#but listen to him makes me remember he is not here and my heart breaks

[solxamber]

For the event, could I request Leona, romantic, with "Waiting on the Sun" by Citizen Soldier? First time listening to this after discovering Twisted had me wailing in the car haha

i was crying at the club when i heard it... it suits leona so well oh my god

Waiting on the Sun || Leona Kingscholar

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: Waiting on the Sun by Citizen Soldier

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1010

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Realization of feelings

Leona has never been one for dreams.

Dreams are a fool’s game, a glimmer of hope strung out in front of desperate people, forcing them to chase something they’ll never catch. He learned early on that hope was nothing but a pretty lie wrapped in a silver ribbon, and in the end, the ribbon always frayed.

The world never made space for second sons, and the sun never rose for men like him.

He should have stopped waiting for it years ago.

But somehow, you're still here—sitting beside him in the shade of a tree, legs stretched out, your presence quiet yet steady. You don’t say anything, and he doesn’t need you to. That’s what he likes about you. You don’t fill the silence with empty words or meaningless comfort. You don’t try to fix him, like so many others before you.

You just exist beside him and that’s enough.

Leona doesn’t remember when you became his safe place.

At some point, your presence became a constant, as natural as the way he stretches out on the grass for an afternoon nap or the way the sun burns through the endless sky. You were just there—like an inevitable force of nature.

And damn if he doesn’t resent how much he needs it.

Because he does need it. He needs you in ways he’ll never admit aloud, in ways that make his stomach twist and his throat tighten. You make it so easy to believe, even when he’s spent a lifetime telling himself not to.

Somewhere along the way, you learned him too well. You can tell when his bitterness sharpens, when his patience wears thin, when he’s barely holding onto the threads of his temper. You don’t try to drag him into the light, but you don’t let him drown in the dark, either.

Instead, you just sit with him.

Like now.

Leona exhales, tipping his head back against the rough bark of the tree. The weight of the past few days lingers in his bones, making him feel heavier than usual. The exhaustion never fully leaves—it clings to him like a second skin.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Your voice is soft, cutting through the stillness.

Leona cracks an eye open. “Doubt it.”

You huff, barely phased by his dry remark. “You think nothing’s ever going to change. That you’re stuck in a cycle you can’t break. That waiting for things to get better is pointless.”

He stiffens, the words settling deep in his chest like stones. “You got all that just from lookin’ at me?”

“I got all that from knowing you.”

That shouldn’t make his heart stutter the way it does.

He doesn’t say anything, just turns his gaze back to the horizon. It stretches on endlessly, a vast expanse of golden plains and open sky. The view should be freeing. Instead, it feels like a cage with invisible walls.

A future that will never belong to him.

A throne that will never be his.

A world that will never see him as anything more than the spare.

The sun has never risen for men like him.

“I know what you’re going to say next,” he mutters. “That I should ‘keep trying.’ That things’ll ‘work out’ eventually. That if I just—”

“I’m not going to say that.”

He stops.

You tilt your head, a gentle smile pulling at your lips. “I’m not here to tell you to change. I’m not here to tell you things will magically get better. I just…” Your fingers brush over the back of his hand, tentative and warm. “I just want you to know that you don’t have to shoulder it alone.”

His breath catches.

No one has ever said that to him before.

No one has ever meant it before.

Leona has spent his whole life carrying the weight of his own bitterness, his own resentment, his own failures. No one ever told him he could set it down. No one ever offered to help him hold it.

No one but you.

His fingers twitch under yours.

Leona has never been one for dreams.

But when he looks at you, he wonders if maybe, he’s been waiting on the wrong thing all this time.

He doesn’t realize he’s in love with you until much later.

Maybe it’s the way you laugh, soft and easy, like the world has never once hurt you. Maybe it’s the way you look at him—like he’s not a disappointment, not a failure, not a second son who never mattered. Maybe it’s the way you never push him to be anything other than who he is.

Maybe it’s everything.

But when he finally does realize, it hits him like a landslide.

And suddenly, he’s terrified.

Because what if he loses this?

What if he loses you?

Leona doesn’t pray, but he does now.

He prays that you never leave. That you never wake up one day and decide that he’s too much trouble, that he’s too broken, that he’ll never be what you deserve.

He prays that this feeling—the quiet warmth that seeps into his bones whenever you’re around—never fades.

And yet, he still can’t bring himself to say it.

Not yet.

The words finally escape him on a night like this—under a sky filled with stars, your hand resting lightly in his, your head against his shoulder.

“Stay.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.

You shift slightly, peering up at him with wide eyes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening around yours. “No, I mean—” His throat works, the words catching like sandpaper. “Stay with me.”

Understanding dawns in your eyes, and for a moment, he thinks you might say no. That you might turn away.

But then you smile—soft, warm, home.

“Okay.”

Leona doesn’t believe in miracles.

But when you press your lips to his, slow and tender and real, he thinks that maybe the sun has been shining on him all along.

He just hadn’t noticed.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[scoupsakakitty]

Beautiful | idol!Hoshi x idolxReader | angst, fluff

Tw: weight loss, not feeling enough

The rain poured relentlessly, blurring the neon lights of Seoul into streaks of color as Hoshi stood outside the apartment building. His fingers clenched around the umbrella handle, though he wasn’t sure why he had bothered bringing it. He was already soaked, and something about the cold seemed fitting.

He hesitated before pressing the buzzer.

Silence.

Then, a static-laced voice: "Who is it?"

Hearing her voice after all this time nearly broke him. "It’s me."

A long pause. Too long.

"Go home, Soonyoung."

He swallowed. "I just want to see you. Please."

"Don’t you have something better to do? Like catching a flight to Japan?" she said bitterly.

"I’ll take the next flight," he replied without hesitation. "You’re more important."

More silence, then a click. The door unlocked. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped inside.

Y/N was thinner than he remembered. The weight loss was noticeable even under the oversized hoodie she wore, sleeves pulled over trembling fingers. Her once-bright eyes were dull, lips slightly chapped, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix settled deep in her features.

Seeing her like this made his chest tighten. This wasn’t the Y/N he knew.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hoshi ignored the warning, stepping inside fully. "I had to see you. I had to know if you were okay."

She let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Do I look okay to you?"

No. She looked like she had been barely holding on, like she had been drowning in something she couldn’t escape from. And the worst part? He hadn’t been there to pull her out.

"I’ve been watching you… on stage, in interviews, award shows. You’re disappearing, Y/N. You’re hurting," he admitted, voice raw. "Your friend reached out to me. She’s worried. And she thought maybe… maybe I could help."

Her eyes flashed. "And what? You think you can just come back and fix me? That your presence will magically make things better?"

"No," he whispered. "But I can be here. I can hold you up if you let me."

She scoffed. "You left, Soonyoung. And now you want to be my savior?"

"I never stopped caring," he said, his voice shaking. "I never stopped loving you."

That was the breaking point. Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed into his arms.

"It’s so hard, Soonyoung," she sobbed into his chest. "No matter what I do, there’s always something wrong with me. I’m never pretty enough, never talented enough. Always too much or too little. They find every flaw, every mistake. The pressure is… it’s crushing me."

He held her tightly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Y/N, listen to me. You are the most beautiful person in the world. And not because of how you look. You are beautiful for the way you think, for the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you love, for your ability to make people smile without trying."

She clung to him, her breathing ragged.

"I am proud of you," he continued. "I am proud of you for trying, even when it hurts. I wish I could tell you when you’ll finally feel okay again, when your head will be above water, but healing isn’t something you can time. It isn’t something you can measure. But things will get lighter, little by little, as you break through the weight on your shoulders. Keep facing what you need to face. You are getting closer every single day, even if it doesn’t feel that way. And I hope you start to believe that you are worthy of everything you want in this life. You deserve to be adored and cared for in every way your mind, body, and heart long for. You are effortlessly beautiful. You are the embodiment of beauty. Don’t let anyone tell you differently."

She sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Why do you still love me? After everything?"

He smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "The only feeling stronger than my love for you is the ache that comes with missing you. I love everything about you. Maybe too much. But how could I not love that smile, that laughter, those eyes, that passion?"

Her breath hitched, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice trembling.

"I know," he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers. "Hate me all you want. Just let me stay."

She let out a shuddering breath and, after what felt like an eternity, nodded against his chest.

Soonyoung held her, his arms tightening around her fragile frame, and for the first time in months, she let herself lean into the warmth she had been missing.

Outside, the rain kept falling, washing away the past, making room for something new.

[savebylou]

.

[coweye]

The Worst Logan

Logan Howlett x Reader!Loganverse| smut | 5.8k words

Summary: You are the deceased-anchor-being-Logan's lover, having found yourself with Laura in the void, you navigate meeting the variant of the love of your life. Sweet dick kicking angst with gratuitous smut, cause we all know Logan eats pussy like a CHAMP. 😤

This is self indulgence at its finest, but it had be to done. 7-years ago, the movie Logan broke something within me that has finally been fixed! 🤠💕

Warning: Explicit - smut. canon death, depression, angst, spoilers for Logan / Wolverine and deadpool, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, creampie, all the good stuff. 18+

The first time you see him again, the new him, the other him you mean. It’s in the cave accompanied by a man who talks far too much.

You recognise his voice in an instant when the mouth finally allows him to get a word in edgeways. His voice. 

You’ve heard it nearly every night for the past seven years. It's a few octaves deeper than you remember and filled to the brim with vitriol but it's definitely his. The realisation that your memory has been warped by time is a blow to the gut but you continue towards the sound all the same.

When finally you round the corner Logan stands before you in all his glory. For a moment you are rendered utterly unable to form a single sentence as he leans against the wall, a bottle of bourbon in his palm and adorned in yellow and blue.

Your mind can't reconcile this figure as the man you buried. He has the same sneer, the same broad shoulders, he even has the same stance - but Logan, your Logan, would rather die than wear that garish yellow suit and admit to being the hero he always was. 

His nose flares in what you believe to be recognition as he smells your presence, you allow your powers to retreat and reveal yourself. As your invisibility ebbs away Logan snarls in surprise as the talkative man in red gasps theatrically and begins jumping on the spot. 

Your fears are proven well founded when your eyes connect with his across the room, instead of the love and recognition, you find only open hostility and rage.

Your heart had bulldozed all logic, you were in the fucking void, of course it was a variant.

This Logan looks younger; his hair not so grey, his face unscarred and his eyes not so tired. 

This not-quite-Logan stares right back at you seemingly ill at ease with the stranger who is currently taking an inventory of his face. 

“Logan, that's them. It’s X-23 and Y/N, the one’s I told you about.” You graze your palm along your daughter's back in support as you come to stand beside her. 

“Her name is Laura.” It’s a knee jerk reaction; your correction. Your girl wasn’t the sum total of an experiment, she was her own person with her own thoughts and feelings, not a weapon to be utilised. 

The Wolverine’s gaze darts between the two of you, it’d be comical if you didn’t feel like you were about to regurgitate your lunch. They land on Laura, and linger there for a few moments, before they return to you, it's as if he’s trying to find you in her features. 

You barely hear the man you will later come to know fondly as Wade Wilson, question how you all ended up in the void.

“There was a knock at the door TVA sent me here, saying my world was dying … and I never even got the chance to fight for it.” Blade explains remorsefully. 

“They sent us here because they knew we’d put up a fight.” You utter distractedly, finally breaking your staring contest with Logan as he takes a swig from the bottle he’s currently white knuckling. 

“People like us don’t go quietly, TVA knows that so they took us out.” Elektra attests.

“The answer is yes, I’m in.” Wade declares.

“In what?” Blade questions bemused by the man in red. 

“A team up, you me, me you, all of us together, lets get the fuck outta’ here.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s a fucking liar!” Logan growls, furious at the other man. 

“It was an educated wish!”

“HA!” The loathing behind it makes you pause, he was so angry. 

The heat in his voice, the resentment, it burns you. You supposed even your Logan had his fair share of rage.  

When he arrived at the mansion all those years ago, fresh faced and wild, you had adored him even then, though Logan was far too preoccupied with Jean to notice the torch you carried for him back then.

It was ironic that It had taken the utter annihilation of the X-Men to bring you together. Charles’ accident had left the two of you as sole survivors. Over the years in hiding your ability to mould force fields managed to keep the worst of the effects of Charles’ seizures at bay, but Charles Xavier was one of the most powerful telepaths to grace the earth and your powers had limits. 

Those years were some of the darkest and yet the best of your life, you found yourself growing to love the man the world called The Wolverine.

You realise you’ve entirely tuned out Wade’s rousing speech and have spent the time analysing the man wearing your love’s face currently gargling bourbon though your name pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Laura, Y/N? What’s it gonna’ be girlies?” 

“Lets fucking go.” Laura agrees heartily, you simply nod still dazed. 

“YES! LET’S FUCKING GO!” Wade shouts back fist pumping. 

“You’re all fucking dead.”

Much later in the evening when the sun has finally set you seek him out. When you come across the father and daughter duo before the campfire you hold back, your skin slowly begins reflecting light, fading from vision as you call upon your powers to hide in the treeline. 

They both needed this and it wasn’t something you were about to get in the way of. They talk for a little while, before they part ways, both a little teary. Laura nods your way despite being unable to see you as she heads back to the cave, her nose just as keen as her fathers. 

So it shouldn’t surprise you a few moments later when you hear Logan's voice call across the clearing.

“You gonna’ stand there all night, Bub?” The man sounds utterly exhausted. 

You say nothing in response, only dismissing your powers and revealing yourself as you advance. You take Laura’s seat at the fire, not quite having the courage to look at him just yet. 

“You hear all that? Should mind your own damn business.” You remembered this Logan well, the one aching for a fight, desperate to shed his vulnerability and bloody his fists. 

“I didn’t hear a thing, Logan.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, you haven’t had to gentle parent The Wolverine in a while but it’s like riding a bike. “I wanted to let the two of you talk, she needed it and I think maybe you did too.”

“What do you fuckin’ know.” He growls dismissively, swigging from his bottle of what now appears to be scotch. “You can skip the speech and go back up, I’m not looking for company.” 

“I’m not here to tell you what to do, Logan.” Finally, you look away from the fire and find his eyes fixed on you, you swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. “I just wanted to see you.”

“See me?” He questions incredulously. “Well, keep the change, bub. Good night.”

Despite your smile at his words, you can’t help the tears that begin to cloud your eyes. Your mind and your heart have been locked in a constant battle since setting eyes on him. This man by all rights is Logan. The man you have mourned relentlessly and yet in every way that matters he isn’t.

“It’s like seeing a ghost.” Is the only explanation you can give him, his response is a stoic cheers with his bottle before he takes a deep gulp. 

Finally either his curiosity or the alcohol gets the better of him as he questions. “You her Mother?” 

“Yes and no.” His stare doesn’t leave your face as he waits for you to elaborate. “Her biological mother was a woman from Mexico City that the fuckers in the lab exploited, all we know is that she disappeared after giving birth. After … you … after everything that happened in North Dakota…” You trail off.

Your voice is suddenly thick and your words get stuck in your throat as you try to make them form. It's utterly embarrassing as you feel the traitor tears begin to form. 

A bottle of Johnny Walker enters your field of vision from where you sit staring at your clasped hands in your lap. Startled, you glance up to find the Wolverine standing before you, casting an impossibly large shadow as he holds out the bottle.

You accept the offering from his gloved hand, your fingers grazing his in the transaction as you take a swig or two (or three) before passing it back. He looks thoughtful when he places his lips on the place where your own had just lingered, as he retakes his seat. With amber courage coursing your veins, you continue. 

“She was all I had - if not for her, I-.” You wipe your nose, staring back into the fire. If it was a struggle to meet his eyes before, it was impossible for you now.  “I just couldn’t see the point in being alive anymore if everything just slowly gets stripped away; the X-Men, then Charles and then Lo-” 

You don’t know it, but you’re preaching to the fucking choir with your words. It was rare to find a soul, going through the exact same torture as yourself. Logan found himself softening to you, it was as involuntary as it was unwelcome, but he couldn’t help it as you described a battle so close to the one he fought daily. 

“-she reminded me what I had to live for. Laura she is fierce and so fucking kind; she is everything I loved about him.” You cut your trauma dumping to a swift end as you remember yourself. “So no, to answer your question. I’m not her biological mother, but she’s my daughter in every way that counts.”

Silence reigns for a moment as neither one of you knows what to say to the other. 

“You loved him?” Logan’s voice is deeper than before when he speaks the sentence. You raise your eyes from the fire to find his for the first time since you began monologuing. They’re filled with something you can’t quite name.

“I did.”

Logan seems to contemplate this, mulling it over as he continues drinking. Finally, he seems to reach some sort of conclusion.  “You should get some sleep, big day for you tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here … with you for tonight?” The words slip out before you really even mean them to. Tomorrow you might be going to your death and the ghost of the love of your life is here alive and real, what do you really have to lose?

Logan does a double take, not quite expecting those to be the words that leave your lips. “I’m not him, Darlin’.”

“No, I suppose you’re not.” You sigh, “but could you please just hold me whilst I sleep, James?”

A huge part of you expects him to tell you to fuck off back to the cave and leave him to his booze fueled pity party. However, against all odds, he doesn’t do that. 

Logan simply lifts the half full bottle of scotch to his lips and downs every last drop. He’s a little unsteady on his feet when finally he stands up to his full height and turns towards the blankets he’s laid out on the ground. 

“Fuck it.” He growls and drops himself like a sack of potatoes onto the pile with little regard for his own body. You’ve certainly had nicer invitations into his bed but when he waves you over with a lazy gesture, you can’t help but hurry before he changes his mind. 

Before you know it you’re tucked into Logan’s side. His gloved hand doesn’t quite seem to know where to go, more accustomed to brutality than tenderness these days as it hesitates for a moment suspended in the air. After some careful consideration he delicately places it on the dip in your waist securing you to him. 

Logan’s breath is uneven, though he’s doing his best to seem unaffected by your closeness. It has been years since someone has touched him with such easy affection and the way your body curls around his own as if it was created to do just that is driving him crazy. 

You are completely at ease with him, you trust him so entirely it almost breaks his fucking heart. Logan's stomach is heavy with something he can’t name, you fucking terrify him. Yet, he doesn’t move because you feel so fucking good as he holds you. 

It's scary, you realise, how easy it would be to pretend this was your Logan as you melt into his embrace. He smells exactly the same as you bury your face in his neck, the roughness of his beard feels the same pressed against your forehead. 

This Wolverine’s arms are a little fuller and his chest a little firmer, but he still holds you the same. You make a decision to not focus on such difficult philosophical concepts as variants and the morality of switching out your Wolverine. You decide to live in the moment, to just enjoy the furnace of his body keeping you warm and his arm encircling your waist protecting you from the world, it’s so easy to pretend that this was your Logan, so you do. 

And you fall asleep quicker than you have in years.

It is still night when you awaken, it's not quite dawn but the fire has burned out to a low smoulder. You’re not sure what has awoken you from the best sleep you’ve had in a long while, that is until you feel the arms wrapped around you and the sleeping Wolverine holding you in a death grip against his chest, his half hard appendage digging into your hip. 

Everything is still hazy; you’re floating in that sweet spot between waking and dreaming, you forget about North Dakota and, god forgive me, Laura. 

You’re back in your bed at home and Logan is holding you.

There's no my logan, new logan, old logan. 

He’s just Logan. 

You bury yourself deeper in his neck. 

It’s only for a moment though before it all comes flooding back and the agony overwhelms you like a blade to the gut. 

Instantly tears flood your cheeks as you shake from your silent sobs. 

“...Y/N?” Logan's voice is thick with confusion and sleep, his grip has loosened somewhat to allow you to breathe but he doesn’t release his hold on you. “What’s wrong darlin’?” 

That affectionate name is the last nail in the coffin it fucking ends you. 

All teary, and regrettably maybe a teensy bit snotty, you lean forward and kiss him. Kiss isn’t the right word but it’s your intention. Your lips touch one anothers before he’s pulling away and holding you back. 

“Y/n… Darlin’ you don’t want this… I’m not-”

“But you are Logan. You’re him just as much as he’s you.” Your hands rise to his jaw, running your finger along its familiar sharp edge. “You’re Logan.”

“Y/N… I’d be taking advantage…” His voice is firm yet gruff as he tries to inject reason into the conversation. As usual being the good guy he’s constantly telling everyone he’s not. 

“I am so goddamn sick and tired of being sad, please Logan.” This time when you capture his lips, he doesn’t rear back. You’re not sure what’s going through his mind, but his self control seems to snap within him as he begins returning the kiss in earnest.

Logan’s tongue swipes along your bottom lip begging entry, entry you swiftly allow. You’re breathing heavily through your nose as he plunders the depths of your mouth, exploring your mouth with his quick tongue. 

Deciding to make the next move you push yourself up, throwing a leg over him to straddle his lower stomach. He’s lifted the top half of his body to ensure he doesn’t lose your mouth, your teeth clash slightly with the movement and you can’t help a bubble of nervous laughter.  He pays it little mind though as he swallows the noise, his hands coming to rest on your hips. 

Instantly, you grind your hips downward on the growing bulge that lurks below. Logan lets out a deep groan at the friction and his hands on your hips raise to the bottom of your tee in response, his thick hands tugging at it requesting your permission.

Nodding, you pull back causing him to groan at the loss of your hot mouth on his. Though it's only for a moment as the second the tee is over your head, he’s back on you, only it's your bare neck he’s lashing with affection now.

Logan breathes in deep your scent mixing with the heady aroma of your arousal. He’s nipping and licking along the smooth skin, soothing his bites as quickly he makes them. It's the animal instinct within him, telling him to devour you entirely; make you his. 

“Logan…” You gasp, your eyes are clenched shut in pleasure as he bucks his hips upwards into your jean covered centre.  

Logan pulls back to take you in, writhing above him in the moonlight, you’re fucking beautiful, though the flash of familiar metal between your breasts catches his eye, unable to stop himself, he catches it in his fist. 

Dog tags; his old dog tags.

‘LOGAN’ is etched into the aged metal and they’re warm to the touch from living beneath your shirt over your heart. 

The realisation hits him like a freight train, not only was he loved by you, but for his other self to have given you these, he fucking loved you. 

He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him before, that the other him was as devoted to you as you were to him. He’s not entirely sure how to feel about it, but he twists his hands, careful not to snap the metal string, but using it to pull you close. 

For the other dead Logan, the hero he’s heard so goddamn much about, he decides he’ll give you the treatment you deserve. 

As if you weigh nothing at all he flips you onto your back, his hands dropping the dog tags and falling to the waistband of your jeans. His dexterous hands undo the button so quickly, that your trousers are peeled from your legs before you know it, leaving you in an unimpressive unmatching set of underwear beneath his roaming eyes. Though Logan couldn’t give a fuck as he groans at the sight of your body exposed to him. 

Logan begins by kissing down your stomach before his hands linger on your black panties, he can't help but grin at the tiny barely there bow in the middle of them; you’re like a gift all wrapped up for him. 

His eyes lift to meet your own as he begins sucking at the fabric that's keeping your pussy from him, it's already damp with your arousal and by the time he finishes, absolutely sodden with his saliva.

“Logan, please…” you whisper desperately as your hands find his ‘tufts’ for a lack of a better word. They were new, but you liked them, plus they now seemed pretty functional. 

He takes only a moment to remove his gloves, before they return eagerly to your body. Those thick hands traverse the planes of your thighs, they’re quick in their passing as they make their way up to the waistband of your panties, he hooks them over his thumb and reveals your soaking core to his hungry eyes and he’s right back to wanting to fucking devour you, and boy, fucking does he. 

Enthusiastic, would be the word, earth-shattering would be another - the word to describe how Logan eats pussy.

Logan without much preamble dives into your centre, his tongue slips into your hot wet heat, lingering for a moment on your clit, circling it reverently before he dips that talented tongue inside of you. His nose knocks against your clit several times, each more delicious than the last as he utterly devours your pussy. He moans, grinding his hips into the dirt and readjusts pulling you closer, his thick muscled arms locking under your thighs as you buck against his mouth. 

You're a complete goner the second he slips a single long thick finger inside of you. 

“Fuck, Lo, I’m gonna-” 

“Come, baby... I got’ya.” He mumbles into your pussy. And fuck me, he does. He carries on lapping at you all the way through your orgasm, drawing it out of you like the pied fucking piper of pussy. It feels like you’ve been falling for hours by the time you finally come down, only Logan doesn’t allow you any reprieve before he’s back to lashing your clit with his quick tongue. Your hands find those faux ear tufts once more and he groans as you pull on them a little more sharply than you intend in your shock, in answer Two fingers bury themselves deep inside of you.

“One more.” He’s negotiating orgasms, but you have no qualms as he rubs his nose side to side with affection against your sensitive bud. His tongue and nose moving in pace with his fingers, currently fucking in and out of you. 

It's when he scissors those thick long fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot within you that makes your back arch. 

Your top half has left the ground, he grunts in annoyance, suspending your hips back to his mouth at the angle he likes. Those deep hazel eyes meet yours from between your thighs, crazed and animalistic, driven wild with arousal as he eats your pussy with gusto.

It's that image that thrusts you over the edge once more, your back hitting the ground as your body seizes, thrusting your hips against his mouth. 

Without any preamble a third finger joins stretching you deliciously. The hand not currently fucking you, leaves your hip to caress your stomach stroking the flesh there, not quite able to reach your breast. 

“Lo… fuck… yes… right… right fucking there.” You cry as he draws your second orgasm of the night out, only when you tug at his tuft due to overstimulation does he acquiesce and pull back, only of course, after cleaning up your gaping desperate hole. 

He sucks his fingers clean as he sits back on his knees, his cock thick and tenting against the yellow bottoms of his suit. Your arousal has soaked through his beard making his chin slick, he wipes it with a single swipe with the back of hand though, it does very little for his sodden chin. 

Tired of not touching him, you sit forward grabbing at his belt. It's a difficult contraption that confounds you, though Logan is far too wound up to find any humour from it. 

 He replaces your hands unbuckling the thing before finding the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. 

There, finally in all his glory, he is exposed to you and you’ve never been a religious woman, but Mary mother of fucking christ, he is gorgeous. Logan’s chest is fucking… transcendant to behold, it's like he’s been sculpted by god herself, the light isn’t the best out of here, but you hope to god you don’t die tomorrow simply for wanting to take your time and lick each and every single one of those muscles on his stomach. 

Its your turn to leap forward onto your knees and join his mouth with yours, he tastes distinctly of you and his chin is still sodden, but you couldn’t give less of a fuck, you love the fact your desire is still marking his skin. 

Your hands trace the firm abs at your disposal, before dipping into his now open trousers and underwear to find him rock hard. 

If his physique impressed you, you had a big storm coming, because his cock was a fucking resplendant beauty and it was plain to see from the swelling Logan really liked eating pussy. 

Your fingers barely touched as you pumped him, once twice, spreading the copious amounts of precum along his shaft.

“Fuck.” He grunts into your mouth. You lean down, positioning yourself to take him in your mouth, though he stops you in your tracks grabbing your shoulder. “No sweetheart, I want your pussy.” You clench around nothing at his filthy words, this man will be the fucking death of you. 

You reach behind you and free your tits from their confines, another moan leaves his throat as he pushes you backwards. On his hands and knees he’s deliberate with every move as kicks the bottoms of his suit off as he prowls towards you.

Finally, he’s in between your legs naked as the day he was born. His hands are on your breasts, exploring the new plains exposed to him, playing with your nipples alternating between sucking and twirling them between his fingers. 

So lost in his skilled hands, you barely notice when one disappears to line himself up, it's a shock, the sudden intrusion, but not an unwelcome one as he thrusts himself forward and as deep as he can go. 

You moan his name into his ear, doing your best to keep your volume down.

He has prepared you well, you’re so worked up that he slides home through your tight slit. The sheer size of him means it's a stretch that borders on uncomfortable, but the second his hand finds your clit you’re clenching around him and grinding forward, desperate for more. Unable to control himself, his claws extend, he grunts pulling you close and thrusting them down into the ground. 

“Fuck, you’re tight.” He grunts into your neck, where he's busy lavishing the flesh once again with bites. Your neck is going to be black and blue tomorrow, but you can’t find it in you to give a single fuck.

The two of you are so fucking close his bare skin so deliciously hot against your own, but you want more, you need more.

Logan pulls his hips backwards, pulling out of you until only the tip remains before slamming home and spearing you wide open his cock. Your moans blend together as you lose yourself in each other's bodies.

Logan is worked up from eating your cunt, so it doesn’t take long for the sensation to hit him.

“Fuck, where do you want it?” He grunts into your neck, as his hand descends to rub quick circles on your clit. He pulls your ass up, making sure to hit the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl.

You know he’s teetering on the edge, desperate to make you cum before he does. 

“Inside - come inside me, baby.” You whimper into his neck as he pounds into you reaching your deepest recesses with his thick cock, his hammering, it’s unforgiving with his enhanced strength but it pushes him deeper into spots you couldn’t have imagined. He groans at your words, sounding every bit the wounded animal he is. Your shared groans and the sound of his balls slapping against your ass as he takes you again, and again is all that can be heard in the clearing. 

Finally as he joins your lips in a kiss, you come hard on his cock. Clenching around him as your body writhes uncontrollably. 

Logan adjusts his hold on your thighs, now he uses your body, drawing out your pleasure but ultimately chasing his own. The pace is fast as he grunts and groans erotically into your neck, he fucking growls as his hips stutter against your own, and you know you should be more careful, but the thought of him cumming inside you has you gripping his cock like a vice once more. You give him a tight sheath to come in, and he pumps you fucking full of his cum and its a big fucking load. Logan thrusts a few more times, pushing his seed deep inside of you as he claims your mouth once more.

You run your hands through his hair as he lets his body fall against yours, he’s supporting his own weight, thank god, you don’t think you could handle his muscle, let alone the adamantium skeleton. He’s still sheathed inside you as the two of you revel in the closeness.

The silence stretches on for an amount of time you can’t quite quantify. The two of you take in your surroundings, listening to the quiet of the forest, until your breathing has finally calmed down. 

Logan lifts himself up on one arm, and pushes your hair back from your face. You stare at him in the moonlight for a long moment, unable to help yourself as you trace his familiar features. His strong nose and the curve of his brow, your finger dances along his flesh. 

Logan’s eyes close, so touch starved he basks in your affection. 

“I-” Logan goes to speak, before you drop your finger on his lips.

“It’s okay. Whatever happens tomorrow, happens. I’m okay with it.” You smile at him, there's a chill to the air but you’ve got your Wolverine warming you up. “I just wanted one night to be about something other than death.”

He takes your hand from his lips and kisses along the back of it and up your wrist, though It's a slippery slope as he hardens inside of you again. 

Logan manages to pull two more orgasms out of you before dawn.

When your time has run out, the two of you finally dress, not wanting to be found in a compromising position. Logan curls his body around yours and buries his face in your hair as he spoons you from behind. 

Just when you’re just on the cusp of sleep, he finally speaks into the night. Logan opens up about his world tearfully, instantly you reach your hand down, finding his own thicker one resting on your belly and you intertwine your fingers with his. He tells you of the mutant hunting as you draw comforting circles on the back of his hand, it's not much, but it's more than he’s ever had whilst reliving his worst day. When he has finally bared his soul, the two of you fall back into silence. 

After what has been an emotionally, not to mention physically taxing night the two of you finally fall asleep if only for a few more hours, two incredibly damaged souls offering one another comfort.

It’s later in the morning when you finally awake. The sun has risen that much is clear but you're slow to awaken from your comfortable position in Logan's arms, his warm strong body coiled against your back fighting off the worst of the early morning chill, his face still buried in your hair as he snores peacefully.

There’s a sensation niggling at you, you think it's what woke you up in the first place; you can’t shake the sensation of being watched. 

Lazily you open your eyes, only for your heart to drop to your asshole when you find Wade Wilson about 10-inches from your face lying on his side, his head supported by his hand.

“Mornin’ sleepy head, have a good night?” You can hear the smile in his voice. 

“AGH!”  Unable to stop both your cry of fear and your fight or flight response in progress, you throw yourself backwards, your powers activating of their own accord, and slamming your body into Logan’s chest. He startles awake, with the telltale ‘snikt’ of his claws extending as he orientates himself, his arm coming out to block you from the threat, despite not being able to see you. 

After your brain catches up, you call your power back, but Logan doesn’t do the same, keeping his claws out seemingly ready to slice up his not-so-best friend. 

“Get the fuck outta’ here, Wade.” Logan growls harshly at the other man, his voice is filled to the brim with hatred.

“Hmph - this is what I get for acting altruistically. I thought a good stress relieving bone in the woods with your cherie amour would really sort out that bee in your bonnet, but you sir are just a very unpleasant man and I’m worried that-”

“WADE.” This time Logan’s voice is a threat as he shouts at the man. You place a hand on his muscled arm to steady him. Though he may have stopped your heart with his antics, Wade isn’t doing anything particularly outrageous.  Logan shakes your hand from his arm and allows his claws to retract as he stands. 

“Thanks for jumping to my defence there, Y/N. Great to meetcha bt-dubs, huge fan.” You’re disoriented from the wakeup call but you shake the hand he offers you.  Honestly, you’re still trying to process the head-fuckery of the past day, so you don’t have a quick response for him, though the mouth doesn’t seem to mind as he continues. “That mean lil’ lady is asking for ya’. Thought I’d come and check you and big yellow weren’t still bumpin’ uglies. Didn’t want her to see you and Papa going to town on each other's fun parts.”

“Uh - Thanks… Wade?” 

“That’s me.” He theatrically begins bestowing multiple kisses on the back of your hand he still had in his grasp, which you retract gently. “Oh, and we’re done.”

Pushing yourself up, you go to stand though Logan offers you his newly gloved palm. You lock your fingers around his and the two of you stand together, inches apart and your fingers still intertwined, neither quite sure what to say to the other. Wade’s ‘awh’ over your shoulder shatters the moment and he drops your hand instantaneously. 

After a beat or two Logan leans forward, placing a single solitary kiss on your forehead. “See ya’ around, bub.”

“Where’s my smooch, Logie-bear?”

“Go fuck yourself, Wade.” He calls as he walks around, Logan doesn’t look back as he heads off into the forest. 

You still had faith he’d turn up for the fight, Logan always turned up when it counted and you knew this time would be no different. 

“Hate to see him leave, but love to watch him go.” Wade sighs linking his arm with yours. 

“Mmh, You can say that again.” You agree with the clown watching Logan’s ass as he walks away, you swear you see his step falter thanks to his impeccable hearing, but he doesn’t turn back. 

The two of you turn and you begin walking back to the cave arm in arm with the strange man to prepare for the assault on Cassandra’s lair when Wade finally asks the question you know he’s been dying to ask since meeting you “So, Y/N just between us girls… how big is it?”

LOGAN TENDER HAIR TUCK SUPREMACY RISE. I'll use it in every fic, don't think I won't.

Thanks for reading xxx

Graphics by my pal - @saradika-graphics 💕

[mad-hunts]

there is nothing so cruel as memory — and this not only applied to the jarring snapshot that barton was given of a much happier time in his life through the photograph he found. he couldn't help but start to reflect upon how both louis, as well as matilda, weren't even six months old whenever marceline died. which meant that they would only ever and still do only know of their mother through barton's word of mouth. with that, the level of sorrow that came from knowing that he had everything one day and the next, he only had but a fraction of that was something he was convinced would kill him back then.

but the fact of the matter was, barton knew deep down that that was something he couldn't let happen. because matilda and louis needed him. so making peace with marcy's death was, unfortunately, a harsh reality barton had to face. the doctor did contribute finding winslow, his surrogate father, mostly all up to luck after all. and so giving up on them was not an option. but the toxic point of view that barton's bio father likely would've enforced upon him (to simply 'pull himself up by the bootstraps' as if it were that easy) wasn't going to work. so, therapy seemed like the most viable option to help him cope with the massive amount of grief he felt.

thankfully, going to it was the right decision in the end. the funny thing about grief, though, is that it isn't linear. and like the waves of an ocean... the feeling that you're missing someone fundamental to your life comes back in to hit you when you least expect it. barton flexed one of his hands repeatedly as he tried to get his mind off of it. he supposed that, eventually, doing nothing in this space would end up making him and possibly jervis as well lose their marbles anyhow. barton's work. before he had gotten into their current mess, he was working on a new 'piece,' he thought.

well, the deadline that the doctor had to finish it by before was hopeless for him to reach now. they wanted it in just two weeks time and who knows how long they'd have to be camping out in the old car warehouse? but that could easily be explained away. just like artists couldn't be rushed, barton didn't produce his 'dolls' well under a lot of pressure. nerves and skin alike were delicate. it made him wonder whether jervis still remembered the woman who'd been on his autopsy table when they met.

for even though the horror of it all was something barton was used to by now, even relished in... he was a very empathetic person and so barton could see how it could haunt the other in a way. so the expression 'different as night and day' might as well have been created for them all things considered. barton scratched at the IV in his wrist, mentally figuring out if he could give jervis more pain meds than jack had administered to him. assuming his son had given him the proper dosage. barton hummed noncommittally before deciding to consult jack about it first.

❝ i suppose my son's bedside manner was lacking a bit when he gave you that tea, then. i mean he obviously meant well, but i think it would've been easier for you to drink it with a straw, ❞ an amused snort left barton and pretty much guaranteed that he wasn't mad at jack for it afterward. he was still young after all - and he was still trying to drill all of the 'in's and out's' of medicine that he could teach him into his head. but it didn't seem to be where jack's passion lied, the line the other uttered aloud being what ultimately broke barton out of his thoughts.

the room proceeded to become deafeningly silent at that moment. squinting at the other was the doctor's immediate response, trying to recall where exactly he might've heard that. maybe it was biblical? barton was surprised that jervis would recite it, though, in that case because he didn't peg him as the 'religious type.' it sounded like he was expressing to barton that he supposed he might've felt like he wished his suffering could be quantified, however. categorizing his misery in those years seemed like an impossible venture though... but perhaps that was the point of the whole quote?

barton didn't want to be considered a 'victim' of his father, and from the way this was sounding, jervis almost seemed to be implying that. he could acknowledge that wesley put him through pain but he didn't want to redefine who he was in the process. heat began to rush to barton's head, and it was like he felt like he wanted to jump out of his own skin. ❝ yeah. you don't know anything about me, because even if you witnessed everything my father did? you wouldn't understand how it made me feel because you'd still be separated from it all. ❞

barton admittedly sounded a bit bitter as he spoke, but didn't care to address that right now. jervis was comparing their situations and it made him inhale sharply whilst he covered his face with both palms. he had nothing to say about that, though, but when what he guessed were babies were brought up... he ran his hands down his face to finally reveal it once more. ❝ mm, well, i could discuss how senselessly out of control some of the events that have happened to me and to others around me have seemed all day with you. but i don't want to. its depressing, but yes, my son is adopted but he's still mine. and that's better than what would've happened if the two of them remained abandoned for longer. ❞

barton stated this in a very 'matter-of-fact' tone before he turned over all the cards that he pulled for jervis. then, seemingly right on time, jack came back into the picture with breakfast for dinner for him. that plate was gently set on the bedside cabinet. barton looked over to his son as if to check on him then. yes, he actually did appear to have taken on a pallor. barton tilted his head and promptly inquired to jack about it, ❝ are you feeling okay, punaise d'amour? (lovebug?) ❞ his son scratched the back of his neck and gnawed on his bottom lip.

❝ yeah. i probably just need to eat, like jervis said. i'll be right back, ❞ jack stifled a smile and subsequently left, not even giving barton a second to protest. he shook his head only partially jokingly afterward while saying, ❝ ugh, that boy... if he was feeling bad then i easily could have got it for him. but i guess we're starting with the 'wheel of fortune' card. ❞

Bright domes of blood welled up from the corner of Jervis' mouth; his earlier, absent worrying with his teeth had succeeded in breaking the thin skin yet again. The yuja tea took on a faint ruddy tint, a visual stimuli preceding the taste of iron on his tongue. He tried to lick it away as discreetly as he could behind his cup, still chewing meditatively on the rind, bowing his head and letting his hair cover his profile for the briefest of moments.

Better my lip than my cuticles or my hair. The last thing I need is to start wearing knit caps all the time, or to pick up a fungal infection from this wretched place. One more reason to scrub myself raw and bury every possible inch in a hundred layers of clothing, eh? Old habits died hard; kicking and screaming as they were buried. Some were easier to tame. Others proved more obstinate, harder to shake; their roots sunk deep.

Trauma and time changes us all.

Barton's agitation swirled around him like a dark cloud; foreboding. A marionette with scorching strings, desperately trying to maintain his center of gravity. Those talons he called fingernails were restless; always moving, always touching. Somehow, it reminded Jervis of a hawk keeping vigil. That thought wasn't exactly comforting, if he were being completely honest. He flinched as the memory of their first encounter, so many weeks ago in the other man's workshop, came bubbling to the surface; ripples in a cistern, deep and dark and unfathomably placid. The kind of quiet that said, "Don't look away."

Jervis' stomach pitched as he recalled the corpse Barton had uncovered; what he had done to her face.

The scalpel had glided with precision, following the intricate pathways of the supraorbital and supratrochlear nerves—key branches of the trigeminal nerve, those delicate conduits that carried every flicker of sensation from the scalp and forehead to the brain. Though that was a moot point, considering none of these nerves or even the skin itself were alive any longer.

Just atoms and molecules; a patchwork of bone, blood, muscles and sinew; dregs of various neurochemicals and hormones long halting as the vitality they once sustained shuffled off the mortal coil, grown stagnant. But still undeniably a person. Human. Utterly devoid of dignity in death; an affliction all suffer, in some shape or form.

Each was duly severed, spawning an unseen fire in their wake. Dispassionate. Meticulous. Gloved fingers swept through the woman's hair, clearing the path; dyed a dishwater-blonde, slightly curly.

A miniature gardening knife plowing through equally Lilliputian stalks of wheat.

Jervis swallowed hard, the chill cutting deeper than skin; positively algid. Barton’s boots scraped faintly against the concrete, his IV pole swaying in tandem. Under the flickering lights, his tousled curls caught the gleam, fair strands shimmering like fragile, golden lacework. He paused beside Jervis' own IV, studied it.

"A bit of both, I think..." No sense in hiding it. It was plainly writ in the overwrought cast of his shoulders, the tension in his jaw; the dim light in his eyes. Jervis tightened his grip on the blanket, on the teacup. Cast his eyes about the room. Wary, half-hooded. Dark gray irises shone against the whites, through his lashes, landed on the cards Jack had cut and dealt.

Rabbit feeling the snare brushing against its hind leg, desperate to escape being baked into a pie.

His heart sunk, as Barton spoke of his son. Paternal instinct and empathy flared again; a gleam of recognition, in a sense, too. A soft, rueful, humorless sort of chuckle escaped him, quick as a hiccup.

"'Oh, that my vexations were but weighed, and all my calamities laid in the balance.'"

Barton's hand froze on the IV. The absence of those pearly white lenses or that hideous mask did nothing to temper the intensity of his gaze; a blonde lock fell across his forehead as he tilted his head; scrutinized him, features as blank as if they'd been scrubbed clean of any nuance by unseen hands. Not quite anger, or so it seemed; not quite amusement at his extemporaneous rehash, either... curiosity? Confusion? Consternation? He couldn't tell. But it rolled off him all the same.

Jervis' ears flushing were the only signs he had any blood still circulating in his system, his pallor was so pronounced. He bowed his head; shook it softly. Shrugged in apology. Forget it. It's nothing; I meant nothing by it. Tapping his nails anxiously against the porcelain saucer clutched loosely in his fingers. Bloody hell... did I really just say that out loud? "Sorry... it's the first thing that came to mind... I didn't mean for it to slip out, wasn’t trying to come off..." He sighed, cheeks expanding; breath whistling faintly; eyebrows bunching together.

"... like I told you when we first met, I'm not insulting you. I'm not pretending to know anything about you, and I'm certainly not pitying you." His free hand curled back into the blanket; followed the demarcations of each colored square. "But I do know something about living in fear; of uncertainty, displacement." His lips thinned, twitched; a subtle rictus stretching along Jervis' cheek and nostrils for the space of a couple heartbeats. "People like to say everything happens for a reason, but not all events can be considered blessings; not by any stretch... especially when bairns are involved."

He turned back to the tarot deck. "In any case... scotching the snake, breaking the cycle... that's brilliant."

Silence fell. Barton gave him another long stare.

Jervis stared back and did not move.

Barton turned away, headed to the cards and drew three painted images. A wheel, six swords stretching upwards. A sun. His eyes roamed along their features; sharp, incisive.

Jervis' ears pricked up at another set of approaching footsteps; smelling eggs and jam preserves. Ahh...

"I hope there's enough left over for yourself," he murmured faintly, not unkindly, as he turned his head to look at Jack. "You look a bit peaky."

[kateschi]

silent watcher, louder heart

synopsis: there’s something about the way you move, the way you hold your daughter, that leaves katsuki wordless.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

⊹ ࣪ ˖ notes: nothing makes me happier than dad bakugou and happy new year everyone

the soft rustling of leaves outside filters through the cracked window, mingling with the faint cries of a baby—your baby.

the sun dips low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the living room, where you sit cross-legged on the floor, gently cradling your child.

the sight is mesmerizing, even to him—a man who’s seen explosions tear through buildings, fire rip apart the darkness, and yet nothing compares to this.

katsuki leans against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his sharp crimson eyes fixed on you and your baby.

he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t even clear his throat to announce his presence.

he just stands there, silent and steady, watching.

your fingers move deftly, smoothing out the soft folds of your baby’s blanket. your voice is a quiet murmur, a melody only meant for the tiny ears that listen so intently.

“there you go, sweetie. all cozy now, aren’t you?” she gurgles in response, kicking little legs as if to agree.

you giggle softly, the sound light and airy, and katsuki feels something in his chest tighten.

it’s been months since the two of you brought this tiny human into the world, but he still isn’t used to the sight of you like this—radiant, tender, an embodiment of warmth and care.

he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. not that he’d ever say it out loud.

“y/n,” he finally says, his voice gruff but not unkind. “you’re spoilin’ her, y’know.”

you glance up, startled at first, but the sight of your husband leaning in the doorway makes your lips curve into a smile.

“and who exactly taught me how to spoil her, huh? wasn’t it you, bakugou katsuki, who bought her that ridiculously overpriced onesie with the baby dynamight logo?”

he scowls, the tips of his ears turning red. “that was different.”

“of course it was.” your teasing tone makes him bristle, but he doesn’t move. he stays rooted in place.

d/n lets out a small coo, her tiny hand reaching up to grab at the air. you shift her in your arms, guiding her chubby fingers toward one of her toys.

she babbles happily, her eyes wide and curious, and katsuki feels his heart stutter.

how the hell did he end up here—married to you, father to this perfect little bundle of energy?

“she’s gettin’ big,” he mutters, stepping into the room.

his heavy boots make the wooden floor creak, and he almost winces, instinctively lightening his steps as he approaches.

“she is,” you agree, not taking your eyes off your little girl. “she’s growing so fast. I feel like I’ll blink, and she’ll already be running around, causing trouble.”

katsuki snorts, settling down onto the couch. “if she’s causin’ trouble, that’s definitely your fault.”

“oh, really? because I’m the troublemaker in this relationship?” you glance at him, raising an eyebrow.

“damn right, you are.” he leans back, arms draped over the backrest, but his eyes stay on you.

“don’t think I’ve forgotten how you were always stirrin’ shit in high school. sneakin’ into the common room to steal snacks, callin’ me an idiot every time I told you to quit it.”

“hella ironic coming from you house-arrest, and I wasn’t stirring anything,” you protest, feigning innocence. “I was keeping life interesting.”

his brow twitches. “yeah, well, you’re passin’ that on to her,” he says, nodding toward the baby. “she’s got your attitude, y’know.”

“oh, so now she’s my responsibility when she’s being difficult?”

“she’s always your responsibility,” he shoots back, smirking. “you’re the one who decided to marry me, remember? you signed up for this.”

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. “and yet, somehow, you’ve manage to make it worth it.”

the corners of katsuki’s mouth twitch, the beginnings of a smile threatening to break through.

but instead of replying, he focuses on d/n, who’s now clutching her toy with surprising determination.

“she’s strong,” he says, his voice softer. “got a good grip for a runt.”

“she gets that from you,” you reply, brushing a kiss against your baby girl’s forehead. “I think she’s going to take after you in a lot of ways.”

“hope not,” he mutters, his gaze clouding for a moment. “don’t want her growin’ up with my temper.”

you frown, sitting up straighter. “katsuki—”

“don’t,” he cuts you off, shaking his head. “I’m just sayin’. she’s better off with your patience.”

you pause, studying him carefully. for all his bluster, katsuki has always been his own harshest critic. he sees himself as flawed, rough around the edges.

but you’ve never seen him that way—not for a second.

“she’ll have the best of both of us,” you say firmly, holding his gaze. “and she’ll be okay because she has you as her dad.”

he doesn’t respond right away, his eyes flicking down to d/n instead. she’s staring at him now, her big, innocent eyes locked on his face.

katsuki reaches out, hesitating for just a moment before gently brushing a finger against her tiny hand. she grabs it immediately, her grip surprisingly strong, and he lets out a quiet chuckle.

“feisty little thing,” he hums.

he then leans back against the couch, watching as you lift her onto your shoulder, patting her back in a soothing rhythm.

she lets out a small yawn, her tiny body relaxing against you, and katsuki feels that familiar warmth spreading through his chest.

it’s moments like these that remind him why he fights so damn hard—why he throws himself into battle with everything he’s got.

because at the end of the day, he gets to come home to this.

to you. to her. to a life he never dared to dream of.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[evie-sturns]

first date - Matt Sturniolo

summary: after a perfect first date with matt, the last thing you expected is for him to make such a big move after he drives you home, you definitely aren't complaining after though,

contains: fluff, an intense makeout session, shy!matt (to an extent) swearing.

------------------------------------------------------------

tonight had just been perfect,

i met matt at a party last week, and i couldn’t say no to his somewhat amusingly awkward self as he asked for my number.

he was just my type, his loose brown waves draped over his forehead, his earrings catching the light from the party and sparkling, and his shy demeanour.

he messaged me a day ago, asking if i wanted to go out for dinner with him, which i obviously agreed to.

10:21pm

i shivered in the cool air of the night, smiling up at matt as he ordered you both an ice-cream cone,

“you cold?” matt asks softly, i nod as i sink my top teeth into my bottom lip as a weak attempt to stop the chattering of my teeth.

“a little bit,” i laugh,

matt instantly takes off his jacket and drapes it over my shoulders,

“why didn’t you bring a coat? it’s like the middle of december.” he scoffs, nudging my elbow slightly.

“shuuush, i didn’t know you’d take me out for icecream at like- midnight!” i throw my hands up defensively,

“righhttt.” he grins down at me.

-

the night was coming to a close as you jumped into the passenger seat of matt’s car, clutching an icecream cone in your hand as you fiddled with the seatbelt.

“you okay?” he asks, starting up the car.

“yeah- i’m still cold though.” i roll my eyes playfully, matt instantly reaches out and fiddles with the heating, cranking it up.

“wait what the fuck- since when did i have the option to have heated seats!” he exclaims, his jaw slack as he pushes the button.

“ew matt! my butts warm now.” i groan, instantly turning off the button.

matt laughs loudly as he pulls out of the parking lot, staring the drive home.

i look over at him a couple times, his ringed fingers gripping the steering wheel catching my eye.

i’m definitely staring now.

his hands were perfect, he was perfect. i genuinely did not catch one wrong thing about him from the date.

he was shy, but the right amount of shy, i could tell he was starting to get more comfortable around me, which i liked.

matt pulls onto the highway, the car roaring as he accelerates.

i continue to work at my icecream cone, trying to stop the massive staring problem i’ve picked up.

matt’s playlist plays through the car, his knee bobbing up and down as he listens to it.

“you live down here right?” matt asks, pulling off the highway into a small neighbourhood.

“you remembered!” i grin,

“of course i did.” he speaks back, his tone light hearted.

“i’m just down here.” i say, pointing to a street sign.

he pulls into the street, his car slowing down as he scans the row of houses.

he parks the car in front of my house. swallowing lightly as he turns off the car.

“thank you- so much for tonight matt.” i say, my tongue darting out to lick my lips,

“yeah- yeah no problem..” he whispers,

“we should do it again soon.” i speak, matt nods.

“i’ll text you, okay?” he says, a nervous smile on his face.

“okay- yeah.” i grin, a undeniable tension building in the car…

i grab my purse and reach for the door, but matt clears his throat.

i look over my shoulder at him, he looks nervous as shit.

he reaches up and cups my jaw, the cold metal of his rings pressing against my flushed cheek.

he leans over the centre console and presses a kiss to my lips.

he pulls away pretty quickly, knowing this is the first date and we shouldn’t do any more… right?

but for some reason, the feeling of his lips on mine linger.

i stare at his lips, not moving.

i need more.

i know i’m going to have to initiate something, knowing he’s to shy to make a lot of moves.

“can- can we do that again?” i speak, my voice hoarse as i break the silence.

he nods instantly, his hands clenching by his sides.

i lean back over the centre console, grabbing his chin as i press my lips to his again.

my face heats up instantly, pure ecstasy flooding through my body.

he deepens the kiss, his head tilting to the side as our noses brush.

goosebumps cover my arms as his tongue slides over my lip, practically begging for entry.

i don’t know what comes over me, but in a matter of seconds i’m climbing over the seats,

i sit down on matt’s lap, straddling him as i break the kiss.

he stares up at me, his eyes wide and full of need.

he grabs the back of my head, instantly reconnecting our lips.

“fuck..” he whimpers against my lips,

i feel a familiar heat growing between my thighs, my skirt riding up my legs as i practically devour him with my lips.

he just tastes so, so good.

his hands paw at my waist, grabbing the fabric of my thin shirt as he holds me.

i subconsciously rock my hips against his thigh.

he gasps against my lips as i grind against his clothed thigh.

“oh my god..” i whisper against his lips as i pathetically rub myself against his leg.

i feel myself getting too into it, not wanting to rush him on the first date.

i break the kiss, the windows now foggy.

he looks up at me with pure desperation.

god he looks hot.

his lips are smeared with my red lipstick, the pigment messily coating his chin. his eyes are narrow and hungry, and his hands are gripping my waist, tight.

i reach up and wipe his lips, trying to remove the lipstick stains.

“i’ll- i’ll uh- okay- um-“ matt stammers,

“i’ll- i’ll text you.” he croaks out, his hands sinking into my waist.

“okay- okay.” i breathe,

i quickly crawl back over the centre console and grab my purse.

i look back at matt over my shoulder, his lips are puffy and red.

his hair is dishevelled, and as my eyes travel down his body.

he is most definitely hard.

i grin at him before swinging open the car door,

“b-bye- bye!” he calls out shakily,

“bye matt-!” i smile as i step out onto the footpath, shutting the car door behind me.

i jog up to my house, my heels clicking on the driveway.

i swing open my front door and suck in a well needed deep breath.

i walk over to my couch, and before i even have the time to sit down my phone vibrates frantically in my pocket.

5 new messages from - Matt

my eyes scan over the messages, which read.

“come back to the car”

“i seriously need you right now this isn’t funny”

“please”

“i’m still parked outside please”

“i’ll literally do anything.”

and before i know it, i’m rushing for my front door and running down the driveway towards matt’s car.

——-

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[ladysharmaa]

Heir

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

summary: telling Anthony she's with child after facing difficulties getting pregnant

It's been three years since the wedding between Anthony Bridgerton and Y/n. The love between the two was one of the strongest anyone could have ever seen, it was obvious that they were made for each other.

They met in a very unusual way. While Anthony was courting Edwina Sharma, Y/n was seen very close to Benedict, the two of them discreetly courting each other. However, they both quickly realized that the connection between them was better as a friendship than a romantic relationship, where things seemed quite forced and uncomfortable. At the same time, Viscount Bridgerton had also broken up with Edwina after she had doubts on their wedding day.

Y/n remembered that day perfectly. She was sitting next to Benedict and the Bridgerton family on the chairs waiting for Edwina to appear and the wedding to begin. She waved a fan, trying to alleviate the horrible heat in that room. The delay seemed to make everyone nervous, especially Anthony who had drops of sweat falling from his forehead and was speaking hurriedly to his mother.

Finally, the doors opened, but, to everyone's surprise, it wasn't Edwina walking down the aisle, it was Kate Sharma, her sister. She didn't look happy, walking with an air of confidence and a serious expression, her eyes never leaving Anthony. The two exchanged quick words, until Anthony dropped his head and closed his eyes in frustration, but he still nodded and Kate left.

After a few tense seconds, Anthony finally had the courage to look at the people watching the scene and said that the wedding had been cancelled, before leaving the room too, leaving the murmur that formed.

"What a scandal." a lady gossiped with another, the two starting a conversation about what could have happened, some theories being completely ridiculous and that could ruin the family's reputation.

Y/n couldn't help herself and turned to them with a polite but sarcastic smile. "My apologies for interrupting, but the only scandal here is the fact that your son, who decided to be a priest, got so many prostitutes pregnant that only they could fill an entire line of these."

The woman gasped in horror while Benedict, who was listening to the conversation, had difficulty containing his laughter. "You foolish girl, how dare—"

"Excuse me, but I have better things to do than sit here and imagine what could have happened." Y/n got up from her chair, looking at the women one last time before going to try and find Anthony.

Despite being acquaintances, since Y/n was so close to Benedict, the two had never spoken much. However, the woman was still worried about Viscount. When she found him, sitting on the porch floor with his head in his hands, Y/n kept him company, also sitting in silence. From then on, a relationship was formed between the two that quickly became inseparable.

"My love, daydreaming again?" Anthony hummed, breaking Y/n out of his thoughts. The man wrapped his shoulders around her waist and pulled her closer, gently kissing her head. "What are you thinking about?"

"How lucky I am."

"Well, I'm the lucky one. I have a beautiful wife who I love very much. I couldn't live without you." he confessed, causing a blush to appear on her cheeks as it always did when he pronounced his love for her. "I have to go finish some paperwork, but then I'll come see you so we can go visit Daphne's son."

Y/n nodded, giving him a quick kiss and sighing as she watched him go to his office. Daphne had just had her second child, a beautiful baby boy. The couple was going to visit the family so that Y/n could help with whatever her sister-in-law needed while Anthony and Simon were going to entertain the baby's brother, a toodler who demanded a lot of attention.

Even though Y/n loved their children with all her heart, it only reminded her of what she couldn't give Anthony. The couple had been trying to get pregnant since they got married, but without success. Anthony's wife had already cried on his shoulder many times because she couldn't carry the child, her heart breaking every time she started her period.

Even though the Bridgerton man assured her several times that all he needed to be happy was her, Y/n still wanted to give him a heir. She wanted the house to be full of their children's laughter and for them to be able to create a mini version of them, a product of their love.

However, he tried not to occupy his days thinking solely about that. It was enough of all the doctors she had seen who told her that it was her fault, that her womb was not capable of developing a baby. Of course, Anthony, as soon as he heard those accusations and the look of complete heartbreak from his wife, demanded that they leave his house.

Y/n she couldn't take the blame anymore, going into a state of shock and for three days she refused to get out of bed. However, her husband would not accept that. He just wanted her to be happy, even if they never had children.

"We don't need children to be happy, I only need you. We have so many nieces and nephews who can take on my role, and we can take care of them from time to time, I'm sure my siblings wouldn't mind." Y/n remembered Anthony telling her this firmly, his hands grabbing her cheeks as they both had tears in their eyes.

And since then, they've never brought it up again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"Lady Bridgerton, are you feeling alright?" one of the maids asked worriedly when she saw Y/n enter the dining room for breakfast, immediately turning paler when she smelled the eggs. "Should I fetch for Viscount Bridgerton?"

She had time to shake her head before running to the nearest bathroom, dropping herself onto the cold floor and emptying the contents of her stomach. She could feel tears forming in her eyes, gagging at the sour taste that remained in her mouth. With unsteady legs, she got up and went to wash her mouth, the maids who entered the bathroom right after her helped her to hold herself upright.

However, she quickly realized that she wasn't finished yet when a new wave of nausea consumed her and she knelt again in front of the toilet. She felt strong hands, which she recognized as Anthony's, caress her face before grabbing her hair.

"Oh, Anthony…" she moaned in discomfort. "I don't want you to see me like this."

"Hey, none of that. Come here, love." he comforted, helping turn her around and supporting her against the wall when she was finished. He took a towel and started wiping her mouth.

When Y/n had the strength to open her eyes, she saw her husband's face analyzing her closely, looking for anything that could be wrong. The concern that swam in his eyes made her raise a hand and rest it on his cheek, and he turned slightly to be able to give her a lingering kiss on her palm.

"How are you feeling? I'm going to call the doctor. Are you okay with staying with one of the maids until I get back?"

Y/n held his arm, preventing him from getting up. "No, please don't go. I'm alright now. If this continues, I promise you can call the doctor, this is probably an one time thing. Let's not worry about it."

Anthony sighed, locked in a staring contest with the most important woman in his life. Accepting defeat, but with a serious look that screamed that if that happened again she would see a doctor, the Viscount picked up Y/n, carrying her to their bed.

Laying her down gently and helping Y/n take off her dress, the man pulled the covers up, making sure she was comfortable. Afterwards, he took off his shirt and pants, lying down next to her.

"What are you doing? We can't be in bed already, especially you. It's only morning, we still have many obligations to fulfill."

"No. My wife is not feeling well, and I'm going to take care of her. The paperwork can wait, as well as all my meetings. I just want you to be healthy." Anthony brought her closer to him, Y/n resting her head on his chest so she could hear his heartbeat. "Now, sleep. You need it."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It happened again. More specifically, two more times Y/n threw up her meals. The first time, she was alone and not wanting to worry anyone, she preferred to remain silent. After all, she could still be recovering from some kind of illness. The second time, it was in the presence of her most trusted maid, who she considered a friend, Joanne. And so she begged her not to tell the Bridgerton man about it, claiming she would see someone.

Alone, because in addition to feeling sick, she also realized that her period, which was always regular, should have already arrived. Her first thought was that she was pregnant. But upon thinking better, she questioned this possibility. After so many years of trying and failing, why would she be pregnant now? There must be another explanation.

However, she did not share these possibilities with Anthony because the last thing she wanted was to give him hope only to end up disappointed with her inability to give him a heir. Fortunately, Joanne accompanied her, helping Y/n explain to the doctor why the Viscount wasn't there with her.

And when she left that office, she could feel her legs losing strength. She placed a hand on her chest, starting to find it difficult to breathe in completely, still shocked by what the doctor had said to her.

Pregnant.

She was carrying Anthony's child in her womb, something they thought to be impossible. She was going to be a mother. Even though Anthony always assured her that he was completely happy with just her, Y/n knew that he would love being a father. At the beginning of their marriage, he had revealed to her that he dreamed of their family, their chhildren running through the garden while he chased after them and Y/n watched while sitting under the shade, her hand on her swollen belly.

And, by a miracle, this dream could become reality.

"Lady Bridgerton, are you ready to return to the mansion?" Joanne questioned after Y/n sat down in the carriage, her hands shaking together in her lap. Her gaze was understanding, in case she needed a few more moments alone to process this, but her lips held a small smile.

"I'm going to be a mother." she whispered.

"A wonderful, beautiful mother, I'm sure. Congratulations, Lady Bridgerton." she smiled, feeling enormous happiness for Y/n. She knew how much the couple had suffered. "Shall we return?"

Y/n nodded, no longer trusting her voice to speak. The woman took advantage of the short trip to process everything that was happening and before she knew it she was already in front of Anthony's office door.

With barely controlled excitement, she knocked on the door, waiting for permission to enter. When she heard Anthony's voice, she timidly opened the door, seeing that her husband was gathered with his brothers.

"Oh, my apologies. I didn't know your brothers were here. I can come back later."

"Nonsense, love. They can just leave." Anthony said, leaning back in his chair and opening his arms, an invitation for Y/n to come to him. The man, after already having Y/n in his arms, looked at Benedict and Collin, who were looking at him with a smirk. "Did you not hear? I told you to leave."

"Anthony, be nice!"

"It's not a problem, Y/n, we know when we are not wanted. Come on, Benedict, let's leave the lovebirds alone." Collin teased, getting up with his brother and leaving the room, but first, he took Y/n's hand and brought it to his lips. Benedict, for instance, kissed her cheek in a brotherly way. Despite their farewell with Y/n, Anthony was completely ignored by his brothers.

"Did you need something?" the man asked, putting all of his attention on Y/n, who began to fidget with her fingers nervously.

"Actually, I have to tell you something. I went to the doctor today…"

"What? Y/n, why didn't you tell me? Did you feel bad again? Nauseous? What did the doctor say? Are you okay?"

"Calm down, my love. I'm better than fine. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about being sick again, but I didn't want to worry you." she admitted, feeling guilty that Anthony was feeling precisely what she didn't want. "Well, I received some very interesting news."

"Please, just tell me what's wrong. I can't bear not knowing if something is wrong with you." he muttered with a pained look, as if he felt physical pain when thinking about the possibility of Y/n being hurt or unwell.

"Anthony…" she said his name with so much love that he shuddered. "I'm pregnant."

A silence formed in the room. Anthony took so long to react, just looking at her intensely as if he didn't know what was true or not, that Y/n began to feel worry invade her system. Was he not happy? Did he not want a child with her anymore?

"W-What?" Anthony finally managed to whisper, his heart having stopped as soon as he heard those words. "You're pregnant? With my child?"

"Well, obviously." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Are you happy?"

"Happy? My love, I'm more than happy. I love you so much. And I love our child too." the man kissed her fiercely, needing to convey all his love and adoration for her in that kiss.

He was addicted to his wife's lips, and now that he knew she was carrying his child, something animalistic was released inside him. Without giving any warning, he grabbed Y/n and twirled her around, without ever taking his lips off hers. Even so, Y/n giggled against them, circling her hands around his neck and holding on tight.

When her feet touched the floor, the Viscount knelt in front of her, his hands resting hesitantly on her stomach. He looked at Y/n in permission, who just nodded in encouragement and placed her hand on his brown hair, stroking his scalp.

Very gently, Anthony kissed his wife's still flat stomach. "Hello, you. I'm your father and I love you and your mother very much. You two are my entire life."

And the two stayed like that for the rest of the day, moving to the bedroom where Anthony continued to talk to Y/n's belly while exchanging passionate kisses with her. A beautiful new stage had begun in their lives, and they couldn't wait to meet their heir.

[selfcarecap]

Over Each Other [L.H.]

Logan Howlett x female!reader

summary: Logan and you are just friends – you have a boyfriend, after all. But sometimes when you and your boyfriend are arguing, Logan listens and jerks off to it. He knows you two will break up soon, and he’s just finding ways to patiently pass the time until you can be his. Until one night, you’ve fought your final argument with your boyfriend and are in need of some comfort that Logan is more than happy to provide.

warnings: smut 18+ like this is more sexual and less fluffy (or angsty) than the summary sounds tbh (m masturbation, oral sex f receiving, unprotected piv, creampie, Logan calls reader princess, good girl, bub, baby), kinda toxic i mean you read the summary but still a sweet fic, reader is vulnerable so Logan could be seen to be taking advantage of her so don’t read if you don’t like, excuse the dramatic title and a few lines (from Linkin Park’s Over Each Other) because this is also me working through some feelings lmao, this is obviously not at aaalllll a realistic depiction of healing from a break-up lol (although I sincerely believe it would work with Logan..), X-Mansion era

note: not the fic I was expecting to be my first fic in over a month but my heart needed this so here you go <3 i also only proofread once so lmk if there are any atrocious typos lmao | gorgeous dividers by @dollywons

word count: 3.9k oops wth 

Logan knows he’s a bad man. He’s killed people, innocent people, committed countless crimes, done more evil things than he can ever remember. But now he knows he’s a bad man because of something entirely different. 

Logan shamelessly jerks off to the sound of you and your boyfriend arguing. 

He doesn’t even need to use his heightened hearing, that’s how loud you two are. Night after night after night he listens to you arguing, stroking his cock to the rhythm of your voice. 

You always have the upper hand — he would never masturbate to your pain or to you being degraded. Your boyfriend is a fucking idiot and you’re not afraid to let him know. Logan is sure he’s not the only one who knows that your relationship will end soon, and he’s fine to give you the time you need. Logan is a patient man these days; he can wait. But he’ll make the wait worth his while. 

He gains pleasure from knowing that soon you two will break up, and you’ll be all his.

Logan sees the way you look at him, senses the way your heartbeat speeds up that little bit when he smiles at you, smells a spike in your pheromones when he’s around. And he’s no different when it comes to you.

The more you and your stupid boyfriend argue, the closer you get to breaking up, and the closer Logan gets to his release. 

He’s listening to your moans of frustration this evening and imagines turning them into moans of pleasure, imagines licking your pussy until you’ve forgot all about your little boyfriend. Logan’s fist speeds up around his dick, hips moving up to fuck into his hand as he thinks of you and your gorgeous face.

Logan cums with your voice in his head, with the thought of you and your boyfriend finally breaking up, and shoots cum all over his own hand, down his forearm, and over his abs. He jerks off until he’s satisfied, lying in his bed a mess for a second – his hand coated in his cum, his happy trail sticky.

When Logan’s breath slows down, he realises your voice has stopped. You’re not arguing anymore – you must have gone to sleep. Then he hears your voice again, this time much closer.

“Logan?” A quiet knock at his door, “It’s me, you still awake?”

He pulls his sweatpants back in place and reaches for a tissue, only for his hand to land in the empty box. In a panic, Logan takes off the shirt that he’d pushed up over his abs, and uses it to clean himself of his release, using his freshly washed shirt like a rag.

“One second!” He calls out as he rubs the bunched up shirt over his happy trail to get it all off. Logan throws the dirty shirt into the corner of the room, and opens the door shirtless.

His heart drops when he sees the state you’re in, cheeks wet with tears and clinging to a teddy bear Logan once got you.

“Um… we just broke up. Can I come in? I know it’s late…”

Logan ushers you inside before the sentence has fully left your lips. Now he feels a twinge of guilt – he was too busy trying to get off to realise it was a serious argument this time. Maybe he jerks off more to the concept of you and that dumb boyfriend (ex-boyfriend) arguing and how hot you sound putting that guy in his place all confidently, than the actual fight.

As much as it pains him to see you hurt, he has to smile behind your back for a second when he closes the door. But a shiver runs up his spine when you let your guard down once you’re alone with Logan, all teary-eyed and small and sad. 

Logan sits you down on his bed as you tell him the full story. 

I tried to find my patience… 

All we did was talk over each other… 

 It was all a waste of time… 

There was nothing underneath… 

 I'm so tired of talking over each other…

Logan hugs you while you cling to him, your words barely audible with how you’re smothered against his naked shoulder. He gently rubs your back, and it only makes you hold onto him tighter. 

“Shh, shh baby, I’m here for you. It’s gonna be okay.” The pet name just slips out. Logan barely realises what he’s said until you look up at him all doe-eyed, nodding your head frantically. 

“I’m okay,” you say, “For now. Thank you for listening.”

“Of course, do you want to stay here for the night?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“‘Course I don’t mind, bub. I like having you here. Even better if it means I can take care of you while you need someone,” Logan says, and watches a soft smile spread on your face.

You sit up to wipe your eyes, only to realise you have no tears left. It’s been an hour since you got here, and you’ve calmed down. 

Logan held you, said all the right things, helped you see things clearly. You’re better off without that guy, and you know Logan will be here for you until you’re over him. More importantly, you’re sure he will be there for you beyond that too.

“Here you go,” Logan takes your teddy and gives him a special place on his nightstand, and lets you wrap your arms around him as you settle against his chest. He’s not sure what to do next, but it’s late and he assumes you have no energy to do anything other than sleep.

It surprises him when you speak up a few minutes later, though your voice is quiet.

“He couldn’t even make me cum…”

Logan looks at you and finds a pout on your lips but a glint in your eyes, the warm glow of his bedside lamp making you look like an angel.

He chuckles, “So you’re crying over a man that couldn’t even make his girl feel good?”

You nod your head and smile bashfully.

“When was the last time you were fucked well?”

You look away from Logan as you think, “Uh, I dunno.” 

“Hhmm. You didn’t miss it in all that time you were together?”

You turn to your side to lean up on your elbow, more awake again, “Well, I did. But maybe now I can… find someone better.”

You’re looking up right at Logan through your pretty eyelashes, and it’s subtle but so seductive, but he knows you’re too shy to initiate something, especially now when you probably feel guilty for not mourning your relationship more. But Logan is proud of you for realising your worth and ending it. Your ex should be the only one sad right now, not you.

“Of course you will,” Logan tells you, “You’ll find someone who loves you more than that idiot ever could and someone who will fuck you as good as you deserve.”

“Hmm, you think so?”

“I know so, bub.”

You give him a smile and move to lie down on your belly, head resting on your folded up arms. Your scooting around moves the blanket, pulling it off of Logan’s lap, revealing the half-hard bulge under his sweatpants. 

Logan pulls the blanket back in place, but he’s not sure if you saw.

“How will I know if I’m being fucked well? If I don’t have a reference…” you play with your hands, not looking at Logan.

“I could always show you,” Logan smiles, patiently waiting for you to gain the confidence to look back into his eyes, and you do.

“Only if you want to. But if I’m interpreting your signals right then..” you nod to his lap with a teasing smile.

“You saw…” Logan rolls his eyes at himself which earns him a sweet laugh from you, “Didn’t want you to think your pain makes me hard, or that I’m taking advantage of you.”

“Do I look like I’m in pain right now?” you giggle, a huge smile on your face, cheeks already getting warm with arousal, “And if you wanted to take advantage I’m sure you wouldn’t have waited for me to bring it up.”

“You sure about this, bub? We have all the time in the world.”

“I want you now, Logan. Been waiting to get the courage to break up with him so I could finally have a chance at being with you.”

“Really?” Logan asks, but you’re busy letting your gaze drift down his body, fixed on his lap now. Logan moves closer, and he takes your face in his hands, chuckling “You still with me, bub?”

You don’t reply. Instead, you push your mouth against his, and it’s the most intense kiss Logan has ever experienced. It’s like Logan can feel himself pulling all the pain from you with his lips, eating your pain alive and swallowing it, never to be seen again.

He doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know that you’re smiling more than you have in weeks. He can feel a new energy radiating off your body. Something is healing in you. 

You kiss until you’re both breathless, smiling and horny. Logan’s erection is pressing against your leg, and he can practically smell how wet you are.

“Tell me what you need, baby,” Logan says, heart beating fast from how turned on he is.

You pause for a second, grinning and almost too needy to think, “Tell me what you want to do to me.”

“How about I show you?” Logan lies you on your back, slowly pushing your oversized sleep shirt over your hips, and kissing down your body, down to your knees and over your shins.

“Is this okay? Tell me if you wanna stop.”

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, skin heating up where he touches you to gently pull your knees apart, “Never stop.”

Logan chuckles against your warm skin where he kisses you, from the side of your knee to your upper inner thigh. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, how long I've needed you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” It’s hard to talk, but you’re getting the words out somehow, “Could’ve been with you ages ago.”

“Didn’t want to intervene with anything. You needed your time to break up. And I know good things take time, and…” his words die in his throat when his lips move to your panties. They’re soaked with wetness, and Logan inhales you, something between a moan and a whimper leaving his mouth.

“God, baby…” he whispers, settling down between your legs and then lifting them up over his shoulders, “You have no idea how badly I need to eat your pussy right now. Can I?”

You nod, fighting the urge to rip your panties off yourself.

“Use your words, princess.”

“Yes, Logan.. yes, yes.” It’s the only word you can think of right now, with the heat of his mouth so close to your clothed pussy. He smirks at your words and nuzzles his cheek between your legs, leaving your clit throbbing and the spot on your panties growing larger.

You clench around nothing when Logan trails the tip of his tongue up and down your pussy over your panties, your legs squeezing around his head, hands finding his hair.

“You gonna be a good girl for me and stop squirming? I wanna take my time with you, baby.” 

You nod and close your eyes for a moment, unsure if you can stop. But then Logan slowly pulls your panties to the side and seems to forget about wanting to take his time himself.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy, baby–” he interrupts his own words by burying his face between your legs, licking his way up from your pussy to the top of your clit and moaning as if it were the best meal he’s ever tasted.

You tighten your hand in his hair to pull him even closer and he obeys your silent command, burying his face in you more, his beard, lips and nose now wet with you. Logan licks into your pussy, tasting you like a man starved, one of his big hands coming up your body to place it over your tit.

“So fucking perfect,” he mumbles more to himself, finger playing with your nipple as his tongue plays with your clit. It’s been so long since you experienced this type of pleasure that you’re close already.

“Logan…” it comes out as a whimper, and he smirks as he lifts his head to look at you.

“Yes, princess?”

“Might not last long..” you say, and it takes everything in you not to push his head down.

“That’s the point, baby,” he smiles, and goes back down. He brings his hands between your legs to spread your pussy lips so that he can get even closer. You feel vulnerable spread open for him like this, but it’s a comfortable vulnerability. Your heart feels content. You know you can trust him. He won’t hurt you.

You’re so wet that you’re almost embarrassed by how loud it sounds when Logan eats your pussy. A pleasure you’ve been missing in your life for a while rushes through your body when Logan begins to suck on your clit, and your back arches off the bed.

You cum with Logan’s name a whisper on your lips, and he doesn’t stop until you’re seeing stars and pushing his head away. 

Logan sits up from between your legs with a grin, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and then licking it clean right after.

“You okay?” He smiles, and you realise how hard you’re panting.

“Yeah. I almost forgot what that feels like,” you confess.

“What, cumming?”

You nod with a pout that Logan quickly kisses away, covering your body with his as he hovers over you.

“Trust me, bub, we’ll make you remember all of it. You up for more tonight?”

“Yes,” you reply embarrassingly fast. You’re not sure you could stop if you wanted to, your body pumped full with the happiness hormones you haven’t felt in all too long.

Logan holds himself up over you with one arm, pulling down his pants. You’d tease him about the wet spot of precum on them, but you’re far too horny to think of what to say.

“Good, because you taste so delicious, baby, you’re not getting rid of me between your legs any time soon,” he smirks, leaning down to kiss you as you grin against him. You don’t want him to leave, ever.

His big hand finds your thigh, and he gently pushes a finger in, then two, kissing you and watching your face for any signs of discomfort, but all you’re doing is arching your back for him to push deeper.

“You want it, baby?”

You look down Logan’s body, eyes settling on his hard and wanting cock, the tip glistening with precum, “Mhmm,” you nod frantically, “I want it.”

“Been a while though…” you add hesitantly.

“It’s okay, princess. I’ll be gentle. We’ve got all the time in the world, okay?” He leans his forehead against yours and a smile spreads over your face again.

“Okay.” You lean up to kiss him, both of you getting lost in the way your tongues feel against each other for a few moments.

“Here,” Logan rubs a few messy circles over your pussy, his palm getting slick with your wetness. He wraps a hand around his dick, stroking himself a few times to coat himself in the feeling of you.

“I’m ready,” you tell Logan before he can ask.

“Good girl.”

Logan trails his thumb over your cheek and gives you a chaste kiss, and butterflies erupt in your belly.

“You have no idea how happy I am right now,” he says, and all you can do is look back up at him lovingly.

“You want me to put it in?” he asks, teasingly slapping his cock against your clit a few times. Then, he suddenly pauses.

The warmth of him above you is gone, but he’s not far. He’s leaning over to his bedside table, turning your teddy bear away from you two.

“He doesn’t need to see this,” he says all seriously, and you giggle.

You help him take off your shirt, and you’re bare underneath, and as good as it feels to have Logan distracted by how good your boobs look for a bit, you need him somewhere else.

“Logan?” you ask, and he looks back up at you, a nipple still in his mouth.

“Yes?” he licks a broad stripe over your nipple as he says it, and it comes out muffled.

“Kind of need you somewhere else.”

“Oh, do you, princess?” Logan hovers over you again, leaning on one forearm as his other hand rests on your tit, and he’s smirking down at you, “Where would that be?”

You grin widely, biting your lip as you carefully take his hand off you, and bring it between your legs. You don’t even have to guide him all the way to your pussy before his hand is gone from yours and he’s cupping your wet, warm pussy.

“Here, baby?” he brings two fingers up to his mouth to suck your wetness off them, and you nod as if in a trance.

“Okay, bub, you sure?”

“Yesss, Logan,” you let out a pathetic groan of frustration, your chest vibrating with the sound.

He smirks, bringing his hand, still slick with his spit, to your cheeks and squishing them together, “You’re so adorable when you’re horny, you know that, princess?” You bat his hand away at his teasing, but your grin might be even bigger than his.

Logan finally lifts one of your legs and pushes it up against your chest, rubbing a few lazy circles on your clit before he rubs the tip of his cock through your folds. He’s doing it to tease you, but you see him lose his own composure, expression turning into a frown of neediness.

You share another quick but sloppy kiss during which you take Logan’s cock and rub it against your pussy. He only pulls away from the kiss to finally put the tip inside you.

“God,” he groans at just the first few inches, and you both calm yourself down to make sure this isn’t over immediately.

“I can take it,” you say, wrapping your arms around Logan’s neck.

“You’re my good girl, hm? Gonna take my cock? You sure?”

“Yes, Logan. Need all of it, please.”

“I got you, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.” 

Logan slides his cock inside you, inch by inch, and you both moan when he bottoms out. 

“You feel good?” He asks, and all you can do is nod. You groan, only at the fact that he’s not moving yet.

“Me too, baby, me too,” he smiles, slowly starting to move, beginning to fuck you. And he was right, he’s fucking you well. Better than anything you’ve ever felt.

He pulls out almost entirely for the first few thrusts, then stuffing you full of his big cock again, your wet pussy pulsing around him, sucking him back in. Your heart beats happily against your chest and he can feel it too; he’s slotted against your body as closely as he can be.

“Such a good girl, taking me so well. You still okay, princess?”

You grin and take his face to kiss him, his hips stilling just as he’s buried inside you as deeply as possible. You make out with him for a few seconds, pussy spasming around his uncontrollably, and you feel Logan squirm and pull out of you a bit because he doesn’t want to cum yet.

“That’s how good I feel,” you smile up at him.

Logan grins, burying his face in your neck to kiss you there as his hips begin to move again. He kisses over your jaw and your cheeks as a hand comes down to rub your clit. Together with his dick inside you, pulsing with warmth and pleasure, you suddenly feel all the energy of your body flowing between your thighs again.

You whimper against Logan’s face, your cheek catching against his.

“You close, baby?”

“Mhhm,” is the only sound you can muster as you cling to Logan, letting him fuck your pussy and play with your clit until you’re almost there.

“Such a good girl for me. Want you to cum for me, alright, princess? Gonna feel so fucking good, yeah?”

Your response is a whimper against his lips as you let go, and pleasure floods your body. Your pussy clenches around Logan’s dick, and while he’s still rubbing your clit, fucking you through your orgasm, he cums.

Logan cums so much you’re not sure where your orgasm ends and his begins, but you know you don’t stop feeling good until he’s drained until the last drop and your pussy is stuffed full with his cum.

You both slow down bit by bit, breathless and grinning at each other, not letting go. When Logan brings his hand back up between your faces, it’s slick with your wetness and covered in his cum, and you take his wrist to guide him towards your face.

You look Logan in the eyes as you suck his and your cum off his fingers, one by one, and Logan kisses you the second you’re done.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers in your ear, slowly pulling out of you and pulling you into his arms when he lies down.

“Thank you,” you respond shyly, unsure what to say. You’re too happy to pay attention to your words.

“I’m always here for you, baby. You know that. And as soon as you’re ready to move on, I’ll take you on the best date of your life, okay?”

You grin, kissing his lips, “Okay. And until then?”

“Until then I’ll eat that pretty pussy of yours every evening, and you can sleep in my bed whenever you don’t feel like being alone. Sound good?”

You wrap your arms around his neck, cuddling against his chest, your heart warm and happy as you feel yourself getting tired, “Sounds good.”

P.S. thank you for reading <3 reblog and let me know what you liked most about this fic for Logan to come and eat your pussy out every night <3

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lost & Found

Summary: You suffer memory loss after an accident, only remembering your sister, Emily, and not your boyfriend, Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings/Includes: car accident, depressive thoughts, fighting, crying, memory loss, struggling with memory loss, showering together, suggestive content (16+), use of Y/N

Word count: 19.6k

a/n: this reminds me of the vow lol my bad but i already wrote it sooo

main masterlist

The sun had just begun to rise over Washington, D.C., casting long shadows across the bustling streets. You were driving to work, your thoughts on the day ahead, when the unthinkable happened. Out of nowhere, a semi-truck barreled down the road, its brakes screaming in protest, unable to halt its deadly path. There was no time to react. The world slowed as the massive vehicle collided with the driver’s side of your car, the sound of metal crunching filling the air like a thunderclap.

—

Spencer Reid sat in a sterile conference room, surrounded by maps and case files in a small town in Missouri. He was miles away from home, yet his mind kept drifting back to you. It had been a little over two years since you and Spencer began dating, and in that time, he had come to rely on your comforting presence. Even though he was away, the two of you made it a point to call each other whenever possible, exchanging stories about your days and sharing a few jokes. Today, he hadn’t heard from you yet, and a nagging feeling tugged at the back of his mind.  

The shrill ring of his phone jolted Spencer out of his thoughts. Hotch was in mid-sentence when Spencer abruptly stood up, excusing himself from the meeting as he glanced down at the caller ID and recognized your best friend’s name. 

“Hey, Spencer! Sorry for calling so early, I just wanted to ask if you knew what Y/N would like for her birthday dinner!” they chirped, their voice a bit muffled from what sounded like some activity in the background. “She’s so picky, you know! Maybe we could make a surprise for her?”

“I...I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to her yet today,” Spencer admitted, his voice nearly shaking. “But she loves Italian food, maybe pasta?” 

“Oh, of course! I’ll start with that, then. Thanks, Spencer!” they replied before hanging up, oblivious to the gravity of the situation.

The call left Spencer feeling hollow, a growing sense of dread gnawing at him. He sank back into his chair, his mind reeling. Moments later, his phone rang again, and he picked it up without even glancing at the screen. This time, the voice on the other end was urgent and frantic, and Spencer’s heart sank as he listened. 

"Hello?" he said, trying to keep his voice steady, though the room was still buzzing around him.

“Spencer Reid?” a calm, authoritative voice inquired on the other end.

“Yes, this is he,” Spencer replied, straightening up slightly as he recognized the tone of someone delivering important information.

“This is St. Agnes Hospital in Washington, D.C.," the voice continued. "I’m calling about Y/N L/N.”

Spencer's heart skipped a beat. The mention of your name brought everything else to a halt, and he felt a wave of apprehension wash over him.

“She has been in an accident,” the voice said, and Spencer could hear the weight behind those words. “You are listed as her emergency contact, how soon can you get here?”

He froze, unable to process the words as they echoed in his mind. “An accident?” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "What happened?"

“There was a collision with a semi-truck,” the hospital staffer explained, their voice professional yet tinged with compassion. “Y/N was seriously injured. She’s currently in surgery, but it’s critical.”

Spencer's mind raced, each word like a punch to his gut. “Is she—” he started, his voice breaking. “Is she going to be okay?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Dr. Reid,” the worker reassured him gently. “But you should get here as soon as you can.”

He nodded, though the person on the other end couldn't see him, trying to gather his thoughts through the haze of shock. The room around him felt surreal, the voices of his colleagues fading into the background.

“Thank you,” Spencer managed to say, his voice shaky with barely restrained panic. “I’m on my way from Missouri, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

As he ended the call, Spencer abruptly returned, shoes pounding against the floor. His teammates noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, their conversations pausing as they turned to him with concern.

“Spencer?” Emily asked, noticing the ashen look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Y/N,” Spencer said, his voice tight with urgency. “There’s been an accident. I need to get home.”

Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his things, already planning his route to the nearest airport in his head. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the urgency to be by your side, to hold your hand, to be there when you needed him most.

“We’ll cover things here,” Hotch assured him, stepping forward. “Go.”

“Thanks,” Spencer replied, his voice holding gratitude and desperation. He turned to leave, his thoughts solely focused on getting back to you, hoping with every fiber of his being that he wouldn’t be too late.

—

Spencer couldn’t remember the flight home. The moments blurred together as his mind replayed the words over and over: life support, coma, severe accident. They echoed in his head, refusing to let him think of anything else. His team had rallied around him, offering words of support and handling the details to get him back as quickly as possible. 

As the plane touched down in Washington, Spencer felt the full weight of the situation crashing down on him. His legs trembled as he stood, a numbness spreading through his body as he made his way through the terminal. 

The hospital was a short drive away, and yet it felt like an eternity. He barely registered the buildings and streets flashing by as he sat in the back seat of a cab, his heart pounding with each passing moment. 

Finally, he arrived at the hospital, a large, imposing building that now seemed more like a fortress. Spencer rushed through the doors, barely acknowledging the bustling activity around him as he focused solely on reaching you. He navigated the maze of hallways with a determination that surprised even him, eventually finding his way to the ICU. 

Your room was sterile and filled with the rhythmic beeping of machines, each sound a stark reminder of your fragile condition. Spencer stopped short at the sight of you lying in the hospital bed, tubes and wires snaking across your body. His heart wrenched at the sight, a profound ache settling in his chest as he slowly approached. 

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. 

He took a shaky breath, feeling the enormity of the situation press down on him. He felt helpless, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest with the assistance of the ventilator, knowing there was nothing he could do to change what had happened. 

Spencer reached out, his hand trembling as he gently took yours. The warmth of your skin was a small comfort, a reminder that you were still there, still fighting. 

“I’m here,” he said softly, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Please, Y/N... please come back to me.” 

The room was silent except for the steady hum of the machines, and Spencer felt a tear slide down his cheek. He brushed it away, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

—

The hours that followed were a blur. Spencer sat by your side, his hand never leaving yours as he kept a silent vigil. The nurses and doctors came and went, their words and actions a distant murmur as Spencer focused solely on you. He remembered snippets of conversations, assurances that you were receiving the best care possible, and updates on your condition that offered little comfort. 

In those moments, Spencer clung to hope. He recalled all the times you had smiled at him, the way your eyes lit up when you were excited or passionate about something. He remembered the quiet moments you shared, the laughter and love that had blossomed between you over the past years. 

—

Three Days Later

Spencer hadn’t left the hospital since he arrived. The team had been by his side, offering support and keeping him company, but he barely registered their presence. All that mattered was you, and the hope that you would wake up and return to him. 

On the third day, the doctor came in with a more hopeful expression than before. He checked the monitors, made some notes, and then turned to Spencer with a small smile. 

“There’s been some improvement,” he said gently. “It’s a good sign. We’re going to try reducing the sedation and see how she responds.”

Spencer felt a flicker of hope at the words, his heart clenching with a mix of anticipation and fear. He nodded, unable to trust his voice as he watched the doctor adjust the IV line. They assured him they would keep him informed as soon as your surgery was complete and directed him to the waiting area, where he could collect himself while waiting for more information.

Spencer made his way to the waiting room, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. Memories of you together flooded his mind: the quiet evenings spent curled up on the couch, the laughter shared over inside jokes, and the whispered promises of a future together. He sat down, feeling the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, wondering what the next few hours would bring.

—

The hours stretched on interminably, each tick of the clock echoing loudly in Spencer's ears as he waited in the sterile waiting room. He couldn't bring himself to focus on anything other than the thought of you, lying in surgery, fighting for your life. The antiseptic smell of the hospital, the murmur of other patients and visitors, all faded into the background as he replayed every memory he had of you in his mind, trying to cling to the hope that you would pull through.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a doctor approached Spencer with a solemn expression. "Dr. Reid?" the doctor asked, and Spencer quickly stood, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Yes, that's me," Spencer replied, his voice fullof hope and anxiety.

"The surgery was successful," the doctor said, offering a small, reassuring smile. "We were able to stabilize her, and she's currently in the ICU under observation."

Spencer felt a rush of relief wash over him, though the gravity of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders. "Thank you," he said sincerely, his voice trembling with emotion. "Thank you so much."

The doctor nodded, understanding the depth of Spencer's gratitude. "She's not out of the woods yet," the doctor continued, "but she's made it through the worst part. However, I need to prepare you for the possibility that there may be complications. We won't know the full extent until she regains consciousness."

Spencer nodded, taking in the doctor's words with a mix of relief and apprehension. He felt his breath catch in his throat, knowing that there was still a long road ahead, but grateful for the chance to be by your side as you began to recover.

—

You pulled through, but it wasn't without its challenges. When you finally awoke, the room was filled with the soft beeping of monitors and the faint hum of medical equipment. Everything felt disorienting as you blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to make sense of where you were and what had happened.

Spencer was at your side, his eyes filled with relief and worry as he watched you stir. He reached out to take your hand, squeezing it gently in reassurance. "Y/N," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "You're awake."

You turned your head slightly, trying to focus on the man before you. He looked somewhat familiar, yet your mind struggled to place him. The last thing you remembered was being 18, living with your sister Emily, and yet here you were, in a hospital bed, with a stranger by your side.

"Who are you?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of uncertainty.

Spencer felt his heart drop at your words, a painful realization settling in. He had hoped that when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, that you would go back to the life you had built together. But the look of confusion and fear in your eyes told him everything he needed to know.

"I'm Spencer," he said gently, trying to keep his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I'm your boyfriend. We've been together for over two years. You live with me."

You shook your head slowly, trying to wrap your mind around his words. It felt like a dream, a reality you couldn't quite grasp. "No," you said, your voice breaking with frustration and fear. "I live with my sister, Emily. I don't know you."

Spencer felt a wave of sadness wash over him, but he forced himself to stay strong for you. He knew this was a possibility, that the trauma of the accident could have affected your memory, but hearing it from you was a different reality altogether. He took a deep breath, his heart aching with every word he prepared to say.

“Um, no. I—I don’t know how to tell you this, but, uh…” Spencer tried to speak through the tears coming on, his voice trembling. “You are 25 years old, Emily is 38,  and you work as a liaison for the Sex Crimes Unit in the FBI. Emily and I work together in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We met through Emily, and now you live with me. You were in a severe car accident three days ago, and you may be suffering from amnesia.”

His words hung in the air like a cloud, heavy and dense, as you struggled to process what he was telling you. The hospital room felt colder, the sterile smell more pronounced, as your mind tried to catch up with the information being presented to you. Everything he said felt distant and unfamiliar, like a story someone else was telling, not your own life.

“Amnesia?” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue. You could feel panic beginning to rise in your chest, the fear of the unknown pressing down on you. “How is this possible? I—I don’t remember any of this.”

Spencer’s heart broke at the fear in your eyes, and he longed to reach out and comfort you. But he knew that, to you, he was a stranger, someone who claimed to know you but didn’t feel real. He had to tread carefully, to give you space to process the situation at your own pace.

“It’s okay,” Spencer said softly, his eyes filled with compassion. “I know this is a lot to take in. You’ve been through so much, and I’m here for you. We can take this one step at a time. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

You looked at him, studying his face for any sign of deception or recognition, but all you saw was sincerity. It was both comforting and unsettling. Here was a man who seemed to care deeply for you, yet you couldn’t find a single memory to support his claims. It was like standing at the edge of a vast, unknown ocean, unsure whether to step forward or retreat.

“I just... I don’t understand how I got here,” you said, your voice small and uncertain, the edges of panic sharpening your words. Your eyes filled with tears as you grappled with the enormity of your situation. “Where’s Emily? I want to see Emily,” you added, the tears now spilling over, and you could feel your chest tighten with fear and helplessness. 

Spencer felt a painful twist in his heart as he watched you cry, the sight of your distress cutting through him like a knife. He knew how much you relied on Emily before, but he had been your rock these past years. To not be able to comfort you in your time of need tore him apart. Despite the situation, he felt a glimmer of relief that you still remembered your sister, a familiar anchor in a sea of unfamiliar faces and places.

“She’s at home sleeping. I’ll give her a call,” Spencer assured you, reaching for his phone with a steady hand, though inside he felt anything but calm. He wanted to be the one to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be okay, but he understood that right now, Emily was the person you needed most. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You wiped at your tears, feeling both grateful and overwhelmed by the kindness of this man who seemed so determined to help you, even though you couldn’t remember him.

Spencer stepped out into the hallway to make the call, wanting to give you a moment of privacy. The hospital corridor was quiet, save for the distant murmur of medical staff and the occasional beep of machinery. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before dialing Emily’s number. 

“Spencer?” Emily’s voice was groggy but instantly alert as she answered the call, concern evident in her tone. “Is everything okay? How’s Y/N?”

Spencer swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. “Emily, she’s awake,” he said, his voice tight with emotion. “But she doesn’t remember anything from the past seven years. She thinks she’s still living with you.”

“Oh my God,” Emily breathed, the shock clear in her voice. “Is she okay? What did the doctors say?”

“They think it’s retrograde amnesia caused by the trauma of the accident,” Spencer explained, running a hand through his hair as he spoke. “She’s asking for you, Emily. She’s really scared.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Emily promised, already moving to get dressed. “Tell her I’m on my way, okay? And Spencer... thank you for being there with her. I know this must be incredibly hard for you.”

Spencer nodded, even though Emily couldn’t see him. “I’ll tell her. Drive safely.”

After ending the call, Spencer returned to your room, his heart heavy with the knowledge of how disorienting this must be for you. He found you sitting up slightly, your eyes still red from crying but showing a flicker of hope at the mention of your sister.

“Emily’s on her way,” Spencer said gently, offering you a small, reassuring smile. “She should be here soon.”

You nodded, the knowledge that Emily was coming bringing you a semblance of comfort. But still, questions swirled in your mind, the uncertainty of your situation looming large.

"Thank you, um, what was your name again?" you asked softly, your voice hesitant and tinged with the confusion that clouded your mind. 

Spencer’s heart ached at the question, a painful reminder of the gap that now existed between you. But he managed a gentle smile, determined to be patient and understanding. 

“Spencer,” he said quietly, meeting your gaze with a steady warmth. “My name is Spencer.”

You nodded slowly, trying to commit his name to memory, even though it felt like grasping at straws. There was something comforting about the way he looked at you, a sense of safety that you couldn’t quite explain.

“Thank you, Spencer,” you repeated, hoping that saying his name would help anchor you in this unfamiliar reality. Despite the overwhelming uncertainty, you felt a small sense of reassurance knowing he was there, a steady presence in the storm of your fractured memories.

—

Emily arrived at the hospital within the hour, her eyes filled with concern and determination as she made her way to your room. When she saw you, relief flooded her features, and she rushed to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a warm, reassuring embrace.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Emily murmured, holding you tightly as she stroked your hair. “I’m here, Y/N. We’ll figure this out together.”

You clung to her, the familiar comfort of her presence grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time since waking up, you felt a sense of safety, a reminder of the life you remembered.

Spencer watched the reunion, his heart aching with a mixture of emotions. He was grateful that Emily was there for you, knowing how much you needed her support right now. But there was also a longing, a deep-seated hope that one day, you would remember the life you had built with him, the love that had grown between you.

As you leaned into Emily's embrace, you whispered, “Can you stay with me, please?” Your voice was soft, almost childlike in its vulnerability, and Spencer’s heart clenched at the sound of it.

Emily smiled gently, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face as she nodded. “Of course, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” she said, guilt tinging her words. “I came as soon as I heard.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Peter is really nice.”

The misstep in Spencer's name hit him like a physical blow, and yet he understood. You were trying your best to piece things together, to make sense of the world around you, and that meant trying to fit him into a picture that didn’t quite match the reality you remembered. 

Emily glanced at Spencer, a flicker of understanding in her eyes as she gave him a supportive nod. She knew how hard this must be for him, watching you struggle to recall the love and life you shared. 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to return Emily’s nod with a small, grateful smile. He knew that rebuilding the bridge to your past wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to do whatever it took to help you find your way back. 

He remained quiet, a gentle presence in the background as Emily continued to comfort you, knowing that while he might not be the one you remembered now, he would do everything in his power to be the one you’d remember in the future.

—

Spencer eventually went home, the weight of the last few days pressing heavily on his shoulders. The hospital had become a second home in the wake of the accident, but now, as he drove through the familiar streets of Quantico, he felt the exhaustion finally catch up with him. 

The apartment was quiet when he arrived, the silence amplifying the absence of your presence. He dropped his bag by the door and stood in the entryway for a moment, looking around the space that had been your shared sanctuary. Everything about it—the framed photos, the little touches that marked your shared life—felt like an echo of the past he was desperate to help you remember.

He made his way to the bathroom, shedding his clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water cascaded over him, washing away the grime and fatigue, but doing little to ease the turmoil inside. As the steam filled the room, Spencer closed his eyes, allowing the water to drown out the noise in his head for just a moment. 

He thought about you, lying in that hospital bed, trying to piece together a life you couldn’t remember. The thought of your struggle weighed heavily on him, and he wished more than anything that he could simply take away the burden of your amnesia. But he knew that wasn’t possible, and it frustrated him deeply.

Stepping out of the shower, Spencer wrapped a towel around his waist and caught his reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at him was etched with worry and sleepless nights. He knew he needed to rest, to recharge so he could be strong for you, but his mind was already racing with possibilities, with ways to help you find your way back to the life you had known.

Reluctantly, he made his way to the bedroom and sank into the mattress, pulling the covers over himself. 

—

When Spencer awoke, the morning light was filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the knots in his muscles protest at the movement, but he pushed through, determined to make the most of the day ahead.

His mind immediately returned to you and the questions that had haunted him since the accident. He needed answers, a plan, something tangible he could use to help you. Rising from the bed, he quickly dressed and made his way to the library, his thoughts already churning with possibilities.

The library was quiet, a haven of knowledge waiting to be tapped into. Spencer made his way through the aisles, pulling books from the shelves with practiced ease. He found volumes on neurology, psychology, and memory restoration, stacking them on the table as he prepared to dive deep into his research.

Sitting down, Spencer opened the first book, his fingers flipping through the pages with the kind of fervor only a man on a mission possessed. He absorbed every word, every study and theory on amnesia and retrograde amnesia, searching for anything that might provide a glimmer of hope.

He read about the mechanisms of memory, the ways trauma could affect the brain's ability to store and retrieve information. He learned about the potential for memory recovery, the techniques that could aid in jogging the mind back to the present, and the importance of emotional connections in bridging the gaps.

As the hours passed, Spencer lost himself in the sea of information, each new piece of knowledge building upon the last. He scribbled notes in the margins, cross-referencing studies and compiling a mental list of strategies he could employ to help you.

It was a daunting task, but Spencer felt a sense of purpose in the research, a way to channel his love for you into something tangible. He was determined to do everything he could to help you regain your memory, to guide you back to the life you had shared together. 

For Spencer, this was more than just a quest for answers—it was a testament to the bond that had grown between you, a bond he was unwilling to let go of. He was ready to fight for your future, to be there for you in whatever capacity you needed, until the day your eyes lit up with recognition and the memories flooded back. 

With renewed resolve, Spencer closed the book he was reading, his mind buzzing with ideas and possibilities. He gathered his notes, feeling a sense of determination settle over him. He would be there for you, no matter how long it took, until you found your way back to him.

—

Spencer called Emily, feeling a slight tremor in his fingers as he punched in her number. He knew how delicate your situation was, and he didn’t want to risk upsetting you with his presence if it would cause more harm than good. As the phone rang, he took a deep breath, hoping that Emily would have some insight into how you were doing and whether it would be okay for him to visit.

“Hello?” Emily’s voice came through the line, sounding calm but tinged with exhaustion.

“Emily, it’s Spencer,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the nervousness fluttering in his chest. “I wanted to check in and see how Y/N is doing... and if it would be alright for me to come back to the hospital. I don’t want to overwhelm her, but I think I might have found some helpful information on memory restoration tactics.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, and Spencer could hear the soft murmur of the hospital in the background, the distant beeps of monitors and the hushed conversations of medical staff. Emily sighed softly, and he could picture her leaning against the wall outside your room, her hand running through her hair as she considered his request.

“Spencer, she’s been asking about you,” Emily finally said, her voice gentle and reassuring. “I think she wants to start trying to piece things together a little, and having you here might actually help.”

The fragments of your past felt like pieces of a puzzle scattered across the table, and you were trying to fit them together. The memory of just having graduated college and moving in with Emily in Europe while she worked for Interpol was clear in your mind, yet the reality you were living in contradicted that memory in every way. You obviously went to college, got an important job, met someone, and fell in love. That would be nice to remember.

The thought of your life now—a life filled with achievements, meaningful relationships, and moments of joy—was enticing. You felt a sense of longing to reconnect with those parts of yourself, to remember the paths that led you to where you were today. The idea of having accomplished so much, of having people in your life who cared deeply for you, filled you with both curiosity and determination.

You sat in the hospital bed, the beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the present, and tried to reconcile the gap between what you knew and what was real. There was a sense of urgency within you, a desire to reclaim the life that had slipped through your fingers due to the accident.

As you contemplated this, Spencer arrived, a reassuring presence amidst the confusion. He had a folder in hand, filled with information he’d painstakingly gathered to aid in your recovery. His expression was one of quiet resolve, a testament to his commitment to helping you find your way back.

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer greeted softly, taking a seat beside your bed. His eyes were warm and encouraging, and you couldn’t help but feel comforted by his presence. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I’ve found some information that might help you remember.”

You nodded, eager to hear what he had discovered. The prospect of understanding more about your life, your achievements, and the connection you shared with Spencer filled you with hope.

Spencer opened the folder, revealing a collection of notes, articles, and studies on memory restoration and retrograde amnesia. “I’ve been looking into different techniques and therapies that could aid in restoring your memories,” he explained, his voice steady and full of purpose.

He began to outline the various strategies he had found, discussing everything from cognitive therapy and memory exercises to more experimental approaches. As he spoke, you listened intently, absorbing the possibilities and feeling a flicker of determination ignite within you.

“I believe that with the right approach and support, we can hopefully help you piece together your memories,” Spencer said, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. “I’m here to support you in whatever way you need. We can do this together, one step at a time.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding along, feeling a renewed sense of hope. The idea of reclaiming your memories, of rediscovering the life you had built, felt like a light at the end of a long tunnel. 

“Thank you, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice filled with gratitude. “I want to remember.”

—

The hospital released you into Emily’s care. While the medical staff had done everything they could, the journey to regaining your memory would continue outside the hospital walls.

The decision to stay with Emily instead of Spencer hurt him, but it felt like the right choice for now. As much as Spencer wanted to be there for you, he understood the need for you to be in an environment that felt familiar and safe. The last thing he wanted was to push you further away by overwhelming you with too much, too soon.

“It’s okay,” Spencer assured you as you prepared to leave the hospital. His voice was steady, but the flicker of pain in his eyes was unmistakable. “I understand. Emily will take good care of you, and I’m just a phone call away if you need anything.”

You nodded, appreciating his understanding. A part of you felt guilty for not choosing to stay with him, especially considering how kind and supportive he had been. But the gaps in your memory left you feeling adrift, and being with Emily was like holding onto a piece of your past that still made sense. Besides, he was still technically a stranger.

—

The drive to yours and Spencer’s apartment was quiet, Emily navigating the streets with the ease of someone who knew them well. You sat in the passenger seat, watching the city pass by, anticipation and apprehension swirling within you. This was a chance to see the life you had built, to find clues that might help bridge the chasm between the past you remembered and the present you couldn’t grasp.

Arriving at the apartment building, you felt a sense of déjà vu, as if you had been here countless times before, but it was all shrouded in fog. Emily led you up to the front door, her presence reassuring and calm as she unlocked it and gestured for you to step inside.

The apartment was warm and inviting, filled with little touches that spoke of a life shared between two people. You took a tentative step inside, your eyes scanning the space as you tried to grasp any spark of recognition. The furniture, the décor, the scent of your favorite candle burning on the coffee table—everything felt just out of reach.

But it was the photographs that caught your attention, lining the walls and filling the shelves with captured moments of happiness and love. You walked over to a series of framed photos, your heart aching at the sight of the images. There you were, smiling and laughing with Spencer, your faces filled with joy.

There was a picture of the two of you on a hiking trip, arms around each other as you gazed at the camera, the sun setting behind you. Another of you dancing together at what appeared to be a wedding, Spencer’s hand on the small of your back, your face lit with laughter.

And then there was the one that brought tears to your eyes—an image of you and Spencer sharing a tender kiss, your arms wrapped around his neck, his hand gently holding your waist while the other stretched out to hold the camera. The love captured in that single moment was undeniable, and yet it was a memory you couldn’t access, a chapter of your life that felt painfully distant.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as the weight of what you had lost settled over you. You turned away from the photos, covering your face with your hands as sobs wracked your body. The sadness was overwhelming, a deep, unbearable grief for the beautiful life you couldn’t remember.

Emily was at your side in an instant, her arm wrapping around you as she whispered soothing words, trying to calm the storm of emotions that had taken hold.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking with the depth of your sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Spencer. I wish I could remember. I wish I could—”

Spencer’s expression was filled with compassion and understanding, though his heart ached at the sight of your distress. He longed to reach out and hold you, to reassure you that it was okay, that you would find your way back to him in time. But he knew that the memories were something you had to reclaim on your own.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Spencer said gently, his voice soft and comforting. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

Despite his reassuring words, the pain of not being able to remember was too much to bear. You were inconsolable, and Emily could see that you needed space to process everything, away from the emotional overload of the apartment.

“Let’s go home, Y/N,” Emily suggested softly, guiding you toward the door with a gentle touch. “We can come back another time when you’re ready.”

You nodded, allowing her to lead you away, the tears still streaming down your face. Spencer watched as Emily escorted you out, his heart heavy with sadness. 

—

The following Monday, the next step in your recovery journey was to visit your workplace, a place where you had spent countless hours building a career you could no longer remember. The decision to bring you back into the office was made with the hope that it might jog some of your lost memories, and while it felt daunting, you were determined to face it head-on.

Emily drove you to the FBI headquarters, the massive building both imposing and familiar as you approached. You had been nervous about this visit, unsure of how it would make you feel or what it might stir within you. Your unit chief had been extremely understanding about your situation, assuring you that you had all the time you needed to recover and that your job would be waiting for you if and when you were ready to return. The possibility of never coming back loomed large, but today was about exploring what felt right.

As you walked through the corridors, passing colleagues who greeted you with warm smiles and words of encouragement, you felt a mixture of anxiety and curiosity. The familiarity of the surroundings tugged at the edges of your mind, teasing you with whispers of recognition that were just out of reach.

When you finally reached your desk, something shifted within you. A small sense of familiarity washed over you, grounding you in a way that you hadn't expected. The space was uniquely yours, decorated with personal touches that reflected your personality and interests. The colorful keyboard and mouse pad, the photos adorning your workspace, all felt like pieces of yourself that you were slowly rediscovering.

Emily stood beside you, watching as you took it all in. Her presence was reassuring, a steady hand on your shoulder as you navigated the myriad of emotions swirling within you.

"This is your desk," Emily said gently, gesturing to the array of decorations and mementos that made it uniquely yours. 

You ran your fingers over the keyboard, tracing the familiar keys, and then turned your attention to the photos. There were images of you and Emily from your first apartment together in D.C., snapshots of a time when life felt full of possibility and adventure. Your eyes lingered on the photos of you and Spencer, capturing moments of joy and love that you desperately wished to remember.

One photo, in particular, caught your eye. It was of you and another person, both of you with wide smiles, arms wrapped tightly around each other, faces pressed together in a display of friendship and affection. The bond between you was evident, even in a still image, and you felt a pang of longing to recall the memories associated with it.

“Who are all of these people?” you asked, your voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of sadness.

Emily leaned in, pointing to the photo of you and the person who seemed to be a close friend. “That is your best friend, Noah,” she explained. Her smile was warm, the fondness for your friendship evident in her tone. “You two have been inseparable for years. They’ve been by your side through thick and thin.”

You studied the photo, trying to summon any fragment of memory, but the connection eluded you. Still, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Noah in your life, a constant presence of support and friendship.

Emily then pointed to another photo, this one featuring a large group of people gathered in a spacious kitchen that looked to be part of a grand mansion. The scene was lively and filled with laughter, the closeness between everyone palpable even in a photograph.

“And that,” Emily said, gesturing to the group photo, “is my team. The Behavioral Analysis Unit, at David Rossi’s house for pasta and wine. It’s a tradition of ours to get together and unwind after a long week. You’ve become a part of that tradition too.”

The photo brought a sense of warmth and belonging that tugged at your heartstrings. Though you couldn’t remember the specifics of the event, the image conveyed a sense of community and acceptance, a reminder that you were surrounded by people who cared for you deeply.

You nodded, feeling a mix of emotions—gratefulness for the connections you had forged, sadness for the memories that remained out of reach, and determination to piece it all together. As overwhelming as it was, the visit to your workplace had sparked something within you, a desire to reclaim the life you had lost and reconnect with the people who meant so much to you.

“Thank you for bringing me here, Emily,” you said softly, turning to your sister with gratitude in your eyes.

Emily smiled, her hand squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “You’re doing great, Y/N.”

—

After spending some time familiarizing yourself with your desk and the environment, you felt a little more grounded. Emily suggested taking a break, and the two of you made your way to the break room for some coffee. The small talk and casual atmosphere provided a sense of normalcy, and you found yourself relaxing into the environment, even if it still felt like you were seeing it all for the first time.

As you sipped your coffee, Emily shared stories about the team, painting vivid pictures of the friendships that had developed over the years. Her words were filled with warmth, and you could sense the deep bond that connected everyone in the unit.

“–and then you and Penelope performed as much of the Rent musical as you could while Spencer took you home from girls' night.”

You laughed, a joyous feeling after all the sadness and confusion you’d been wearing like a cloud. It felt good to feel lighthearted again, if only for a moment, and the image of yourself belting out show tunes with Penelope at the top of your lungs was both hilarious and comforting.

“Was he mad?” you asked, picturing the scene in your mind.

“Quite the opposite,” Emily said, her eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. “He asked you out the next week at work.”

“That’s so sweet,” you said, a warm glow spreading through you at the thought of Spencer’s patience and kindness. 

“He really loves you,” Emily added, her voice gentle and full of sincerity. 

You looked down at your coffee cup, a mix of emotions swirling within you. “I just can’t believe I’m loved so much by someone I don’t remember,” you said softly, your words carrying the weight of your current reality. 

Spencer hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but as he was walking to the break room, your voice reached his ears, and he froze just outside the door. The sound of your laughter was like music to him, a familiar melody he had sorely missed since the accident. It felt normal to hear you in the building, like it had been before, a sense of déjà vu that was both comforting and bittersweet.

But hearing that last snippet of conversation—that you couldn’t believe you were loved by someone you didn’t remember—was like a punch to the gut. It was a reminder of how much had been lost, how fragile the threads of your connection had become in the wake of your amnesia.

Spencer’s heart clenched with longing and sadness. He wanted to be there with you, to share in the laughter and help rebuild the life you had once shared. Yet, he also knew that the path to healing was not a straight line and that you needed time to find your footing.

With a heavy heart, Spencer decided against going into the break room. He felt it would be too much to face you right then, knowing that he was part of the gap in your memory. He turned on his heel, heading back to his desk with a resolve to give you the space you needed while still being there for you in whatever way he could.

Back in his office, Spencer tried to focus on his work, but his mind kept drifting back to you and the conversation he had overheard. He wished he could do more, be more, to help you remember. The thought of the love you had shared, a love you now couldn’t recall, weighed heavily on him.

—

Over the next few weeks, life became a series of ups and downs, filled with moments of both clarity and confusion. Living with Emily had its comforting moments—her presence a soothing balm to the chaos in your mind. You cherished the time you spent with her, grateful for the bond that had been rekindled. You missed Emily deeply during high school, and living with her felt like a second chance to reconnect and make up for lost time. 

But the reason for your reunion weighed heavily on you. You were so happy to be living with Emily again, until you remembered why. Some nights, the memories—or lack thereof—were overwhelming, and you’d find yourself crying silently into your pillow, grieving for the life you learned about but couldn’t recall. You mourned for the person you once were, the experiences you’d lost, and the love you had built with Spencer, a man who was now a stranger in your life.

In those darker moments, a part of you wondered if a second accident could somehow reverse the damage, though you knew deep down that it wouldn’t work. The thought was fleeting, a desperate whisper in your mind, quickly silenced by the knowledge that the path to healing lay elsewhere.

You wanted to love Spencer, you really did. Everything you’d learned about him painted a picture of a man who was kind, intelligent, and deeply devoted to you. But every time you looked at him, all you felt was a sense of apathy and resentment. It was an unfair burden, one you didn’t want to carry but couldn’t seem to shake. He knew you, but you didn’t know him. He had gotten to know the you that you couldn’t remember, had built a life with a version of yourself that no longer existed. 

Safe to say, you hadn’t spoken to anyone but Emily since that day at Spencer’s apartment. Despite Emily’s best efforts to coax you out of your shell, to encourage you to re-engage with the world, you found solace only in her presence. She would suggest small outings, opportunities to reintroduce you to the life you’d lived—a coffee date with Penelope, a lunch with Noah, a casual dinner with the BAU team—but you declined each invitation with a sense of dread.

—

Emily understood your reluctance, though she worried about the isolation you were imposing on yourself. She was patient, never pushing too hard, but she tried her best to gently encourage you to take those first steps toward reconnecting with your life.

"Y/N," she said one afternoon as you both sat in the living room, the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. "I know it’s hard, but you have so many people who care about you. They’re all here, ready to support you whenever you’re ready."

You nodded, your eyes fixed on the floor. “I know,” you replied softly, your voice tinged with frustration and sadness. “I just... I don’t know how to face them, Emily. It’s like they’re expecting me to be someone I’m not.”

Emily reached over, taking your hand in hers, her grip reassuring. “They’re not expecting anything,” she said gently. “They just want to be there for you, to help you find your way back. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’ll be with you.”

Despite her words, the idea of facing Spencer or any of your friends felt daunting. It wasn’t just about remembering; it was about rebuilding a sense of self that had been shattered by the accident. You felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, unsure of how to fit back into the picture of your own life.

—

One night, as you lay in bed, the weight of it all pressed heavily on your chest. You stared at the ceiling, the darkness a mirror to the emptiness you felt inside. The person you were before the accident seemed like a ghost, haunting the edges of your consciousness, taunting you with glimpses of a life you couldn’t quite grasp.

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks as you grieved for the life you’d lost, for the love that was now a distant memory. It felt like an insurmountable chasm between the past and present, a gap you couldn’t bridge no matter how hard you tried.

You curled up under the covers, wishing for relief from the emotional storm, longing for a sense of belonging that remained elusive. But as much as you yearned for the past, you knew the journey to healing had to start from where you were now—from this moment, with its uncertainties and challenges.

Emily found you the next morning, the traces of tears still visible on your face. She didn’t say anything, simply pulled you into a hug, offering her silent support. You leaned into her embrace, grateful for the unconditional love and understanding she provided.

“I’m here, Y/N,” Emily murmured, her voice steady and reassuring. “Whenever you’re ready to take that next step, I’m here.”

—

On a random Tuesday morning, you regained a glimpse of yourself. It was an ordinary day, the sun barely peeking over the horizon as you padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Emily was already there, pouring herself a cup and offering you a warm smile as you entered.

"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying the comforting tone you had come to rely on over the past few weeks.

“Did I bring any files home?” you asked, the question slipping out naturally as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I want to review the Cooper case.”

Emily whipped around so fast she thought she might get whiplash, her eyes wide with shock and a glimmer of hope. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice almost trembling with anticipation.

“The Cooper case?” you repeated, frowning slightly as you tried to grasp the memory that felt just within reach. “Oh, I wanted to review the evidence for the upcoming trial. I want to make sure that son of a bitch gets locked away.”

Emily’s face lit up with astonishment and disbelief, a slow grin spreading across her features. “Y/N… how do you remember that?” she asked, her voice tinged with awe.

“What?” you blinked, the realization dawning on you like a gentle wave, the fog lifting ever so slightly. “Oh…” you murmured, the pieces clicking into place.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! I remember!” you exclaimed, your heart pounding with excitement and relief.

“Do you remember anything else?” Emily asked eagerly, stepping closer as if to catch every word.

“My, um, my unit chief… her name is, uh, Sarah Freeman!” you said, a smile breaking across your face as more fragments of memory bubbled to the surface. It was like pulling on a thread and watching a tapestry unfold before your eyes.

“That’s amazing! You’re amazing!” Emily cheered, her eyes shining with pride and joy. She grabbed your hands, squeezing them tightly as if to anchor this precious moment in reality. “I’m going to call your doctor! Keep thinking!”

You nodded, your mind racing with possibilities. There was a thrill in the air, a sense of rediscovery that felt like sunlight streaming into a darkened room. 

—

As the days and weeks passed, your world gradually came into sharper focus. You began to remember more and more, and your doctors believed that your brain was finally healing from the trauma of the accident, allowing you to access information that had been temporarily locked away. It was as if the fog that had settled over your mind was beginning to lift, and the memories of your life were emerging from the shadows.

With each passing day, you started seeing people more. The familiarity of their faces and the warmth of their presence became less overwhelming and more comforting. You remembered small bits of Noah, moving in with Emily, a few girls’ nights, and coffee dates with Penelope. Each memory was like a small gift, a piece of the puzzle that was slowly coming together.

Whenever you shared a memory with someone, it was met with tears of joy and hugs of relief. They were all so patient and understanding, celebrating every little moment of rediscovery with you. It was a testament to the love and support that surrounded you, a constant reminder that you were not alone on this journey.

—

With your birthday approaching, the excitement in the air was palpable. Everyone was thrilled that they would at least get to celebrate with you, even if the memories of past birthdays were still hazy. The anticipation of the party, the chance to be surrounded by the people who meant so much to you, filled you with a sense of hope and gratitude.

The only person you couldn’t seem to remember, however, was Spencer. Despite the progress you were making with others, there was an inexplicable block when it came to him. It was as if the memories you shared were trapped behind a door that refused to open, no matter how hard you tried. 

Spencer felt the weight of this exclusion acutely. While everyone else reveled in your regained memories, he remained on the outside, watching as you reconnected with the life you’d once shared. At first, he tried to be patient, understanding that recovery was a complex and unpredictable process. But as time went on and the memories continued to elude you, Spencer began to feel a growing frustration, a simmering resentment that he struggled to contain.

—

The night of your birthday party arrived, and Emily had invited everyone important to you: the BAU team, Noah, your unit chief, and colleagues. The apartment was filled with laughter and music, the air buzzing with the joy of celebration. You moved through the crowd, receiving hugs and well-wishes, feeling more like yourself than you had in months.

The party was a joyful affair, filled with the warmth of friends and loved ones, each of them eager to share in the celebration of your continued recovery. You spent time with everyone, enjoying the opportunity to catch up and reconnect. 

You found yourself talking to Derek Morgan, recounting a small memory that had surfaced earlier in the day—a humorous moment from a case your units had worked on together. Derek’s laughter echoed through the room, a rich, joyful sound that drew the attention of others nearby. 

Spencer overheard your conversation with Derek and felt the frustration within him build past his boiling point. It was like a dam breaking, all the emotions he had tried to keep in check spilling over into an overwhelming wave. The exclusion, the constant reminder that you remembered everyone but him, finally pushed him to the edge.

Unable to contain his feelings any longer, Spencer stormed past you, his shoulder bumping into yours as he made his way toward the front door. The suddenness of his actions caught you off guard, the usually sweet and gentle Spencer now a storm of emotions.

“Spencer?” you called after him, confused by the abruptness of his departure. You quickly excused yourself from Derek and followed Spencer, determined to understand what had upset him.

You found Spencer in the hallway of the building, his back turned to you as he tried to compose himself. But when he turned around, you saw the angry tears in his eyes, the hurt etched across his features. It was a side of Spencer you hadn’t seen before, and it unsettled you.

“Spencer, what’s wrong?” you asked, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to understand the source of his pain.

He took a deep breath, his emotions churning within him. The question felt like a catalyst, igniting the frustration and hurt he had been holding onto for so long. And then, finally, he exploded, the words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and anguish.

“Why, Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was raw, filled with desperation and resentment. “Why do you remember everyone but me? Do you secretly remember me but don’t know how to break it off, so you keep pretending you don’t know me?”

His accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. It was a blow that took your breath away, the depth of his pain evident in every word. Spencer’s eyes bore into yours, searching for answers, for some explanation that could make sense of the exclusion he felt so deeply.

“I’m not pretending, Spencer,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, the shock of his words settling over you like a heavy fog. “I wish I could remember. I want to remember you more than anything.”

Spencer’s expression shifted, hurt and frustration warring within him. He turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to gather his thoughts. “It just feels like... like I’m the only one left out,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I watch you remember all these moments, all these people, and I keep hoping that one day you’ll look at me and just... know.”

His words hung in the air, each syllable a reminder of the distance that had grown between you—a distance neither of you wanted, but couldn’t seem to bridge. It was like standing on opposite sides of a vast chasm, reaching for one another but never quite able to touch.

“You think this is easy for me?” you shot back, your voice rising with each word. “Do you think I wanted to get hit by a semi and lose my memories? No! I want it all back, I want my life back.” You took a step closer, the intensity of your emotions propelling you forward. “Do you know how much it kills me that you know a version of me that I don’t? You want her back, and so do I, but Jesus Christ, Spencer! I’m not her, I can’t just be her, I’m fucking trying, okay?”

The hallway seemed to close in around you as you stood there, the weight of your words hanging heavy between you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise at the raw honesty in your voice, the depth of your struggle laid bare before him.

“I know you’re trying,” Spencer said, his voice softening even as his frustration simmered beneath the surface. “But it’s so hard to watch you remember everyone else and not me. It feels like I’m losing you all over again, every single day.”

"I’m losing myself too!” you replied, your voice breaking with emotion. “Every time I remember something, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger who’s supposed to be me. It’s terrifying, and I don’t know how to make it better. And it doesn’t help when I’m constantly reminded that you’re disappointed in me too.”

Spencer ran a hand over his face, his own anger and hurt warring with the compassion he still felt for you. He wanted to say the right thing, but his emotions were tangled, pulling him in different directions. The frustration that had built up over the weeks finally met the compassion he still felt for you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, the fight leaving his voice as he took a step back, trying to regain control. His eyes softened as he looked at you, the anger giving way to vulnerability. “I know it’s not fair to put this on you. God, I’m not disappointed in you, I’m just... I’m scared, Y/N. I’m scared that I’ll never get you back.”

The vulnerability in his words pierced through your own defenses, the rawness of his confession echoing the fears that had plagued you both. It was as if the anger that had fueled the argument had stripped away the layers, leaving only the truth of your shared fears and insecurities.

You sighed, your own anger giving way to a wave of exhaustion and sadness. The argument had drained you both, leaving behind a hollow ache that you couldn’t ignore. “I’m scared too,” you admitted, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I’m scared that I’ll never be able to remember the love we had, that I’ll never be able to be the person you fell in love with.”

Spencer's eyes met yours, and you could see the struggle within him—the longing to reach out and bridge the gap between you, the desire to hold onto the love that had once been so strong and certain. “You’re still the person I fell in love with,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation. “I know it’s hard to see right now, but you are. And I don’t want to lose you, even if it means starting over.”

His words hung in the air, a lifeline thrown across the chasm that had opened between you. You took a deep breath, the weight of his words. 

“Can I ask you something?” Spencer spoke up, his voice laced with vulnerability. His eyes held yours, searching for an answer he seemed afraid to hear but needed to know nonetheless.

“Of course,” you replied, curious about what was weighing so heavily on him. You wanted to reassure him, to offer some comfort amid the storm of emotions that had engulfed you both.

“Do you find me attractive?” Spencer’s question was simple, yet it held a complexity of emotions—self-doubt, insecurity, a desire for reassurance.

“Spencer… what?” you asked, taken aback by the suddenness of his inquiry. You hadn’t expected that question, and yet, as you looked at him, you realized how important your answer would be.

He shifted his weight, his gaze dropping for a moment before returning to yours, the raw honesty in his expression clear as day. “Do you think that I am attractive? Even now, that you don’t remember me?”

You considered his question carefully. Spencer was undeniably an attractive person—his features were striking, with a gentle kindness in his eyes and a quiet strength in his posture. There was an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic pull that you felt even in your current state of confusion. 

You imagined seeing him in a bar or a crowded room, where his presence would stand out, where you would undoubtedly look twice. His intelligence, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and the kindness in his eyes were all qualities that would draw you in.

“Yes,” you replied honestly, your voice steady and sincere. “Yes, Spencer, I find you attractive.”

Spencer let out a small breath he seemed to have been holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he absorbed your answer. There was a flicker of relief in his eyes, a subtle shift that spoke volumes about how much your opinion mattered to him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice a blend of gratitude and something deeper, something that felt like hope.

You took a step closer, wanting to close the distance between you. “Spencer, it’s not just about looks,” you added, wanting to make him understand. “I may not remember everything, but I can see the person you are. The way you care, the way you’ve been so patient with me… that’s what makes you truly attractive.”

His lips curved into a tentative smile, the tension in his features easing as your words reached him. It was a smile that held the promise of new beginnings, a shared understanding that even in the absence of memory, there was a foundation upon which you could rebuild.

Spencer nodded, a small chuckle escaping him as he rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture you found endearing. “I guess I just needed to hear it,” he admitted, his vulnerability laid bare in that moment.

You nodded, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you said, your voice filled with determination.

Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours, his touch gentle yet reassuring. The simple act of holding hands felt like a small victory, a step toward rebuilding the connection that had been so abruptly severed.

“You couldn’t possibly remember this,” Spencer said with a wry smile, “but I don’t usually touch people’s hands. It’s actually safer to kiss; fewer germs are spread that way.”

You let out a laugh, the tension between you dissolving into a moment of lightness. It was the first genuine laugh you'd shared since the accident, and it felt like a breath of fresh air. 

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” you replied, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin. “But if that’s a line, it’s not working.”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “It’s not a line, I promise,” he said, a hint of mischief in his tone. “Just one of those strange facts about me you’ll probably hear more about as you get to know me again.”

“Good to know,” you said, your smile softening into something more sincere. “But for now, hand-holding is just fine.”

—

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter and joy, a celebration not just of your birthday but of the progress you had made and the hope that lay ahead. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, you felt a sense of belonging, a reminder that even in the midst of adversity, there was a community that held you close.

As the night drew to a close, you and Spencer stood together on the balcony, the city lights twinkling in the distance like stars. It was a moment of quiet reflection, a chance to breathe and appreciate the small victories that had brought you to this point.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” Spencer said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that resonated deep within you. 

You turned to him, your heart full of gratitude and the promise of what was to come. “Thank you, Spencer,” you replied, your words laced with sincerity.

—

“Y/N! Spencer is here for you!” Emily called out from the living room, her voice carrying through the apartment with an excited lilt that made you smile.

You were in your bedroom, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, excitement and nervousness fluttering in your stomach. Today marked your fifth date with Spencer, a milestone that felt both exhilarating and significant as the two of you continued to rebuild your relationship from the ground up.

The past few weeks had been a journey of rediscovery. You and Spencer had taken it slow, giving each other the space and time needed to navigate the complexities of your situation. Each date had been a new beginning, a chance to learn about each other all over again, and it had been going well—better than you had dared to hope.

You’d spent hours talking about everything and nothing, sharing stories and memories that both filled in the gaps and created new ones. There were still moments of hesitation and uncertainty, but they were gradually being replaced by laughter and warmth, a growing sense of familiarity that felt like home.

Taking one last look in the mirror, you adjusted your necklace and took a deep breath, feeling a thrill of anticipation for the evening ahead. You made your way to the living room, where Emily was chatting with Spencer, her eyes lighting up with the kind of mischief only a big sister could muster.

“Hey, Spencer,” you greeted him with a smile, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest that had become a welcome sensation. “Ready to go?”

Spencer turned toward you, his face breaking into a warm smile that made your heart skip a beat. He looked dapper in a casual blazer and slacks, an outfit that struck the perfect balance between relaxed and stylish.

“Wow, you look amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with admiration as he took in your appearance. "If I had known you were going to look this stunning, I would have worn my best suit."

You laughed, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. "Oh, please, you look great," you replied, meeting his gaze with a teasing grin. “Besides, I think we match perfectly. You know, two fashion icons taking on the city."

Emily watched the exchange with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased to see the chemistry between you and Spencer reigniting. She gave you a playful nudge, her eyes sparkling with encouragement. “Have fun, you two,” she said, ushering you toward the door. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes at Emily’s antics, before turning back to Spencer. “Shall we?” you asked, extending your hand toward him.

Spencer took your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that sent a reassuring pulse of connection between you. “We shall,” he replied with a grin, leading you out the door and into the evening that awaited.

—

The drive was filled with easy conversation, the kind that flowed naturally and effortlessly between you. You chatted about everything from work to your favorite TV shows, reveling in the comfort of each other’s company.

“So, where are we going tonight?” you asked, curious about the plans Spencer had made for your date.

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “But I think you’re going to love it.”

“Really?” you said, raising an eyebrow with a playful smirk. “Are you sure it’s not just another one of your ploys to impress me?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Would it be working if it was?”

“You’ll have to wait and see,” you teased, giving him a flirtatious glance as the car continued through the city.

Eventually, you arrived at a charming little restaurant tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was the kind of place that exuded warmth and intimacy, the cozy ambiance inviting you in as soon as you stepped through the door.

“Wow, this place is lovely,” you said, taking in the dim lighting, the soft music playing in the background, and the delicious aroma of Italian cuisine wafting through the air.

Spencer smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I thought it might be a nice spot for us to relax and enjoy some good food,” he said, leading you to a table by the window that offered a view of the city lights twinkling in the distance.

“So, any more memories come back recently?” Spencer asked gently, his tone curious yet considerate, as if he knew the subject was still delicate.

You nodded, feeling a flicker of excitement as you recounted some of the fragments that had returned. “I remembered a trip I took with Emily last year to the beach. We ended up getting caught in a rainstorm and had to take cover in this little café, where we spent the afternoon playing board games. It was such a fun day.”

Spencer listened intently, a smile tugging at his lips as you spoke. “That sounds amazing,” he said, his eyes filled with warmth and understanding. “You know, we had a similar rainy day adventure once. It involved an umbrella, a very wet cat, and an impromptu rendition of Singin’ in the Rain in a park.”

“Did we now?” you replied, a playful twinkle in your eyes. “Are you sure you weren’t just trying to get me to fall for your charming rendition of a classic?”

“Guilty as charged,” Spencer admitted with a laugh, his gaze meeting yours with a sincerity that made your heart flutter.

“Tell me, though, did we kiss in the rain?” you asked, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Spencer blushed, a charming pink spreading across his cheeks. “We might have…”

“How scandalous!” you replied, feigning shock, but the playful glint in your eyes gave you away.

“You were the one who initiated it!” Spencer shot back, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“Oh yeah, am I just supposed to believe you?” you teased, leaning back in your chair with a smirk. “You could be making it all up just to impress me.”

“Well,” Spencer said, a hint of mischief in his voice, “it is supposed to rain later. We could test out the theory.”

“Spencer Reid, you dog!” you exclaimed, laughing at the thought of dancing in the rain with him.

You shared a laugh, the sound mingling with the gentle hum of the restaurant around you. It felt like the world had faded away, leaving just the two of you in your little bubble of happiness.

—

After dinner, you and Spencer strolled through a scenic path in the park, hand in hand. The night was pleasantly cool, and the stars dotted the sky like scattered jewels. The conversation between you flowed effortlessly, a blend of teasing and genuine connection that made the evening feel special.

“I thought it was supposed to rain?” you mused aloud, glancing up at the sky.

“Are you disappointed it’s not?” Spencer asked, a playful edge in his voice as he followed your gaze.

“Are you going to kiss me anyway?” you replied with a teasing smile, looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

Spencer froze up for a moment, caught off guard by the boldness of your question. A myriad of thoughts raced through his mind, each one tangling with the next. 

He had been nervous to make any moves on you ever since you’d started dating again. What if you didn’t like how he kissed anymore? Or his scent, or taste? What if you two didn't have rhythm anymore? The fear of these possibilities had kept him in check, cautious and tentative.

“What’s going on in that big brain?” you asked, your voice gentle and full of curiosity. You squeezed his hand, bringing him back to the present. Your touch was reassuring, a reminder that the connection between you was as strong as ever.

Spencer shook his head slightly, chuckling at himself. “Just... overthinking, as usual,” he admitted, meeting your eyes with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been worried that maybe things aren’t the same between us.”

You tilted your head, regarding him with a soft smile. “Spencer, nothing about you could ever disappoint me. We might be rebuilding things, but I think that’s what makes it exciting. We get to discover everything all over again.”

He nodded, his apprehension slowly melting away as your words resonated with him. The sincerity in your voice was like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him.

“And besides,” you added with a playful twinkle in your eye, “I think we both know we’ve still got that spark.”

Spencer laughed, his tension finally breaking as he took a step closer. The warmth of your presence enveloped him, and he realized how much he had missed these moments with you—the teasing, the laughter, and the unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the gap of memory.

“You’re right,” Spencer said, his voice softening as he gazed into your eyes. “I’d be more than happy to kiss you, rain or no rain.”

You smiled up at him, your heart fluttering with anticipation. As he leaned in, the world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you beneath the starlit sky.

When Spencer’s lips met yours, it was like coming home. The kiss was gentle at first, a tentative exploration of the familiar territory that quickly blossomed into something deeper. His lips were soft and warm, and the familiar scent of his skin surrounded you like a comforting embrace. 

All the previous worries melted away as you found your rhythm together, the familiarity and connection more than you could have hoped for. Spencer’s kiss was tender but charged with an intensity that made your heart race, a reminder of the passion and warmth that had always been at the core of your relationship.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the subtle tension in his muscles beneath your fingertips. Spencer responded in kind, his hands finding their place on your face, drawing you into him as if he was afraid to let go. 

The kiss deepened, and it was as if time had stopped, the world around you fading away until only the two of you remained. Lips slotted together perfectly, tongues gliding in a slow, sensual dance that sent shivers down your spine. 

You felt Spencer’s teeth gently nipping at your bottom lip, a playful gesture that made you gasp softly against his mouth. The small sound seemed to spur him on, and you could feel the gentle pressure of his hands pulling you even closer, until there was no space left between you. 

In that moment, everything felt right—the way his lips moved against yours, the warmth of his touch, and the gentle thrum of your heartbeat syncing with his. It was a moment of pure connection, a dance of lips and breath and emotion that left you both feeling dizzy and alive. 

You could feel the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks melting away, replaced by a deep sense of belonging and peace. As you finally pulled back, you looked into Spencer’s eyes, seeing your own emotions reflected back at you—the warmth, the longing, the hope that you both shared.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless but smiling, the shared moment leaving a lingering warmth that seemed to wrap around you both.

“Wow,” you murmured, gazing up at Spencer with a soft, genuine smile. “That was... perfect.”

Spencer chuckled, relief and joy evident in his eyes. “I’d say it was pretty amazing,” he agreed, still holding you close.

You both lingered there for a while, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment, the cool breeze whispering through the trees, the world feeling just a little bit brighter.

—

As you continued your stroll through the park, the clouds did open up, and the rain did come, soaking both you and Spencer. The unexpected shower was a sudden thrill, droplets of water cascading down your hair and cheeks, drenching your clothes in moments. The rain brought a fresh, invigorating scent to the air, wrapping around you like a cool embrace as you and Spencer burst into laughter.

“You said you wanted rain,” Spencer quipped, looking at you with a playful glint in his eye, water droplets clinging to his hair and eyelashes.

“I did, didn’t I?” you giggled, brushing a lock of wet hair out of your face. You both sprinted toward his car, shoes splashing through puddles, the sound of your laughter mingling with the rhythm of the rain.

You reached the car, breathless and exhilarated, climbing inside and closing the door behind you. The heated air enveloped you both in a welcome warmth, and you shivered slightly, feeling the chill of your soaked clothes. 

Spencer turned on the car’s heater, and soon the air filled with warmth, contrasting the rain still pelting the car roof outside. You shared a look of amusement, the shared adventure bringing a delightful sense of connection.

“I don’t want to go home, but I’m uncomfortable,” you admitted, glancing down at your soaked clothes with a bemused smile. 

“We could… go back to our—my apartment and change. Maybe watch a movie?” Spencer suggested, his voice soft and inviting, a hint of hesitation in his words as if worried you might say no.

You met his eyes, the warmth in them offering reassurance. “I’d love that,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the anticipation of spending more time with him.

—

Spencer drove you both back to the apartment, the windshield wipers swishing rhythmically as the rain continued its steady drumming against the car. It was your first time returning to the apartment since the night you’d cried there, overwhelmed by the weight of memories you couldn’t quite grasp. But now, the thought of revisiting felt different, less daunting and more like a step forward.

As you entered the apartment, you paused to take it all in again—the familiar scent, the little touches that made the space feel like home. Spencer watched you with a gentle smile, allowing you to explore at your own pace, offering silent support as you reacquainted yourself with the surroundings.

“Do you want to take a shower?” Spencer asked, breaking the comfortable silence. “All of your stuff is still in there.”

“Um, sure. Thank you,” you replied, grateful for the chance to shake off the chill of the rain.

You made your way to the bathroom, feeling a sense of nostalgia as you stepped inside and closed the door behind you. The shower was just as you remembered it, a familiar haven of warmth and comfort.

The water was soothing as it cascaded over you, washing away the rain and the lingering remnants of the day’s adventure. You felt a sense of relaxation settling in, a quiet moment of peace as you let the warmth envelop you.

But then, as you turned too quickly, your foot slipped, and you fell onto your tailbone with a startled yelp. 

“Ow!” you exclaimed, wincing at the sudden jolt of pain.

“Y/N?? Are you okay?” Spencer’s voice called out from the other side of the door, filled with concern.

“Yeah! I just fell,” you called back, trying to keep your tone light despite the embarrassment.

“I’m coming in,” Spencer announced, the worry evident in his voice.

“Wait, Spencer, no—” you began, but he was already in the bathroom, eyes wide as he took in the scene.

He saw your naked form on the ground of the tub through the clear glass, his expression filled with worry and, perhaps, just a touch of awkwardness.

“Spencer!” you exclaimed, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment and amusement.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head?” he asked, his concern overriding any sense of propriety.

“I’m fine, I’m naked!” you replied, laughing at the absurdity of the situation even as you tried to cover yourself.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Spencer said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I forget. I’ve seen you naked many times.”

“That is so weird,” you teased, rolling your eyes playfully.

Spencer laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “I don’t think so,” he said, his voice softening into something more tender.

“Can I see you then? Even it out?” you asked, a mischievous grin spreading across your face.

“What?” Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, his cheeks flushing a delightful shade of pink.

“I’ve seen you naked before, right?” you continued, your playful tone belying the genuine affection in your gaze.

“Well, yes, but it’s different,” Spencer stammered, trying to maintain his composure.

“So it’s okay for you to see me, but not for me to see you?” you challenged, a teasing lilt in your voice. “Come get in the shower and help me up.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, then his expression softened into a smile, affection and delight playing across his features. “Alright,” he said, his voice filled with laughter. “Just this once.”

He quickly shed his clothes and joined you in the shower, his presence a comforting warmth amid the steam and water. With a gentle touch, he helped you up, his hands steady and reassuring as he held you close.

“Thank you,” you said softly, meeting his eyes with a smile. 

Spencer’s gaze was warm and tender, his hands lingering on your waist as he smiled back at you. “Anytime,” he replied, his voice a gentle promise. 

Your eyes couldn’t help themselves as they wandered downward, taking in the sight of him. The realization that you were both standing there, unashamedly bare, brought a new kind of awareness that was both amusing and endearing.

“Y/N!” Spencer laughed. “Eyes up here.”

“I'm sorry,” you said with a playful smirk, your eyes darting back up to meet his. “It’s human nature, after all.”

“I know,” Spencer replied, shaking his head with a chuckle. “But at least pretend to be subtle.”

“You’re quite large,” you teased, unable to resist the opportunity to keep the mood light. “Are you a grower still? Or always a shower?”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deep red, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself as he groaned, “Oh my godddd.”

“Answer the question, and I’ll shut up,” you promised, a sweet smile playing on your lips as you looked at him with mock innocence.

With a sigh of resignation, Spencer removed his hands, his expression a mix of bashfulness and humor. “Still a grower,” he admitted, rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

“Lucky me!” you exclaimed, your tone full of playful triumph.

Spencer shook his head, his laughter infectious as he declared, “Not anymore, this was great. Goodbye!” He made a half-hearted attempt to step out of the shower, clearly feigning an exaggerated exit.

“Not so fast!” you interjected, grabbing his arm and pulling him back gently, your own laughter bubbling up as you did so.

His eyes met yours again, and the playful banter settled into something softer, a mutual understanding that transcended words. The silliness of the moment gave way to a quiet intimacy, the kind that came from truly seeing one another and finding joy in simply being together.

As the water continued to rain down, you and Spencer stood there, wrapped in each other’s presence, feeling a sense of comfort and safety that went beyond the physical. 

You both eventually turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, towels wrapped snugly around you. The steam-filled bathroom felt like a private world where the rest of the day’s worries faded away.

—

Once dried and dressed in cozy clothes, you settled into the living room, the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting through the air as you curled up on the couch together. The rain had stopped outside, leaving a soft patter of droplets against the windows, the perfect backdrop for a cozy movie night.

Spencer draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “So, what’s our viewing pleasure tonight?” he asked, his voice filled with a relaxed contentment.

“I was thinking something classic,” you suggested, snuggling into his side. “Maybe a bit of Casablanca?”

“Casablanca, it is,” Spencer agreed, reaching for the remote with a smile.

As the movie played, you found yourself not only immersed in the storyline but also in the warmth of Spencer’s presence beside you. The shared laughter, the gentle teasing, the comfortable silence—it all felt like home.

—

You don’t remember falling asleep, but when you wake up, you find yourself nestled in the bed, no longer on the couch. The room is softly lit with the early morning sun filtering through the curtains, casting a warm glow over everything. Spencer is still sound asleep next to you, his arms wrapped around you in a protective embrace. His breathing is steady and calm, and you watch him for a moment, feeling a rush of affection for this man who has been so patient and kind through everything.

Wanting to do something kind for him, you slowly and carefully extricate yourself from his embrace, trying not to wake him. You slip out of bed, pulling on his robe as you head to the kitchen to make some coffee, a small gesture of appreciation for the many times he’s been there for you.

As you move about the kitchen, the familiar routine of making coffee brings a sense of comfort. You smile to yourself as you measure out the coffee grounds and water, the rich aroma filling the air. It feels good to be doing something for him, even if it’s just a small gesture.

When Spencer finally wakes up, the smell of freshly brewed coffee lures him from the cocoon of blankets. In his sleep-delirious haze, he doesn’t realize anything has changed, and he instinctively walks into the kitchen, still half-asleep, and wraps his arms around you from behind.

“Morning, Spence,” you say softly, feeling the warmth of his embrace as you continue to stir the coffee.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” he mumbles into your hair, his voice thick with sleep.

“I made your coffee, just how you like it,” you say with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the little surprise you’ve prepared for him.

“Black, seven teaspoons of sugar?” he asks, his voice carrying a note of playful suspicion.

“Precisely,” you reply, leaning back to kiss his head where it’s nestled against your neck. You love the way his hair feels soft and slightly tousled from sleep, the familiarity of the moment wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

Spencer hums contentedly, the combination of your affection and the promise of coffee stirring him more fully awake. You hand him a steaming mug, and he takes a grateful sip, savoring the sweet warmth.

“Thought we could call Diana today, check in on her progress,” you suggest casually, remembering the conversations you’ve had about keeping in touch with his mom.

Spencer’s mind is still catching up to the morning, the mention of his mother registering slowly. “Okay, that’s a good id–wait… what?” His eyes widen as he pulls back slightly, looking at you with surprise and hope.

“Diana, babe? Your mom? I haven’t talked to her in a while, and I wanted to see how she was doing,” you say, turning to face him, your own excitement bubbling beneath the surface.

“Y/N, are you messing with me?” Spencer asks, his voice a blend of disbelief and anticipation, as if he’s afraid to hope too much.

“No… Are you okay, Spence?” you ask gently, reaching up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin. 

“Spence? My coffee preference? My mom?” Spencer’s eyes search yours, an array of emotions flickering across his face. “What are you not telling me?”

You smile, unable to contain your excitement any longer. “Oh, I woke up this morning with a few memories of our time together.”

Spencer’s eyes widen, his expression shifting from confusion to pure joy. “You remember?” he asks, voice filled with a hopeful wonder that sends a warm thrill through you.

“Bits and pieces,” you admit, nodding as you set your own coffee down on the counter. “It’s like little snapshots coming back, but they’re there. And you were in them.”

His face lights up with a brilliant smile, the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners and sends warmth flooding through you. “That’s amazing, Y/N,” he says, pulling you into a tight embrace, his arms enveloping you completely.

You melt into his hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your cheek. It’s a moment of connection and triumph, a small victory in the long journey of reclaiming the life you once shared.

“I’m so happy,” Spencer murmurs, his voice muffled by your hair but no less filled with emotion. “I’ve missed you—every version of you.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a smile that mirrors his own. “I’ve missed you too, Spence. I can’t wait to see what else comes back.”

Spencer leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. His touch was a gentle reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be, a soothing balm to the uncertainty that had lingered since the accident. The warmth of his lips against your skin sent a wave of comfort through you, a reminder that love was a constant, waiting patiently to be remembered.

“I love you,” Spencer murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with sincerity and a gentle vulnerability. “Can I say that now? Is that okay?”

His eyes searched yours, seeking not just permission but a confirmation that the love you once shared was finding its way back, stronger and more resilient than before.

“Only if it’s okay for me to say I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft but filled with the depth of emotion that had grown in your heart. 

The words were a quiet declaration, an acknowledgment of the bond that had endured through the haze of forgotten memories and the challenges of the past. It was a promise of the future you were eager to explore together, a future built on the foundation of love and understanding.

Spencer’s smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a joy that mirrored your own. “Then it’s more than okay,” he said, his voice warm and full of affection.

You both stood there for a moment, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the morning, the aroma of coffee mingling with the soft light filtering through the kitchen. It was a simple moment, yet it held the weight of everything you had been through together, a testament to the resilience of love and the power of memory.

“Come here,” Spencer said, pulling you into another embrace, his arms wrapping around you with a tenderness that spoke volumes.

You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting reminder of the life you were rediscovering together. In that embrace, you found not just comfort but a sense of belonging that had been waiting for you to come home to.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lalunanymph]

PLEASURE IN PAIN

✧.* SUMMARY tangled in sylus's web, you discover the many insidious ways he can make you break even without causing you any pain

✧.* WARNINGS dark content, interrogation kink, sex drugs, injections, blindfolds, coercion, forced confessions, captivity, mentions of drugs, non-con, bondage, restraints, mean onychinus leader sylus, fantasies, role play, lingerie kink, mentions of alcohol, edging, orgasm control, orgasm denial, clit play, vibrator play, petnames (kitten, sweetie, bad kitty), Dom/sub undertones, language humiliation, twist at the end, established relationship, MDNI, 18+

✧.* DAWN SAYS listen, i can explain um,,,, so basically,,, i have no excuse

✧.* A03 | twt/x

It was acrid and dark behind the blindfold.

The material was one of the good kinds, made from thick cotton which barely allowed any light to seep through. As you shifted in the cold, hard seat, you caught the faintest tinkling of chains. Your fists clenched, heart tripling in speed as you remembered the events which led you here in the first place. 

The sparkling mini dress you wore for the night out. Strobing lights. Pulsing excitement. Hands on your waist. 

The shot of vodka you accepted from a handsome stranger in a bar, his dark eyes glossing over your flushed features. 

All you remembered was the lights fading into pressing darkness and now, here were were.

Restrained and right in the hands of someone dangerous. 

The tap tap tap of sharp dress shoes on the floor pierced through the blood rushing in your ears, stealing your attention instantly. 

Whoever it was, he smelled of a rich cologne, the fragrance of his piney aftershave filling your nose when he bent forward, the heat of his body close enough to seep into the thin material of your dress. 

“Good morning. I trust you had a good rest, Y/N.” 

Horror jolted deep in your chest at the fact that he knew your name. The deep, dark cadence of his voice incited a faint stirring of familiarity. Hands that were warmer than you expected. reached out to touch your face. 

“W-who are you?”

God, what a fucking clichéd question. You squirmed in your bonds, and yanked your head back, mustering a glare twisting on your lips.

“I asked you a question—”

“And I heard you,” he shot back, a dark chuckle rumbling from his chest. “I see we have not yet been introduced to each other—how rude of me. My name is Sylus…”

The tapping of his dress shoes made a circle around you, and you craned your neck around to keep him within reach, your entire body tense from anticipating what he would do next.

“... and you have some information I want.”

Your mind went to the gun strapped to your thigh, and you tried to shift around, wondering if it was still on your body.

As if he could read your mind, his dark chuckle touched your ears.

“Oh, are you looking for this?” 

The cold tip of your UNICORN-issued firearm touched your cheek, and you recoiled back, seething.

“Give that back—!”

“Only if you tell me what I want to know.”

The sound of the gun clicking, its barrel pressing right to your head, made you flinch. A hundred thoughts raced through your spinning mind; if the other Hunters knew where you were. If your watch had given off a signal when you were kidnaped. Did anyone notice you leaving the club? How could a man kidnap you without anyone putting up a fight? 

“They know where you are,” you warned him. “The other Hunters. They know where I am because my watch has given them my signal.”

His response was a confident scoff. “You’re mistaken, sweetie,” condescension dripped from his tone, and you felt the barrel of the gun move right to your forehead, pushing back a stray lock of your hair. The cold tip traveled right to your jaw, teasing the swell of your lower lip. 

Without warning, he pushed the metallic chamber past your lips, forcing you to suck on the cold metal. 

“Mhmph—!”

Rough fingers twined in your hair, locking your head in place. Forcing you to take it.

His reply exacerbated the humiliation and fear you felt when he said, “I’ve disabled your signal and your location. It’s simple really. The Hunter’s tech you use is so poorly outdated, I could laugh at it.” 

Sylus retracted the barrel, and you his sadistic glee shone when he chuckled at your sputtering and gasps. The taste of bitter gun residue coated your tongue, and you spat it out, complete fear threatening to steal the last fragments of your composure. 

Your chest heaved, mind narrowing down onto the meaning of his words. 

Hopeless despair bled right into your next words when you uttered: “You're wrong. They’ll come for me. I know they will.”

“Oh, you pretty little delusional Hunter,” he muttered scornfully. The sound of your gun clattering to the ground made you flinch; your years of training at UNICORN to withstand interrogation slipping from the frenzied state of your mind. 

Theory was vastly different from practice, especially when confronted with the lord of the N109 Zone himself.

“The Hunters are not coming for you. Not when I don’t want them to find you.”

Casually, he draped an arm around your shoulder, toying with the ends of your hair. The heat of his body was almost unnatural, and with him this close, you could feel the expensive silken material of his shirt rasp against the bare skin of your back. 

“But, I have a proposition. A proposition for you to leave with your head intact. Do you want to hear it?”

He spoke before you could say another word. “An armory of mine was raided by a group of Hunters. They appeared to have insider knowledge as none of my security feeds can catch sight of them. I had a hunch it might be Jenna’s doing when one of them explicitly mentioned your name on the recording—”

The sound of panting filled your ears, and with a jolt, you recognized Tara’s heavy breathing.

“We need to get out of here… Y/N….”

A clicking sound and the clip ended.

“Recognize her?” 

His fingers danced along the column of your throat, playing with the silver necklace you wore. The tips of his nimble digits were calloused, rasping against the delicate softness of your skin; a sharp contrast of sensations which drew an unwilling shiver running down your spine.

“I don’t know her,” you denied, needing to protect Tara. If Sylus got his hands on her, there was no telling what he would do—how he would break her.

You had more experience than this, a class above other rookie Hunters. If anyone could withstand a sticky situation, it would be you. 

His exhaled chuckle touched your ears, drawing goosebumps down your arms—and not the good kind. 

“Listen here, sweetie. Let me make you a deal. You tell me all the names of your little Hunter friends who dared to raid my armory, and I let you go with your life intact. How about that?” 

You turned your head to the side, unable to bear the arid heat of his hot breath on your cheek. Clearing your throat, you shifted uncomfortably in the hard chair, buying time to form a reply. 

“H-how do I know you will keep your promise?” 

In response, Sylus chuckled, a low, hearty, expensive sound.

You could picture him laughing like that on golf courses, or while slicing someone’s throat into ribbons.

“It seems your perception of me leans towards error, kitten,” the sudden nickname took you off guard. “I always keep my promises, especially to enticing little Hunters like you.”

His forwardness made your head spin. There was little doubt of the desire bleeding through the untoward advances he disclosed onto your unwilling ears. 

Your cheeks ran warm, and you fought to contain your level headedness, licking your lips as you considered the realities of sharing such delicate information with him. 

On one hand, you might risk compromising the mission framework that Captain Jenna had likely concealed from you to protect your other comrades. 

But, on the other hand, if you didn’t leave alive, you would never have a chance to bring down Onychinus again. 

The choice was in your hands.

And you chose silence.

The tap tap tap-ping of his shoes on the metallic floor was back again, and this time, it echoed the panicked palpitating of your heart.

You flinched when Sylus grabbed you by the shoulder, pushing some weight to dig you deeper into the chair. You winced, but remained firm in your pretend, nonplussed silence.

But, you forgot this was Sylus you were dealing with. The infamous, ruthless Onychinus leader. The man who could bring entire empires down to their knees.

He would never take ‘no’ for an answer, much less your stubborn silence. “Cat got your tongue, kitten?” He swept a hand underneath your chin, toying with you as he tugged your face up, forcing your lips within an inch of his.

“That's not very nice, isn't it? Not responding to someone's question.”

His tongue flicked out, touching the corner of your mouth and you resisted the urge to part your lips, firmly keeping your jaw shut.

“Mhm. I see how it is. But, don't worry, kitten,” his voice had taken on a silken quality, dangerous and Low. “I have ways of making people talk—of making you talk without laying a single finger on you.” 

He let go of your face and you heard his footsteps receding away. Alone and afraid, you tugged on the chains, trying to get in touch with your Resonance. Maybe you could break through these chains, using your Evol to melt through the metal links.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you.” Another voice joining the fray stopped you from squirming around, your head whipping up to catch who else was here.

“The chain is fortified to withstand any Evol attempts. It's made of a Protocore material that dulls the biological linkage reaction to the atoms surrounding the area. It's a Deepspace damper which means you won't be able to work around it.”

His footsteps were heavier than Sylus’s, and he moved with purpose, setting down what sounded like a metallic plate, where items clinked together. 

What he did next hit you like a freight train when you felt the cooling sting of an alcohol swab on your bare arm.

“No—”

“I propose you stay still or else the needle would break off and stay stuck in your arm.” There was a sadistic edge to his warning, an undeniable joy he got from being Sylus's puppet.

A sharp sting pinched your arm and you gritted your teeth, holding your breath when you felt the ice cold fluid siphoning into your veins.

The man gently pulled out the needle, using another swab to staunch the light bleeding. 

“There. You'll feel the effects soon.”

Your mouth was drier than a desert when you forced it to speak past the terror lodging in your throat.

“What did you give me…? What did you inject inside of me?!”

Barely paying your hysterics any mind, the man chuckled.

“That, my darling, was a patented N109 Zone aphrodisiac. A new formula we are testing and lucky you—you're the first one to receive it!”

His maniacal laughter grated your ears, and you shook your head from side to side, gasping. 

“Shit! Stop this—don't do this to me!”

“In a minute you will feel your entire body growing warmer, and then, that's when the fun begins,” he muttered gleefully. 

Whether it was a placebo effect of his words, you felt your entire body growing heavier. As if you had downed an entire row of shots, you felt heat suffuse across your face, creeping down your neck and arms, curling into a ball right in the pit of your stomach. You gasped, fighting against the manacles to try and touch your cheeks. They were hot enough to melt off your skin; the shivers wrecking you apart and driving you close to the brink of committing arson. Except the only thing on fire would be your self-control.

Embarrassingly, your nipples began to stiffen underneath your dress. A fresh wave of slick dampened your panties and you felt your heart triple in speed at the sound of the door opening, more footsteps entering the room.

“Is it done?”

Clenching your thighs together, you fought back against an obscene moan about to rip free from your mouth at the low timber of Sylus’s voice.

“Yes, sir. She's undergoing metamorphosis now.”

Flickers of flames lapped down your neck, stoking the heat in between your thighs to a terrifying level. 

Like your senses were heightened, you could smell him from where you sat; the spicy heat of his cologne permeating your senses.

It brushed over you in waves when he stepped closer, the heat of his body grazing your bare shins.

Sylus ran a finger across your jaw, smiling to himself when he noticed how you gritted your teeth and squeezed your thighs together. 

“My, my. Already feeling it, aren't we? You've always been such an overachiever, haven't you, kitten? You’re the fastest reactor we’ve ever had.” 

You felt the imprint of him kneeling next to you, the restraints around your ankles keeping your lower body open and vulnerable to him.

“Let's try this again.” His touch on your thigh was possessive, circling higher and higher to where you needed him the most. Sylus leaned in, his cheek pressed to your inner thigh, inhaling the musky scent of your pussy underneath the tent of your dress, which was hotter than any desert air he had ever put his mug through.

You jumped. Clearly not expecting his face to be so close there.

“The names of the Hunters who raided The armory. Now.”

In a tone which broke no give, Sylus was not a patient man waiting for you to toe around and beat the truth from the bush. He preferred to take matters into his own hands; he would edge the truth of you if he could.

Your breathing caught. Looking like sin in that little dress which dipped under the valley of your tits, and the flimsy, silky hem which rode all the way up over your plush, pretty thighs… What else was he supposed to do?

Not give into his desires?

“You're so unfair.”

Your hips rocked upwards, an obscene giveaway to the need building inside of you. Sylus wasn't a man who was built on inexperience; he had seen a good number of women in his days who needed a little bit of rope to get themselves loose for him.

But you were a goddamn natural.  

Your tits stretched across that sorry excuse of a dress, the see-through fabric showing off your tight nipples ready to be sucked and played with. The sight of your bare shins bathed under the fluorescent light of the interrogation room added to the allure, the forbiddenness of this situation.

You came to life in that chair, writhing like a possessed wave and keening softly, the drugs working their magic to keep you sensitive to his every touch.

“I never said I would play fair, kitten.”

Your cherry red lips puckered into a despairing snarl, and he imagined them around his cock, sucking him off. Milking him dry. 

One single touch to your neck and you jerked as if you were bitten by a snake. Strapped to the chair and trembling from every innocent onslaught, you were the perfect picture of a helpless slut, ready to be devoured.

Sylus moved to the two-way windows, switching off the tinted end so whoever was on the other side could not see what was happening. Not for the sake of giving you privacy—hell no.

He wanted to enjoy his little captive in peace.

The sound of items being rummaged around perked your ears up. You felt him approaching you, the blunt tip of something rubbery pressing right on the dent of your lower lip.

“Do you know what this is?”

Shaking your head, your eyes twitched behind the blindfold. 

Clicking a button, the rubber tip suddenly came to life, and you jerked back, hearing a familiar hum.

“Oh… oh no…”

Biting back a chuckle, Sylus watched as you could do nothing but whine in the chair. You twisted around, testing the bonds, feeding right into your helplessness when you realized there was no way out. Your nipples were two little cherries ripe for the picking underneath your dress, your arms covered with a carpet of goosebumps.

The sound of adhesive tape tearing rang loudly in your ears, and you tensed, feeling him stick the vibe right to your inner thigh. Sylus taped the purple head of the toy right at your opening, making a dent on the pretty pink panties you wore stretched tightly around your cunt.

He switched it on and the effect was immediate.

You twisted and writhed; grounding your ass on the chair, trying to dislodge the vibrator.

Dulcet mewls spilled from your lips, and Sylus did nothing but cross his arms and watch.

It was one thing being a slut in private, but there was something absolutely delicious about watching a woman lose it in such a public setting. Especially when she knew you were watching her.

You groaned. You gasped. Throwing your head back. The vibrations rocked through your world, leaving your mind a blank, humming state.

You grounded your ass in the chair, feeling more juices slick up your pussy. Sylus used more rope to pry apart your legs, stretching your panties even further until the vibrator dipped into the cleft of your pussy, purple head enclosed by slick folds.

“Feels good, right?” His low, dark voice resonated from your right side, lips close enough to brush against your ear. 

Sylus had interrogated enough people in his life to know when their reactions would be telling. He could tell when someone was close to tapping out and revealing their grand master plans.

He could tell when they were on the last leg of their resolution before they broke down and spilled the truth to him.

But for you, Sylus could tell you were on the verge of the biggest release on your life

Please, please… your writhing body seemed to beg. Don't make me do this. Don't shame me like this.

Taking it a notch further, he grabbed your head, twisting your hair painfully in his grasp. 

The sharp bite of agony was enough to tip you right to the edge, your thighs trembling. Pretty little Hunter who always got what she wanted, he thought. If only your captain could see you now… if only your teammates could see how easily you folded to me.

Back arched, mouth hanging open, you were the picture of submission.

And he ripped it away from you at the last second.

Sylus switched the vibrator off, watching as you crumpled back into the chair, a gasp ripping past your lips.

“Did you think I would give it to you without getting something back in return?”

His amused, silky tone cut through the blood rushing in your ears.

“Names, sweetie. I want them.”

Your tongue felt like a bloated fish in your mouth, the words unable to swim past the gasps struggling to fight past the surface.

Amused by your breathless gaping, Sylus ran his fingers down your chin, scratching it lightly as if you were an unruly cat.

A whine slipped past your defenses and he grinned. Such picture perfect submission delivered to be seen. Sylus wanted to further rub in how hopeless you were without him.

Ripping the blindfold off, you blinked your pretty eyes, like a baby deer seeing sunlight for the first time. Your irises dilated at the sight of him, the look of bewilderment morphing into a spiteful glare. 

“Let me go!”

It was adorable, really. You actually thought you could order him around. Be the boss. 

Sylus wanted to show you who ran this show; whose ship you were standing on. 

He leaned against the wall, one perfectly groomed brow raised. “And why would I want to do that, sweetie?” Taking another step towards you, he was pleased to find your eyes roving after him, determined to monitor his every movement.

Poor, naive little Hunter. Haven't you realized by now? You were never the predator—you were just prey. His prey. 

“Don't glare at me like that, sweetie. It is very unbecoming of your pretty face.”

Biting past a scathing remark, you wanted to tear these shackles off you and give him a piece of your mind. But, Sylus was already bored with the games.

“I'll keep on asking if you don't tell me everything you know, sweetie. And we can do this everyday.”

The threat stopped you short, a trembling exhale hanging between your parted lips.

Sylus could see the fear swirling in your eyes, the singular look of apprehension going right to his cock.

Not every captive could get such special attention from him, and yet, you were given a premium experience.

"You should be more thankful, sweetie. I'm not this nice to anyone and I'm doing a lot for you."

He caressed your cheek, and even that simple act could make your pussy clench, hips grinding against the static vibrator. 

“I'll see you in a few moments, sweetie. Till then, rest well.”

You should've known Sylus Qin was a man of his word. 

The serum injected remained strong for what felt like a day, but they kept on replenishing it, especially after the first signs of waning began, which mostly happened after meals. You grew to dread the sound of the door flap opening, because it meant another day of writhing with your hands tied in front of you, unable to relieve the tension between your legs.

You were in a light doze, slumped against the chair, when the door opened, and you opened your groggy eyes. Sylus stood over you, a smirk etched on his face. 

He was dressed in a fancy suit the color of a bright flame, his silver hair slicked back. A black stud adorned his left ear, silver necklace with a ruby pendant hanging from his throat. 

“Going to officiate the opening of Hell?” you sneered, and he snorted.

“How creative of an insult, sweetie. But, no.”

He stepped closer, and you had no idea what would come next until he clicked a button inside his jacket’s lapels, and the shackles holding your wrists behind your back melted to the ground with a loud clang. You winced, rubbing your raw wrists. 

Wordlessly, he extended a hand out towards you, and you scrutinized it with a glare. Sylus chuckled, shaking his head.

“I’m not going to bite. Well, not yet, at least. You’re still important to me, sweetie.”

Gingerly, you extended your hand toward him, cautious but accepting of his touch. Your fingers, still stiff from the lingering tension, trembled slightly as they wrapped around his warm palm. The firmness of his grip grounded you, offering reassurance despite him being the reason why you were captive in the first place.

Sylus gently pulled you to your feet, his other hand around your waist to keep you steady. The sensation of pins-and-needles surged through your legs as the blood slowly circulated. You wobbled slightly, but his presence was solid, anchoring you as you found your balance.

“Careful, kitten.”

Your blood boiled at his casual use of that nickname for you. Firm hands pressed against his pecs, and you tried to push away from him, nearly falling flat on your face in the process. Sylus’s arms immediately shot out to catch you, holding you close to his broad chest where the heat of his body radiated the warmest, burning right into your flushed cheek.

“Let me go—”

He removed his arms from your frame, lifting them up in mock surrender. Ignoring your glare, he procured a velvet shopping bag from god-knows-where behind his bag, handing it to you with a smug smile.

“I bought these for you, kitten.”

You stared at him in blatant confusion, but took the bag. From inside the smooth depths, you procured a skimpy pair of lingerie, made of lace and held up by wisps of mesh. The bustier was low-cut, easily showing off your chest, and to your mortification, the panties were crotchless.

“I thought you could use something to cover up that sorry excuse of a dress you’re wearing,” he said, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. 

You spluttered, eyes wide, staring at the garment he gifted to you with disbelief. Of all things he could’ve chosen for you, this was his idea of an improvement? “And you thought this was the better alternative?” you snapped, incredulous. 

Sylus was unfettered by the rising pitch of your voice, and simply grinned, a mischievous glint in his ruby red eyes. He chuckled softly, as if your frustration fueled his amusement, his lips curling into his familiar, devilish smirk. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, kitten. Now, do you want to throw a hissy fit, or do you want to put on a fresh change of clothes?” 

Insane. He was completely deranged for thinking you would go through with this. Resisting the urge to throw the skimpy piece of lingerie in his face, you shot him a look of complete vitriol. A sharp, crass curse hovered on the tip of your tongue, barely restrained as you fought the urge to spit it at him. 

“And what if I refused to do it?” 

As if he anticipated your stubbornness, Sylus snapped his finger and two attendants entered your cell. Taking you by surprise, they stepped forward, grabbing your arms, shockingly strong for two, short women. One of them drags your dress down, ripping a few buttons in the process. The other restrained you with her arms locked around your torso, while her comrade grasped the band of your panties and tugs it off your legs in a fluid motion. 

They brought out a pair of scissors to deal with your bra, cutting through the material as easily as a knife slicing through hot butter. Scraps of lace fluttered to the ground, looking like dead butterfly wings. In the same breath, they tugged the bustier over your head, tightening the ribbons behind your back, ignoring your cry of pain and flailing hands trying to bat them away.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Sylus remained quiet, staring at you with an inscrutable expression you couldn’t read. Was it indifference? Amusement? Something more? You couldn’t tell and his stillness only heightened your discomfort. Meanwhile, the tinier attendant, a brunette with nimble fingers, knelt by your feet and lifted your leg gently, slipping it one-by-one through the crotchless panty holes. 

The cool material slid against your skin as she dragged it up your thighs, adjusting it with practiced ease until it rested snugly on your hips. The sensation of the garment was both unsettling and intimate, made worse by Sylus’s unwavering gaze.

Another snap of his fingers. The attendants disappeared, taking your discarded clothes and destroyed underwear with them.

Sylus took measured strides toward you, hands behind his back. Those crimson eyes flickered over every inch of your body, drinking you in.

“Much better. And you look good in red, my dear.”

The sensation of humiliation ravaged along your skin, settling like a disgusting pit of tar right at the bottom of your stomach.

“What do you want with me?” 

Your whisper drew a smirk on his handsome, but dangerously sharp features.

“Oh, my dear. You have no idea of the things I want to do to you.” 

A dark mist shot out from behind his back, splitting into two tendrils that swiftly wrapped your wrists in its foggy hold. It half-dragged, half-led you towards the bars of your prison, forcing you to your knees. Your hands dangled helplessly through the cold metal, your body contorted painfully into this uncomfortable position the mist held you captive in. Sylus chucked a pillow he took from a hidden pocket of space behind him, nudging it right under your knees. Bound and with no way of fighting him off, your back was arched, body exposed to his sinister will.

A low desk with a piece of paper and pen was set right in front of you by the same mute attendants. The sight of the blank page filled you with an indescribable sense of dread.

Sylus stood over you, his presence looming and intimidating, expression unreadable. His red eyes flickered to the prepared pen and paper. “I want the names you’ve been keeping from me in an hour, sweetie.”

Struggling against your unnatural bonds, you opened your mouth, but stopped when he shot you down with a look.

“And to give you some incentive…”

On cue, the cell door opened and in walked a short doctor with wiry, salt-and-pepper curls. He pushed his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose with one hand, precariously balancing a tray filled with syringes in the other. Knowing what he was about to do to you was terrifying. At least with the blindfold on, you weren’t aware of how thick the needle was, or how the milky fluid in the syringe sloshed around when the doctor tapped on the glass vial. 

Your stomach churned uneasily, a nauseating mix of dread and unease churning inside you. Every muscle in your body was taut with tension, coiled like a spring as you braced yourself for the inevitable. 

The air was thick with tension, growing denser at every step the doctor took towards you. Your breathing came out in ragged, shallow bursts, the misty restraints offering no give no matter how much you tried to recoil away from the approaching syringe.

“Relax now, love,” the older man warned you, trying to keep his leering eyes away from your scantily clad body. “It will hurt if you move too much.”

You had no choice but to succumb to his orders, holding your breath at the inescapable bite of pain in your arm. In a few seconds, the syringe’s contents were emptied into your bloodstream, and within less than a minute, the effects started again.

But, it felt different this time. The pulsating contractions made a spurt of slick trickle down your leg, the overwhelming heat traveling across your body like a contagious rash. Your nipples stiffened underneath the lacy bra cups, popping out almost painfully hard. The blood rushing straight to your clit made it sensitive to the slightest rush of air, your split legs kneeling on the floor exacerbating the vulnerability of your bare and swollen pussy.

“Sylus—”

You gasped, your breath hitching as you shook your head from side to side, as if the motion could dislodge the hazy cloud of lust creeping into the corners of your mind. The warmth pooling within you blurred the lines between resistance and surrender. Your vision wavered, becoming unfocused, as you struggled to keep him in the edges of your sight. But, his presence danced just out of reach, leaving you feeling unmoored, teetering on the brink of losing control.

The sensation of a hard object slipping past your clenched teeth roused the slightest bit of your interest, but with the lust pumping hard in your veins, it wasn’t easy to hone in your focus on anything else.

Sylus forced the hard, rubbery object deeper down your throat, ignoring your heaving chest triggered from your gag reflex. Plunging it in and out of your mouth carelessly, he lubed it up with your spit, and with a flick of his wrist, trailed it down the length of your body teasingly, before slipping it right into your pulsing pussy. 

The toy stretched your muscles, your walls rippling around the rubber conqueror to greedily suck it in; the vibrator sinking down to the hilt effortlessly from the amount of slick you were producing. 

“... a special one, sweetie.” His fingers in your hair brought your attention back to the buzzing between your thighs. But, that wasn’t what caught your full focus—it was the whirring silicone tongue lapping right at your clit which made you flinch, an intoxicated gasp falling from your puffy lips.

“This toy is designed to measure your sweet, little cunt’s contractions and when it senses you’re on the edge…” Sylus trailed off, intentionally stringing along your curiosity until it was hanging by a tenacious thread. “... well, you’ll see,” he finished, standing straighter, admiring the view of you bound, gasping and gyrating your hips as if fucking the thin air.

He had to admit, the sight before him was a wonder, pumping his desire to do unholy things to you.

But, he tightened his hands into fists, knowing he had to put on an air of nonchalant to get what  he needed from you. 

Judging from your broken moans and hitched gasps, his patience might win out soon.

Your hips stuttered, the fuzzy look in your eyes signaling your approaching release. Poor, little Hunter, he thought, a cruel smirk curling on his sculpted lips as your tensed body shook and heaved, hovering right on the precipice of a huge orgasm. As if a switch had been flipped, your entire body slumped forward, knees nearly buckling and bringing you to the floor if it weren’t for his Evol restraints around your wrists keeping you up right through the bars. 

“Aw. Were you close, sweetie?” His saccharine sweet voice dripped with sarcasm. “Tsk, tsk. This little kitten can’t listen, can she? I did say the vibrator could sense your orgasm approaching but did you even attempt to control your urges? No. Of course not. You don’t want to listen to me.” 

His words cut through you with their faux sympathy and you mustered enough anger and dismay to shoot him a terrifying glare.

“Fuck you, Sylus.”

“Oh, you wish, sweetie.” 

He chuckled at your affronted expression, circling closer to your bound body. You tensed when the tip of his shoe touched the innocuously static vibrator still lodged in your pussy, toying with the loose grip.

“Hmm. If this little plastic demon falls out of you, should I be kind and put it back? Or, do I leave you to your vices.”

Deciding in an instant, Sylus chuckled, a smug look on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back, clearly satisfied with what he was about to say. 

“Perhaps an hour with the vibrator might make you change your mind. One can only hope you will find relief, sweetie.” The mock sympathy in his voice left you breathless and disoriented, too stunned to muster an insult fast enough. 

Like a shadow in the night, he disappeared from your view, leaving you to your torment.

It felt like hours of unending torture. Where one cycle of edging began, it left you feeling more unfulfilled when the vibrator denied your pleasure, stopping dead every single time you were poised to fall off the precipice. 

Full body shivers tore through you, the smell of your own arousal burning through your nose. Your thighs began to cramp, the constant onslaught of arousal and edging making your pussy almost numb and sore, the muscles tense from teetering on the edge of a release for the past hour. 

The paper and pen swam in your vision, symbols of both your promised release and your comrades’ death sentence—thoughts you tried to push aside. Despite your best attempts to ignore them, they flit in and out of your consciousness, reminding you of where Sylus’s true displeasure lies. It wasn’t your fault; you were merely collateral in his fight with the other Hunters who had stepped on his toes. 

The vibrator pulsed, massaging your G-spot. Your thighs clamped down, going tense, breathing growing heavier. 

As soon as you hoped the toy would give you relief, the promise was snatched from under your nose—bringing you back to square one. Breathless, sore and full of hot, slick juices which were constantly denied, you finally gave in with a hitched sob. 

The pen shook in your hand, your words shaky and almost illegible. But, you managed to scrawl the names of the Hunters who were involved in the illegal raiding of his armory. Hanging your head forward, you tossed the pen aside like it was venomous, hearing it clatter onto the floor. 

Footsteps resounded around the small cell, mingling with your silent sobs. 

A pair of shiny dress shoes appeared in your vision, calloused fingers tilting your head up to look him right in his red eyes. Sylus thumbed your tears away, an indescribable depth swirling in his gaze, leading you close to the waters for you to drown in. 

But, he severed the tenacious connection with a hollow sigh, withdrawing his hand from your jaw to pick up the paper with the list of names. 

“Good girl.”

Your head dropped back to your chest, a sob rising in the back of your throat. Sylus snapped his fingers and the mists holding your hands hostage melted off, retreating back to him. 

You crumpled to your knees, and blindly groped for the vibrator still stuck in you. Whimpers slipped from your clenched teeth, and you fumbled with the smooth head of the toy, trying to find its switch.

Sylus, who was watching the entire ordeal with an unwavering gaze, chuckled softly, strolling up to you. 

“Need some help, kitten?”

Not waiting for you to respond, he lifted you up into his arms, whisking you out of the cell. Sylus was a few heads taller than you, his brawny build overshadowing your tinier one. It made sense how easily he manhandles you, setting you down on a wide bed, propping you on your hands and knees.

Instead of giving you relief since you had complied with his request, Sylus gripped the edges of the vibrator and slid it out of your clenching cunt, leaving you gasping from the sudden emptiness. 

To your mortification, he dropped the toy to the floor and crushed it under the heel of his dress shoe; a smug grin plastered on his face. Your head lolled limply, as if the exhaustion and frustration had become too much to bear. But underneath the weariness of having every single drop of your pleasure denied, you curled your hands into fists, knuckles pale with tension. Anger surged in your chest, simmering and growing with each shallow breath, threatening to implode as the frustration clawed its way through the fatigue, demanding to be released.

“You… you son of a bitch—”

Sylus didn’t give you a chance to finish your insults. Without warning, the mists shot out from his side, racing to ensnare your limbs; four tendrils holding you open and vulnerable under his darkening gaze. The tendrils lifted you up slightly from the bed, your body hovering over the dark, satin sheets. Sylus padded over to you, reaching to touch the rise of your ass appreciatively.

“You do cut a stunning, submissive figure, kitten.”

The sound of clothes shedding to the floor made you freeze, panic pumping hard in your veins when you felt his calloused hands around your waist. Sylus’s lips touched the nape of your neck, this position offering you little resistance from his advances. Under his careful control, he could shift you around using the mists, like you were a puppet to reposition and possess. 

The trunk of his thick, muscular waist was warm underneath your split thighs, your arms restrained behind your back, the tendrils around your ankles keeping you immobilized and wide open. Sylus clicked his tongue in sympathy when he took in your swollen folds, your puffy clit poking her little, overstimulated head out from the hood.

“Look at your pretty kitty, sweetie. She looks so neglected…” 

His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, and from his command, the mists dragged you close enough for your pelvis to bump his chin. The realization of what he was about to do next shocked you into a loud moan the second you felt his tongue glide through your puffy folds.

Mhm… you taste divine, love.

Such a pretty kitty.

You feel like heaven, my darling. 

His praises flowed freely, each word dripping with reverence, momentarily overshadowing the raw desire simmering under the surface. The hunger in his gaze was undeniable, the act of praising you bringing him as much pleasure as the act of watching you come undone.

Sylus’s large palms wrapped around your waist, guiding your hips. The feel of his tongue massaging your clit, sucking on your folds, drew you deeper into an inescapable ecstasy.

You did the right thing, sweetie, he hummed, voice a low, approving timber. You made the right choice in betraying the Hunters for me. 

Your eyes fell tightly shut, hoping to block out his words. But, you could still hear everything; his ragged breathing, the rustle of his body on the sheets. You could feel his mouth and teeth sucking love bites into your plush thighs, marking you as his for the world to see.

Slick dribbled from your opening in silver strings, dripping onto his chin as he continued to lap and lick your clit.

Sylus knew your body too well. The second he felt your thighs trembling under his touch, he switched up the rhythm, going slower, with light kitten licks on your folds. You groaned, dropping your head, trying to grind your hips to feel more of his tongue. 

Bad kitty, he licked a path from hole to clit, slurping on your juices. Be good and don’t move too much. 

Holy shit. Curses tumbled from your puffy lips, each one escaping in ragged breaths as you fought to keep control. Your nails dug sharply into the soft skin of your palm, leaving crescent-shaped indents as you desperately tried to stave off the cresting release building deep inside of you. 

Every muscle in your body trembled with the effort to hold back, yet the tension only seemed to heighten the intensity of the moment. 

Your pussy trembled, contractions expelling more juices running down his face.

The dark look in his ruby eyes was thrilling, stealing your breath.

“You taste like sin,” his deep voice rumbled against your flush folds, tightening the pit in your belly. You looked ethereal on top of him, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, pussy spread so obscenely open for him.

Sylus took a moment to admire this wet dream come to life, as he trailed his middle finger to your fluttering cunt, sinking the tip of it past the loosening muscle. He didn’t have to exert much effort; your body welcomed him without much resistance—taking in another finger. 

Sinking knuckles deep into you, the pad of his thumb came to rub firm circles on the swell of your clit. Your hips shunted, damp pussy right above his mouth (Sylus wanted to make you cum your brains out until you forget your own name).

He had to take a moment to admire your pretty pussy. Bare. Glistening. All for him. 

Once he was done appreciating her, Sylus snaked his tongue over your clit, replacing his circling thumb. Sucking on the little swollen nub while he continued to pump his two fingers deep inside of you. 

Your cries rebounded around the room, head tossed back to reveal your unmarked neck.

That had to change. And quick. 

Withdrawing his fingers from your damp depths, Sylus slipped it into your mouth, watching with dark eyes as you sucked your own essence off them. The fog of submission had already clouded over your gaze, leaving you pliant under his control. And what he wanted now more than anything was to fuck you senseless.

Using help from the mists, Sylus shifted you lower, your pretty cunt hovering over his cock. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, kitten.” 

Vulnerable and compliant, you found yourself instinctively nodding, ready to agree with anything he wanted without a second thought; lost in the depths of your surrender.

Simmering with pride at how easily you conceded to his words, Sylus grasped the base of his thick girth, slapping the head a few times on your clit. Shallowly dragging his sloppy tip over your folds, he nudged it past your opening. The sight of your quivering cunt slowly sucking him up shot bolts of electricity up his spine. 

You squeezed down perfectly on him—a vice-like grip that drove him delirious.

“Fuck… kitten…”

The room quickly began to fog up from the heat of both your bodies meeting. Driven by lust, the damp squelches rang across the walls, along with your dulcet moans.

Sylus… oh god… oh god… fuck—you feel so good…

Hours of edging and denial left your pussy sore, but you still rode him with zealous delight. The mists had released its grip on your limbs without your realization, but Sylus couldn’t blame you.

The way your hair fell in your face, down to the twist of your lips in a snarl, showed you were too far gone to care.

Bracing your hands on his broad shoulders, you used it as leverage to grind and shunt your hips up and down; spelling out your name on his dick, bouncing on it like you were the one who owned him.

And Sylus was more than happy to give you the reins.

He propped an arm under his head, one hand resting on the swell of your hip, using it to steady you as you rode him in a frenzy. 

Your splayed thighs covered in his hickies brought his attention to your toes scrunching in his periphery. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Sylus dragged down the edges of your bra cups, forcing your breasts to spill past the lacy material. Your nipples tightened instantly under his dark gaze, tingling when he started to pinch and roll them between his thumb and index finger.

Horripilations of shivers wracked your frame, and you whined.

— God… I’m gonna cum. 

Heavy breaths puffed past your parted lips. So close… Sylus… can I…?

“Good girl—you remembered your manners,” he praised, twisting your nipples harder, laughing in his low and smooth baritone when your hips stuttered and you squealed. Knowing you were a hair's breadth away from the biggest release of your life, Sylus gave a lazy nod. 

“Cum, kitten. It’s time for you to finally taste the sweet release.”

But, god, did it hurt. 

Hours of edging had worn the muscles of your lower body down, and your contractions came as painful pulses, each one more stinging and sore than the last.

It was hardly a pleasant experience, and the tears welling up in your eyes was undeniable proof of the discomfort. Each moment seemed to stretch unbearably, and the burning behind your eyes only intensified, leaving no room for pretenses. 

“Agonizing, isn’t it?” Sylus grunted, breathless from how good you were squeezing down on him. 

Poor little kitty, he slurred against your throat, fucking into you from below. Sylus had taken back his control, large hands on your hips forcing you to grind down on him, prolonging your pleasure and pain.

But, you can take it, can’t you? My good girl… my strong, brave, little Hunter.

At the breath of his final praise, the two of you fell off the edge of surrender, spiraling out of control and into each other’s arms. You came together: your body convulsing as waves of pleasure overtook you, while his hot release flooded inside of you, coating your insides with the mark of his claim, each pulse of his cock intensifying the sensation.

You began to shudder uncontrollably, your walls tightening and pulsing around him; the shared climax binding the both of you in a moment of raw intensity, your bodies locked together in the aftermath. 

Sylus caught you in his arms when you slumped forward, cock pushing his cum deeper inside of your trembling, little cunt.

He held you for a long moment, rubbing his hands soothingly across your back—doing his best to ground you back to reality. The fog of submission lifted one breath at a time, as your eyes fluttered open, slick and sweat-coated face breaking out into a smile.

His heart melted at your kind expression, and the shell of his dominance started to crack too, exhaustion evident on his handsome face. Your ears were still ringing from the intensity of your orgasm as you instinctively arched into his touch, seeking the soothing comfort of his gentle hands stroking you back into calmness.

“Was that satisfactory enough to quench your wicked whims, little dove?” Sylus teased, returning to his role as your lover.

You grinned and gave him a shy nod, resting your head on his chest.

“Quite so. The doctor you hired was a very persuasive actor, indeed.”

Sylus snorted, amused by your remark. After all, the man he hired was a retired professional bound by an airtight NDA, ensuring he’d never speak of this again once the scene was over. 

“And the maids? How did you like them?”

You hummed, tracing your finger down the hollow of his chest where the faint outline of a suspicious, unhealed stab wound lingered.

“I quite liked how they weren’t gentle with me. You should give them a small compensation, you know—a gift for how well they performed.”

“You know I’d have to fire them after this, right?” he mused.

You made a face. “Can’t they stay on in our household?” 

Sylus grumbled, tightening his arms around you. “You know what I absolutely find fascinating about you, kitten?” Your raised brows incited him to rush through his words, trying not to give you the wrong idea. “What I meant was, you’re too kind for your own good. They’ve seen you at your most vulnerable and you still think it’s a good idea to keep them around to serve you breakfast?” He snorted. “You’re incorrigible.”

“But, think about it this way,” you argued. “If they stayed with us, they wouldn’t have a reason to spill our secrets to anyone else. Closed mouths are a gold mine in the N109 Zone… or did the person who told me that lied?”

Sylus had to admit, ever since marrying you, your negotiation skills had significantly sharpened.

“Fine. I’ll take your advice this time, Mrs. Qin.” He leaned closer, rubbing his nose against yours. “My wife is far more intelligent and cunning than I ever imagined. Her words are sound and reliable.”

You rolled your eyes at his efforts to butter you up. “Alright, alright. Quit it with the sweet talk.”

He smirked, his expression a mix of playfulness and concern as gently took your hand in his warm grasp. “Are you alright? I didn’t go too hard on you, did I, sweetie?” Despite his layers of muscle and rugged exterior, his voice was soft, laced with genuine care.

The lengths to which Sylus would go for you were immeasurable, each sacrifice a testament to his devotion. 

In that moment, you caught a glimpse of vulnerability in his eyes—an unspoken need for reassurance. A desire to know that despite all you had witnessed, you would still choose to stay with him. The weight of his worry tugged at your heart. 

“I’m fine,” you murmured softly, leaning in to press a tender kiss on his cheek. “I’m always fine when I’m with you.” 

Your words were sincere, wrapping around him like a protective embrace, ensuring him that no matter the darkness you faced whenever you were by his side, your bond would forever remain unbroken.

— comments, feedback and reblogs are appreciated !! your support for my work means the world to me <3

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, feed my works to AI and claim them as your own.

[solxamber]

hellooo i just needed to say your writings are like super cute theyre like my bedtime stories atp JHDJJXHS but could i request a little hurt comfort headcanon with adeuce seeing a reader who usually is always very cheerful and upbeat. Theres sometimes theyre anxious and worried but overall reader is seen as someone whos strong emotionally like nothing can bring them down. Until something does get them down with tears rolling down their eyes and theyre desperately trying to hide this side of them that they feel so vulnerable letting others see. How would the boys react to such a situation?

aww thank you <3 i didn't know if you wanted separate or together so you get both!

They react to you breaking down || Ace and Deuce

Ace Trappola

Ace’s immediate reaction would be shock. He’s used to seeing you as a ball of sunshine, someone who shrugs off worries with a laugh or a witty remark. Seeing you cry? That’s uncharted territory for him, and it throws him completely off balance.

“Hey, hey, what’s with the waterworks?” he’d say, trying to keep things light-hearted, even though he’s panicking internally. But when he realizes you’re trying to hide your tears, it hits him like a ton of bricks.

Ace might not be the most emotionally articulate, but he cares deeply. He crouches down to your level, blocking your attempts to turn away from him. “You don’t have to act tough, y’know. It’s okay to be upset. Even you deserve a break from being the strong one all the time.”

He’d sit beside you, offering his sleeve (or maybe a tissue if he can find one) to wipe your tears. “Come on, talk to me. I can be serious… sometimes. I won’t even charge you for my amazing advice!” His humor is his way of trying to comfort you.

Beneath the teasing, he’s surprisingly gentle. He stays close, his presence steady and grounding, and he doesn’t leave your side until you’re ready to face the world again.

Deuce Spade

Deuce would immediately panic at the sight of you crying. “W-What happened?! Did someone hurt you? Who was it? I’ll take care of it!” His first instinct is to go into overprotective mode, even if he has no idea what’s going on yet.

But when he notices you trying to hide your face, his heart aches. He’s always admired how strong and positive you are, but seeing you crumble makes him realize just how much pressure you’ve been under.

“Hey, don’t do that,” he says softly, his voice full of concern. “You don’t have to hide from me. I’m your friend—I want to help.”

Deuce would sit down beside you, his presence calm and reassuring. He might fumble a bit with his words, but his sincerity shines through. “It’s okay to cry. I… I cry too sometimes. It doesn’t make you weak. It just means you’ve been holding a lot in.”

He’d hesitate for a moment before reaching out to gently pat your shoulder or hold your hand, giving you the comfort of physical support. “Whatever it is, we’ll get through it together. You’re not alone in this.”

Deuce is the type to quietly stay by your side, letting you take the lead in how much you want to share. If words don’t help, he’s content to simply sit there, offering you a safe space to feel what you need to feel.

Together

If Ace and Deuce stumble upon you crying together, they’d play off each other in their own chaotic but heartfelt way.

Ace would try to lighten the mood with jokes or teasing, but Deuce would elbow him and say, “Now’s not the time for that!”

They’d both sit with you, Ace on one side and Deuce on the other, creating a protective little bubble where you feel safe to let it all out.

Ace might gently nudge you with his shoulder and say, “Come on, you don’t have to deal with this alone. You’ve got us, remember?”

Deuce would nod earnestly, adding, “Yeah! Whatever’s bothering you, we’ll help you fix it. Or… or at least listen. We’re here for you.”

Their dynamic would be a mix of Ace’s playful energy and Deuce’s heartfelt sincerity, making you feel both comforted and loved. They’d stick with you until your tears turn into smiles, determined to remind you that you’re never alone with them around.

Masterlist

[luveline]

heyy 💞 could i request something for spencer him and reader have been dating for a while and she has a daughter (toddler maybe) and he meets her as readers boyfriend for the first time cause he had met her before but just as a friend from work and he’s super nervous

ty for requesting!❤️ Spencer balances his phone in the well of his front door, checking his reflection. The last time you were here with Misty, she told him she didn’t like his hair short. It’s longer now but the curls are making it seem shorter than it is, and he’s worried she won’t like it, and further worried that she’ll be moody again. 

He has little experience with children, but he genuinely loves them. It breaks his heart that Misty hasn’t warmed up to him yet. Every time she sees him, she either bursts into tears or asks to go home. Eventually she’ll sit with you, but if he attempts to talk to her for too long, she cries again. 

“It’s not you, it’s just that you’re new to her,” you’d reassured him. 

They’ve met eleven times. 

His door falls to the floor as somebody knocks. It’s not a particularly powerful knock, but it’s a repetitive wrapping that echoes until he’s grabbed his phone and swung the door open in answer. 

Misty steals his first glance. 

Spencer hadn’t realised how nervous he was to see her until she’s really looking at him. He doesn’t often have nerves with you, you’re too nice, too eager to kiss him for any worry, but Misty isn’t half as happy to see him. 

Usually. “Hi,” Misty says, waving.

“Hi, Misty,” he says, saccharine and soft. 

“Hi,” she repeats. 

You lean down to put her on her feet. “Mommy’s tired, let’s walk.” 

Misty is just old enough to walk without constantly falling over, but Spencer might as she looks up at him and offers her hand. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“What do you mean?” you ask. 

Misty leads him into the apartment. “What’s going on?” he asks her, his voice still uber soft, “Did you bump your head on the way here?” 

“Spencer,” you laugh. 

He’s so confused. There has not been a time since you met where Misty willingly took Spencer’s hand —he would remember that happening, because he’s worked very hard to get to this moment. 

“Let’s sit,” Misty says, lisping but legible as she guides him to the couch, where she stops. “Put me up?” 

Spencer is very careful to touch her. If he tried this last week she would’ve screamed. “Let’s go here,” he says, lifting her into a corner snug with cushions. 

She just smiles. “Sit?” 

“What about mommy?” 

“Mommy,” she says, nodding at you. 

Spencer sits with her. He feels like one wrong move will tip the scale, so he doesn’t wrap his arm around her. He keeps his hands to himself as you sit beside him. “Sorry about our shoes,” you whisper. 

He shakes his head. Misty could track mud over every inch of the apartment if that made her like him. 

“So… listen,” you say, leaning against his shoulder as Misty grabs the remote from the armrest and begins pointing it at the TV. “I told her you’re my boyfriend now. And she’s two, so. Don’t know if she gets it.” 

“But?” he asks, nonplussed when she turns to him, still grinning, and gives him the remote. 

“But I told her I love you, and she seems to have understood that part.” 

“What were you telling her before?” he whispers severely. You must’ve been telling her you hate him, the way she’s cried! 

Unaware of your conversation, Misty stands up on the couch, barely coming to Spencer’s shoulder, and wraps her arm around him. “Hi,” she says again. She looks like she really likes him, then. Baby fondness in her eyes. 

Spencer whips his head toward you. “Wait, you love me?”

You curl a strand of his hair around your finger but don’t answer. Misty pats his shoulder, so he turns, ping-pinged from one sweetheart to another. His heart practically swells as she copies you to stroke his hair back. 

“We’re friends now?” he asks. 

She smiles like she agrees. You lean against his arm, whispering, “You’re basically besties. Don’t forget about me, okay?”

Spencer could never forget about you. “I’ve never seen her smile this long.” 

“It’s great! My two loves are finally getting along…” 

[blueicequeen19]

Drunken State pt. 2

Warnings: creampie, jealousy, mentions of cheating, somno, oral

Part One

You’ve managed to dodge Pope and his innocent advances for almost two days after a night of explosive orgasms with a drunk JJ. It was a simple mistake. Just two friends with similar needs.

It wasn’t supposed to happen again. And again.

It hadn’t even been 48 hours yet and JJ Maybank had been inside you more often than not. You’d find yourself in a room with all your friends and JJ would give you that look that made your blood heat and pussy pulse.

Now you found yourself cornered in the bathroom again, his cock hammering into you from your spot on the counter while your friends were all outside for a bonfire.

“I’m close.” You moaned into his ear, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist as he grunted his pleasure.

“I know. You’re squeezing me so fuckin tight.” JJ groaned, his hands squeezing your ass hard enough to bruise.

“When are you gonna let me taste you?” You whisper, digging your nails into his back as he bares his teeth.

“Shit, don’t say shit like that.” JJ hisses, his body growing taunt like he’s trying to hold back.

“You don’t want to cum down my throat, J?” You purr, tightening your legs around his waist and squeezing hard. JJ moans loudly, his orgasm ripped from him as his eyes roll back. You smile in satisfaction even if it meant you didn’t have time to get yours. The power you had over him was intoxicating. This game had become too much fun.

“Fuck.” JJ growls, cupping your jaw and bringing you in for a hard kiss. “Stop making me cum without you.” JJ snags your bottom lip between his teeth, his cock still pulsing inside you.

“Never.”

Minutes later, you’re cleaning up in the bathroom while JJ rejoins the party. You’ve just finished fixing your hair when you hear raised voices in the living room.

“I’ve been waiting outside for you. What were you doing?” Your body bristles at the sound of JJ’s exs voice. Why was she here?

“You cheated on me so what does it matter?” JJ fires back, dread filling you at the direction this could turn. JJ was impulsive and unpredictable when cornered.

“We didn’t break up so if you’re screwing some other bitch then you’re cheating on me.” Oh fuck.

“Seems only fair, right?”

“Yo, what’s going on?” You froze at the sound of Pope’s voice, the front door swinging closed behind him. “Where’s Y/N?” Pope asked, your stomach dropping to the floor.

“Y/N? Is that who you’re fucking? That bitch over me?” This couldn’t be happening.

“What is she talking about?” Pope demands back.

“Don’t listen to her, Pope. She’s only happy if she’s running her mouth.” JJ snaps.

“I don’t remember hearing you ever complain about my mouth.” His ex fire back, satisfaction in her voice. Jealousy weighed you down, threatening to drown you as you fought to remain hidden.

“Get out!” JJ shouted, making you jump from the harshness in his voice. There was a long pause followed by the slamming of the front door. Only then did you release the breath you’d been holding.

“Where is Y/N?” Pope asks, the accusation clear in his voice.

“She said she was tired and went to her room.” There was another long pause that made you wish to see what was silently passing between them. You didn’t want to hurt Pope.

“We’re about to put the fire out for the night. Are you about to go to bed too?” Pope asked.

“Yea, I’m beat.”

“Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.” The front door opened and shut, giving you the all clear to slip from the bathroom. You cracked the door open to see JJ downing a beer in the kitchen, his eyes finding yours almost instantly.

“This is done until we come clean to Pope.” You said, flinching when he threw the beer bottle in the trash and raked a hand through his hair.

“Fine. Whatever.” JJ snapped, following Pope outside as you turned to find your bedroom.

Your heart hurt but it couldn’t be helped. You didn’t want to risk hurting anyone or your relationship with the rest of the group. A night alone would be good for the both of you.

Your eyes fluttered open on a soft moan as heat spread between your legs and left your clit throbbing. It took a moment to fully wake up before you felt the hands on your thighs and the tongue between your lips. Rings dug into your skin and you gasped, arching your back off the bed. It was impossible to fight the pleasure after denying yourself earlier. His skilled tongue was dragging you towards something explosive and your body was begging for it.

“Don’t scream.” JJ growled, before sucking hard on your clit and burying two fingers inside your pussy. You slapped a hand over your mouth as your body bowed off the bed and you came hard. His tight grip on your thighs kept you grounded as you rode out the high and were reduced to a shaking, withering mess.

“JJ.” You panted as he threw the blanket off and crawled up your body. His lips claimed yours in a wet kiss as he forced you to taste yourself. The head of his cock nudged your clit over and over again through the thin layer of his boxers, leaving a mess across the fabric.

“I can’t stay away from you.” JJ admitted, tugging on your peaked nipples through your sleep shirt.

“Get on the floor.” You urged, pushing at his chest and following him down onto your discarded blanket. JJ kicked off his boxers and sat up as you straddling his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. You sank down on him with ease, your pulsing wet walls welcoming him as he moaned in your ear.

JJ yanked your shirt off to claim one of your nipples in his mouth as you started to ride him.

“Oh, fuck.” JJ groaned around your flesh, his hands on your hips urging you faster.

“You’re reckless.” You growl against his lips, suddenly irritated that he couldn’t listen for even one night. His teeth smacked yours as you bounced, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Is that all?” JJ smirked against your lips, thrusting up into you.

“Impulsive.” Thrust.

“What else?” Thrust.

“Irritating.” Thrust.

“You don’t feel irritated.” Another hard thrust had your jaw clenching as you fought off the impending pleasure.

“J.” You bit out as his mouth moved to your neck, biting and licking at the sensitive skin.

“You feel ready to cum. Like you’re holding back because you want to be mad at me.” JJ taunted, digging his fingers into your hips as he forced you to bounce harder. “Have you ever been able to stay mad at me?” JJ whispered harshly, holding you tighter as he rolled his hips and hit something even deeper inside you. You bit down on his shoulder as you came, meeting every roll of his hips with your own while he grunted in your ear.

“That’s my girl.” JJ slapped your ass before rolling you both over. A pillow was stuffed under your ass and your legs thrown over his shoulder just as he began to hammer into you. The floor was uncomfortable but you couldn’t risk waking your friends with the headboard slapping against the wall. And watching JJ sweat just did something to you.

“Oh, fuck.” You rasped, his cock reaching an even deeper spot. Your fingers found your nipples, pulling and twisting the hardened peaks while pleasure shot up your spine. JJ couldn’t tear his eyes away, blue eyes nearly black with desire as you played with yourself.

“You’re so fucking hot like this.” JJ growled, his hands digging into your thighs as he pounded your pussy. You were both so close to release but not ready to stop.

“Get on your hands and knees.” JJ whispered harshly, giving you no warning before he was handling you into position. Your knees ended up between his on the pillow as he entered you again. His pace was torturously slow, making you whine with each slow drag of his cock.

“JJ.. please..” You reached back, digging your nails into his hip to urge him on but he only chuckled.

“So impatient. Do you need to cum?” JJ taunted, pulling you up by your hair and wrapping an arm around your waist to hold you upright. You groaned pathetically, his cock so deep it hurt but he wouldn’t move. “I thought you were mad at me?” JJ whispers, turning your head so his lips can tease yours.

“J, please. Make me cum.” You beg, nails biting into his arms as you roll your hips, desperate for the pleasure he’s withholding. Your tongue comes out to lick the seam of his lips before taking his bottom one between your teeth.

“I’ll do anything you want. I just need your cock. Make me feel good, J.” His nostrils flare at the same time you feel his cock pulse inside you.

When his arms tighten around your trembling body, you nearly groan in satisfaction until you hear an unexpected sound. The sound of your door creaking open and a startled gasp. Your stomach falls before you both jerk your heads around to face the intruder.

Pope.

[keitorin3]

Short: Leon (The Long Suffering)

Arthur: I'm gonna mess with this goofy eared kid.

Leon: *Internally thinking* Why do I feel like Arthur just met his match??

Arthur: He's absolutely terrible, the worst Manservant I've ever seen!

Leon: I'm sure with time he will improve, Sire. It's only been the first week.

Arthur: I've already sacked him, but then changed my mind and re-hired him back.

Leon: Ah... I see... Why?

Arthur:... *Internally thinking* Because I liked the way he looked at me when I won.

Arthur: It was difficult to find good help nowadays.

Leon: Right...

Arthur: Can you believe it, Merlin went and accused himself of being a sorcerer! In front of my father during the council meeting!

Leon: He what?! 😨

Arthur: I know! All because a girl gave him a flower. That idiot. I don't know where his head is at.

Leon: Hold on a second sire, he really said that in front of the King and didn't get executed?? 😧

Arthur: *Waves it off* Yeah, I had to explain that it was cause he had a crush on Gwen. *Mutters to himself* Maybe I should get him some flowers? 🤔

Leon: !? ⁉️❕❔

Arthur: My idiot Manservant got sick and I got him flowers so he'd feel better. 💐

Leon: Arthur, he drank poison for you and you went off to find the antidote. 😑

Arthur: So you think he liked it?

Leon: ... *Takes a deep breath* I'm sure he did Sire.

Arthur: 😁 See! I take care of my servants~

Arthur: *Breaks into Leon's room*

Leon: *Jumps in fright* ⁉️

Arthur: I can't believe him!

Leon: What is it? Is there an attack Sire? Something happened with the King?

Arthur: No! It's that insolent brat Merlin. He came back with some guy, singing him praises and wants me to make him a knight?!😤

Leon: *Thinking* Is this really worth barging into my chambers? 😮‍💨

Leon: Really, then what did you do? 😑

Arthur: Ha, had the guy cleaning the stables.

Leon: 🤦🏼‍♂️

Leon: *Watches as Arthur sits with goofy smile and practically hearts in his eyes*

Leon: Sire?

Arthur: Isn't it the loveliest day to go out for a picnic? 🥰

Leon: Yes Sire, it is indeed.

Arthur: *Nods* I had Merlin pack a picnic for me and the lady Sofia. Where gonna go later today.

Leon: *Confused and concerned* But don't you have a meeting with the King today?

Arthur: *Waves it off* It's fine, I have Merlin to cover for me!

Leon: *Thinking* Oh boy...

[LATER]

Merlin: *Coming back from the stocks* I'm gonna kill that cabbagehead! 😠💢

Arthur: *Walks in* Merlin~! 🥰💐🌈

Merlin: 🌩️🔪😠

Leon: *Makes a break for it*

Leon: *Walks by Morgana's room*

Morgana: Please Arthur he just a boy and he's sick! 🥺

Arthur: I'm sorry Morgana, but my father is looking for him and if he were to find out you harboured a druid, you'll not only get into trouble but so would Gwen and Merlin.

Morgana: *Angry* 😠

Merlin: *Steps in* Please Arthur, we can't let the King kill him. 🥺

Arthur: ... *Turns away* I saw nothing, heard nothing. I've got to look for the Druid boy because clearly he isn't here. *Leaves room without noticing Leon*

Morgana: Tsk, of course he'd listen to Merlin.

Gwen: *Giggles*

Merlin: Arthur has a good heart. Of course he'd help. *The face of loyalty and innocence*

Morgana: 😏 He followed his heart alright. I'll remember next time to have you around to convince him for some things.

Merlin: 🤨❔❔ What do you mean?

Leon: *Overhears and follows his princes lead and continues like nothing happened*

Leon: *Witnessed Merlin doing Sorcery, trying to burn the Black Knight and fails*

Leon: ... I saw nothing. Just tired eyes. Yup, nothing here. *Mutters* Not like Arthur would believe it, or even care.

Uther: Where is my son and ward?! 😠

Leon: They've decided on a friendly hunting trip, they'll be gone for several days.

Leon: *Internally* They went after Merlin to his home village to fight bandits alone. And I'm not gonna say anything because

1. You'll blame Merlin and send him away

2. Merlin's a sorcerer who you'll kill if you knew

3. If any of the above happens Arthur might likely kill you and that'll be a worse headache then his pinning.

Uther: Those brats!

Leon: *Thinking* I couldn't agree more.

[LATER]

Arthur: If I ever retire from royalty, I think I'd like to live as a farmer.

Leon: Ah, is that so?

Arthur: Yup. Of course, Merlin would be there to do the work.

Leon: 😓

Arthur: But I'll get him Cows and chickens, maybe even a horse. He has a soft spot for animals.

Arthur: Merlin's mad at me. He started talking politely to me Leon! Politely. As in using my titles instead of insults. Even avoids looking at me in the eyes. 😟

Leon: 😬 Oof, what did you do?

Arthur: He's angry at me after killing the Unicorn. 😟

Leon: ... That would do it.

Arthur: What do I do Leon!

Leon: Try giving him some space for now and maybe flowers, you've said Merlin likes those.

Arthur: Alright!

[LATER]

Arthur: Merlin's not avoiding me anymore. 😊

Leon: Great to hear, what happened?

Arthur: We faced off the sorcerer of the Unicorns and I drank fake poison before Merlin could.

Leon: ... What?! 😱

Arthur: It's fine. Merlin's still mad about that but now he insults me about my intellect being the size of a peanut. ☺️🌈✨

Leon: I'm almost inclined to agree with him Sire.

Leon: *Spots Merlin and follows him to the Isles*

Nimueh: For a life to be saved, another life must be forfeited.

Merlin: He's my friend. I'd gladly give my life for him.

Leon: *Thinking* God these two are cut by the same cloth. I'm gonna go fully grey by 30.

[LATER]

Arthur: 🥰 Merlin said the most weirdest thing. He said he'd serve me for the rest of his life. That he was happy to be with me. ❤️🥰

Leon: *Bore witness to Merlins power and dedication to his loved ones*

Leon: He cares for you Sire. Would hardly leave your side if he didn't need to help Gaius make your cure.

Arthur: ☺️ Don't tell Merlin this, but I think Merlin's my best friend.

Leon: *Internally swears on his honor as a knight to support Merlin however he could and potentially get his prince to be less of an idiot. Hopefully*

Merlin: *Sneezes*

Gaius: You alright my boy?

Merlin: *Sniffs and shurgs* I'm alright.

Gaius: Hmm, some say that when you sneezing abruptly, it's because someone is talking about you at the moment.

Merlin: Ugh, probably Arthur talking about all the chores he has in stored for me. 😮‍💨

[lale-txt]

❦ IDLE HANDS (Kuroo x f!reader)

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two.

a/n: little something for @husbandograveyard ♡ writing this made me a Kuroo girlie. i get it now. i really, REALLY do. also when i started writing this i was aiming for 1k or so idk what possessed me but here we are. maybe listening to bouncy while writing this wasn't the best idea (lie)

tags: f!reader, mild enemies to lovers, fluff, mutual pining, shameless flirting, food mention, bit of a slow burn, they're so in love your honor

wc: 3.7k

Kuroo Tetsuro is a heartthrob.

With his stupid messy hair and his stupid rolled up sleeves, showing off his stupid toned arms while he’s mumbling stupid sweet things to your favorite cat that’s currently coiling underneath his stupid big hand, getting the best belly rubs of her life from the looks of it. 

It’s not like you’re jealous or something, no; it’s just that you’ve been coming to this cat café for a year now and you thought you and the calico shared a special bond. Maru, who is just as her name implies, very round and very soft, has been sitting and purring by your side while you spend hours typing page after page of your next book. She’d also stretch out all over your laptop and remind you to take a break when you’ve been going at it for hours. Yes, it took you some bribery to win her heart but over the past months she really warmed up to you. Wow, she usually isn’t this friendly with people, you remember the café owner say once. 

What a blatant lie. 

Your peace has been disturbed. A slight shift in the universe when he showed up for the first time merely a week ago. It was easy to remember him, because he was sitting in your spot with your favorite cat purring in his lap, looking like he didn’t have a single worry in the world except maybe that untamed hair of his (and even this was kind of charming, you had to admit begrudgingly).

Sharing usually wasn’t a big deal for you–until it was. You come to this cat café almost every day, feeling much more inspired to write here than in the shoebox you call your apartment at the other end of town. Your landlady doesn’t allow pets, so this place has been a lifeline in the tiring times of deadlines and rejected book deals. At the end of the day there was always a cat rubbing against your legs, reminding you that not everything was bad and that no matter how severe things got, there was always a kitty waiting to be picked up.

You hold this place very dear to your heart, a secret gem you felt a need to protect. It is hidden away in a side street, far from the hectic buzz of the city. The interior is cozy, it isn’t too big and the owner, an elderly lady with candy cotton hair and knuckle tattoos, lives upstairs and treats the place like her second living room with all six of her cats. There’s never too many other guests around and in the corner seat by the window you can unravel your thoughts quietly. It feels homey, something you haven’t felt in a long time.

But now there is an intruder in a business suit and you didn’t really know how to deal with that new found irritation.

“That’s my spot.”

Balancing your laptop, notebook, a slice of carrot cake and a hot drink in one hand, all manners aside, you point at the stranger with your other. In your right mind you know it is rude to point at people, but to be fair he kinda started it by sitting where you rightfully belong. His eyes, a certain gleam in them, follow your movement down to the cat curled up on top of his thighs. With the amount of cat hair sticking to his suit pants you could only pray for him that he had a lint roller somewhere at his desk. 

He cocks his head to the side, giving you a boyish smirk that maybe would make your heart skip a beat if it wasn’t for his audacity. 

“Usually I ask someone’s name first and take them on a few dates before I let them sit in my lap, but I guess I can make an exception,” he replies and you never in your life before wanted to strangle someone so badly. If that wasn’t already worse enough, the tuxedo cat lifts its small head and slowly blinks at you before jumping down from his lap, as if it was trying to make space for you. My bad, didn’t know this seat was taken. Here, girl, you have it.

For once in your life you’re too stunned to speak. You watch the stranger check his watch and let out an almost inaudible sigh before he grabs his backpack (one that looks like he has had it since high school) and stands up to full height. He’s in your space now and you have to crank your neck slightly to meet his eyes. Mentally you’re adding stupidly tall to your list of things you hate about him. 

“Gotta get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

True to his words he is there the next day, too. This time around you managed to secure your spot by the window, three cats idly sleeping next to you on. You’ve been stuck on a paragraph for almost an hour now when the doorbell chimes and his figure appears at the counter. The cats look up with interest but you force yourself not to pay any attention to him, which is hard when his order is literally “I’ll have whatever she is having”, followed by a nod in your direction and this cheeky smile again. 

This damn smile.

“You didn’t strike me as a dirty chai drinker,” you deadpan when he takes a seat at the table next to yours. The café is almost empty around this time of the day, which is no surprise since most of the workers in this district are having a hearty meal for lunch and not whatever sweet delicacies this place is offering. 

He peels himself out of his suit jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. The same cat as yesterday jumps into his lap immediately after he sits down, giving you a look of “if you don’t want him, I’ll take him” and you almost roll your eyes. Kuroo (you learn his name from the ID he is wearing around his neck) seems to notice and he grins at you. 

“Then what did I strike you as?” he asks, his chin resting in one hand while his other finds the soft fur of the kitty, stroking it gently. 

You look him up and down, now taking your time while stretching out the silence between you two. Only the purring of the cats and the soft music in the background could be heard. At first glance he seems like your typical office worker in the three piece suit who spends his time filling out spreadsheets and drinking cheap vending-machine coffee from the conbini next door. Everything a little rumpled, himself included, someone so used to tristesse he doesn’t even notice it anymore. 

Only at second glance do you notice the small wrinkles around his eyes, not from age but from laughter. The dimples when he smiles down at the tuxedo cat in his lap, now showing off its belly. His calloused hands, atypical for an office worker, more like you’d see them at craftsmen or athletes. Something in his eyes that radiates warmth and an air of calm confidence. None of it is unpleasant.

“If I had to guess, maybe three espresso with a pump of caramel and honey,” you say, more to yourself than to him. Kuroo looks at you in surprise before barking out a laugh. You hate how you like the sound of it.

It’s the beginning of spring and you award Kuroo Tetsuro the title of the greatest nuisance you’ve ever met.

In the midst of summer, you pity him. 

“I’m just saying that maybe you radiate a natural fragrance of catnip,” you say as you stir your iced oat milk latte. Kuroo got you that one when he popped in during his lunch break and saw that your glass must have been empty for a while. By that time you were hunched over your laptop, trying to decipher your notes from last night. You had saved him a seat at your table, but if he asked you, you’d say you just happened to put all your belongings on one chair and nothing more.

The man is swarmed by the cats of the café. They didn’t even bother to hide who their favorite is, rubbing around his legs, sitting pressed to his side or just straight up climbing his shoulders. It would’ve been enviable if he wasn’t already sweating from wearing a suit in the humid heat of the summer month alone. 

“Can you get at least one or two off me?” he asks and his tone is close to pleading. It makes you laugh as you stretch out in your light sundress, giving him a look as if you’re contemplating his question. 

“I could, but it’s really much funnier seeing you struggle like that. Serves you well,” you chime and pull out your phone, snapping a photo of this moment. You hold it up for him to see, a kitty phone charm dangling from it (they just happened to come in a pack of two and you gifted him one out of generosity, nothing more). He snatches it from your hands and makes a face.

“So you like seeing me suffer, is that how it is?” he snarls at you, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. His slender fingers fly over the screen of your phone and you let out a small gasp.

“Don’t you dare delete it,” you huff and grab the orange tabby mercifully off his shoulders so you can lean over him better. 

“Relax. I’m only saving my contact info since you never bothered asking me for it despite being my constant for the past three months.”  

There was this cheeky smile again. You blame the flutter of your heart on the caffeine and not the way his pupils are dilating when he gazes at you. 

He loosens his tie and unbuttons his shirt slightly, just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Suddenly you’re very aware of how close you’re leaning over at him. Kuroo gives you a little glance from the corner of his eyes and taps the now revealed side of his neck. 

“What do you say? Do I really smell like catnip?” 

Shameless, you think. Unsure if you mean him or yourself when you narrow the distance between you two. You can feel the heat radiating off him and for a brief moment you wonder what it would feel like to press open mouth kisses on his skin. Your eyes flutter shut as you engrave this moment into your heart. 

“Definitely irresistible,” you murmur once you pull back–reluctantly, as if a hidden part of you ached to be in his proximity, in the inside of his soul.  

By autumn you miss him on the days when he was gone. 

He traveled quite a lot. You didn’t know one would need to be on the road so much for something as simple as volleyball (you can imagine the look he’d give you over this). But he was passionate about it and that’s also something you liked about him. The way he talks about the sport holds so much love and you wonder what it would feel like to be loved by a man like Kuroo Tetsuro.

Gentle, you think. Honest. Treasured.

A tap against the window pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up, you're met with a pair of honey glazed eyes. Whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s making him grin from ear to ear before he hurries towards the entry door, eager to meet you again.

Kuroo is holding up a bag, some brand of sweets from Hokkaido he’s been texting you about, but you didn’t think he’d actually go so far and bring you some. He sounds breathless when he speaks, as if he rushed all the way to get here and when he keeps on rambling, you order him and yourself a hot matcha boba and a chocolate mousse to share. 

The cats are happy to see him back too, and you laugh when you help him take his scarf off before some kitty claws can tangle up in it. It was a precious gift after all, one you knitted for him, under the feeble excuse of “keeping my hands busy helps me come up with ideas for my writing process”. It makes you happy to see him wearing it, and the color makes you feel as if you took the red string of fate connecting you two and turned it into something to help him stay warm.

You think a lot about kissing him now. Sometimes your hands would brush against each other on the table, neither of you pulling away. He spends his lunch breaks with you and comes to pick you up from the café in the evening, walking you to your station. The two of you still bicker at each other, but underneath lies a certain kind of softness, one that feels too fickle to put it into words just yet but also too bright to ignore. The leaves of the trees are falling and so are you. 

With winter comes snow and the quiet realization that maybe, just maybe, it’s unadulterated love. 

You spend a lot of time huddled together in the corner by the window now. He looks over your shoulder when you type on your laptop, one arm resting idly on the back of your chair, fingertips brushing against your spine sometimes. You don’t think he even notices when he lets them run up and down there. Often you forget which cups on the table belong to who but it doesn’t matter since you order the same things anyway and because this could count as an indirect kiss, right? 

On some days he’d just close his eyes and laze next to you, with his head resting on his folded arms on the table and your fingers idly weaving through his hair, before he had to hurry back to work. On others he would tell you excitedly about a special match he was organizing and you can hear the pure joy in his voice. It’s contagious.You get them now, the cats. How drawn they are to him, like chasing sunbeams. 

He spells L-O-V-E on your back with his fingertips and something inside of you softens. 

Then there’s snow, more snow than you’ve ever seen in your entire life, and Kuroo comes to pick you up early, the tip of his ears bright red and his cold hands seeking yours to warm them up. 

“I’m really sorry but I’m closing the shop early today,” the café owner apologizes and puts a box of cinnamon rolls for you on your table. “You two kittens better hurry and get home, too. On the radio they said they’re gonna shut everything down soon.”

It can’t be that bad, you think. But when Kuroo and you stand in front of the closed station, it dawns on you that maybe you’ve underestimated the amount of snow a teeny tiny bit. You huddle a little closer to him for warmth and to shield yourself against the snow as you pull out your phone. 

“If there’s no more trains running, I better start looking for a place to stay. With some luck there’s still a few vacant rooms in the hotels nearby…”

Kuroo puts a hand over your screen and gives you a stern look when you open our mouth to protest. 

“You can crash at my place for the night. I live close by," he mutters and it doesn’t really leave room to decline his offer. Maybe it’s not really an offer to begin with; more of a silent pleading to stay. Not just for the duration of the snowstorm, but forever maybe. 

His place is just like you imagined it would be like. Not overly spacious but it feels like a home in every corner. There’s photos on the wall, back from when he was a kid to his high school and college years, and pinned with a magnet to the fridge is also a polaroid he took of you back in summer. In it you’re laughing about something silly he said and you’re holding up two cats at once, one strap of your sundress almost slipping down your shoulder. You still remember how he fixed it for you because you didn’t have a hand free and how his fingers lingered for longer than necessary. 

You hope one day he won’t pull his hand away anymore.

The apartment is certainly not messy but you can see he lives in this place, with some papers scattered across the coffee table and the unmade bed and the slightly concerning stock of buldak noodles in the kitchen shelves (in which you peeked out of curiosity into while he was in the shower). You imagine yourself living here, too. Maybe you’d get a cat on your own and plants for the balcony once this winter was over. 

The laundry machine rumbles quietly in the background after you step out of the bathroom, too. It wasn’t just the steamy shower that had your cheeks feel hot, it was also his clothes that he put out for you, with his scent lingering on them and engulfing you softly. Kuroo appears with two cups from the kitchen and pauses when he sees you, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flicker over your form. He doesn’t want to stare but also he does want to stare, wants to drink you in and memorize every detail of this moment. 

You can see his Adam's apple bop slightly when he swallows and nods over to the couch, and it’s at this moment that you know you’re not leaving this apartment again before every inch of your skin has been plastered in kisses. 

“It’s not as good as the one’s at the café but I tried my best for my special guest,” he laughs quietly when he hands you your cup, his fingers brushing against yours. The hot chocolate looks impossibly sweet, with whipped cream and sprinkles on top (they’re not ordinary sprinkles, you realize, but tiny cat shaped ones), and the first sip would’ve been enough to send you in some higher spheres if you weren’t in a state of bliss due to his proximity already. You put the cups to cool down on the coffee table and sink into the couch. 

Outside the snow is falling relentlessly, muffling the sounds of the outside world and opening up a new one, right here in these four walls.

In his arms. 

Without realizing you both settled down in your now familiar positions, only closer this time. Huddled next to each other, with one of his arms around your shoulder drawing you nearer to him. It feels natural, the way your head comes to rest against his shoulder and your legs thrown over his lap, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

He’s warm. Kuroo is so warm. 

And when he presses a fleeting kiss on top of your head it’s like everything is falling in place; the months of pining and yearning and unspoken desire. In the midst of a snowstorm both of your hearts are set ablaze, with a tenderness you haven’t experienced in this lifetime before. You sure hope he will find you in the next and the one after that as well because you never want to miss his embrace ever again. 

“That’s my spot,” you murmur and Kuroo laughs, the kind with his head tilted back and his chest rumbling. His grip around you tightens and he pulls you impossibly closer, till you’re really in his lap now, your head tucked under his chin. 

“Damn right it is.” 

You can feel his heart drum, or maybe it’s your own that’s doing somersaults–either way, it’s the same rhythm, a steady thrumming and rattling, begging to be felt. Time seems to freeze at this moment and you’re both quiet. Cat’s got your tongue. Kuroo has both arms around you now, and one of his hands settles on your waist, at the part where your sweatshirt is bunched up a little. His thumb draws small patterns against your bare skin, his touch featherlight and gentle.

You lift your head, only enough so you can catch his gaze. For the first time in your life you understand what it means to have your heart in your throat, because he takes your breath away with a simple glance. His other hand comes to rest against your cheek, cupping your face softly while his grip around your waist tightens a fraction.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters and you can see his sharp teeth flash in the corner of your eyes when he laughs. 

“Like what?” “You know what.” “I think I’ll need to have it spelled out for me.”

He laughs again and this time he leans in closer till his breath is fanning over your skin and everything is happening all at once. Honey and caramel eyes asking you to drown in them. The heat of his body mingling with yours. Your fingers playing with the shaved part of hair in the back of his neck, sending small shivers down his spine.

“Oh, I’ll spell it out for you alright.”

Kuroo kisses you with all the gentleness of the world. It feels as natural as if he had done this countless times before, as if he had kissed you in every life prior to that. He hums into the kiss and smiles when your lips part for him so willingly, and then he deepens the kiss in a way that makes you forget your name for a heartbeat or two. 

Sweet, you think. Soft and saccharine. And warm. So warm. The same what loving Kuroo feels like.