good?" you nodded incoherently, "wanna feel even better?"

He gets rid of his pants, the silhoutte hard under his underwear. You gulp, afraid you might not take it.

"Joel..." you call his name, hesitant. Fuck, he's so horny he could care less if he's too big for your first.

"We'll go slow" he leans forward to kiss your forehead, "I know'll take it"

"O-okay" you're still not sure and a bit afraid, but you want him, so you surrender to him.

You feel something heavy go inside your folds. You look down to see his enormous cock sliding in between your tight walls, the skin glistening in your slick,round tip leaking with his precum.

"Tell me" he's soft on you, despite what you're doing, "I'll stop if it hurts"

It does. It burns: how your cunt tries to adapt to his girth, stretching in a painful but delicious feeling.

"N-no" your voice comes out strained, drops of blood falling into the sheets, "keep going"

"Such a greedy thing are ya'?" Joel laughs, truly laughs, the rich sound coming deep from his chest, "what would daddy say?"

"Shut up" you bite, holding onto his shoulders for stability. Please, don't let me fall.

Half way in, he pulls out before diving back in, helping you adjust to his size slowly. Your eyes are trained on the way his cock disappears inside your leaking pussy.

"Should'I keep goin'?" he asks.

"K-keep going" you say softly, and with that, he gently starts inching into you.

"Good girl" he coos.

His cock stretches out your virgin hole perfectly, like it was meant for him. He feels himself melting at the sight of you, something to worry about later. Not now, when your breath hitches as he fills you up. Your cunt fit snug around his length, like you were made for him.

Joel drops his head on your shoulder as he fully entered you, tired, his energy not as much as when he was young. Beads of summer sweat shimmer in your bodies, as not only that but the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his dick make you warm.

Joel takes in a moment to see the mess he's made of you: parted lips, shut eyes, nails digging on his neck. You were deep in pleasure: because of him. His dick twitches at that, and inside of you, it makes you whimper.

"M' gonna start movin', 'kay? Tell me if it's too much"

His weight presses over your body before starting to pull out and push back in. The thrusts start slow, soon picking up a rhytmic pace. Joel grips your hips with his rough big hands, to then start fucking into you.

"Mhm" you whine.

"Mhm, what? Use your words, sugar"

"I-it feels so good, Joel" despite the pain, despite the doubts, the haze is so envolving, he's made of you a moaning mess, drunk in pleasure; the feeling of him inside of you has you seeing stars.

"Y-you feel good too, baby" he pants, your pussy gushing at each thrust. He starts going harder, making you scream.

"Who you belong to, sugar?" his hot breath pours in your ear, "say it"

"You, Joel" you whisper the answer like a sacred oath, "Just you. I'm all yours"

Before you can say anything else, his dick touches a spot within you. Such a sweet spot, that has you moaning and feeling something unlike anything you've experienced before: it washes over you as you clamp down on him. You hear yourself cry, voice barely recognizable. Your vision goes blurry, then mind blank.

Joel groans with your pretty cries of pleasure, watching the way your cunt milks his cock, drooling with your juice.

"Such a nice girl for me, sugar. Did so well" he whispers, and a dark tought crosses his mind. He feels dirty, taking advantage of your age and naivety, your figure still half-gone, "think you want me, all of me?"

You nod, still out of your mind, and before you can process the real meaning of his words, hot stripes of his seed plaster your walls, coating each inch of you. Joel presses his lips into yours to shut your moans, kissing you hard.

"You good?" you can only nod, still in shock, the events dawning over you. "Don't worry, I'll buy ya' a pill before your folks come back"

The sun shines outside; there's still time. You just wonder how much.

It was autumn when he said I love you.

Yellow and orange leaves fall in the roads not taken as you've fallen for Joel.

Ever since summer, you've been waiting for the next time to see him: sleeping with him being the last thought, touching yourself to his voice on your mind, drawing hearts in the bylines of your notes. His figure, first a dream, then a fleeting hope and now a high you need to feel once again, because you can't let go of the way he fucked you, your cries of pleasure, how your walls stretched for him and the way he held you that afternoon and the next nights you escaped your house, crossing the street under the moonlight, hiding as a criminal.

But you'd do anything to feel him, his heart beating against your chest like it was yours to bear. You need to see him, so you're doing the most stupid choice of your life.

There's a pause after you knock, and then Joel opens his door.

"Sugar!" he looks surprised, then angry and finally scared. "The fuck you doin' here? Ain't you supposed to come 'til winter?"

"I couldn't wait" you whine in desperation, clinging onto him like a koala. You'd searched for something, anything, that smelled like him back at the city, but even his flannel shirt you'd stolen had started to loose its smell.

He looks around, "do your-"

"No" you pause, "they don't know I'm here"

He curses under his breath, realizing just how much you're deep in this. He's fucked: fucked because he'll comply even if he knows this has to stop.

"I have the keys" you pick the dirt under your nails, a nervous habit of yours, "for the cabin"

Joel remembers last spring, how he ate you inside the walls of the shed, wishing for more. More came the next summer, and now you're hear again, looking at with with that look he hates: like you'd burn the world just to keep him warm.

"How'd you do that?"

"Took them last summer" you reveal your plan all along, "just in case" yet you had already made your mind before leaving town.

"Damn it, sugar" he's speechless, "you're fucking crazy"

You giggle despite the uneasiness creeping up, "just for you, Joel"

He takes you to the cabin on his car, yours already there. And you'd walked to his house? You have indeed, lost your mind.

"What're we supposed to do?" he thinks out loud.

You groan, "I don't know, Joel. But I didn't drive miles just for you to stand there"

He can't lie and say he hasn't thought about you: your lashes, soft when closed; the way his room still smelled like you even after two weeks of your parting, or how the sun seemed to highlight all your perfect spots. He even thinks of you on his bathroom while he grabs his dick, fucking himself to the memorized song of your moans and uneven breaths as he pulled in and out of you.

"Then get inside" he's demanding, and your panties wet at the tone and the voice you missed so much, "it's cold out'ere"

As soon as you close the door, he's grabbing your face with force, that it almost seems like two people fighting, not two who missed each other.

"Joel" you mumble, breathless.

"Missed ya' so much, sugar" he confesses against your lips. A trail of saliva hangs; silver of hope. "It was killin' me"

"I missed you too, Joel" you deepen the kiss, tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. "Couldn't stop thinking about you"

"Yeah?" he sits on the living room's couch, creaking under the sudden weight. "Tell me what that pretty head of yours was thinkin'"

"You" in a heartbeat, and you see his gaze go from dark to something else, lurking behind; you're scared to find out what it is.

Joel motions you to come over. You take your shoes and pants off, siting on his lap.

"Yeah-?" his voice falters, "tell me what"

"How our names sound together, how pretty you are..." you wander. "I also thought about you, all of you, inside of me"

"Watch that filthy mout of yours, sugar" he chastises but there's no anger behind his reprimand, "one summer bouncing on my cock an' y'r already a needy slut"

You whine at his words, rubbing yourself against his tight.

"D-don't" he undoes his belt and jeans, leaving only his underwear. Your desperate fingers pull them down, revealing his already pulsating cock, "don't tease this ole' man and just do the real thing"

He lets you use him, his hips rocking forwards despite his creaking bones, your swollen clit dragging against his pelvis. He sees your face, how you bite your lip as you test your needs, fucking yourself while you ride him. He lets you because: one, he's old and tired, and two, he wants to see you until he's memorized every small detail of your face. He lets you edge yourself close, crying as you feel it coming, but then he plants his feet onto the wooden floor, his boots making a hollow sound that echoes through the walls, the only other sound aside your cries, and thrusts his length up into you.

You yelp at the sudden sensation of his cock inside of you again.

"Think I'd let ya' have it all?" he mocks, "need to fuck y'r pretty pussy too; gotta have it for myself. Would ya' let me?"

You can't deny him anything.

"Yes, Joel" his hands immediatly grab your hips with a pressure so strong, you fear there'll soon be a bruise there. His cock buries fully within you. The air fills with a strong scent, just your moans and his grunts bouncing off the walls, soon warming up from the cold, the crease of his eyebrow pronounced as he realeases, coating your folds with his cum.

"God, sugar" he sounds a bit embarrased, "look at you, makin' me cum so fast"

But he's too enamoured by the sight of you on top of him, still riding him despite his quick orgasm, so he cups your face gently, the beads of sweat on your forehead falling into his hand. He feels more alive than ever, like his life has just started. Oh, he can picture it: coming home to the smell of your food, kissing the absence of the day off your mouth, to then bend you over the counter. He wants so much more, but he knows it can't be, yet, he's far too gone to even think about turning around.

You lift your hips until his cock slips out of you, using your fingers to bring it back. His cum clings to your folds as you sink back down, hips barely lifting you back up before you keep him buried inside of you. He loves watching you slide down his length, slipping in and out of your puffy cunt as his cock softens. It pushes his cum back into your cunt, sticky over your clit as it drips to your thighs.

You did bring a pill this time, so you don't care of the mess his thick flood of cum that dribbles out of you has made on your pussy and his clothes.

"Fuck" you let out, sex-filled mind speaking up. "Don't ever leave me again"

"I won't" he answers hastily, then regrets it. But you don't know that.

Instead, numbness takes over your body, the events of last hours finally draining your body. Sleep settles in, and you nest your head on Joel's sweaty shoulder.

"Lemme take you to bed" you hear his half-drowned voice, carrying your body to the main bedroom.

Joel Miller was always a mystery to you: a man who seemed impossible to break, his world hiding behind a permanent scowl. It felt like his heart was locked, seemingly unbreakable, but where he was rough, his edges had softened for you.

He places you over the bed softly, dipping next to you. Joel's strong arms embrace you, pulling your tired figure closer. His face hides in your neck and his soft belly pushes against the curve of your back, all while he presses a soft kiss to it.

"I think I love you" he murmurs to no one in particular.

But you hear.

It was winter again, when he broke your heart.

Before the holidays, you'd drop by every other weekend. Cancelling plans, waiting for his call. For his grave voice to say Come over, and you'd speed up the brakes with an urgency only he had taught you.

You'd find yourself in the cabin, loosing track of time that rushed like a bottle of wine. Kissing until your mouth was swollen and the only thing that satisfied your hunger was his lips, fucking until sunrise and his bones ached. He'd then offer a tired smile, and you'd sing a soft tune in front of the fireplace while cuddling.

They say home is where the heart is. And it felt like one.

It was during one of those escapades that you showed up with your newest adquisition: a small cursive J just above your thigh, hiding under the plaid of your skirt.

It was your first fight. He shouted at you like he had never before, scolding you like a father would to a naive kid, the hatred you hadn't seen since he touched you that night a year ago, resurfacing.

"We're loosing ourselves" his voice cracked, sounding defeated. But then he'd suck the skin around it until it turned red.

The back and forth became the only thing keeping you alive, the need for his touch as addictive and destructive as a drug.

Which is why Christmas hadn't felt this jolly since being a kid.

You're back, and as you hug your dad and mom, you scour the place for his face: the one you've grown to yearn and love.

Your dad exchanges a glance with your mother and then looks at you weirdly before answering.

"He isn't coming; I thought you knew"

You don't care about the future explanations or the calls of your name, storming off and crossing the street to his place.

"Joel!" you shout, knocking desperately, "open the door!"

When you don't get an answer, you search for the spare key hiding under a pot in the porch. As you make your way inside, you spot Joel sitting in front of the fireplace, his eyes lost in the fire.

"Joel" you softly call his name. At that, he snaps, standing up. His eyes glow with the flames, circling in doubt.

"Sugar?" like he didn't expect you to actually search him on his absence, "what'd doing here?"

"I could ask you the same" you laugh, sardonically. "Don't know how I'll explain running off like that, so thanks, by the way"

"M' sorry"

The words fall heavy in the air, suddenly thick. Something tells you he isn't apologizing exactly for that.

There's something like guilt and fear simmering in his eyes. You think about all those times in the cabin, spring and autumn, and you're reminded of those three words he's said and you haven't. The realization hits you, and you're quick to reach him, grabbing his hand.

"Joel?" you call again. "I- I need to tell you something"

"So do I" but he sounds reluctant, "you go first"

"I don't know what's happening" your lip quivers, eyes glossy. God, he feels terrible, "but I want you to know that I love you"

He gasps, like you've slapped him across the face.

"No" he starts, pushing you away. He lets go of your hand, and the sudden cold hits you.

"I thought I still had time..." his shoulders slump in defeat, "guess I'm wrong"

"What do you mean?" anger and sadness flood your words.

"You can't love me" the words cut through you, and you're sick.

Sick of your rusting wheels that only move when he tells you to. Because that force, the dominance, Joel Miller seems to carry over the rest of the people, doesn't cut as deep as it cuts through you.

It's almost done with a benevolent authority, like he knows of said power and doesn't want to abuse it.

So now he's ordering you to stop loving him, like this year has meant nothing. Nothing.

"Love, funny word" your words carry rage, "do you even know what that means?" you try to hold back the tears in vain, "you don't, yet you say them so freely, like they mean nothing to you" he makes a surprised face, and you savour the pain reflected on his face, alike of yours. "Yes, I heard you, Joel. Y-you made me the happiest girl on the planet, but now I realize you're so full of shit"

You turn around, trying not to see his face, because you know that the more you look at him, the more seconds you add and the harder it would be to erase the memories you'll have to burn.

"Did you ever love me, Joel?" it pains you to whisper out loud.

"I love you, sugar" his voice is horse, like something had cut through it. "That's why I'm doing this"

"Are you, Joel?" you sigh, "if you loved me, wouldn't you want me to stay?"

"This won't end well" it's his answer, trying to reason, "I don't want to hold you back"

Coward. Asshole. Idiot.

Your tone is icy like the storm outside, "but it's already ended"

He's about to speak but you cut him off.

You can only smile. "I've given you everything and you took it. I really thought you were giving me your everything, but I realize now, that I know what you are. You don't need to hide it" he looks at you like it is you who's hurted him the most, "you're hard to love, Joel. But I tried"

He'll regret it. You know and you want to: you want him to feel the empty days blur with one another, that he remembers late at night what you had and he ended, so when he feels alone, the ghost of your free love haunts him with the happy days and sweet taste of your lips. Just then, he'll understand what your year of loving really meant.

You leave his house empty, a knife twisted in your heart. He's the only one who's got the key, and you know it will be long until anyone else can break it open.

But it's okay: if being with Joel was heaven, you'll happily burn in the flames of what's left.

[izadi234]

Forget me not

-Warning: Contain yandere themes, neglected! gn!reader, mention of low self-esteem, the writer's first language isn't English. Yan! Batfamily x gn! reader

Chapters Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 (You're here) Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 3

For Duke it was a normal day after going to a classmate's house to finish a group project. He was eager to show you the project and talk to you about his day as he had started to do since the first day he set foot in Wayne Manor.

He could never forget that day...

The first time Duke went to Wayne Manor he was a bundle of nerves along with other emotions. He had just lost his parents due to the Joker's toxin and had just started his training with Bruce. He couldn't deny that he wasn't grateful to the billionaire and his family of vigilantes but he did miss that normality in his day to day life like when his parents were still well.

It was a day that he was lost in the mansion that was the one that found you. He had just finished his training with Bruce and Damian and had the intention of returning to his room when he got lost, but it wasn't until he ran into someone that he finally paid attention to where he was walking.

You were walking down the hall with your laptop in your hands, it seemed like you had just come from outside. He had never seen you before but Damian had mentioned that he had an older sibling that he didn't give much importance to.

"Oops, sorry. You okay, kiddo?" you asked him kindly

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. I should apologize. I didn't see where I was going" the young man apologized

"I see you're lost, these hallways of the mansion aren't that frequented" you commented

"Really? And what are you doing here then?"

"My room is over here" you commented

"Ah..." He didn't know what to say

"You must be the new kid that Bruce adopted, right?"

"Yes, it's me" he nodded

"It's a pleasure, I'm (Name)" you extended your hand to shake it and he took it

He could immediately notice the warmth of your hand, they weren't rough and hard like the hands of others, but he could feel familiarity in your grip. It felt like home.

"Duke" he nodded as he shook your hand

"Well Duke, if you want I can guide you through these halls. It's almost impossible not to get lost in this place" you chuckled

"Yeah... I'd like that" he said with a smile

"Well, then follow me!" you said with a smile as you then guided him through the Manor

From that meeting on, Duke looked for any excuse to go talk to you. He soon discovered that the family didn't show much interest in you, which he couldn't understand why. In a family of vigilantes, being the most normal should be a relief, right? Or at least that's how he saw it, since when he was with you, he felt like he was going back to his old life, without worries or training.

That's why from then on he always waited for the time to be able to go find you.

What a surprise he would get when he saw that you weren't there

Once he entered Wayne Manor, Duke immediately went to look for you in your room only to find it empty. He felt his heart stop for a second.

No... It can't be...

"Alfred!" Duke shouted in search of the butler as he ran to the kitchen and there he saw Alfred who was making food for the Waynes.

"Alfred! Have you seen (Name)? Her room is empty!" the boy spoke quickly

"Yes, I am sorry to have to tell you this Master Duke, but our dear (Name) has left the mansion" informed the butler

"What?! So fast? N-no… They couldn't leave here… Much less without saying goodbye…" he said incredulously

It was like losing his parents all over again.

"They left me a letter in my room. I suppose they left one in yours too Master Duke"

Without saying another word, Duke ran to his room where he found a letter on his bed that had his name on it. He read it and right there (Name) said goodbye to him, thanked him for his company and just like with Alfred, left him the cell phone number of his second phone in case he wanted to talk to them.

"No… It can't be…" said Duke as he let a few tears escape from his eyes

How could he not stop them?

"Please don't cry Master Duke" said a voice from the door of his room. It was Alfred who looked at him with eyes that reflected sorrow and sadness but at the same time determination.

"I know that the departure of Master (Name) was something that hurt you and me" the butler began to speak

"But I assure you that they will return home"

"How Alfred? It was more than obvious that they wanted to leave here" he said between sadness and bitterness "But I don't understand, why did no one in this place pay attention to them? They are a Wayne too"

You were like a refreshing stream for him, you were like a glass of ice water in the middle of a desert.

Why did no one in this damn place notice?

"I couldn't answer that, Master Duke, but what we both know is that the behavior of the members of this family towards (Name) has been unfair and unjustified" Alfred walked towards the young guard and sat next to him

"I spent years waiting for someone else to see how amazing they were, but no one noticed, no one tried to get to know them" he unconsciously closed his hands into fists "And I can say that it was partly my fault, but you came along and finally someone realized what a great person we had in the family"

Alfred turned to look at him and put a hand on his shoulder which he gave a light squeeze.

"And for that same reason that they have such a powerful light, in a place like Gotham it is important to take care of them"

Duke looked at Alfred for a few seconds and then looked at the ground.

He is right. Their light is very bright. He can't let anyone turn it off.

"But… How are you going to do it Alfred? How are you going to get them back? Not even half of the people who live here remember who they are" said the young vigilante irritated

"Don't worry about that Master Duke, but you will have to help me with some things"

Don't worry (Name), you will return home.

Whether you want to or not.

But you will be by their side

It's been 2 weeks since you left Wayne Manor and to be honest… You've never been happier in your life!

Sure, you'd always had a lot of independence but now this independence felt different, it felt more refreshing.

Likewise, college had also been an interesting change from a social and academic point of view since a few years ago you had studied online and life at university was a bit chaotic but you were starting to like it.

You rented your apartment to an old man who owned the building and who kindly let you pay your rent little by little. Inside it were a few pieces of furniture that were already there, however, you gave it some personal touches to feel more at home. But what couldn't be missing were photos of your parents (F/N) and (M/N), Alfred and Duke with you.

You couldn't complain, you were living a true dream.

But live it up and savor it while you can

Because soon you'll lose it all

You were in the kitchen of your apartment making dinner when your phone rang. You picked it up and answered without looking at who it was,

"Hello?" you said as you answered your phone

"Hey (Name)!" a familiar voice greeted you

"Oh, hey Duke!" you said enthusiastically "How have you been? How's school going?"

"Oh been good, lots of homework" he chuckled "I was calling you because I wanted to see you"

"Oh yeah, sure" you nodded "Do you need me for something specific?"

"No no. I just want to see you. I miss you being around the mansion" he admitted

"Aww, you're really sweet Duke but I'm sure you have plenty of company at Wayne Manor" now was your turn to chuckle

"Yeah, they're good company but you're my best confidant and sibling"

You're MY home…

"Okay Duke, if you want we can see each other tomorrow" you proposed

"Sure!" he excited

"Perfect" you giggled at his excitement "How about we meet at the park near downtown Gotham?"

"Okay" he nodded

"Fine, see you tomorrow bro!" you said goodbye to him

"See you tomorrow sibling" he said goodbye before hanging up the call

You smiled just thinking about seeing Duke tomorrow. You couldn't wait to do it.

This was your first mistake. Trusting him.

"It's done Alfred" said Duke from the doorway of the living room

"They agreed to see me tomorrow"

"Okay Master Duke" Alfred nodded and then dusted the furniture again

"Now what?" asked the young man

"Now all that's left is to wait for me to arrive tomorrow and just follow my instructions" the butler commanded

"So… do you think all this is going to work? What if it doesn't?" he asked, half scared and half anxious

Alfred turned to look at the nervous boy and walked towards him. He placed a hand on his shoulder in an assuring manner.

"It's going to work" he assured him "Now go rest, tomorrow you're going to have a busy day"

Duke nodded, still a little unsure, but he didn't say anything else. Then he retired to his bedroom.

When he left Alfred couldn't help but smile a little. Everything was going as he had been planning and although he knew that this plan wasn't going to be to your liking in the least, he was also sure that this was the best for you.

Yes… This was the best thing for you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For you…

For y…

For y…

For them..

For them...

For them...

For him…

This was going to be the best thing for HIM

This was going to bring you home to HIM

His little ray of sunshine

Helloooo. Here it goes the third chapter! I hope you like it and I swear that in the next one the rest of the family will appear, still I would love to heart what do you expect of this work! And even some ideas!

Also I added the people that told me to add them in tag list so if you want to be added please tell me and I will happily add you. And also if I missed someone please tell me as well because I'm a bit blind most of the times and despite being on tumblr for a while now I'm still getting used to using it ":v

So if you liked this chapter please leave a heart and I'll see you on the next one!

-Izadi

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