#but really they found something to stay for and someone to stay with | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sincerelybubbles · 3 days ago

Text

The Being (Un)Known \\ S. Reid x fem!reader

You never meant to orbit Spencer Reid, but somehow, you always do. The space between you is filled with quiet observations, lingering glances, and a tension that hums beneath every near miss. A brush of hands, a breath caught mid-sentence—small moments that build into something undeniable. It takes a near-disaster to bring you closer, but it’s the nights spent tangled in conversation, stolen glances over case files, and the weight of his name in your mouth that seal your fate.

12.1k, fem!reader. Slow-burn, lingering tension, quiet devotion, and Spencer being insufferably charming without realizing it.

CW: mutual pining, near-miss injury, brief emotional vulnerability, mild anxiety, excessive overthinking, cannon-typical violence, references to religion.

Spencer Reid is an enigma you never mean to chase, a sun you don’t realize you’ve been orbiting until the pull of his gravity is undeniable. He’s not someone you’re supposed to know, not really—he works in profiling, a world built on instinct and razor-sharp deduction, while you’re still buried in textbooks, an academy student trying to shape yourself into something worthy.

He’s only a few years older, but the distance between you feels vast, like a canyon carved by time and experience. And yet, no matter how often you tell yourself that he’s just another name, just another agent, you keep finding him. Or maybe—just maybe—he lets himself be found.

You don’t think much of it at first, the way your paths cross in quiet places—hallways humming with fluorescent light, libraries steeped in dust and silence, moments that seem incidental but never quite are. And then, without warning, that quiet fascination tilts your entire world:

It’s Spencer who speaks your name when SSA Hotchner asks for a student to shadow the team.

“It’s only a few cases,” he tells you, voice warm with something like certainty. There’s a rare kind of confidence in the way he smiles—small, knowing. “But Rossi and I agree—you’ve got too much potential to stay in a classroom much longer.”

“You’re sharp,” Rossi agrees, stepping in with the weight of experience, his approval easy but meaningful. “Play this right, kid, and you’ll be glad you did.”

Rossi’s words settle over you, weighty with promise, but reality is heavier.

Your first case comes fast—too fast. One moment, you’re standing in the bullpen with a crisp folder in your hands, the next, you’re on a jet with seasoned agents, listening as crime scene photos flick past on the monitor. It’s a triple homicide, the kind of case you’ve only studied in theory, where the victimology is murky and the suspect is still a shadow. The words feel clinical in the briefing, just patterns and deductions, but then you’re standing in a house that doesn’t feel like a crime scene yet, where someone left dishes in the sink and a jacket draped over the back of a chair, never to be touched again.

You swallow hard.

“Deep breath,” Spencer murmurs beside you, so quiet you almost miss it.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides. You don’t want him to notice—don’t want anyone to notice—but Spencer’s eyes are too sharp, always catching things before they surface. You inhale, steadying yourself.

“This is different than the academy,” you admit, voice just above a whisper.

“It should be.” Spencer doesn’t sound condescending, doesn’t sound like he’s telling you anything you don’t already know. Just a simple, grounding fact. “But you’re still here.”

You are. And for now, that’s enough.

Slowly, you become accustomed to it. The days fly by while the hours drag on. \\

“Okay,” you tell the team, throwing your folders on the table to begin organizing them in the order you’ll present them. “JJ gave me four cases flagged as urgent,” you say, clicking the remote in your hand. The screen behind you flickers to life, displaying a title screen verging on too childish, nearly girly. You built the theme last night, sipping dregs of coffee, clinging to something that makes you feel human. A colorful border is enough to make you feel better about plastering victims' faces on a PowerPoint slide. “Each presents a significant threat, and each has something that warrants immediate intervention.”

CASE ONE: THE RITUALIST

You’re following the curriculum exactly, formatting how your professor told you to, but coming up with titles for the cases felt exaggerated, almost picturesque. You hesitated to do so last night, fingers flinching above your keyboard.

Your favorite professor, kindly answering your 3 am email, assured you it was natural. Par for the course. Identify the cases, give them a name to be referred to. It feels childish, she conceded in her response, but it’s what they want students to do.

“In Savannah, Georgia, three women have been found buried in shallow graves near the riverfront, all posed identically and dressed in wedding gowns.”

Emily crosses her arms, frowning. “That’s theatrical.”

“It is,” you agree, clicking to the next slide—a zoomed-in shot of the delicate lace on one victim’s gown, carefully arranged over stiff, lifeless hands. “The unsub is mimicking a local legend—one about a grieving bride who drowned herself in the river in the 1800s.”

“An emerging pattern?” JJ asks.

You nod. “The first body was found two weeks ago. The second, one week ago. The third, two days ago.”

“Which means he’s escalating,” Hotch observes.

“Yes. If the unsub continues following this timeline, we could see another victim within days.”

Morgan exhales, shaking his head. “A guy like this? He’s loving the attention. He’s not gonna stop on his own.”

“No,” you agree. “And if his rituals are as important to him as they seem, he won’t just pick random victims. He’s looking for something—someone—to fit his narrative.”

Spencer leans forward, fingers tapping absently on the table. “That level of organization suggests a highly controlled personality. He’s not just killing—he’s curating.”

“He’s hand-stitching the dresses, too. Each is perfectly tailored to fit the victims.” The thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You switch the slide.

CASE TWO: THE FAMILY ANNIHILATOR

“In Tulsa, Oklahoma, three families have been murdered in their homes over the course of the past two days.” You keep your voice steady, clicking through the crime scene images—too much blood, overturned furniture, a dinner table frozen mid-meal. “In all of the cases, the father was restrained and forced to watch before he was killed last.”

A grim silence settles over the room.

Rossi rubs a hand over his jaw. “He’s not just taking them out—he’s making them suffer.”

Morgan exhales sharply. “Which means this is personal.”

“Possibly,” you say. “There was no forced entry in either case, which suggests the unsub is either someone the victims trusted or someone who knew how to manipulate his way inside.”

“A service worker, maybe?” Emily muses. “Someone posing as law enforcement?”

“That’s a strong possibility,” you admit. “And if the pattern holds, we’re looking at another family being targeted in a few hours.”

JJ’s expression hardens. “We can’t let that happen.”

The weight in her voice lingers as you switch to the next slide.

CASE THREE: THE PHANTOM ABDUCTOR

“Denver, Colorado,” you say, clicking to a map marked with four red pins. “Four people have vanished over the last five months—one woman, two men, and a child. No bodies, no forensic evidence, no trace of them after the moment they disappeared.”

Spencer tilts his head. “No pattern in victim selection?”

“None that we can see,” you agree. “Different ages, different backgrounds. The only common thread is that they all vanished from public places.”

JJ frowns. “Security footage?”

You shake your head. “In each case, cameras malfunctioned or lost power at the exact moment the victim disappeared.”

“That’s not a coincidence,” Hotch says.

“No,” you agree. “Which means we’re looking at an unsub—or possibly multiple—who is incredibly meticulous, well-prepared, and willing to wait for the perfect conditions.”

Morgan exhales. “Damn. If he’s this careful, we might not even know how many victims we’re missing.”

You nod, the reality of it settling into your gut like lead. You click to the final slide.

CASE FOUR: THE JANE DOE MURDERS

“Phoenix, Arizona,” you begin. “Five women have been found dead in the last six months. None have been identified.”

Emily shifts in her seat. “That’s a long time for that many women to go without names.”

“Exactly,” you say, flipping through the slides—malnourished bodies, identical scars along their spines. “We suspect the victims were held for an extended period before being killed. Medical reports indicate malnutrition and signs of prolonged restraint.”

Rossi exhales slowly. “Torture?”

“Maybe. But what stands out are these.” You zoom in on the marks along the victims’ backs—precise, deliberate incisions. “The wounds suggest medical knowledge. Someone who knew what they were doing.”

JJ’s face tightens. “He’s experimenting.”

“That’s the concern.” You glance at the team, your stomach twisting. “The unsub could still have others in captivity.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Hotch clears his throat. “Alright. You’ve presented four cases, all high priority. Now comes the hard part.” The part where you choose.

You inhale. Exhale. The weight of the decision presses against your ribs, but you don’t let it show.

“Take a moment,” Hotch says, voice even. “Decide which one we handle first.”

The room is quiet as you grip the remote a little tighter, eyes flicking between the slides, between the horrors laid out before you. Whichever case you choose, the others will wait. But not forever. You swallow hard and decide. The weight of it sits heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs like a vice.

You shift your gaze between the slides still illuminated on the monitor—each one a tragedy waiting to unfold, each one a door closing on lives you’ll never be able to save if you don’t act now.

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. How awful that the fate of lives rests on a test for a student. You know it’s important – they have to test you. You’re here because Rossi and Spencer see potential, kept around because, according to Hotch’s last report, you’re proving to be irreplaceable. Still, the decision feels too big to be handed off to you.

You have to make a case, despite. You bite your lip, wrinkle your nose. Tells everyone around you can see, signals they’re noting and remembering. “The Tulsa case,” you say, finally, voice firm, but not as even as you want it to be. “That’s where we go first.”

Across the room, the team absorbs your choice in silence.

Hotch nods once, expression unreadable. “Walk us through your reasoning.”

You click back to the slide, the images of two shattered families staring back at you. You resist the urge to look away. “The unsub’s pattern is clear. Three families, mere hours apart. If he keeps to his timeline, another family is in danger—possibly right now”

JJ’s jaw tightens, her fingers tapping lightly against the table. “And this isn’t just about killing them,” she adds. “The way he makes the fathers watch—it’s personal.”

“Exactly.” You glance at Spencer, who’s already nodding in agreement. “The level of control, the methodical nature—it suggests military or law enforcement training. Someone used to hierarchy, dominance.”

Morgan folds his arms. “Which means he’s not picking his victims at random.”

“No,” you agree. “If we can find the connection between the families, we can narrow down potential targets before he chooses his next one.” You click to the next slide, where the family structures are laid out side by side. “Right now, we have limited victimology, but the fathers were in leadership positions. One was a high-ranking bank manager, the other an attorney, the most recent one a sheriff.”

Emily tilts her head, considering. “A grudge? Financial ruin, a court case, something that connects them?”

“Possibly,” you say. “But we won’t know for sure until we dig deeper. And we don’t have time to wait for another murder to give us more evidence.”

Hotch doesn’t hesitate. “Agreed.” He turns to the team. “If we leave within the hour, we’ll be in Tulsa by tonight. JJ, contact the local PD and get us access to the crime scenes. Morgan, start looking into the victims’ professional histories—see if there’s overlap. Prentiss, work with Garcia to pull any major financial or legal disputes in the last six months. Rossi, coordinate with victim services—we need to talk to the families.”

Everyone moves into action around you, gathering files, pushing back chairs, murmuring in low voices.

Then, Spencer speaks, “You made the right call.” You glance up to find him watching you, head tilted slightly, something unreadable in his expression.

You swallow. “I hope so.” Because it doesn’t feel like the right call. It just feels like the least wrong one.

Spencer studies you for a moment longer, then nods, as if he understands something you haven’t said aloud. The decision is made.

You catch the guy �� you’re with the best team in the world, of course, you do — and subsequently pass the ‘test’ JJ posed for you. This is the deal with your professors: aid in exchange for grades. It’s not totally unheard of, accepting an academy student onto a team for a brief trial to test-run them. Especially a student top of their class like you are.

What’s unusual is how long you stay on the team.

It’s long enough to catch more sightings of Spencer, scattered across the building, like watching a dove rest.

You don’t mean to linger, but you do. A moment too long, just enough to feel like a pause in a conversation neither of you started. His fingers drum against the ceramic of his mug—quick, controlled, an absent rhythm. You can’t help but wonder if he hears the world like that, like patterns waiting to be unraveled. Like music waiting to be played.

You scamper away, like a startled animal, afraid of what the mundane action awakens.

You don’t have time to be entranced by Spencer Reid. You really, really don’t, but you still feel the beginnings of it pool in your belly.

The air in the bullpen is thick with the low hum of voices, the shuffle of papers, the occasional ring of a phone cutting through the din before being silenced by a hurried answer. Stale coffee lingers in the air, curling around the sharper scent of printer ink and the faintest traces of cologne clinging to coats draped over chairs. It smells like exhaustion, like long hours pressed into fabric, like something too lived-in to ever be fully washed away. The air conditioning murmurs somewhere overhead, cooling the space unevenly so that certain corners feel frigid while others remain stubbornly warm, weighted by too many bodies moving too slowly.

You should be focused. You should be finishing the report in front of you, should be paying attention to the pages you keep flipping through but not actually reading. But instead, your gaze drifts, betraying you before you can stop it. Across the room, at the coffee station, Spencer stands with his back to you, one hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other wrapped loosely around a ceramic mug, fingers curled just slightly, resting on the smooth surface in a way that seems absentminded. His thumb moves in slow, methodical circles against the ridges of the cup, a rhythm so small and controlled that you might have missed it if you weren’t watching. If you weren’t, despite every part of you screaming not to, noticing. The fluorescent lights overhead cast a pale glow over the angles of his face, sharpening the cut of his cheekbones, catching in the strands of his hair that are just slightly disheveled, like he’s run his fingers through them one too many times.

He doesn’t look up.

Not at you, not at anyone. His focus is turned inward, lost somewhere else, eyes fixed on the dark surface of his coffee as if he’s reading something in it, tracing the shape of a thought that hasn’t yet fully formed. His brow furrows slightly, just enough for you to notice, and then his fingers drum once—twice—against the ceramic, a quick tap-tap before stilling again. A habit, you think. A rhythm he follows without meaning to, the kind of movement that comes from a mind that never truly rests.

It is only then, only in the moment before you force yourself to look away, that he lifts his head. Not in your direction, not searching for you, but simply breaking free from whatever thought had been holding him captive. His lips part slightly, as if he might say something, but no sound comes. He just breathes, slow and measured, before lifting the mug to his mouth, taking a small sip, swallowing in a way that seems almost careful, like he’s weighing the warmth of the liquid against the feeling of it settling in his throat. You shouldn’t be watching this. It’s too small, too insignificant, and yet you can’t help but be transfixed by the way something as simple as drinking coffee becomes a deliberate act with him.

You realize that you’re still staring but you’re struggling to stop. You need to, you really need to, but the impulse to look at him is strong. It’s beyond physical attraction — something in him calls to you. A hunger to understand him, to be near him, to listen to him talk. He soothes something inside of you just by existing, piques your interest without trying, captivates your attention and hardly notices.

You tear your gaze away, back to your report, blinking rapidly, but it’s too late. The image of him is already burned into your mind, curling itself around your ribs, slipping into the spaces between thoughts like ink seeping into paper.

You tell yourself it’s nothing.

But you don’t look up again.

The scent of rain clings to his clothes when he sits beside you. Not the sharp, metallic bite of a downpour, but the softer, earthier remnants of a drizzle that has already passed, leaving only damp fabric and the faintest trace of petrichor in its wake. His coat is slung over the back of his chair, sleeves still holding the ghost of the movement he made when shrugging it off, the fabric folded in on itself in a way that suggests he hadn’t given it much thought before sitting down. He smells like paper and ink, like something faintly sweet beneath it—maybe cinnamon, maybe something darker, warmer, something that lingers just long enough to make you yearn to lean closer, to breathe in deeply enough to decipher it. You don’t, of course. You force yourself to stay still, to keep your eyes on your screen, your hands resting on the keyboard even though you haven’t typed anything in at least five minutes.

Spencer doesn’t notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything.

Instead, he flips open a case file, fingers moving fluidly over the pages, eyes scanning the text with a kind of quiet intensity that makes it look effortless. The silence between you is thick, but not uncomfortable. It is the kind of silence that settles rather than lingers, the kind that feels less like absence and more like something tangible, something with weight, something wet and dripping, something shared. You wonder if he feels it, too.

After a while, he shifts, just slightly, and the movement is enough to break the stillness.

“Did you know,” he says, without preamble, voice smooth and even, “that the human olfactory system can distinguish over a trillion different scents?”

You blink, glancing at him, and he’s still looking at the file in front of him, fingers tracing the edge of the page like he’s only half-aware that he’s doing it.

“A trillion?” you echo. You hope you hadn’t inhaled too deeply when he sat down, pray to a god you don’t believe in that you don’t smell, start to attempt to calculate the probability of him simply thinking similar thoughts to you about the rain. The roof has been leaking, the scent of the sky is impossible to ignore.

His lips twitch slightly, not quite a smile but something close to it. “Most studies used to claim it was around ten thousand, but newer research suggests it’s significantly higher. The brain can recognize scent combinations even in extremely small concentrations, which means—”

“That we’re capable of identifying more smells than we ever actually register.”

His head turns slightly toward you, just enough for his eyes to flicker up, catching yours for the briefest second before he nods. “Exactly.”

There is something about the way he looks at you in that moment—something unreadable, something lingering just beneath the surface—that makes your breath catch in your throat.

You glance away first. Spencer exhales through his nose, quiet, considering. He doesn’t continue with the tangent.

But the scent of rain still clings to him, even now. And for some reason, you can’t stop thinking about it.

After stretched moments, the scent of rain and dirt and musk and sweet lingering between the two of you while you try your hardest to get actual work done, Spencer clears his throat. “You know, you have a tell,” he says, voice thoughtful, not teasing.

You turn to him, brow lifting. “A tell?”

“Whenever you’re thinking about something but don’t want to say it, you press your thumb to your middle finger. Like you’re holding something between them.” His gaze flickers downward. Sure enough, you’re doing it now.

You exhale, glancing out at the room in front of you. “I didn’t realize you paid that much attention.”

Spencer smiles, small and knowing. Nearly sad, it twinges at your heart. The organ aches to leap out of your chest and fall into his hands. “I always do.”

The silence returns, but it’s different now. He’s looking at you like he’s already memorized the way your hands move, the way your breath catches, the way your thoughts betray themselves in the smallest, most inconsequential gestures. And maybe he has. Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised that he sees you so clearly, that he can read the shape of your hesitations as easily as words printed on a page. It’s his job, of course he does.

The weight of his attention sits heavy on your skin, not uncomfortable but warm, seeping into the spaces between your ribs, something close to reverence but not quite. You don’t know what to do with it.

So you do what you always do. You look away.

It’s nothing more than what he’s trained to do. You’ve noticed his habit of clinking his nails against his coffee mugs. Beyond that, ignoring your fascination with him, you know Hotch only ever sleeps on the plane after a case is solved, never on the way even though the rest of the team will if it's convenient. Emily has a cat that she never talks about, one she methodically lint rolls hair from off of her pants. JJ smoothes her hair when she’s happy. Morgan flares his nostrils often when he’s tired.

You all notice things, it’s natural. There’s nothing more to it than that. Spencer Reid isn’t watching you for any reason other than it’s a habit he’s developed to survive, to thrive, in this line of work.

The night outside is thick with the slow hush of passing cars, headlights dragging shadows across the pavement, the distant murmur of a city that never quite sleeps. The rain has stopped, but its remnants remain, clinging to the asphalt, to the scent of damp earth rising in waves from the ground, to the fabric of Spencer’s shirt, the faint musk of it curling in the space between you.

You curl your fingers tighter, pressing your thumb to your middle finger again, not even thinking.

Spencer’s breath shifts, barely audible, and when you glance back at him, his eyes are still on your hands, watching, studying, something flickering behind his expression—something unreadable, something you don’t think you have the courage to name.

“What is it?” He asks instead of taking the leap.

“What is what?”

He gestures at your hands, veins flexing at the movement. “What’re you thinking and not saying?”

You flounder for a moment, lost in what to say. I think you’re beyond attractive, I can’t believe you’ve been staring at my hands, can you tell how often I stare at your hands, did you know sometimes I fall asleep thinking about you, that I have your smell memorized, that I’m sure this means nothing and I just admire you as a person and there are definitely no fluttery feeling in my gut begging me to put my mouth on you? Also, do I reak? Are you spewing facts about smells, about something so unavoidable, because your desk is next to mine and I’m simply putrid?

“I’m allergic to oranges,” you blurt out instead.

Spencer seems shocked, blinking at you, mouth slightly open. You can see the pink of his tongue between his teeth, slowly pressing into the bone as he begins to smile, pinching the soft skin there in reflex. You hadn’t noticed it in detail before, but you suppose he does that often — bites the tip of his tongue when he’s fighting to keep that full-mouthed smile at bay.

“What?”

“I’m allergic. And Garcia gives one to me every week and Rossi noticed and assumed I love them so he’s started giving them to me, too, and, well,” you push back your desk chair and pull your drawer open. Orange scent wafts out, perfuming the air and making your nose wrinkle.

Sitting in the desk are five oranges, collected over the week, that you’ve been waiting on a clear office to throw away.

“You’re kidding!” Spencer cries, peering over your shoulder and snickering. “I thought you loved them, too. You always smell like them.”

“Oh, ew.”

Spencer waves you off, plucking the fruit from your desk and cradling them in his arms, “It’s lovely, don’t worry. Why didn’t you say anything? You could get sick.”

You swallow the lovely comment, feeling it hit the base of your skull and sink into your blood, warming you all the way down. “It’s only a problem if I eat them, nothing happens if they touch me. Shove a slice down my throat, though, and I break out in hives.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Spencer says, snickering and tossing the oranges away for you.

You make it through the rest of the evening. You get back to work. You pretend like none of it happened, like you didn’t just let him glimpse a piece of you that you didn’t mean to reveal. You tell yourself that it’s fine, that the moment is already dissolving into the rest of the day, folding itself into the pile of interactions that mean nothing, that don’t linger.

But later, when you’re in bed, staring up at the ceiling, you realize two things.

One—Spencer noticed your scent.

And two—he thinks it’s lovely.

“You lied, earlier,” Spencer tells you, hours later in the elevator.

“Hm?”

“About the oranges.”

“Do you want to see a doctors note?” You’re tired, struggling to remember what he’s talking about. You two are the last in the office usually — you’re just a student and Spencer is vocal about not doing much outside of work.

“No, I believe you’re allergic, it’s just not what you were thinking about.” He’s leaning against the wall of the elevator, golden hair illuminated by the fluorescent lights. It’s not the most flattering — the harsh lighting gives him a sickly complexion, deepening the dark circles under his eyes. Frankly, he looks nearly sick.

Frankly, he still looks so handsome that you feel slightly overwhelmed with it.

You decide to give him a piece of the truth to satiate him, knowing there’s not much use in lying to a seasoned profiler. There’s a reason why he’s only a few years older than you with years more experience under his belt.

“You freaked me out. I was thinking about how you smelled like the rain and cinnamon and then you started talking about smells. I thought I either smelled so bad that you couldn’t think of any other way to tell me or you suddenly learned how to read minds.”

Spencer chuckles, motioning forward with his hand as the door opens. You walk forward, keeping your head turned to the side slightly to catch how his eyes crinkle as she smiles. His eyes drift up and then down, a habit he has before he speaks when he’s tired, and then he pushes himself off of the wall to follow you.

“I mentioned it because I could smell you, but it’s not bad, I promise.”

“Reassuring.”

“I’m telling the truth!”

“Sure. Just say I reak and I’ll change my shampoo or something, promise!”

“Oh, please don’t,” Spencer pleads, laughing. “What will I do without your Pantene-y scent filling the office every morning!”

The safe house is supposed to be secure.

It’s supposed to be a temporary holding place, a nondescript home tucked into a quiet neighborhood just far enough from the city that no one should be looking. The doors are reinforced, the blinds drawn tight, the exits mapped and double-checked. A necessary precaution. A routine assignment. A night of keeping a witness safe until she can testify in the morning.

You tell yourself all of this, but none of it changes the sharp tug of unease curling in your gut.

You don’t let it show. Not when you check your watch for the third time in twenty minutes. Not when you shift your stance near the window, your fingers flexing at your sides like your body is already preparing for a fight you haven’t seen yet. Not when Spencer, who has spent the better part of the evening reviewing case notes at the kitchen table, finally lifts his head and looks at you like he’s about to ask what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” you say before he can speak.

He doesn’t believe you.

He tilts his head, studying you, eyes flickering across your face like he can read the tension there. Maybe he can. Maybe he has been for longer than you realize. You press your thumb to your middle finger, grounding yourself, and Spencer notices that, too.

You roll your eyes as you notice his noticing but say nothing, turning your attention back to the window. The street outside is still. Too still. The kind of silence that doesn’t settle right, that carries the weight of something unseen pressing against it. It makes your stomach twist.

Spencer shifts behind you. “The odds of an actual attack on a safe house are statistically low. Most unsubs won’t risk a direct confrontation in a location they can’t control.”

“Most,” you echo.

He hesitates. “There are exceptions.”

“And this feels like an exception.”

Spencer doesn’t answer right away, but the flicker in his expression is enough. The same unease that’s gnawing at you has made its way under his skin, too. He may not operate on instinct the way the others do, may rely on numbers and data and probabilities before action, but he isn’t blind to the feeling in the air—the one that says something is coming.

And then, something does.

The first gunshot cracks through the silence like a splintering branch, tearing the night open. The second follows immediately after, embedding into the window frame centimeters from where you were standing just seconds before. You don’t think. You move.

Spencer is already on his feet when you shove him down, his body colliding with yours as the two of you hit the floor. The room erupts into chaos—glass shattering, bullets puncturing drywall, the distant, terrified gasp of the witness as she ducks behind the couch. Your heart pounds, adrenaline splashing hot and fast through your veins as you press against Spencer, shielding as much of him as you can. He’s speaking, but you barely hear him over the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. The ringing of the gunshot so close to your head has left you dizzy and deaf.

“Move!” you manage to shout, grabbing his wrist and pulling him with you, keeping low as another round of gunfire splinters the table where he was sitting just moments before. You don’t know how many shooters there are. You don’t know where they are. But you know you have to get out.

Spencer doesn’t hesitate. His fingers tighten around yours, and together you bolt for the hallway, ducking as another window bursts inward. You shove him ahead of you, searching for cover, for an escape, for anything but the open target the living room has become.

“Basement,” Spencer says, voice sharp, focused. It warbles against your pulsing ears, barely understood. You’re mostly relying on lip reading and context clues. “We need to get underground.”

You don’t argue. You barely register the movement of your own body as you drag the witness with you, shoving open the basement door and practically throwing Spencer down the stairs before following, slamming it shut just as more bullets spray against the frame. Your breath is ragged, too loud in the thick darkness, the only light coming from the single flickering bulb overhead. The space is small, cluttered with storage boxes and old furniture, but it’s shelter. For now.

You’re still gripping Spencer’s arm. Hard. You can feel the hammering of his pulse beneath your fingers, mirroring your own. It takes effort to release him, to force your hands to unclench.

He doesn’t move away.

The witness is shaking, her breath coming in uneven gasps. Spencer kneels beside her, murmuring something soft, something steadying. You press your back against the door, listening for movement above, trying to piece together a plan while your body still thrums with leftover adrenaline.

Spencer looks up at you. His eyes are dark in the dim light, sharp with something between urgency and something else, something you don’t have time to name.

“They’ll breach soon,” he says, quiet but certain.

You nod, swallowing hard. The air is thick. The scent of dust and damp wood clings to it, mixing with the faint trace of Spencer’s cologne, something warm and familiar despite the chaos above. You focus on it, on the grounding presence of him beside you, close enough that you could reach out and touch the fabric of his shirt if you wanted to.

You don’t.

You grip your gun tighter.

“Then we make sure we’re ready.”

Spencer exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate, and shifts closer, just slightly, his shoulder brushing against yours. The contact is brief but solid, enough to remind you that he’s here, that he’s real, that this isn’t just a moment suspended in panic but something unfolding, something with weight.

The witness sniffles, drawing both of your attention back. Spencer softens his voice, murmuring reassurances, quiet, steady things meant to anchor her. You keep your focus on the door, ears tuned to the movements above, but some part of you latches onto his words, the cadence of them, the way they smooth over the jagged edges of the moment.

Another creak from upstairs. A shuffle of movement. Your fingers flex around your gun. Spencer glances at you again, expression unreadable in the dim light, but his meaning is clear.

Hold.

Wait.

And when the moment comes, move together.

Then the door bursts inward, and everything moves at once. Gunfire explodes, too close, too loud. You fire off two rounds before a sharp pain sears through your side, white-hot and immediate. The impact sends you stumbling back against the cold concrete floor, breath catching as a wave of dizziness threatens to pull you under.

Spencer is there before you even register falling. His hands are on you, pressing against the wound, urgent and shaking, his breath coming fast.

“You’re hit,” he says, voice tight, edged with something near panic.

You grit your teeth. “I noticed.”

Spencer doesn’t laugh. He just presses harder, trying to slow the bleeding, his fingers slick with warmth that doesn’t belong to him. He glances up, scanning the dark corners of the basement, the outline of the intruder slumping forward as your shots take effect. The danger isn’t over, not yet, but Spencer isn’t moving away from you.

“You’ll be fine,” he mutters, more to himself than you.

You try for a smirk but only manage a wince. “Worried about me, Reid?”

His jaw tightens. “Always.”

A crash echoes upstairs, heavy footsteps pounding against the floor. Reinforcements. You and Spencer exchange a glance, unspoken understanding passing between you. You both know that staying here is no longer an option.

Spencer shifts, keeping one hand pressed against your wound while the other reaches for the gun at his side. “We need to move.”

The witness, still trembling in the corner, looks between you both with wide, terrified eyes. “What do we do?”

You grit your teeth, swallowing the pain threatening to pull you under. “There’s a cellar door. Side of the house.”

Spencer nods sharply, adjusting his grip. “We go now.”

He helps you up, his arm sliding under yours, bracing you against him. The movement sends fire through your side, but there’s no time to dwell on it. The sound of approaching footsteps upstairs is growing louder, more deliberate. Whoever is coming isn’t planning to leave survivors.

The three of you move as quickly as you can, Spencer leading the way with his gun raised, the witness keeping close behind. The basement door groans on its hinges as you push through, emerging into the damp night air. The rain has started again, a fine mist clinging to your skin as you stumble forward.

Headlights slice through the darkness just as the first gunshot erupts behind you. Spencer pulls you down, shielding you as best he can while the FBI-issued SUV skids to a stop at the curb. The doors burst open, Morgan and Hotch emerging with their weapons drawn.

“She’s hit!” Spencer shouts, his grip on you tightening as the gunfire continues behind you.

Morgan doesn’t hesitate. He returns fire, his stance steady, controlled. Hotch moves to cover you and the witness, his eyes sweeping over your injury before snapping back to the fight. “Get her in the car!” he orders.

Spencer doesn’t wait. He all but lifts you into the backseat, the witness scrambling in after you. You can feel how his muscles strain to lift you, flexing and rolling as he lifts you as carefully as possible, refusing to allow you to help. The slam of the door barely muffles the chaos outside. Your breath comes in shallow gasps, the weight of adrenaline keeping you upright.It takes your swimming mind time to process that Spencer is curling the van instead of allowing you to move over. You should protest but your mind continues to jump around, straining to pay attention to the scene outside. Have they caught him? The witness is safe, she’s sobbing beside you, but is the rest of the team?

Then the passenger door swings open, and Spencer climbs in beside you. He’s breathing hard, his knuckles white where they grip his gun, but his eyes are locked on yours. “You still with me?”

You nod, though exhaustion is dragging at your limbs, pulling you under. “Still here.”

His shoulders sag, just slightly. “Good.”

Morgan jumps into the driver's seat and peels away from the curb, tires screeching against wet pavement. You glance out the window just in time to see Hotch and the rest of the team securing the scene, the last of the gunfire fading into the distance.

Spencer exhales, finally lowering his weapon, and turns back to you. “Let’s get you home.”

The jet hums beneath you, a steady vibration you feel in your bones. Most of the team is asleep, exhaustion weighing heavy after the mission. The overhead lights are dimmed, casting the cabin in soft shadows. You should be asleep, too, but the throbbing ache in your side keeps you from finding rest.

Spencer hasn’t left your side. He sits next to you, his book open but untouched, his fingers drumming against the cover in restless patterns. Every so often, you catch him glancing at you, eyes flicking toward your face, your side, your hands.

“You’re staring,” you murmur, not opening your eyes.

Spencer shifts. “I’m not.”

You crack an eye open, giving him a pointed look. “Reid.”

He presses his lips together. “I’m just… observing.”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting slightly, wincing at the sharp pull of your injury. Spencer moves before you can stop him, adjusting the blanket draped over you, tucking it carefully around your shoulders. His touch is light, careful.

“You lost a lot of blood,” he says, voice soft but firm. “And, statistically, someone in your condition should be experiencing lightheadedness, muscle fatigue, and an increased need for rest. Your body is trying to compensate for the blood loss by increasing your heart rate, which is why you’re still feeling so warm despite the cabin temperature being nearly ten degrees lower than standard room temperature.”

You blink at him, half amused, half exhausted. “You always talk this much when you’re worried?”

Spencer huffs. “I’m not worried.”

“You’re quoting medical statistics at me, Reid.”

He shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t argue. “I just think you should be resting.”

“Then stop talking and let me sleep.”

A pause. Then, almost reluctantly, he nods. “Right. Okay.”

You sigh, closing your eyes, exhaustion creeping in. Just as your body starts to go heavy with sleep, you feel movement beside you—the soft rustle of fabric. Something warm drapes over your shoulders, heavier than the blanket.

You crack an eye open and see Spencer shrugging out of his jacket, carefully settling it around you.

“Spence—” you start, but he shakes his head.

“Just sleep,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You need it.”

You don’t argue. The warmth of his jacket, the steady hum of the jet, and the quiet presence of Spencer beside you lull you under.

The last thing you hear before sleep takes over is the sound of him turning another page—not reading, just waiting.

The bullpen is buzzing with the familiar hum of keyboards clacking, quiet conversations murmuring through the space, and the occasional scrape of a chair against the floor. It’s one of those rare in-between days—no pressing cases, no jet waiting on the tarmac, just paperwork and coffee refills. A brief, deceptive calm before the inevitable storm.

You’re at your desk, fingers drumming absently against a stack of reports you’ve been meaning to go through for the past half hour. You should be working, but your attention keeps drifting—particularly to the desk across from yours, where Spencer is deep in thought, a book propped open against his keyboard. He’s not even pretending to do his paperwork.

You tilt your head, watching him for a beat. His lips move slightly as he reads, fingers tapping a rhythm on his desk, entirely lost in whatever tangent he’s found himself in. You fight a giggle.

“Should I be concerned that you’ve been staring at that same page for the last fifteen minutes?”

Spencer blinks, snapping out of his reverie. He looks at you, then down at his book, then back at you, brow furrowing like he’s just realized he’s been caught.

“I wasn’t—I mean, I was reading. But I was also thinking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “About?”

He hesitates, glancing toward his book as if debating whether to explain. Then, with a small sigh, he leans back in his chair, pushing his hair out of his face. “Did you know that the average person speaks about sixteen thousand words per day? But in reality, most of our daily conversations are filled with repetition, small talk, and pleasantries that don’t contribute much meaningful information.”

You blink at him. “So, what, you’re saying we all talk too much?”

His lips twitch. “Not exactly. Just that… statistically, most conversations are redundant. People say the same things over and over again, sometimes just for the sake of filling silence.”

You smirk. “And yet, you’re one of the most talkative people I know.”

Spencer narrows his eyes, but there’s amusement flickering there. “That’s different. I provide new information.”

You hum, pretending to consider that. “Debatable.” The joke dances on your tongue and you see the edge of a smile fight to peel its way across his cheeks.

Before he can argue, a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision, and you glance up to see JJ setting it on your desk with a knowing smile. “Flirting through statistics again?” she teases before apologetically placing another file on your desk next to the coffee-offering and walking off.

Spencer clears his throat, suddenly very interested in his book again, while you just chuckle, lifting the cup in silent thanks, adding the case to your impending pile.

“Face it, Reid,” you say, taking a sip. “You talk a lot. Don’t worry, it’s endearing.”

He exhales, shaking his head, but there’s the hint of a smile playing at his lips. “You’re impossible.”

You grin. “And yet, you’re still talking to me.”

You turn back to your work, flipping through the pages stuck in your folder. You weren’t on the assignment you’re tasked with processing, the curse of being lowest on the totem pole, but the case is interesting enough. Still, you find your eyes skimming, fingers tapping on the desk.

“Now who’s zoning out?” Spencer asks. When you look up, he’s smiling at you.

“Sorry, I was just wondering. Were you saying that because you feel like our conversations are actually redundant?”

Spencer tilts his head, considering. “No. If anything, our conversations are anomalous.”

You arch a brow. “Anomalous?”

“Yes.” He shifts in his seat, leaning slightly toward you. “Most daily conversations consist of formulaic exchanges—small talk, routine inquiries, expected responses. But ours deviate. We don’t follow typical social scripts.”

You take another sip of coffee, fighting a grin. “So what you’re saying is… we’re special? Different? Not like other coworkers?”

Spencer huffs, clearly trying to fight back a smile of his own. “Statistically speaking, yes.”

You hum thoughtfully. “That’s a very fancy way of admitting you enjoy talking to me.”

Spencer opens his mouth, then closes it, before finally shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

You smirk, leaning back in your chair. “You already said that.”

“I’m repeating myself,” he says, deadpan. “Which, as I previously stated, most people do without realizing.”

You burst into laughter, shaking your head. “See? Redundant.”

Spencer exhales, feigning exasperation, but you catch the way his lips twitch, like he’s barely containing his amusement. He glances down at his book again, but it’s obvious he’s no longer reading. Instead, his fingers tap absently against the desk, his gaze drifting back to you as if he’s waiting for whatever you’ll say next.

After a beat, you shift slightly in your chair, hesitating before asking, “If most conversations are menial and redundant, is there anything you’d actually like to know about me?”

Spencer’s fingers stop tapping. His head tilts slightly, eyes brightening with interest. “Yes.”

You blink, caught off guard by his immediate answer. “Oh. Okay.”

He leans forward, forearms resting on his desk. “What’s your favorite color?”

The question is so simple, so unexpected, that you laugh softly. “That’s what you want to know?”

He shrugs. “I like colors. They’re associated with memory and emotion. The colors we gravitate toward can tell a lot about how we perceive the world.”

You consider it. “Hm. Blue, I think. The kind of blue right before the sun sets.”

Spencer’s lips twitch, like he’s cataloging that information for later. “That makes sense.”

You raise a brow. “And yours?”

“Yellow,” he says easily. “Statistically, it’s associated with intelligence and optimism. But mostly, I just like how warm it feels.”

You nod, smiling. “That checks out.”

Spencer watches you for a beat before continuing, “Do you like to cook?”

“I can cook,” you say hesitantly. “Do I enjoy it? Debatable.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “So, a reluctant chef.”

“More like a survivalist cook,” you amend. “You?”

“I actually do like cooking. It’s methodical. Precise.”

You snort. “Of course, you’d say that.”

His lips twitch again. “What about books? Do you read for fun, or do you avoid it since we deal with enough research at work?”

You glance at the stack of case files on your desk before meeting his gaze. “I do read. But nothing… analytical. I like stories. Ones that pull you out of reality.”

Spencer hums, clearly pleased by that. “Escapism.”

“Something like that. What about you?”

“I’m currently translating a Russian novel written in the 16th century.”

“Ah. So you research at work and at home.”

Spencer hums, tilting his head to the side. “No, I think it’s still escapism. It’s something to focus on that takes just enough of my focus that I can let the world fade away. General novels don’t do enough to ‘pull me out of reality.’”

Your conversation continues, the questions growing deeper—favorite childhood memory, biggest irrational fear, if you believe in fate. The air between you shifts, still lighthearted but threaded with something more thoughtful, something lingering. Neither of you notice how much time has passed, how the rest of the bullpen has faded into the background. Neither of you seem to mind.

“Are you two actually planning on doing work today, or just nerding out over here?” Morgan saunters over, arms crossed, a teasing grin plastered across his face. “Seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever seen two people more excited to talk about words.”

You roll your eyes but play along immediately, sitting up straighter. “We’re conducting an in-depth analysis of human conversation patterns, actually. Very important work.”

Spencer nods solemnly. “It’s a highly valuable study in linguistic redundancy.”

Morgan snorts. “Right. And how many case files have you two managed to process between all this very valuable research?”

You glance at the untouched stack of paperwork on your desk. “Define ‘process.’”

Morgan barks out a laugh, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. You’re really letting him rub off on you, huh?”

Your grin falters, just slightly, something warm settling in your chest at the thought. You don’t want to just be letting it happen—you want to belong here, to be part of this team in every way that matters. And for the first time, it feels like maybe you already do.

Later that evening, Rossi hosts a team dinner at his house, a tradition that has somehow become a staple among the group. His kitchen is full of the warm scent of garlic and herbs, the clinking of dishes, the comfortable laughter of people who have seen the worst parts of the world together and still choose to sit at the same table.

When you arrive, the house is already brimming with conversation. Morgan greets you first, throwing an arm around your shoulders with an easy grin. "Look who finally decided to show up. We thought you might be hiding out, avoiding us."

You roll your eyes. "As if I could ever avoid all this chaos."

"Chaos?" JJ chimes in, nudging you playfully as she passes by with three drinks balanced between her two hands. "This is tradition."

Emily smirks, leaning against the counter as she sips her wine. "Some traditions involve singing. Others involve roasting marshmallows. Ours? A fine mix of sarcasm and psychological analysis."

“And food,” Rossi interrupts.

"And some of us even make an effort to discuss more elevated topics," Spencer adds, stepping into the kitchen with a book tucked under his arm.

Morgan groans. "Oh God, don’t tell me you brought a book to dinner."

"It’s not for dinner," Spencer says, offended. "It’s just something I was reading earlier. Did you know that communal meals have historically played a significant role in human bonding? Anthropologists argue that the act of sharing food helped shape early societal structures, reinforcing a sense of trust and cooperation."

You smile, all warm edges and fuzzy thoughts. "So what you're saying is, this dinner is historically significant?"

Spencer nods, pleased. "Exactly."

Morgan shakes his head. "Yeah, alright, professor. How about instead of a lecture, you help set the table?"

Rossi moves through the kitchen with practiced ease, stirring sauces and pulling fresh bread from the oven, effortlessly hosting while still engaging in every conversation. He waves you over at one point, nudging a wine bottle toward you. "Since you brought such a good one last time, how about you do the honors?"

You take the bottle from him, grateful for something to do, something to focus on besides the bubbling warmth of the evening settling under your skin. As you work the cork from the bottle, Spencer sidles up beside you, watching with quiet amusement.

"You know," he starts, "there’s actually a method to opening wine that prevents cork residue from contaminating the liquid."

You glance up at him with a self-conscious smile. "Is that your way of telling me I’m doing it wrong?"

His lips twitch, a near-smile. "Not wrong. Just… suboptimal."

You roll your eyes, finally freeing the cork and handing him the bottle. "Then, by all means, Dr. Reid, show me the optimal way."

Spencer takes the bottle, hands brushing against yours. You find yourself still looking up at him for a moment, fingers gently touching, a moment collapsing into itself. You watch as his pupils dilate, slightly, a normal reaction to eye contact and nothing further (a notion your body refuses to acknowledge, filled with the silly idea that maybe it’s attraction pushing his eyes open further to observe more of you). His mouth opens, ready to explain what he’s doing. But, before he can launch into an explanation, Morgan’s voice carries across the room. "Oh great, the nerds found each other again. Should we all just clear out and let you guys talk statistics over dinner?"

Emily snorts from where she’s leaning against the counter, sipping her drink. "Honestly, I’d pay to watch that."

You play along easily, shaking your head in faux exasperation. "We were having a very riveting discussion about wine physics, actually. Life-altering shit."

Morgan grins. "Yeah, I bet. What’s next, the molecular breakdown of garlic bread?"

Spencer straightens slightly. "Actually—"

You elbow him lightly before he can get started, and his mouth snaps shut. It’s the smallest moment, but it sends a ripple of warmth through you—this unspoken understanding, the ease of teasing him without making him feel small.

You’ve noticed before when the gentle teasing goes too far. When the team pushes a bit too much, makes him feel like a burden instead of a fountain of knowledge. The painful edge of it digs into your stomach more often than you would care to admit. A significant amount of your energy when talking to Spencer is spent toeing that line. You can’t help but tease but you never want to make him feel like his interests and knowledge are a burden.

Rossi chuckles, setting a tray of pasta on the counter. "Alright, everyone, grab a plate before the food gets cold."

The group disperses into easy movement, laughter trailing behind as plates are filled and seats are taken around the long wooden dining table. You settle beside Spencer again, your knees brushing under the table. The proximity is unintentional, but you don’t move away, and neither does he.

The meal is indulgent, the flavors rich and familiar, but it’s not the food that lingers—it’s the feeling. The warmth of being gathered around this table, among these people, feels sacred in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever experienced before. Like communion, like breaking bread with disciples who have seen you bleed and stayed anyway. You wonder if Spencer feels it, too, if he sees the holiness in shared meals and easy laughter, in the way the team fills the spaces between each other like stained glass fitted carefully into its frame.

You and this team have been through so much together — the rest more than you. The past months shadowing the team have been insightful, exciting, and have done more than anything else to solidify that this is what you want to be doing with your career. Beyond that, the time has been tough. Your grit, your ability to persevere and persist, and your skills, have been tested day beyond day.

Beyond the toughness though, you’ve found a home. Community. Family. You see through their exteriors to admire them, the people around you. It’s more than you could have ever thought it to be, this life. Before this, you’ve been floating. Drifting through life, living for exams and physicals and finals. Studying, working for a result you were unfamiliar with. Now, though, the taste of the life you’ve ground yourself to the bone for glistening on the tip of your tongue, you’re hungry. Starving for life to continue, salivating at the mouth for any and all opportunities to stay here, in this moment, with the team.

Conversations flow freely around you, a mix of teasing and genuine storytelling, warmth curling in your chest as you sip your wine and let yourself exist in this moment. Spencer doesn’t talk much, but he listens—really listens—his attention flickering between the voices around the table, occasionally back to you.

At one point, Rossi taps his glass, drawing attention. "Since we’ve got everyone here tonight, I’d like to make a toast. To this team, to good food, and to the fact that somehow, against all odds, we manage to stay sane."

A chorus of laughter follows, glasses raised and clinking together. You catch Spencer watching you again over the rim of his glass, something unreadable in his gaze. Not quite curiosity, not quite something else. Whatever it is, it lingers between you like the space between notes in a song—present, felt, but not yet fully realized.

You take another sip of wine, and the flavor sits heavy on your tongue, tart and deep, reminiscent of something older than yourself. You wonder if this is what devotion feels like—lingering in a moment you don’t want to leave, knowing that if you close your eyes, you’ll still hear the echoes of this laughter in your bones.

Spencer shifts beside you, his knee pressing just a little more firmly against yours. He doesn’t look away this time. And for the first time, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this is where you belong.

It starts over coffee, late in the afternoon when the sky has begun its slow descent into gold. The café is small, tucked between a used bookstore and a florist, the kind of place that smells like roasted beans and cinnamon, where the music is just quiet enough to let conversation breathe. You meet there often, sometimes after work, sometimes on weekends when neither of you have anywhere urgent to be. It feels like neutral ground—safe, familiar, but tonight, something feels different.

Spencer is fidgeting.

His fingers curl and uncurl around his coffee cup, tracing patterns in the ceramic like he’s working up to something. His gaze flickers to the window, the steam curling from his drink, your hands resting on the table. Anywhere but your face.

You sip your drink slowly, watching him with quiet apprehension. “You look like you’re debating something incredibly complicated.”

He huffs a breath, almost a laugh, but it doesn’t quite land. “I am.”

“Must be serious, then.”

“It is.” He shifts, finally—finally—meets your gaze, something fragile and certain flickering in the warm depths of his eyes. “Would you—” he stops, swallows, starts again. “Would you want to go to dinner with me?”

The words settle between you, weighty but delicate, like something precious placed carefully in waiting hands. You can see the way he braces for impact, his fingers tightening around his cup, his breath just a little too still.

You tilt your head, letting the moment stretch, just to watch him squirm. Then, softly, “In what way? A date?”

You are hesitant, voice barely audible. You’re scared to ask, feeling childish, the words tasting forbiddenly sweet on your lips. You tell yourself you can’t have been imagining everything between you two the past weeks — months, even. The lingering touches, the connection that sits at the base of your spine and ignites you with something far beyond holiness.

Spencer watches you for a moment before ducking his head. He looks shy, uncertain. “If that’s okay, yes.”

The words hit you in the center of your chest. You’re certain you’ve heard wrong for a full second, sure that he couldn’t possibly be confirming your wildest dreams.

“I would really like that.”

His shoulders loosen, just slightly. Relief unwinds in the smallest of ways—the way his fingers flex, the subtle shift in his posture. He nods, barely, taking a slow sip of his coffee like he needs to ground himself against the movement.

You don’t miss the small, pleased smile he hides behind the rim of his cup.

The evening of the date arrives, and your apartment is a disaster zone.

Clothes are strewn across your bed in varying states of rejection, your closet door hanging half-open as if it, too, is exhausted from your indecision. You tell yourself it’s not nerves—it’s just a normal dinner, just Spencer—but your pulse betrays you, humming under your skin like an electric current.

You tug at the hem of your sweater, second-guessing, then third-guessing, your reflection offering no clarity. A date. The word itself feels foreign on your tongue, weighty in your mind. The possibility of something more, something unknown, something irreversible—

Then, the knock at your door.

You exhale sharply, pressing your hands against your thighs like it’ll steady you, before crossing the room. You hesitate for just a moment, long enough to gather breath, then open it.

Spencer stands there, scarf wrapped around his neck, cheeks flushed from the cold. He’s holding flowers, wrapped in delicate brown paper, not random but deliberate, purposeful. His fingers tighten around them as his lips part, ready to explain, but you reach out first, brushing your fingers over the petals.

“They’re beautiful.”

His gaze flickers to yours, searching. “They, uh… they all have different meanings. I can tell you, if you want.”

Your chest feels warm, full. “I’d like that.”

He nods once, clearing his throat. “Well, the blue cornflowers—they mean ‘hope in love,’ and the lavender represents devotion. And the ivy, that’s for fidelity, and um—” he stops, shifting awkwardly—“I wanted it to mean something. To you.”

Your fingers tighten just slightly around the bouquet, breath catching.

“It does.”

The drive to the restaurant is wrapped in quiet conversation, the kind that feels like warmth on a winter evening. Spencer talks—of course he talks—his voice weaving through facts about the historical significance of first dates, how certain cultures believed that sharing a meal was an intimate ritual, a way of binding souls together.

“You’re romanticizing it,” you tease, studying the way the streetlights paint fleeting golden patterns across his profile.

He huffs a soft laugh. “It’s just history.”

“History can be romantic.”

He glances at you then, something unreadable settling in his features. “I suppose it can.”

You watch him as he drives—the way his fingers flex against the wheel, the small furrow between his brows when he concentrates. There’s something in the ease of this, in the soft lull of conversation and the quiet hum of the road beneath you, that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something significant.

When you arrive, he moves to open your door but nearly smacks you in the face in his haste. He freezes, mortified, clears his throat. “Sorry.”

You bite back a laugh. “It’s okay. I appreciate the effort.”

The restaurant is intimate, the kind of place that makes everything feel softer—low candlelight, warm wood paneling, the steady murmur of quiet conversation. A flickering candle sits at the center of your table, casting shifting patterns along the surface, making everything feel just a little dreamlike, just a little surreal.

Spencer shifts in his seat, his fingers tapping once against the table before stilling. He exhales a quiet laugh. “This is… nice.”

You nod, the candlelight catching in his eyes. “Yeah. It is.”

The menu is filled with dishes just unfamiliar enough to make you both pause, debating choices. Spencer, of course, has read about half of them before.

“You know, the origins of risotto actually trace back to the Middle Ages. It was influenced by Arabic rice cultivation techniques brought to Sicily, and—” he stops himself, clearing his throat. “Sorry. I can, uh, get carried away.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I like when you get carried away.”

His gaze lingers, just a second too long.

The night stretches in slow, golden increments, conversation winding through shared stories, quiet laughter, the clink of silverware against plates. He tells you about childhood books that meant something to him, you tell him about the first time you realized you loved what you do. The space between you narrows, not in distance, but in something deeper, something quieter.

And then it happens.

The realization strikes like a bolt of lightning, sharp and electric. You want to kiss him. It isn’t a slow realization, isn’t something that builds over time—it hits all at once, undeniable.

The candlelight flickers, catching the sharp cut of his jaw, the way his lips move around words. His fingers curl around his coffee cup, knuckles flexing. Something about it feels holy.

You realize, suddenly, that you’re staring. That you’re leaning in.

Spencer pauses mid-sentence, blinking at you. “What?”

You exhale, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Nothing.”

He watches you for a beat longer, his gaze searching, curious, like he’s trying to decipher something just out of reach. The air between you thickens, humming with something unspoken, something waiting.

But he doesn’t press. Instead, he picks up his coffee again, takes a slow sip, and when he speaks next, it’s with the same easy rhythm as before.

And you let yourself sink into it, into him, into the quiet certainty of being here, together.

The knock comes late. Too late for pleasantries, too late for anything but something raw, something that has been waiting to surface.

You aren’t asleep. Haven’t even tried. The air in your apartment feels too thick, the weight of the last case pressing into the spaces between your ribs, making every breath feel just a little too shallow. So when the knock sounds again, quieter this time but insistent, you already know who it is before you even reach for the door.

Spencer stands on the other side, hands buried in his pockets, his shoulders hunched like he’s been standing there for too long, debating whether or not to knock again. The dim hallway lighting casts shadows under his eyes, exhaustion lining his face, but there’s something else, too—something hesitant, something that flickers behind his expression like a barely-contained thought.

“Spencer?” you ask, brow furrowing.

He exhales, slow, measured, the way he does when he’s trying to pick the right words before speaking. “I—” He hesitates, shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

A lie. You see it in the way his fingers twitch, in the way his breath stumbles. You see it in the way his eyes don’t quite meet yours, how they flicker toward your shoulder, your collarbone, before darting away again, like he’s afraid of being caught.

You step aside, let him in.

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, but not uncomfortable. It settles, wraps around you both as he moves past you, as he lingers near the kitchen counter without quite leaning against it, as you close the door and turn to face him.

You should say something. Should ask him why he’s here, why he looks like he’s spent hours convincing himself not to be. But the words don’t come. They tangle in your throat, unwilling to break the moment that is already unraveling between you.

Instead, it’s him who speaks first.

“I think about you.”

The words are soft, careful, but steady. Not a confession, not quite, but something close. Something that shifts the air between you, makes it sharper, makes it real.

You inhale, slow, deliberate, but it doesn’t steady you the way you hope it will. Your pulse jumps, a small stutter beneath fragile skin, and you know he sees it, knows he’s cataloging it the way he does everything.

Spencer exhales, a quiet, disbelieving laugh escaping him, and when he finally looks at you, really looks at you, there’s something unguarded in his gaze. “I think about you all the time.”

You watch as he sways slightly, like he’s resisting the pull, like gravity itself is urging him closer.

And then he stops resisting.

He moves carefully, like he’s giving you space to step back, to stop him, but you don’t. You stay rooted where you stand, watching as his hands hover at your sides, reverent, hesitant. His fingers flex once, a brief curl like he’s debating whether or not to touch you, whether or not to let himself have this.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, barely more than a breath.

You don’t.

Instead, you reach for him first.

Your fingers brush against his wrist, a featherlight touch, tentative, but it’s enough. Enough for him to let out a slow, shaky breath, enough for him to tilt his head, just slightly, enough for his hands—hovering, waiting—to finally settle at your waist. His touch is a whisper of warmth, hesitant, reverent, the weight of it barely there as if afraid that pressing too hard will shatter whatever fragile thing exists between you in this moment.

His skin is fever-warm beneath your fingertips, the heat of him bleeding through the fabric of his sleeves, seeping into your own. The air between you hums, thick with something unspoken, a tension so finely drawn it feels like it might snap at the slightest movement. You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him, maybe it’s you, maybe it’s the inevitable force that has been pulling you together for longer than either of you has been willing to admit. But suddenly, impossibly, there is no more space left to close.

He is close. Close enough that you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his gaze, the way his pupils darken like ink spilling into warm honey. Close enough that you can feel the tremor in his fingers where they rest against you, like he’s bracing himself against something too big to name. Close enough that his breath—uneven, shallow, shaking—ghosts across your cheek, the warmth of it sinking into your skin like an imprint that will never leave. His fingers flex—barely, just a little—but the movement is enough to send a ripple down your spine, enough to make your stomach dip like a held note in a song unfinished.

He exhales again, something like a laugh but softer, more fragile, like he can’t quite believe this is happening. Like he is standing at the edge of something vast and unknown, and for once in his life, he is hesitating.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, almost swallowed by the quiet between you.

You smile, small and real, the kind of smile meant only for him. “Me either.”

Spencer swallows hard, his throat bobbing. His gaze drops—to your lips, flickers back to your eyes—searching, waiting, still holding himself back. The space between you crackles with electricity, the kind that comes before a storm, before the sky splits open and the world drowns in something relentless, inescapable.

You make the choice for him.

You lift your chin just slightly, tilt forward just enough, and that’s all it takes.

The first touch of his mouth to yours is hesitant, uncertain, the kind of kiss that feels like a question. A quiet, careful can I? rather than I will. His lips are warm, softer than you imagined, and his breath stumbles against yours as he presses just a little closer, as if afraid you might pull away. You feel it the moment something in him gives way, the moment the tension in his body unwinds and he stops second-guessing himself and simply lets go.

His fingers tighten at your waist, just barely, but enough to make you shiver. His other hand drifts, fingertips skimming up the curve of your spine like a whisper of a prayer, settling lightly at the back of your neck, a delicate anchor. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of it, like he’s afraid he’ll forget how you fit against him if he doesn’t take his time.

He tastes like coffee, like exhaustion, like something sweeter underneath it all, something uniquely him. You drink him in, slow, deliberate, every second stretched thin and precious. The world has narrowed to this—his breath, his touch, the way he exhales so quietly when you sigh against his lips.

And then he pulls you closer, deepening it just slightly, just enough to steal whatever air was left between you.

When you part, neither of you move away. Your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling, still wrapped in the hush of the moment, still holding on, just for a little longer.

Spencer exhales, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t want this to be a mistake.”

You press your fingers against the back of his hand, grounding. “It’s not.”

Something eases in his expression. He nods, just once, before his fingers trace lightly over your jaw, tilting your face back up toward his.

And then, he kisses you again.

239 notes · View notes

edamameimei · 2 days ago

Text

do i wanna know?

"sort of hoping that you'd stay..."

pairing: daniela avanzini!dream academy x reader!dream academy

synopsis: all the girls in dream academy knew you and daniela had a very close dynamic. it was one that often left them all confused, but they knew one thing for certain, and that was you belonged to daniela avanzini. but as your friendship grows with a certain australian, daniela begins to do some reflection of her own when it comes to her attachment towards you.

fluff in the beginning, gets a little suggestive near the end. mostly angst soz. CW: dani is a lil possessive and toxic if you squint!

a/n: just want to put out there that this is not a REAL portrayal of the people mentioned in this fic. all events are fictional and are for entertainment purposes only. i am and will always be an ezrela thinker so i had to express it somehow so i decided to throw it back to dream academy era for valentines day <333

wc: 4344 words

now playing: do i wanna know? (live at the bbc) - hozier

Daniela had always been curious about you and Ezrela’s relationship.

At first, she thought it was sweet. Watching you two together always brought a smile to Daniela’s face, the way your 5’10” stature towered over Ezrela significantly. The girl was just so tiny and cute, it would be hard to not find the dynamic between you both somewhat adorable.

That was, until you two become much more comfortable with each other.

There was an unspoken rule amongst the Dream Academy girls. It was one that only you and Daniela were not in on, yet you two created it. Or, more so Daniela. That rule was to keep physical contact with you at a minimum. They found hugs were fine (as long as they don’t last longer than a second or two) and just speaking with you was fair game. But once someone tries leaning in closer, tries to place a hand on your arm, Daniela Avanzini magically appears right next to you and inserts herself into the conversation.

The girls didn’t mind it. Actually, they found it amusing. It became somewhat of a teasing game amongst them. Who can piss Dani off the most? But when they notice the Latina is not in the mood for any jokes or any playful games, they all know to back off. They wouldn’t dare piss the girl off even more. Daniela, without even knowing, has made her claim on you. She made it very clear. Of course, this sparks speculations over the true dynamic of your “friendship,” but the girls know it’s something you two will have to figure out on your own. According to Lara, “it’s a canon event and we cannot interfere.”

But Ezrela really knows how to push Daniela’s buttons.

It was subtle at first, honestly.

After another long and tiring day of T&D, a few of the girls decide to make a trip to a boba place they saw around the corner. While you sat on the practice room floor, switching out your sneakers to wear converse, you spoke to Ezrela animatedly. You both were engaged in a conversation about an anime you both were watching and had very similar opinions on an episode that recently aired.

On the otherside of the room, Daniela and Lara wait, having their own conversation. Every once in a while, Daniela would look over, her eyes focused on the way Ezrela acted around you. Once she was satisfied with what she saw, she would turn back to Lara, giving her undivided attention.

When she looks back at you two, Daniela’s eyes narrow slightly. At some point, Ezrela shifted closer to you, now sitting right in front of you. The small girl shows you something on her phone and it makes you laugh loudly, placing your hand on her shoulder to brace yourself.

Daniela decides she is done waiting when she sees Ezrela tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. She is basically stomping over when she hears a soft giggle escape your lips.

She extends her arm, waiting for you to take her hand so you all can finally leave. Ezrela immediately stands to her feet while you take Daniela’s hand, unaware of the Latina’s hard gaze. You stand up, allowing Daniela to pull you towards the door with a tight grip.

And then it was the Instagram posts.

You and Daniela lay in the Latina’s bed in the dorms. You’re both still in the gray uniforms, too lazy to take them off after filming all day for Dream Academy. At some point, while Daniela scrolled through her TikTok so you two could watch together, you fell asleep. Daniela has her head against your chest, feeling comforted by the way it rises and falls with every breath. Her leg is swung over yours and for some reason, it just feels natural to be this close in proximity.

Daniela switches to Instagram, finally getting tired of watching the videos on her For You Page. The first post that pops up strikes a nerve within the girl.

Five minutes ago, Ezrela posted a photo set of you and her. The photos were taken the day before and it was of you two in the gray uniforms.

The first photo was of you looking down at Ezrela with a teasing smile as the Aussie had her arms crossed, pouting up at the girl.

The second photo was a .5. You held the camera with your tongue sticking out. Ezrela kept a neutral expression.

The third photo was of you two hugging. Daniela’s eyes harden at the way you held Ezrela close. The Aussie had her head against your chest, her arms wrapped around your torso. Your arms wrapped around Ezrela’s neck, one of your hands in the girl’s hair. The photo looked tender and rather loving and it made Daniela feel sick.

The last photo was quite blurry but it still did enough to make Daniela’s blood boil. You two were smiling widely as you held Ezrela in your arms bridal style. The Aussie had her arms securely wrapped around your neck, head on your shoulder.

The caption read: THE short and tall duo>>>

Daniela huffs. She feels even more annoyed with the caption. She looks up at you and sees that you’re still sleeping peacefully. Your mouth is slightly open, snoring softly. For a moment, Daniela’s eyes soften at the way you look. It quickly disappears when she remembers Ezrela’s stupid post and pokes your side, trying to wake you. You stir, groaning when you feel Daniela’s finger jabbing into your side incessantly. You swat at her with no energy at all. “Dani stop… I’ve been up since 5 AM let me keep my eyes closed a few minutes longer…”

Suddenly, you feel the bed shift. You open your eyes slightly, a bit confused by the commotion. Your eyes widen when Daniela begins straddling you, sitting prettily on top of you with her legs on either side of you. Your breath catches in your throat and you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

“I wanna take a photo for my Instagram story.” You raise an eyebrow at the Latina. “That’s why you woke me up?” She simply nods her head in response. You groan, closing your eyes again. Suddenly, you sigh in exasperation, relenting to your best friend. “Okay… How do you wanna do it?” Daniela grabs you by the tie, pulling you up while she is still situated on your lap. You scoot back a bit so you can lean your back against the headboard. You instinctively wrap your arms around Daniela’s waist and rest your head on the girl’s shoulder. You mumble, “what now?”

Daniela bites her lip, suddenly feeling shy by how intimate this feels. She doesn’t know why she’s acting like this. It’s not like you and her were together. It’s not like she even has romantic feelings for you. But Daniela has never been the one to share and she is going to make it a point for everyone to see.

You are her best friend. Not Ezrela’s.

She wraps an arm around your neck and grabs her phone, going to the Instagram app. She raises the phone, making sure you are both in the frame. Daniela smiles as you keep your head nuzzled into her shoulder, a small smile on your face can be seen. When Daniela is satisfied with how it is framed, she takes the picture. You mumble again, tightening your arms around Daniela, “Is it good?”

Daniela nods, biting her lip to hide her smirk. “It’s perfect.”

She captions it: hugs from y/n>>>

Manon sits in the lounge, headphones in as she scrolls through her phone.

Lara and Lexie notice her alone and decide to walk over to her. Lara sits next to her on the couch while Lexie sits in the armchair. Manon looks up, smiling tiredly. Lara raises an eyebrow. “You… Okay?”

Manon laughs, nodding her head. “Yeah. Dani is having a… Moment.”

Lexie looks at the girl with a worried expression. “Is she okay?” Manon nods again, sighing dramatically. “Just the usual things. Y/n is out with Ezrela and-“ Lara puts a hand up, not needing to hear any more from her. She looks at Lexie with a knowing look.

The two nod. Yeah, that’ll do it.

The first time you two argue about it, it scares Daniela shitless.

Because fuck why is she picking a fight about it?

You sneak back into the shared dorm with Manon and Daniela. You quietly tiptoe to your bed, not wanting to make a sound. You crouch by your bed, quietly taking off your shoes but the sound of the bed squeaking slightly causes you to pick your head up. You see Daniela laying there, wiping the sleepiness off her face. You reach out, tucking the hair covering her face behind her ear. You whisper softly, “come here often?”

Daniela giggles tiredly. “Where were you?”

You take your last shoe off and climb over Daniela. You situate yourself behind the girl and pull her close, enjoying the warmth that radiates from the girl’s body. Daniela cuddles closer to you, feeling her eyes wanting to close but she fights back. She wants to hear your answer.

She feels you whisper into her hair. “I went to the 7/11 across the street with Ezrela,” you giggle, “We got slurpees and decided to hang out a little bit longer.” Daniela bites her lip when she hears the response. She can’t help but feel an annoyance rising within her. She turns over, facing you with a hard look in her eyes. She whispers, “I was waiting for you…”

You feel a heat in your cheeks when Daniela faces you. You can’t help but feel hyperaware of how close you two are— how close your lips are. You push those thoughts away. You know better than to get ahead of yourself. This is Daniela Avanzini for crying out loud. You whisper back, “I told you I’d be out with Ezzie-“

“Until 3 in the freaking morning, Y/n?” Her whisper comes out harsh, a bit louder than before. You’re taken aback by her tone, not understanding the reason behind it. Daniela knows Ezrela is one of your closest friends in Dream Academy. Why is she making a big deal out of it? You bite your lip anxiously. “Yeah? You and I have been out that long before… Maybe even longer. What’s the problem?” Daniela can’t help the frustrated sigh that escapes her lips.

“I’m going back to my bed.” Daniela makes a move to sit up but you keep your arms around the Latina, tightening your grasp. You want to get to the bottom of this. Your first performance is tomorrow and you’re both in a group together. You can’t let Daniela become distracted, not when it’s your fault. But Daniela pushes you back, an obvious glare on her features. “Y/n. Let me go, I have to go to bed.” You don’t let up though. You just look at Daniela like a wounded puppy.

“Why are you mad?” The question makes Daniela even more furious. She doesn’t know why, it just does. She knows she’s acting irrationally but she also can’t help it. Whatever it is she’s feeling, she can’t push it away. Every time she sees you with Ezrela, the feeling intensifies. Deep down, she knows what it is. But she isn’t ready to face it, and she doesn’t know if she’d ever be. She pushes you again, this time winning the fight. She walks to her own bed without another word and crawls under the covers. She can feel your eyes on her but she doesn’t spare you a glance. She ignores it like she does with the feeling that festers messily in the pit of her stomach.

The next morning, at 9 AM, she wakes up to the sound of presumably you walking into the shared dorm. Daniela know you’re probably back from your morning run. She stays still, pretending to stay asleep. After the events that happened a few hours before, she is too afraid to acknowledge it. She hears you walk beside her bed and then walk away right after. She hears rummaging in the shared closet space and then your footsteps walking towards the bathroom. Once Daniela hears the door click close, she opens her eyes. She waits until she hears the shower running to get up. She sits up, pulling her legs up to her chest.

She knows she needs to apologize. But then she would have to explain herself and that, Daniela isn’t sure how to do. She doesn’t even know why she got mad at you in the first place. She sighs deeply and rests her head against her knees. She takes a glance at the clock on her nightstand but is surprised to see a cup of coffee sitting there.

Iced vanilla latte w/ almond milk.

also known as: a peace offering.

You get first place in fan votes for mission one.

When live voting ends and eliminations are made, you stand up, body shaking slightly from the stress. You walk over to Daniela, pulling the girl into a tight hug. You hold each other for a moment, grateful that you’re both safe this week. Seeing it all happen in real time made the experience much scarier. It made it all feel more like a competition. At the end of this, there really is something to lose.

You both pull away, but Daniela reaches out and holds your hand. You both exit the room with each other, a thick silence between you two. Suddenly, Ezrela runs up to you and Daniela feels you let go of her hand to catch Ezrela in your arms. She watches as you spin the Aussie around, smiles on your faces. The taller puts Ezrela down, keeping your hands on the girl’s waist as the other securely keeps her arms around your neck. Ezrela says something to you that causes you to throw your head back, laughing. The scene makes Daniela want to cry for some reason.

She is just so confused by what is going through her head.

You and Ezrela continue talking and Daniela decides she can’t watch you two anymore. She turns on her heel, following Manon out the door.

At some point, Daniela convinces herself that Ezrela is in fact doing it to piss her off.

When they’re in Lotte World, they have an opportunity to dress in the school uniforms they provide and the way you look in yours makes Daniela fall in love with you even more than before—

Pause.

She looks away, her cheeks burning when the thought comes to mind. She looks in the mirror, fiddling with the neck bow. She struggles a bit with the knot and she almost goes to Yoonchae for assistance but she feels a pair of hands over her own and she looks up to see you smiling down at her.

“Need help?” Daniela giggles softly, nodding. “Is it obvious?” You look at her with an adoration in her eyes that makes Daniela feel sick all over again. She rests her arms at her sides, allowing you to tie the bow around her neck. The Latina looks up at you, studying your features. The freckles that decorate your nose and cheeks, the way your brow furrows in concentration, your habit of biting your tongue when you’re determined. She watches as your lips curl into a small smile when you finish with Daniela’s bow, looking up from it to look at the Latina with a wide smile. The smile makes Daniela’s facade falter slightly. For a second, she almost believes that it would be safe for her to give into what she feels. For a moment, Daniela almost admits to herself what she has been denying for almost a year.

You look at Daniela and tilt your head in curiosity. You giggle, “Earth to Dani?” The Latina widens her eyes, suddenly feeling nervous. She pushes you away, rolling her eyes playfully. Her cheeks burn again and she hopes you don’t notice the way her cheeks are painted red. She mumbles, “You’re so annoying…” and you laugh, wrapping your arms around Daniela’s shoulders, pulling her close. You look into the mirror and smile softly.

“Let’s take a picture.” You reach into your pocket, grabbing your phone. You two take pictures, taking several with a variety of different poses and faces. After a few moments, you feel a poke on your shoulder and you look over to see Ezrela smiling sheepishly, holding her neck bow.

“I’ve been fighting with this thing for 30 minutes…” The statement makes you laugh loudly. You nod, taking the neck bow from the Aussie. Daniela watches as you assist Ezrela. She can’t help but notice how careful you were, as if scared you’d tie it too tightly or would make the shorter feel uncomfortable. That feeling begins bubbling up again, the one she always gets when she sees you anywhere near Ezrela. The mere mention of the Australian is enough to put her in a bad mood.

When you finish, Ezrela places her hands on your shoulders. She leans up and kisses you on the cheek. Daniela notices how she lingers there for a second longer. It’s as if everyone noticed the small gesture of affection because the room goes noticeably silent. The girls subtly look at Daniela, waiting for her reaction. The Latina was visibly fuming because what the fuck. Without thinking, Daniela pulls you by the hand, leading you towards the exit. Your eyes widen at the sudden shift in Daniela’s mood. “Why are we in a rush?”

Daniela shrugs. She lies, “I told Karlee, Lara, and Lexie we’d meet soon.” You accept the answer, still slightly bewildered by Daniela’s actions.

She turns around, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Daniela steps closer to you, an unreadable expression on her face. You’re about to say something but Daniela places a gentle hand on your cheek, removing it to place a finger underneath your chin. She tilts your head ever so slightly to the other side to see where Ezrela kissed you. Daniela frowns.

There was a very present red lipstick mark.

No thoughts go through Daniela’s mind as she licks the pad of her thumb on her free hand. She doesn’t think when she uses it to clean the lipstick stain. She isn’t thinking, the only thing she can focus on is the fact Ezrela thinks she can just leave her mark like this.

Daniela leans up and kisses you on the exact same spot. She presses her lips hard enough so her own lips can create their own stain. She is determined because you belonged to her.

When she pulls away, she sees the dazed look on your face. For some reason, it leaves Daniela satisfied. She pulls you along with her once again, confident in the fact that you are only thinking about her.

This thought is solidified when you return to your shared hotel room. Manon and Lexie went with the other girls to explore but you and Daniela decide to return to change into something different.

But the plan is long forgotten in Daniela’s mind when she is pressed against the door of the room, your lips on hers and your hands tangled in the Latina’s hair.

Everything is forgotten when she feels your lips on her neck, your warm hands underneath her shirt. When you pull away, Daniela looks at you with desperation in her eyes. As much as she wants you to be hers, she wants to be yours even more.

In one swift motion, you pick up the Latina and take her to your bed.

Tonight, she ends being yours in more ways than one.

And she hopes you’re hers in the exact same ways.

There’s a shift in your relationship and everyone notices.

Daniela doesn’t wait for you to be done changing out of your practice clothes. She doesn’t sit in the lounge with you anymore, simply opting to read her book alone. She starts spending more time with Megan, Emily, and Manon with you not in sight. You show up to practice earlier than usual with Daniela showing up much later.

It’s weird and everyone wonders what happened in Seoul.

But what doesn’t change is the way Daniela’s eyes narrow when she sees you with Ezrela. The way her fists clench when they announce you would be in Ezrela’s group for the week. Everyone notices how Daniela immediately leaves the practice room when Ezrela runs up to you, attaching herself to you in a koala hug of some sorts.

It leaves everyone confused and curious, but no one dares to say a word about it.

It all comes crashing down when you knew this would be your last week at Dream Academy. You felt it in your gut the moment you finished filming the “Wannabe,” cover. The entire time, leading up to the performance, you felt off your game. You were constantly becoming distracted during practice, your vocal coaches often got frustrated with you, and the passion you had at the beginning has diminished significantly.

You knew this would be the end of your journey, and you aren’t sure if you were doing it on purpose or not.

You’d hope that you could at least talk to Daniela about what happened. But, with the Latina avoiding you like the plague every single day since that night, the possibility begins to seem more far fetched as the days turned into weeks.

You were upset. Of course you were.

Daniela was supposed to be your person. She’s the one you would find yourself looking for in a crowded room. You know Daniela like the back of your hand and vice versa. If you two weren’t meant to be together like that then you would have been satisfied with just being friends. She brought you a comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time and now you feel as though you ruined everything.

So, when the elimination does in fact happen, you waste no time in leaving. You avoid everyone’s eyes as you walk out of the room.

Back at the dorm, you’re in the middle of packing your luggage when you hear the door open. You don’t make a move to turn around, keeping your eyes trained on your task at hand. You wanted to leave immediately and forget any of this ever happened. The person walks up to you, their footsteps slow and careful and you just know it’s Daniela. You brace yourself, waiting for her to speak.

Your suspicions are confirmed when you hear the Latina speak quietly. “Do you… Need help?” You reply with a shake of your head, folding the clothes that lay in front of you. You hear her sigh, speaking up again, “Are you okay?” You scoff in response, rolling your eyes.

“Why do you care?” The question breaks Daniela’s heart because she does care. She will always care about you, no matter what. Daniela stays quiet though. She knows enough damage has been done. She watches you continue packing, trying to rid any of trace of your presence on Dream Academy. The Latina is about to leave to give you some privacy but you finally speak up, throwing the clothes in your hands harshly into your luggage. You turn around, a hard look in your eyes.

“Why did it always bother you whenever I was around Ezrela?” The sharpness in your tone causes Daniela to step back a bit, surprised by how angry you looked in this moment. She opens her mouth to say something but you continue, your voice becoming harsher. “I thought the way you acted when you saw me and her together… I thought that meant something… Like…” You take a deep breath, your eyes beginning to water slightly, “like. I wasn’t fucking crazy for how I felt about you.” You whisper the last part, your voice breaking slightly. The pained expression on your face hurts Daniela even more than before but she feels frozen in place, she feels as though the words she wants to say are stuck in her throat and cannot seem to find a way out. You step closer to her, desperate for an answer. At least for more clarity on the situation at hand.

You whisper again, your tone softer this time, “You had to have felt something…” you reach out to her, as if grasping for any physical sign to see that Daniela does love you. That this wasn’t actually for nothing and you being eliminated was worth it. But the way she steps away, the way she acts as though you burned her with the tip of your fingers, tells you everything you needed to know at that moment. This was your clarity. And that was Daniela Avanzini did not love you like you loved her.

You step away, defeated. Any fight left in your body has gone away and you were now just another contestant who is leaving Dream Academy. You take one last look at Daniela, a sad look in your eyes.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Ezrela.”

You leave her, with those being the last words you utter to the Latina.

Your actual last words to Daniela come in a form of a note she finds on top of one of your sweaters she always liked stealing from you. It’s folded nicely and sits atop her pillow, welcoming her when she comes back from visiting Megan’s dorm. She walks slowly towards it, as if she were to move too fast, it would disappear somehow. She picks up the note, and although it only had a few words, it was enough for Daniela to finally let out the sob she had been holding in since eliminations were made.

This is not a peace offering. This was a goodbye.

a/n: could consider writing a part two but i hope you all enjoyed! currently taking any requests for stories or random thoughts. happy valentines day!

#katseye x reader #katseye imagines #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini #manon bannerman #lara raj #sophia laforteza #jeong yoonchae #katseye #daniela avanzini x reader

301 notes · View notes

victoryai · 2 days ago

Text

SOLAR RETURN ASC AND YOUR PHYSICAL APPEARANCE FOR THE YEAR.

You can reblog ↪️ but please have the decency not 🚫 to steal my post.

©Victoryai.

My Babies have been requesting more solar return observations 😁❤️

Note: A person's physical appearance is predominantly influenced by their natal ascendant. However,(due to my observations) the solar return ascendant may exert a subtle(for most cases) yet temporary impact on one's physical appearance for a year. It's possible for others to notice this change more than you

🚕 Let's go....

🚕♈ Aries ascendant: When you have Aries as your Sr ascendant, you tend to look bolder and more confident in your own way. There's something about your face, maybe it looks more prominent. To some people, you just come of as intimidating. During this year you might easily get scars/tats on your face. You might sustain injuries due to the martian influence.

🚕♉ Taurus ascendant: When Taurus shows up as Sr asc, most people tend to add weight. So for a fact, you might look chubby or even look rich/richer. Simply put you look comfortable.

🚕 ♊ Gemini ascendant: This Sr ASC makes people look younger than their age. You might look nerdy and nervous too or mostly in uniform.

🚕♋ Cancer ascendant: Should I call you Mom or Dad😂 cause this one makes you look soft like you have a kid. You look more approachable though. You might be regularly moody and cry alot. It's funny how I cried for one reason or the other when I had this as a lunar return ascendant 😂, like always....

🚕♌ Leo ascendant:The giddy kid or the star or also the new parent!

You seem like you were created to have fun. There's something about you that just shines this year. You're a whole package of entertainment for your fans bby. You look high class 😋!

🚕♍ Virgo ascendant: I'll try to stay positive about this one,😂. There's a high chance you'll look really clean and organized. You look reasonable and efficient, trustworthy too. You might also look petite and lose weight too. It'll be great if you plan too lose weight. You look like you're on a diet bby!

🚕♎ Libra ascendant: omg 😳 you are pretty 😍, you literally look like everyone's spec. You look feminine and gentle. This is giving wifey/husband material 😻. You might also look like you're married 😂.

🚕♏ Scorpio ascendant: Honestly, you're gradually starting to change and transform . You look complex . You could also change completely due to facial surgery or makeup. I guess I'll have to observe this sign more🤔.

🚕♐ Sagittarius ascendant: You look like you have quite a lot in your head! There's that look of intelligence or someone that's currently learning alot. You look like a foreigner to people around you. You might also look like a religious person, maybe you wear religious symbols often. You tend to add weight . Plus you look funny too 🤣.

🚕♑ Capricorn ascendant: Who's the Boss? You!!. You don't look like you want to engage in cheap talk this year. You have this all serious look about you. You move slow and steady like a boss!!. You might even look like a celeb to people 🤣

🚕♒ Aquarius:Nerdy!Nerdy!. You might just look like that one nerd that uses their phone so much like their life depends on it. You look like "I don't give a f***". Your style this year is just very unique and different. You also look "friendly" too😂

🚕♓ Pisces: Oh my babys🌬️ you look like you don't belong to this world. I'm getting ethereal vibes from you. You might also look confused and lost too. Like someone searching for something that cannot be found on earth. You look sleepy maybe because you might sleep alot too. You might look depressed if you get yourself in bad habits like drugs, addiction or alcohol, so don't!!

You might look crazy too🤕 sorry 😔

#astro observations #astrology observations #astrology #lunar return #solar return #ascendant in solar return chart #solar return observations #astrology community #astro community #©Victoryai #victoryai

174 notes · View notes

thevibraniumveterans · 10 hours ago

Text

Bucky did have a point though. Let’s revisit what he said to Sam.

“He gave you that shield not because you’re the strongest, but because you’re you.”

Sam is a good man. We know this. We’ve seen this. There’s more than enough evidence to prove this. Here’s the thing — way back when, in The First Avenger, Erskine told Steve: “Whatever happens tomorrow, you must promise me one thing. That you will stay who you are, not a perfect soldier, but a good man.” Steve stayed a good man, and after meeting Sam, knew that Sam was a good man too. Steve recognized the great qualities that made Sam, Sam, and decided that those qualities were worth handing the shield to Sam for.

“You think if you had that serum, you’d be able to protect all the people you care about. Steve had it, and he couldn’t.”

Steve couldn’t even save Bucky when he fell off that train, couldn’t even save Peggy, couldn’t even save Natasha, couldn’t even save Tony. Couldn’t save half his friends that he lost when Thanos snapped his fingers. Again, Steve is not perfect. He did have the serum and couldn’t even save the people he truly cared about. Steve doesn’t have godlike qualities, he’s only human, but a super-powered human at that. That still didn’t help him, did it, other than making him stronger? Steve’s morals didn’t once change, but again, his morals didn’t save his friends.

“You’re a human being and you’re doing your best.”

True, Sam is doing his best in everything that he does, but sometimes in the eyes of certain other people, best isn’t good enough. There’s so much about Sam being a Black man wearing the Stars and Stripes (as he pointed out in TFATWS), that everything he does has to be twice as good, only to get half as far, so to even be as good, he has to do four times better than anyone else. Someone has said elsewhere that Sam was struggling to fill Steve’s shoes, to live up to the legacy he left behind, but — and spoiler (what isn’t spoiled by now anyway) — Joaquin is struggling to fill Sam’s shoes.

“Steve gave people something to believe in, but you… you give them something to aspire to.”

And speaking of Joaquin. First, Steve. Steve represented and symbolized the ideals upon which the USA was founded, but never once really symbolized the USA itself (evident in the comics, the MCU, and what Chris Evans and Anthony Mackie have said). Steve’s morals were something that people could look up to, being pure of heart, having your best interests in mind, and all that. Sam, in doing all that he can do, as an Avenger and now Captain America, really gave people something to aspire to. Which brings Joaquin into the equation. Throughout TFATWS (admittedly during which Joaquin doesn’t make that many appearances) and CA:BNW, Joaquin is excited to be working alongside his hero Sam Wilson. Joaquin is a little goofy at times but only because he’s Sam’s #1 fan. He’s trying to do his best to meet or even exceed Sam’s nigh-impossible standards, because he looked up to Sam for years. Joaquin even told Sam he wanted to be (like) him, be the Falcon that Sam once was. What must’ve been like for Sam to get told by his protégé, no less, that he’d set a very good example of the type of person to be? What Joaquin told Sam was basically that he hadn’t failed, that Sam was just being himself, doing his best, and inadvertently instilling hope in the younger generation. That is the highest compliment Sam ever needs.

earlier:

now:

Captain America: Brave New World

#mcu #captain america brave new world #brave new world spoilers #cabnw spoilers #sam wilson #anthony mackie #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #joaquin torres #danny ramirez #my thoughts

1K notes · View notes

reidsgfbf · 2 days ago

Text

sweet lips on mine || s. reid

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

summary: after an incident with a hickey after spending the night, spencer decides to confront you about your nightly habits, only to get sidetracked warnings!: fem! reader!, unprotected p in v intercourse (wrap it before you tap it babes), hickeys, oral (f receiving), coming in pants (m), coming on stomach, the team tease spencer about the hickey, aftercare is implied but not outright mentioned i don't think a/n: ahh! my first smut fic, and just in time for valentines day too!! i hope you all enjoy!

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Spencer really should have known better than to stay at yours last night. But, alas, when the thunderstorm had started last night, and you had looked at him with those wide, innocent eyes of yours, begging him to stay the night, because ‘you know how many accidents there are during storms, Spence’, he had folded immediately. And now, here he was, late for work; with his shirt haphazardly tucked into his slacks, his tie loosened and his hair messy. He wasn’t even aware of the mark visible on his Adam’s apple that you had made whilst fast asleep.

Though that lack of awareness did not last long, as the moment he walked into the bullpen, Morgan let out a loud whistle, attracting attention to him. JJ giggled, but tried to hide it behind her hand, though the way her blue eyes sparkled gave it away instantly.

“Looks like someone had a good night.” Morgan wiggled his brows suggestively.

“What? What do you mean?” Spencer furrowed his brows.

“One, you’re late, two, your clothes are a mess, and three, you have a hickey the size of a cent on your neck.” Emily replied, and he turned bright red, the flush travelling up his neck to his hairline.

After all, he could have sworn that he’d kept it chaste with you during the night. Nonetheless, he resolved himself to have a stern word with you when he got back to yours.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

Finally, Spencer got home, (‘since when had he been calling your apartment home?’ a voice in the back of his mind wondered), and he found you in the bedroom, trying on some new clothes you’d bought, some discarded on the bed, some on the floor surrounding you. Well, clothes was a loose term. They were more like scraps of lacy fabric. You were currently modelling a pretty lilac bra, with tulle ruffles on the cups, and matching panties, that looked like they were made from ribbons.

Spencer’s breath hitched, and all thoughts of reprimanding you for the hickey flew out of his mind, as blood began to rush down to his cock. You looked stunning, especially in the light of the fake candles you had compromised on when Spencer had panicked about you having actual candles burning whilst you slept.

You turned around, and startled when you saw Spencer in the doorway, covering yourself up self-consciously. “Spencer! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Don’t cover yourself up, please, baby.” Spencer breathed, approaching you with a reverent look in his eyes, like you were an angel, sent down from the heavens to tempt foolish mortals like him. Once he was stood in front of you, he dropped to his knees, holding your hips as he stared up at you. Your cheeks flushed red, and a shy smile appeared on your face.

“Stop looking at me like that.” you murmured, brushing a lock of his soft brown hair away from his face. The scent of honey wafted up, a reminder of his sweet shampoo.

“Why?” he asked breathlessly, still gazing at you softly.

A soft laugh bubbled from your lips. “It does things to me, Spen. So many things.”

A smile stretched across Spencer’s lips and he laughed. “You do things to me, every day.” he admitted. “When you wake up in the morning, your hair all messy, when you find something you like and bring it home or take a photograph to show me, when you do so many little mundane things, that just make you look like an angel.”

Heat rose up in your cheeks, and another laugh escaped you. “Spen-”

“Let me worship you, please.” Spencer pleaded, cutting you off. “You deserve to be worshipped, baby. If you are an angel, then I am your most devout follower, worshipping the very ground you step on, and every breath you take, amazed that you even deign to breathe the same air as me.”

Those words made you melt, and you let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, Spencer.”

“Can I make love to you, please?” he asked, his hazel eyes sparkling with adoration. How could you resist those pretty puppy dog eyes? Or the way his voice dropped to a whisper on the last word?

“Darling, you don’t have to ask.” you replied, thumb tracing his lower lip as your fingers danced over his jawline. Spencer rose, and quickly cleared the bed, before grabbing your hips once more and laying you down on the plush duvet cover, and peppering soft kisses all over your face and neck.

His hands wandered, finding their way to the fastener of your bra, waiting for your permission. You nodded, and he obeyed, his hands fumbling with the garment in his excitement. Once the garment was off, he chucked it over his shoulder and immediately began lavishing attention on your breasts, nibbling at the soft flesh, before latching his mouth onto a nipple, sucking and licking until it was hard, before doing the same to the other one. Then, he trailed kisses down your abdomen, until he reached the waistband of your panties. Without waiting for permission, he wormed them off you, and threw them behind him to join your bra, revealing your lower lips, glistening with your arousal. His cheeks flushed at the obscene sight, though the way his pupils dilated belied his true feelings.

He spread your thighs gently with his hands, to reveal your pussy in all its glory; the swollen and throbbing nub that was your clitoris, the flushed look of your lips, and the slick arousal coming from your entrance. The sweet yet musky smell of your essence wafted up to his nose and he groaned, before hitching your legs up over his shoulders and diving into your pussy, beginning with a bold lick with the flat of his tongue, before settling on your clit, sucking and flicking the pearl with his tongue, eliciting a simply pornographic moan from you. He groaned against your pussy at the sound, feeling more blood rush down to his cock, which throbbed against the zipper of his trousers, making you moan again with the vibrations. He rutted slightly against the mattress as he ate you out, subconsciously craving relief.

“Oh, Spencer!” you whined, hands reaching down to fist in Spencer’s hair.

He continued his ministrations, slipping a finger into your entrance, seeking out the spongy tissue that consisted of your sweet spot. He curled his finger and was delighted to hear you whimper, tugging on his hair as a wave of pleasure washed over you. He inserted another finger and began pistoning them in and out as he suckled on your clit.

Finally, your climax hit you with full force, and with a broken gasp, you came, arching your back and tightening your grip in Spencer’s hair as your arousal gushed over the lower half of his face. He continued to lick and suckle your clit through your orgasm, his hips stuttering as he spilled into his trousers. Once you came down from the high, he pulled away, pulling out his fingers and licking them clean, before wiping your fluids from his face with the back of his hand. You didn’t mention the wet spot on the front of his slacks, as he kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

When he pulled away, that reverent expression was on his face once more. “Round two?” he asked, but you held up a hand, quickly grabbing your bottle of Pepsi and taking a swig to try and soothe your suddenly dry throat. Once you had recovered, you nodded.

“Round two.”

Spencer smiled and made quick work of his clothes, discarding them in the general direction of the lingerie you had been wearing. His cock was still hard, as if he hadn’t come only a few moments ago, the tip flushed a dusky pink, the veins crisscrossing the shaft throbbing with need. He wasn’t too big, perhaps a little above average, but his slimness made it seem bigger compared to the rest of him. A trimmed garden of curls surrounded the base of his cock, which meant sometimes his precome would drip into the curls.

He rubbed the leaking head against your slit, moaning at the sensation, before lining himself up with your entrance. Slowly, but surely, he pushed in, sheathing himself inch by agonising inch. Once he was fully seated, he gave you a moment to adjust, before gently beginning to fuck you. No, fuck was too coarse of a word, it was more like making soft, sweet love.

The pace was slow and gentle, as he nuzzled your neck and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, leaving little hickeys to bloom on your soft skin with each pass of his mouth. Perhaps this was his payback for the night before.

Eventually, you were close once more to falling off the precipice into bliss. “Ah- Spencer, I’m gonna-” your words were cut off as your orgasm crashed over you, trailing off into a moan. Spencer was close too, and pulled out, his seed spurting out over your mound and stomach, painting it with lewd streaks of white.

Once the two of you had cleaned up and recovered, you both snuggled up on the bed, ready for sleep to pull both of you into its warm embrace. It was then Spencer remembered what he had meant to talk to you about.

“Oh yeah, where’d this hickey come from?” he pointed to the mark, and was surprised at how shy you looked.

“I... bite in my sleep.” you admitted. “Sorry.”

#criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #reidsgfbf #dr spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds smut

307 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 2 days ago

Note

tysm for filling in the void for yan mydei im so full just by reading through ur works ugh

more yan is always welcomed but like the plot twist is that it's reader that's the yan and mydei knows and likes it like some guy warns him about ur misdeeds and he's like 'yeah i know, got a problem with that?' listen im just deep into mutual toxic lovers okay thank u for coming to my ted talk keep writing stay hydrated mwap

Mydei x Yandere!Reader

At first, Mydei was just another face in the crowd, one more person who basked in the admiration of others, soaking up attention like it was his birthright.

And you? You acted like you couldn't care less.

When he flashed that charming smile, you barely glanced his way. When he teased, when he toyed, when he played his little games with those around him, you only met him with flat indifference, as if he were nothing special. As if he didn’t matter.

But inside, deep down, where no one could see, you were watching.

You noticed everything. The way he moved, the way his presence filled a room, the way he always seemed so confident, so untouchable. The way others chased him like desperate moths to a flame. It was infuriating. It was intoxicating. You wanted to be the only one who saw him, the only one who truly understood him.

But you couldn’t show that.

So instead, you let him think you were unaffected. You played the part of the one who simply tolerated his presence, the one who didn’t crumble under his charm. And, strangely enough, that was what caught his interest.

Because Mydei had seen admiration before. He had seen obsession, longing, love. But he had never seen someone like you—someone who met him without worship, without expectation.

That was when he started watching you.

At first, it was subtle—lingering glances, idle curiosity. Then it grew. He found himself searching for you in every room, noting the way you reacted (or didn’t) when he spoke. He tested your patience, pushed at your boundaries, just to see what you would do.

And when he finally realized the truth—when he caught that single moment where your mask cracked, when he saw the way your eyes lingered a little too long, the way your fingers twitched when someone else got too close—he smiled.

Because you were different. And that was why he loved you.

The confession came suddenly, without warning.

“I want you” Mydei had said one evening, his voice soft but certain. “You’re the only one who’s ever really seen me.”

You had scoffed, played it off like it meant nothing. "So? What do you expect me to do about it?"

His gaze didn’t waver. "Stay with me."

And that was how it started.

Your relationship was complicated, tangled in sharp edges and unspoken truths. Mydei was possessive, but he never needed to be—because you weren’t going anywhere. You watched him, he watched you, a game of quiet obsession played in the shadows.

So when some fool approached Mydei one day, warning him about you, he only chuckled.

"Obsessed?" he echoed, amusement dancing in his voice. "You act like that’s a bad thing."

After all, love meant never having to let go.

It started with whispers.

A nervous glance here, a hushed murmur there. People had always gossiped, always speculated about your relationship with Mydei, but lately, the tension had shifted. It was no longer just idle curiosity or petty jealousy. No, this was something else.

Fear.

The first warning came from a former admirer of Mydei’s, a trembling voice layered with concern.

"Mydei, I know you might not believe me, but they’re dangerous" she said, wringing her hands together. "They don’t just push people away—they get rid of them. Anyone who gets too close to you just… disappears."

Mydei tilted his head, fingers resting against his chin. "Is that so?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he was listening. "Yes! I—I don’t think you realize just how deep this goes. I even heard that—"

He cut her off with a lazy smile. "And?"

She blinked. "What?"

"Why did that concern you?"

Her mouth opened and closed, as if struggling to process his response. "They’re obsessed with you! Aren’t you—aren’t you scared?"

"Should I be?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. "Tell me, if someone was willing to burn the world down for you… wouldn’t that be just a little bit romantic?"

The girl paled, taking a shaky step back. Mydei only laughed as she hurried away.

The second warning came from someone bolder.

"Mydei, listen to me," a man muttered, grabbing his wrist firmly. "That person you’re with? They’re unhinged. They have people watching you. I—I overheard them threatening someone just for looking at you the wrong way."

Mydei arched a brow. "And?"

The man’s grip tightened. "Don’t you get it? They’re dangerous."

A slow smirk spread across Mydei’s lips. "Good."

The man flinched, his expression shifting from urgency to something wary. "You… you knew?"

Mydei sighed, shaking his head. "Of course I knew. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" His fingers pried the man’s hand off his wrist, his grip just a little too firm. "Tell me, do you think I look like someone who lets things slip past me?"

The man swallowed hard, but before he could say anything else, Mydei turned away, waving him off as if he were nothing more than a passing nuisance.

The warnings kept coming. People muttering in corridors, exchanging uneasy glances when they thought Mydei wasn’t looking.

They all seemed to think they were telling him some grand secret. That he was blind.

But Mydei had never been blind.

He knew exactly what kind of person you were.

And that was exactly why he stayed.

Mydei was no stranger to being watched. Admired, even. He knew the weight of lingering stares, the way people’s eyes followed him with thinly veiled longing. It was expected, predictable.

But your gaze? That was something else entirely.

He felt it before he even saw you.

It was late afternoon when he paused in the palace gardens, ignoring the meaningless chatter of nobles flitting around him. A faint rustle overhead had his lips curving into a smirk. Subtle to most—but not to him.

Ah. There you were.

Perched on a tree branch like a shadow, watching him with that same unreadable intensity you always had.

The noblewoman beside him prattled on about something inconsequential, but Mydei wasn’t listening. His focus had already shifted. He barely spared the woman a glance before turning on his heel and striding toward the tree, cutting through the manicured hedges without hesitation.

"Ah—Your highness?" The woman’s voice wavered, confused by his abrupt disinterest.

But he was already gone.

You didn’t move as he approached, still as a predator in waiting. Mydei took his time, tilting his head as he peered up at you.

"You know," he mused, amusement lacing his tone, "if you’re going to stalk me, at least put in a little more effort. This is hardly a challenge."

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though your fingers twitched ever so slightly against the bark. Mydei chuckled, stepping closer.

"Are you going to keep watching from up there, or do I have to come and get you myself?"

There was the briefest flicker of movement before you leapt down, landing soundlessly a few feet away. You dusted off your sleeves, leveling him with a blank stare.

"Busy?" you asked, voice flat.

"Not anymore" he said breezily, as if he hadn’t just walked away from an entire crowd to chase after you.

A scoff. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re predictable." His smirk widened as he leaned in slightly. "Did you think I wouldn’t notice?"

"You were taking too long."

Mydei let out a delighted laugh. "Impatient, are we?"

You rolled your eyes, but the way you lingered just a little too close, the way your fingers twitched as if resisting the urge to grab him—it was enough to make his blood hum with satisfaction.

"Let’s go somewhere less… public."

You hesitated for only a moment before following.

The nobles and servants who had been watching from afar exchanged looks, whispers passing between them. Some admired the way Mydei always gravitated toward you, the way he smiled so easily in your presence. Others found it unnerving, the intensity between you both—something electric, something dangerous.

But none of them dared to interfere.

Mydei led you through the palace gardens, away from prying eyes. He didn’t need to look back to know you were following. You always did.

That was the fun part.

You never admitted it, never said it outright, but he knew. You were obsessed with him. And, he loved that.

As you walked, his pace slowed until he was just beside you. "You know," he mused, voice light, "most people try to get my attention by speaking to me. But I suppose lurking in trees works too."

"Maybe if you weren’t surrounded by idiots all the time, I wouldn’t have to."

Mydei let out a delighted hum. "Jealous?"

You didn’t answer.

Which meant yes.

He grinned, shifting closer, until his shoulder nearly brushed against yours. "you could always just say you want me to yourself."

"I don’t care what you do"

"You're bad at lying" Mydei sing-songed, clearly entertained.

You huffed, but Mydei only smirked, pleased. He knew how to push, how to tug at the threads of your carefully composed exterior until they frayed just enough to amuse him.

After a few moments of silence, Mydei spoke again, this time more thoughtful. "You know, someone tried to warn me about you again today."

"Is that so?"

He turned to face you fully, walking backward without a care. "Apparently, you’re dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

Mydei chuckled, stepping even closer. "You tell me."

"You really don’t care, do you?"

Mydei’s grin widened. "Would I still be here if I did?"

Your lips parted slightly, and for a second, Mydei thought you might actually say something real. But instead, you scoffed and looked away.

"Tch. Idiot."

"Possessive" Mydei countered smoothly.

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, unbothered as always.

It started with small things like a glance that lingered too long, a conversation cut too short. People who used to approach Mydei freely now hesitated, their smiles more forced, their words more cautious.

At first, he found it amusing. You were possessive—he had always known that.

But then, things began to shift.

The first real incident was at a banquet.

A noblewoman, a foreign dignitary, all fluttering lashes and saccharine words had taken an interest in him. Nothing unusual. Mydei had entertained her with easy conversation, just enough to be polite.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the edge of the room, watching.

When he met your eyes, you tilted your head slightly, as if waiting. He excused himself from the noblewoman’s company without thinking. His feet carried him toward you before he could question why.

“You’re being ridiculous..” he murmured when he reached you.

You didn’t respond. You didn’t have to. The way your gaze flicked over his shoulder, where the noblewoman still lingered, was enough.

The next morning, the woman abruptly cut her stay short and left the palace without explanation.

People murmuring about how she had seemed shaken, about how she had refused to speak of why she was leaving.

He didn’t ask you about it.

But that wasn’t the last time.

More people began avoiding him. Conversations ended when he entered a room. Some courtiers wouldn’t even meet his gaze anymore.

And every time, when he turned to look at you, he found you already watching.

“You’re being too much.” he finally told you one evening.

You didn’t flinch. “Too much for what?”

“For them.” Mydei gestured vaguely. “You’re scaring people off.”

“Good.”

He frowned. “That’s not—”

“Do you want them?”

The question was quiet, but it made his breath catch.

You were standing too close now, eyes dark, expression unreadable. The air felt heavier, like a trap he hadn’t realized he’d stepped into.

You weren’t touching him, but he felt caged all the same.

“…No” he admitted.

“Then what’s the problem?”

He let out a slow breath, forcing a smirk onto his lips. “You’re suffocating, you know that?”

“You like it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

And maybe that was the worst part.

---

Mydei woke to darkness.

His mind was sluggish, limbs heavy. The faint scent of something cloying still lingered at the back of his throat—something sweet.His wrists ached when he moved, the telltale tightness of silk restraints biting into his skin. He was sitting, legs spread, posture relaxed but utterly bound.

A chuckle bubbled up from his throat. “Really?” His voice was hoarse, still thick with the aftereffects of whatever you had given him.

“You went too far.”

Your voice was steady, but he could hear it—the irritation laced beneath. The anger you rarely let slip.

He should be wary. Should be unsettled by the cold metal dragging along his collarbone, the warning pressure of something sharp just barely pressing into his skin.

But he wasn’t.

Because this? This was new.

And Mydei never could resist a good game.

A sharp pain flared across his cheek—a slap, hard enough to make his head turn. The sting bloomed into heat, skin tingling.

Mydei exhaled slowly. “Ah… so that’s how it is?”

You didn’t respond. He could feel you there, hovering close, your presence a weight against his senses.

Then another hit. His lip split, a sharp copper tang filling his mouth.

His tongue darted out, tasting it.

“You don’t like it when I talk to others, do you?” His voice was almost teasing, but lower, rougher.

Your fingers curled around his throat, tightening just enough to make him swallow.

“Shut up.”

He hummed, not quite a laugh, but close. “Make me.”

Your grip tightened, cutting off his breath for just a moment before releasing.

His pulse thrummed with something heady, something dangerous. He shifted slightly, testing his restraints—not out of a desire to escape, but just to feel the silk dig deeper.

A soft chuckle escaped him. “You think this will make me stop?”

You leaned in, breath hot against his ear. “No” you murmured.

You knew him too well.

Knew that no matter how tight you held him, no matter how hard you tried to break him—

He would always let you.

Because in the end, neither of you wanted to let go.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr mydei #mydei x reader #honkai star rail mydei

138 notes · View notes

rose24207 · 2 days ago

Note

ROSEEEE DROP PART 2 OF “My dad’s an idiot” AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 😭😭😭😭 like girl the amount of times I’ve re-read it are not even funny nor healthy I’m BEGGING ‼️‼️‼️

The date, the spy and the evil wench

Summary: On your first date, Lucas tries everything in his power to ensure nothing comes between you and Lando, even if he has to get Jessica out of the way.

Genre: fluff, humor, little angst

Future!dad!Lando x future!mum!reader, time travel

TW: bullying, humiliating

A/N: LMFAOOO I love those kind of requests!! I hope you love it as much as I do!

Masterlist pt. 2

The evening air was crisp as Lando stood outside the restaurant, nervously adjusting his collar for what felt like the hundredth time. He was dressed in his best shirt—something he had chosen specifically to impress you—and his hands kept fidgeting as he glanced around for any sign of your arrival. Despite his casual demeanor, he was on edge. He really wanted this date to go well.

From his hiding spot around the corner, Lucas watched with a mixture of amusement and pride. He had never seen Lando so flustered before. It was almost funny. He knew his "dad" was still a long way from being his actual dad—at least in this timeline—but that didn’t mean he wasn’t rooting for him.

“You’re good, mate,” Lucas whispered under his breath. He was genuinely rooting for Lando to pull this off. Even if it was kind of strange, seeing the man who would eventually become his father like this—so nervous, so unsure of himself.

As if on cue, you appeared down the street, walking toward the restaurant with a smile that could light up the world. Lando froze for a second, his eyes locking onto you. You looked even more stunning than he had anticipated, and the nerves in his chest began to multiply. He smiled awkwardly, running a hand through his hair as he caught sight of you approaching.

“Okay, Lando, you’ve got this,” he muttered to himself.

You finally reached him, and Lando’s heart skipped a beat. “Hey, you look amazing,” he said, his voice coming out a little shaky but sincere.

“Thank you,” you replied with a soft smile, your eyes bright as you took in his appearance. “You look pretty good yourself.”

Lando managed a chuckle, trying to shake off his nerves. “Thanks… You ready?”

You nodded, and with that, the two of you entered the restaurant. Lucas slipped from his hiding place, trailing behind at a safe distance, making sure he was in a good position to watch everything unfold.

Dinner went smoothly—at first. Lando was still a little jittery, but you seemed to put him at ease with your kind words and warm smile. He’d been so nervous that he kept stumbling over his words, but you found it endearing rather than awkward. He was trying so hard, and Lucas could see that you were starting to like him, which made his heart swell with pride for the man who, in another timeline, would one day be his father.

Lucas, however, knew that the night wouldn’t stay peaceful forever. There were always obstacles—particularly one very dangerous obstacle.

He caught sight of Jessica as soon as she entered the restaurant. She had a smug look on her face as she scanned the room, clearly looking for trouble. When she spotted Lando and you at your table, her lips curled into a satisfied grin. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she was planning.

Lucas tensed, his hand instinctively balling into a fist as he began to move toward her. He had been waiting for this moment, knowing it would come sooner or later.

Jessica didn’t waste any time. She slammed her hands on the table, a coy smile plastered on her face as she leaned toward Lando.

“Lando,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Funny, I thought you and I had plans tonight.”

Lando stiffened, his smile faltering for a moment as he glanced at you. His nerves were getting the best of him. “Jessica, I—uh—I’m with someone right now.”

Jessica barely seemed to register that, her gaze trained on you with a mix of disdain and amusement. “Oh, I see,” she drawled. “Well, it must be nice to have someone to settle for when there’s no one better around.”

The words hit you like a slap, and you visibly tensed, your eyes falling to the table in front of you. You had always been the type to take insults and suck it up, but something about Jessica’s attitude made you feel even more smaller than usual.

“You have a lot of nerve,” Lando said, his voice calm but laced with a sharp edge. “Maybe you should leave us alone.”

Jessica wasn’t having any of it. She leaned even closer to Lando, her hand subtly brushing his arm. “You don’t need that, Lando. You and I both know you’d be much better off with me. Why settle for someone who’s… well, less than perfect?”

You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, but before you could speak up, Lando spoke up, his voice firm. “That’s enough, Jessica. I’m not interested. You need to leave.”

Lucas, who had been watching from the shadows, felt his stomach churn with frustration. He couldn’t let this woman continue to bully you both, especially not when Lando was trying so hard.

Without a second thought, Lucas darted toward the table. He timed it perfectly, slipping between her and a passing waiter just as she reached for Lando’s arm. Her foot caught on his shoe, and with a small thud, she tripped, crashing into the chair in front of her with an unceremonious thud.

“Oof!” Jessica let out a sharp gasp as she stumbled and fell into the chair, a drink splashing across the table and onto her lap.

Lucas, pretending to be just another curious customer, immediately acted the part of a concerned bystander. “Oh! I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy. “I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

Jessica glared at him with venom in her eyes as she stood up, her face red with fury. “You little brat,” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous.

“You should watch where you’re walking,” Lucas quipped with a sly grin, offering her another set of napkins as he leaned toward her. “Here, clean up that mess.”

Jessica snatched the napkins from his hand, practically snarling at him before stalking off to the bathroom, leaving Lando and you to share an awkward but relieved look

Lando sighed in relief, glancing at you. “I’m sorry about her.”

You shook your head, a small sad smile playing at your lips. “Don’t worry about it. It’s nothing new.

Lucas, now back in the shadows, felt a quiet satisfaction as he watched the two of you. The night was going much better now that Jessica was out of the picture. He could feel the tension ease between you and Lando as you both returned to the conversation, and he felt a proud sense of accomplishment. His dad—well, future dad—was getting a chance to have this relationship, and Lucas was going to make sure nothing ruined it.

Later, as the meal came to an end, Lando walked you to the door of the restaurant, his nerves still lingering, but his smile genuine as he turned to face you.

“I’m really glad you came tonight,” he said softly. “I had a great time.”

You smiled warmly, the tension of the evening forgotten. “Me too. I’m glad we did this.”

Lando hesitated, his nerves creeping back again. “Maybe… maybe we could do it again sometime? I’d really like that.”

You nodded, your smile widening. “I’d like that too.”

As you turned to go, Lando lingered for a moment, still smiling. Lucas watched from a distance, his heart swelling with pride. He had kept his secret. He had done his part. And for tonight, everything had gone right.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @papaya-twinks, @darleneslane

109 notes · View notes

sunrisecaminus · 3 days ago

Note

hello! May I request reader getting sandwiched between optimus prime and megatron? Really want these two giants to fight over reader :>

Message - This is such a funny yet cute idea. I didn't know if this was NSFW or not so I just did NSFW. I also thought this was suppose to be Cybertronian reader so sorry if you wanted the reader to be a human!

Megatron x Reader x Optimus NSFW

Summary - Megatron and Optimus fight over their Cybertronian Girlfriend who honestly probably saved Cybertron and Earth from these two bumbling morons.

Warning - NSFW, Threesome

Megatron and Optimus ended the war because you told them that you wouldn't chose who to date unless they ended it and even if they did, you would still choose both. They had to realize that their options were to either not have you in their lives or bend to your will…so that is how the 4 million year war ended. You were a rogue that lived throughout the entire war and helped either side when you knew they needed help. Optimus fell in love with your mysterious figure and only saw you far away for years until he finally was able to talk to you. Both of you connected, but you told him that the Autobots weren't people you wanted to be with. You visited him a lot and tried to give him as many supplies as they needed until the Autobots came to earth. Megatron was the same, but he wanted his soldiers to find you for himself to know your mysterious life. He was going to kill you when you told him that you weren't going to be a Decepticon…but goodness did you give the soldiers so many supplies. Honestly, if it wasn't for you, both sides would've died from starvation and you never told them where you got your cubes. When both realized that they had a crush on the same person, they fought for you and that is when you told them to end the war or you would leave them for good.

Now its years after the war, you are dating both of them and it can get interesting. Most of the time you visit them separately, but thankfully they have gotten use to each other and are able to stay in the same room without killing each other. You are right now cooking something and letting it boil, when you feel your hips being grabbed by sharp claws. "Y/n…" Ah, its Megs. Sighing, you reach your arm from behind and grab his faceplate as a greetings, rubbing his cheek. You are right now busy with making something and so you don't say anything and just keep stirring. "Cybertron has reach 50% of being restored. My underling have cleaned 3 full cities and are now ready to start building." He knew telling you about his achievements get him awarded, which he does because you turn your head over to kiss him on the cheek. You put the lid on the pot and walk away from his grasp, going to the shelf and grabbing a book. You never told them, but the reason why you had so much Energon was because you found a specific recipe created by Nexus Prime which if you boil certain ingredients together, it could make a Mock Energon that can do the same effects as Energon, but doesn't have the pure energon inside. You just put a certain food coloring in it to make it look like Energon so the two idiots wouldn't fight for the recipe from you. As you get to the book shelf, you feel a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you see Optimus looking down at you with a smile. "Good Evening y/n. We were able to find another Energon mine and started already working on harvesting it."

You smile at him and before you could say congratulations to him, you feel someone press up behind you. "Prime if you insist on trying to win her over, it is my turn for visitations so frag off." Oh no, of course Megatron finds a way to start an argument. Optimus narrows his eyes and steps a bit closure. "We can both visit her at the same time, we don't have a specific time in place." Honestly, you were willing to just not say anything and watch the action happen…you were bored anyway.

This argument lasted for a long 15 minutes. You had no idea they could go for this long without fighting, but it was probably you were in between them. You had the back of your helm leaning on Megatron's chassis while Optimus' body was pressing up against yours. Your face was flushed and did not complain about the position you were in. Their voices were now being muffled by your brain as you stare at Optimus' faceplate. Your mind started to wonder and stare at every inch of your autobot boyfriend, than you started feeling your back hitting Meg's chassis. Finally, leaving your blurring vision, you finally were starting to get annoyed by the two bots and just now want to take the time to get to know them more. Finally, you speak for the first time today. "Hush". Both at the same time quite what they were saying and stared down at you…listening for their angel to say something. "I am tired of both of the squabble, as punishment I want both of you to take my body tonight." Optimus' optics widen and his faceplate flushes a bit. Megatron was a bit surprised as well, but doesn't show his emotion with his face. "Y/n, you really wanna-?" Optimus gets interrupted by Megatron, who smirks and gets an evil idea. "What? If you don't want to, than I can just go ahead and taint her myself." This gives Optimus a bit of confidence, he glares…though he excepts the challenge his old enemy gives him.

They take you to your birth room in the base, setting the blanket aside and let you sit on Megatron's lap. Your aft sits against Megatron's panel, which makes you blush a little from the position. Optimus gets in front of you and caresses your cheek. "Tell us when you want to stop." He cared about his lovely fem. Anything you tell him to do, he would obey no matter what. Megatron was surprisingly the same, just in a more violent way. Just make a motion or a word, and Megs would eliminate anyone for you in seconds. You were the one who saved them from their own arrogance and ego…so they gift you everything you deserve. Optimus starts to make out with you, laying his servos on your stomach. Megatron on the other hand, bites your neck and massages your tibulens (thighs). You relax your body and let them do all the work. Honestly you didn't care what they did to you, it has been a while since you have been touched and needed them to fill your spark with love. Megatron sees that Optimus has taken your mouth, so he goes to get you to pay attention to him. He guides his hands over to your panel and opens up to your valve. You knew it was over when you started to feel him rubbing your folds with his fingers. Arching your back, you moan in Optimus' mouth, which made him see what Megs was doing…oh no you realized the reality you put yourself in. Optimus takes this as a challenge and goes for French kissing. His glossa meets yours, making you moan sweetly from the loving feeling. The feeling of both your mouth being used and your valve being played with made everything better. Maybe you can give them both motivation, so you put one servo behind you and open Megatron's panel. He clenched his teeth and breathes a bit heavier when you start to rub his spike. With your leg you press against Optimus' panel, moving your leg around so he feels the friction on his spike as well. Both of them stop what they were doing and moan in different tones, feeling the lovely touch you were giving them. Optimus felt a bit weak already, he was a sensitive mech and moaned with nothing but great love in his voice. Megs on the other hand was trying not to give in to the pleasure already, knowing he would be seen as sensitive as well if he made any noise. His groans sounded like he was holding it in, deep and cold. Optimus could not believe the predicament he was in. Bowing his head down to you like you just defeated him…but he couldn't force himself to care. He loved feeling like everything was in your hands, like he just shoved some of him responsibility towards you…and you took it like it was nothing. "Touch yourself…" Your voice was sharp yet soft. All the Prime could do at that moment was listen, as he pops his panel open and jacks himself off in front of your eyes. You hear a soft chuckle from Megs, but before Optimus could hear it, you clench around Megs shaft with your servo and he jolts from the pressure you just gave him. "Ah!" Megatron could not believe it worked, not only you got him to shut up, but now he was moaning from the pleasure.

After a few minutes, you take your time lining your aft up for Megatron's spike and start to go down. You widen your valve over to Optimus, who is a blushing mess from you watching his every move with your unblinking optics. "Come here." Optimus perks up from your voice and sees you giving him permission. He comes a bit closure to put his spike right at your entrance. You were ready to start doing some work and gave them a dance they will never forget. You went up and down on both their spikes as they both groaned from how tight you were. Nothing could prepare them for such an amazing feeling as your hot walls hugged both their shafts nicely. Your moans were so nice to hear and both of them honestly forgot the other was in the birth room. Loving the attention you are giving them, they both felt at thought they needed to release as you knew it was time for them to finish. Putting yourself down fully for you to take in both their spikes whole, made them release inside of you. Megatron grabs your upper stomach while Optimus grabbed your legs to hold on to something while you took both their fluids inside of you. After everything calmed down, you lay yourself down on the bed with both of them between you still. Optimus to your left hugged you in a loving embrace while Megatron kept his hand cupped around your helm. You couldn't help, but smile at them. Finally…you were able to get them to shut up.

#maccadam #tfp #transformers #transformers prime #transformers x reader #transformers x y/n #megatron x reader #optimus x reader #optimus x y/n #megatron x y/n #optimus prime #megatron #valveplug

121 notes · View notes

anonity · 2 days ago

Text

seeing

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

hi ladies! happy valentines day <3 i have the flu 😩 the last time i had the flu my ex-gf broke no contact to tell me to take care of myself.. just thought i’d share that.. i meant to post this wednesday but i lost the original draft i had of it and only just now finished rewriting it

WC: 765. supa short, longer fics coming i pinkie promise

summary: paige should look away. she knows she should. but azzi is beautiful and, more importantly, hasn’t noticed paige staring. (or maybe she has, and is letting her look anyways.)

the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air.

somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound. aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it.

because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her.

she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use.

her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat.

she should look away.

she knows she should.

because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare.

but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.

paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.

for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.

she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.

then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”

paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”

azzi smiles. “you are.”

paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.

azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”

paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).

paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them.

i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.

then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.

azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.

but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.

and yeah. she probably knows.

#paige bueckers fic #pazzi #paige bueckers x azzi fudd #paige bueckers x azzi fudd fic #pazzi fic #i just love writing pb yearning

124 notes · View notes

hyunjins-orange-slice-too · 2 days ago

Text

i want to use the word ‘love’

pairing: changbin x fem reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

warnings: crying, breakups, pet names (bun and bubs), very brief mentions of violence, she/her pronouns used, guest appearances by channie and jisung, no smut- just some kissing :)

an: it’s finally here! this is what won the poll and i’m so excited about it. i wanted to post it sooner, but it’s the longest thing ive written in a while and it took some time lol i hope you like it :) happy valentine’s day. you are loved ♡

masterlist

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

you waited outside on the curb for him to pick you up. it was just starting to get dark and you could see the sun setting behind the buildings. the concrete was cold on your bare legs, your dress only coming to mid thigh. but you couldn’t stand anymore, your feet throbbing from your shoes. you stared down and the pavement, pushing a pebble around with your finger as you sniffled. you had mostly stopped crying once changbin said he was on his way. your heart was still shattered, but somehow, knowing that he was coming made you feel better. though you were sure you still looked crazy to anyone who may be passing by. if you thought about it too much, how stupid you look and feel, a fresh wave of tears fills your waterline. so you try to think about something else.

you try, and you fail.

all you can think about is his stupid smile. how he made you feel so loved. so.. important. until he invited you to dinner tonight, only to dump you before you had even finished your salad. your eyes welled up again.

“fuck..” you said to yourself, voice watery. you threw the pebble, watched it skitter across the street as a car pulled up and parked a few feet from you. you recognized that car.

the door opened and changbin got out, rushing to your side. “are you okay?” he was crouching next to you, holding you at arms length, assessing you for injuries like you told him you were in a car crash or something. “look at me.” he put his fingers under you chin and turned your face up to him. “oh.. y/n..” his heart broke when he saw your tear stained cheeks, your red puffy eyes and running mascara. he did his best to wipe your tears with his fingers. “what happened?”

you were so relieved to see him. he was the person who was closest to you, the one you would trust with anything. that’s why he was your first thought when you needed someone to come save you. but as comforted as you were by his presence, getting dumped still really hurt. and the tears returned with his question. they spilled down your cheeks and over his fingertips. “he..” you hiccuped. “he dum-dumped me.” you struggled to get the words out, changbins sweet face and thick frame glasses blurring through your watery eyes.

he was suddenly filled with rage. how dare he dump you and then leave you stranded and crying? heartbroken and no way to get home? he wanted to track him down and give him a few swings for treating you this way.

he would never treat you this way

that thought had been crossing his mind recently. every time you found some new loser to date only to be left heartbroken a few weeks later. though, this asshole had lasted the longest, managing to stay around for six or so months. and changbin wanted to beat some sense into him. or just punch him until he felt better. but, you needed him right now. so he pushed aside the thoughts of violence, the thoughts of sticking up for you, the thoughts of treating you the way you deserved to be treated. he pushed all of those thoughts deep down and helped you up off the curb. you stood on shaky legs and he noticed that your feet were bare, your shoes discarded on the sidewalk.

he sighed at your recklessness. he looked at you, and then your shoes on the ground. “my feet hurt..” you said, your voice still broken.

“prince bin?” he asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. he bent over and grabbed your shoes, handing them to you. and then he scooped you up. one of his arms behind your shoulders and one of them under your legs, he carried you in his arms and placed you down into the passenger seat of his car, careful not to hit your head. he was used to doing this, though he hadn’t done it in a while. you liked to go out with your friends occasionally, have some drinks, and changbin would always come and scoop you up when you were too wasted to walk to the car. you drunkenly called him a prince one evening, (though he thought you probably meant knight) and the title kind of stuck. he thought ‘prince’ was an apt title, considering the way he held you was technically called a princess carry.

but as changbin started the engine and pulled from the curb, he thought it was more like a.. bridal carry. and that made him smile.

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

about a month had passed since that night and not much had changed. you still went on random dates, with random guys, just searching for the one who would make you feel special. the one who would treat you like you were the most important thing in the world. that’s all you wanted. you just wanted to feel loved. to have silly little inside jokes, and hold hands, and have fake arguments about who loves who more. but so far all you’ve found are assholes and idiots. sometimes both at the same time.

“i think im going to take a break from dating.”

changbin rolled his eyes, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave and dumping it into a bowl. he returned back to where you were on the couch, drowning in a fuzzy blanket. “i’ve heard that one before.”

“no, bin, i’m serious this time. fuck all these guys.”

“you say that but you’ll swoon at the next cute guy that looks your way.” he laughed.

“i just want to find my person.” you said, a little defensive. “there’s nothing wrong with that.”

he immediately felt bad for his comment. he was just kidding. but he knew this was a sensitive topic for you right now. “i know, bubs. i didn’t mean anything. i’m just teasing.”

you let out a loud exhale. “i know, bin. i’m just frustrated with all of it. when will it be my turn? you know?”

he nodded. oh he knew too well. he often had the same thought. when would it be his turn? his turn to take you out. to kiss your cheek. to hold your hand. “you’ll find your person.” he said, looking down at the popcorn. you couldn’t see the sadness in his eyes in the darkly lit room, but you could pick up on his vibe.

“you’ll find your person too, you know.” you said, nudging his large bicep with your elbow. “i know you’ve been single for a long time, and your job is demanding, and it’s difficult with valentine’s day coming up-“

“gee thanks, y/n. you’re really making me feel better.”

you both giggled. “i mean it though!” you smiled. “you’ll find your person. i know it.”

and he smiled back at you, knowing in his heart he had already found his person. he had found you a long time ago. but you hadn’t found him yet.

he threw a piece of popcorn at you. it bounced off your cheek and landed somewhere in the blanket. “hey!” you giggled, reaching for the bowl. but he held it out of your reach. you struggled against him, trying to reach for some retaliation popcorn but it was no use.

“bubs, i don’t know why you’re throwing popcorn.” he teased, laughing. “we’re adults. let’s watch the movie.”

“you were throwing popcorn! not me!” giggling, you returned to your spot, pulling the blanket up around your middle. “i want some popcorn too.” you pouted, pressing play on the movie.

“ah.. see i don’t know if i can trust you not to throw it at me.” he grinned.

“you started it!”

“i don’t recall that.” he smirked. he grabbed a few pieces of popcorn and held them up to your mouth. “open.” he said.

and you didn’t know why, but you felt his words in your tummy. they grew wings and fluttered around, flushing your cheeks. you did as he asked and opened your mouth. he dropped the pieces in and smiled, before facing back toward the movie, shoveling popcorn into his own mouth.

what was that? you wondered. why did that fluster you? you had been best friends with changbin for as long as you can remember. but you don’t remember ever feeling.. flustered around him? of course, you knew he was attractive. the man was so incredibly handsome. there was no denying that. and he was funny and sweet. but you never allowed yourself to go there. never wanting to ruin the friendship you had built with him. but.. this was a new development. you tried to shove it down, tried to forget about it and enjoy your movie night. he held another handful of popcorn up to your lips, dropping them in. you chewed, happily. feeling content but also, warm. his body radiating heat. you scooted a little closer to him, as much as you dared, your knee touching his thigh.

he fed you some more popcorn as he tried not to hyperfixate on where your bodies were touching. he tried to relax, play it cool, but his heart was hammering.

you eventually fell asleep, as you always do during movies, your head falling against changbins shoulder. as the credits rolled he looked down at you, admiring you from this awkward angle. your long eyelashes tickled your cheeks. his hand found yours under the blanket, but he didn’t grab it. didn’t try to interlock your fingers. he just gently brushed his pinky against yours, enjoying the moment. but it didn’t last as long as he would have liked.

you made a confused noise as you stirred awake. you lifted your head from his shoulder, rubbing sleep out of your eyes. your hair was standing up, your cheeks puffy. “did i..” you yawned. “did i fall asleep?”

“you always fall asleep during movies.”

“sorry, bin. i was just so comfortable i guess.” you stretched your arms out in front of you, your lazy gaze looking over at him.

he started at you for a moment, before..

“you’re so cute.”

it just fell out of his mouth. and it wasn’t the worst thing he could have said. it wasn’t a full on love confession, but he definitely said it in a way that suggested he wanted to be more than friends. he internally chastised himself.

the butterflies returned to your tummy, still confusing you. you looked away, out of embarrassment, struggling with these new feelings you were having for your best friend. were they new feelings? or were you just now allowing yourself to feel what you had been feeling all along? you didn’t know.

changbin cleared his throat. “i should get going.” he said. “it’s late. i have practice in the morning and you need some sleep.”

you nodded sleepily, and stood to walk him out. you crossed your arms over you chest, suddenly cold without the blanket or his body heat. you dreaded crawling into your cold bed and the thought crossed your mind that it wouldn’t be so cold if changbin was there with you. you blinked hard, clearing the thought from your brain. at the door, he hugged you like always, mumbling a “g’night bubs.” into your hair.

you waved goodbye to him and latched the door shut behind him. your apartment felt dark and cold and lonely without him. and it made you sad. you pulled yourself in between your ice cold sheets and tried not to think about changbins arms wrapped around you.

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

“so you just like, dropped popcorn into her mouth?”

changbin nodded. “yeah and i’m surprised she couldn’t see my hand shaking.” he smiled then, remembering. “you should have seen her face though. she’s never blushed like that because of me.”

“so maybe it’s time to tell her..?” chan sing-songed while tickling changbins sides.

“what if it ruins everything, hyung?”

changbin lounged on the couch in the practice room, his sweat soaked shirt sticking to his body. he took a drink from his water bottle, swatting chan’s hands away, catching his breath.

“it’s time to finally do something.” chan said. “if it doesn’t work out, then you’ll know and can move on. instead of pining over her for the rest of your life, yeah?”

“i guess so.” changbin ran his hands through his hair. “im just so scared.”

“y/n is your best friend. even if she doesn’t feel the same way, she wouldn’t stop being your best friend. she’s not like that.”

changbin nodded. “you’re right. i just need to get on with it.”

he noticed jisung giggling over his phone in the corner and started to ask him what was so funny, but minho called practice back together before he could.

they both stood, chan patted changbin on the back. “you’re seo changbin. you’re spearB! you can do anything.”

changbin scoffed. “that was cheesy, hyung.”

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

it was the dreaded day. valentine’s day. you obviously didnt have a boyfriend to spend it with, and you didn’t really have friends to spend it with either. they all had their own relationships. all except for changbin. but with your budding new feelings, you were worried to spend it with him.

but none of that really mattered because you hadn’t heard from him? you had texted him this morning, right before you clocked in for work. and you checked it on your lunch break and there was nothing. and now it was time to head home and you were a little disappointed when you saw no notifications. but you tried not to let it get to you. he does have a very busy and demanding job. but you couldn’t help the thoughts creeping in that maybe he noticed your strange behavior last night. maybe he was worried you were attracted to him and he was pulling away. it made your stomach hurt to think about it.

but the whole way home you couldn’t help but think about it. by the end of your bus ride, you were physically ill. you had convinced yourself that you had ruined everything. that he didn’t want to be your friend anymore because he thought you were into him and that scared him. you had ruined an entire friendship spanning years and years because you couldn’t control yourself around his popcorn? you thought you may cry.

approaching your apartment, you noticed your welcome mat was crooked. the message said “welcome-ish” in swirling font and underneath that in parentheses said “depends on who you are and how long you plan to stay” though the print has faded over time. you kicked the mat back into place and slipped your key into the lock. clumsily opening the door, dragging your tired and depressed feet into the dark apartment. you toed off your shoes before flicking on the light.

and that’s when you saw him.

changbin stood in the middle of your living room, in a black button down shirt with matching black silk tie. his black slacks looking freshly pressed. his black dress shoes freshly shined. he was standing next to a table that he had set up, complete with two chairs, tablecloth, and lit candles. the entire ceiling was filled with red and pink heart shaped balloons, their curly strings cascading down. he held a small bundle of roses in his hands and he looked incredibly nervous. so handsome, but nervous.

“changbin..?” you quietly asked, stepping further into the apartment.

he cleared his throat. “uh.. hey bun.”

he brought one of his hands up to his ear, tugging on his earlobe. a nervous tick of his that he’s had the entire time you’ve known him.

you waited, staring, unsure of what to say or what was even going on and honestly, all you could think about was how handsome he looked and how you looked awful. your work clothes stained and dirty, your hair a matted mess on top of your head.

“i think i probably have some explaining to do.” he said. “well, i have a confession to make i guess.”

your heart started beating irregularly in your chest. was this what people meant when they say their heart ‘skipped a beat’?

you walked closer to him, noticing now the smell in your apartment. it smelled good. your stomach rumbled.

“these are for you..” he held the roses out and you took them from him. they really were beautiful. they were pink and smelled like spring time.

you started to thank him but he cut you off. “i just.. i need to get this out first before i chicken out.” he said.

“my apartment is filled with heart shaped balloons, bin. i think it’s too late to change your mind now.” you joked. he chuckled, your teasing seemingly making him feel a little bit better.

“i guess you’re right.” he smiled. “i.. like you.” he reached out and delicately took the flowers from you, placing them on the table. and then he took your hands in his and looked into your eyes. his hands were sweaty and shaking slightly, so you gave them a reassuring squeeze. “no, like isn’t the right word.” he paused, thinking. “i want to use the word love, but i don’t want to scare you.” his eyes softened. “but bun.. that’s what it feels like. and i’ve felt this way for so long now. i don’t think i can stand to see you cry over another idiot guy who doesn’t deserve you. who doesn’t treat you right. i’ve been silent because i didn’t want to ruin what we have. you’re my best friend in the whole world and i would never want to jeopardize that.” he swallowed and took a deep breath. “but, i love you bubs.” he exhaled, feeling relieved at finally saying it out loud to you. “i want to be the one to take you out. to hold your hand, and to cuddle you at night. i know i can treat you the way that you deserve to be treated. if.. if you’ll have me.”

“bin..” you reached up and grabbed his face between your palms. “i wish you would have told me sooner. maybe.. maybe if you would have said something before, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to realize that.. i love you too.” you smiled.

his face absolutely lit up. his eyes went wide and his smile grew large. “really?” he asked, feeling like he was dreaming. like he needed to make sure he heard you correctly. you nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. “say it again.” he said.

“i love you, bin.”

he grabbed you around your waist and lifted you off the ground, spinning you in a soft circle. “again!” he giggled.

“i love you!” you giggled back.

he sat you on your feet and looked into your eyes again. he tucked your hair behind your ear and stroked your cheek with his thumb. “you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting to hear that. but..” he tilted his head back and forth, thinking. his lips in a smirk. “i love you more.”

“not true!” you argued.

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

“wait, you cooked?”

he chuckled. “i tried. i hope it tastes okay.”

you stuck your fork in the pasta, bringing it to your mouth. “i thought you only cooked for sustenance. wait, does this spaghetti have protein powder in it?”

he stuck his tongue out at you from across the small table. “very funny. just try it. i wanted to try cooking for you. i need to know if i should never do it again.”

you took a bite, chewing slowly. it was actually really good. “binnie, this is delicious.”

his shoulders relaxed and he took a bite of his own. “wow, it’s not terrible.” he said, chuckling. “i didn’t know i could do that.”

you ate your meal and sipped on some wine and talked about your day, just like normal. turns out, he hadn’t been answering your texts because he had been here setting all of this up. he used the spare key that you kept under your mat to let himself in. he said it took forever to blow up all the balloons and he was worried you would come home to find him passed out on the floor, surrounded by half filled balloons. only then did he discover that they only floated if they were filled with helium. so then he had to figure that out. and it took him even longer to cook the pasta, really working hard to make sure it was right. and he used your shower to wash up (if you thought about that for too long it made you squirmy) and he put on his nice clothes. then he says he waited in ‘a state of panic’ for you to finally come home.

“i can’t believe you did all of this for me.” you said, leaning back in your chair, sipping your wine.

“i wanted you to know how special you are to me.” he stood up and grabbed your plate, taking them both to the sink. he rolled up the sleeves of his button up, exposing his muscular forearms. you weren’t sure if it was the wine, but you had plenty of thoughts about those forearms. he began washing the dishes, the sound of running water filling the apartment. you finished your wine and brought it to the sink, sitting it on the counter next to the dirty cutlery. you looked at him, admiring his appearance. he really filled out his shirt nicely. it was spread tightly against his broad chest, the buttons barely hanging on.

“bun, you’re staring.” he smirked.

“sorry. you just look.. so good.” you confessed. “plus, i can openly stare now without fear of making you uncomfortable. it’s not.. making you uncomfortable, is it?” you pulled your eyes away from his biceps and looked up to his eyes. he was smiling, the tips of his ears a light pink.

“i don’t mind if you look. want me to take the shirt off and flex?”

your jaw fell open, your core pulsed. “don’t tease about that.”

he turned the water off and dried his hands with the towel. he walked over and touched your cheek again, cupping it in his palm. his eyes were darker now, and his thumb grazed across your bottom lip. “i’m not teasing.” he said, his voice low.

you thought your knees may give out. you grabbed his arms, steadying yourself. you had never seen this side of him before. had never seen him flirt and be so.. sexy. he leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, your erratic breath mingling with his. he waited.

“binnie..” you exhaled. “kiss me.”

he slowly brought his lips to yours, placing a delicate kiss on your lips. it started off slow and sweet but soon became a little more heated when he slipped his tongue into your mouth. you brought your hands up around his neck, tangling them in his hair. he kissed down your jaw and to your neck, licking and nibbling at the soft skin there. you threw your head back, panting. “bin.. let’s go to my room?” you phrased it as a question because you didn’t want him to feel pressured. after all, he had only confessed his feelings for you an hour ago. you didn’t want him to feel like things were moving too fast.

but he immediately bent down and scooped you up in his arms. “prince bin.” he mumbled against your lips, carrying you through your apartment and to your bed.

and you smiled into the kiss, your heart so full you thought it may burst. if you thought about it too hard you were sure that you would start crying. because you knew.. you had found your person. and he had been here all along.

______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______ ______๑♡⁠๑______

↑ inspo for binnies valentines fit hehe ↑

♡ pls reblog if you liked it! it truly helps a lot and makes me smile :) ♡

©hyunjins-orange-slice-too i do not give permission for this work or any of my work to be translated, copied, or reposted.

108 notes · View notes

sheerfreesia007 · 2 days ago

Text

New Cat Mama

Pairing: Lee Know x Reader

Word count: 2,348

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You get paired up with Lee Know for your valentine’s date and his first two questions are do you like cats and are you allergic to them? You’re left wondering what kind of date he has planned for the two of you.

A/N: Divider was created by @enchanthings-a, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

The first flyer you saw hung up around your college made excitement course through you as your eyes danced along the words. Valentine’s Date Match Up Event! Submit your email address to the student council and be matched up for a date this Valentine’s Day! Your friends had teased you about how excited you were for the event, but you couldn’t help it when you had always liked the idea of being paired up with someone blindly for a date. The idea of matchmaking was always something that interested you and couldn’t stop your excitement over this event. When the student council set up their tables around campus towards the middle of January you hurriedly went up to one and began talking to one of the student council members about the event.

”So is there a certain criteria for the matches?” You asked curiously to the guy who was sitting at the table. You easily filled your email address onto the list on the clipboard before looking up at him.

”The IT department has helped us create a filter where we can input your major and your email address and the filter will pair you up with someone from an opposing major. We couldn’t really go much further in depth with that without running into privacy violations.” He explained and you nodded your head along with his explanation. “But don’t worry everyone that has signed up to be matched will only communicate with you through your school email unless you agree to share your cell phone number.” He said reassuringly, causing you to smile softly at him before nodding your head.

After learning all that you could about the event you quickly rushed off to your next class feeling eager for your match to contact you. Your stomach fluttered with excitement and nerves as you wondered who you would be matched with and whether or not you would get along with them.

As the weeks passed you wonder when you would be contacted by your match and if you had already been matched up with someone. But as time continued to move on you started to worry that you wouldn’t be matched up with someone or that your information had been lost somehow and you wouldn’t be involved in the event. Just as the first week of February started you were at your wits end when you suddenly received an email from Leeknowsaurus with the subject Be My Valentine? You were so shocked and instantly giddy when you saw the email that you quickly opened it.

The email was slightly disappointing for you as all it did was introduce himself to you and ask you two questions: do you like cats and are you allergic to them? You had sent off a confused response introducing yourself as well and letting him know that you did in fact like cats and weren’t allergic to them. His next email came quickly and you chuckled softly at the excitement that was implied with his written words that he had been paired up with someone who liked his favorite animal and wasn’t allergic to them. He then told you that he planned a lunch date at a cat cafe for the two of you but also if you were up to it he was going to volunteer at his favorite local cat shelter for a few hours beforehand and you could join him there to extend the date longer, but that was only if you wanted to. The smile that had lit up your face after reading his email stayed with you long after you had sent your reply to him and you couldn’t help the giddiness of your date for Valentine’s Day.

The morning of February 14th found you bundled up in your warmest hoodie and winter jacket as you walked to the Cat Tails Shelter. You had been texting Minho for a week now in your downtime between classes learning everything and anything about him before your date. You had found out that he was a dance major and excelling in his coursework as he worked on his dance routine for his final presentation this semester. It was going to be an interpretive dance routine and he was still stuck on the ending of it. You had shared with him your own Neuroscience major and all the medical journals that you had been published in already which had impressed him greatly. The two of you got along great over text messages and you found yourself at ease and not as nervous for your date as you thought you would have been but you figured it was due to all the texting between the two of you that made you feel this way.

As you walked down the sidewalk towards the shelter you held onto two coffee cups one in each hand. After learning from Minho what his favorite coffee drink was, you had figured you’d treat him to it this morning before the two of you went into the shelter. He had asked you to arrive earlier so that the two of you could help open the shelter with the employees there so you figured you’d both have enough time to share a coffee together before getting to work.

You spotted a young man standing in front of the shelter bundled up in a winter jacket and a scarf wrapped around his neck as he looked up and down the sidewalk. Your eyes widened slightly when you got a look at his side profile and saw how handsome he was. His sharp nose caught your attention before your eyes darted down to his upturned mouth and you felt attraction grip onto you tightly.

“Minho?” you greeted him unsurely as you stepped up to his side and he flinched away from you with surprise causing you to chuckle softly at his actions immediately thinking he acted more like a startled cat then anything. When he turned to you with wide eyes you blushed softly as his eyes darted up and down your form for a second before landing on your face with a warm sparkle in them.

“Good morning!” he greeted you happily and you grinned at him as well before handing him his drink order.

“Good morning, here this is for you.” you say in explanation and he thankfully takes the drink already sipping at it with a pleased sigh.

“Thank you, I needed this. Didn’t have time to grab one on my way here. I was a little worried that you’d beat me here.” he said and you smiled softly at his concern and worry. “Ahhh, that’s so good.” he said after taking a sip before cupping his hands around the cup.

“So how many of these kitties know you on a personal level?” you ask excitedly and he smiles cheekily at your question as he shifts closer to you.

“All of them.” he admits softly and you smile warmly at him before tilting your head to the side.

“How often do you come and volunteer at the shelter?” you ask curiously and he ducks his head slightly at your question.

“I try to come a few times a month to help out. But some months I’m only able to make it once or twice depending on my course load and if I have a dance competition or project going on.” he tells you and you nod your head at him with a soft smile on your face.

“That’s really admirable of you Minho.” you say impressed and watch delightedly as his eyes widen and his ears turn red with a blush before he stares down at the ground.

“I have three cats at home.” he blurts out and you blink at him for a moment before smiling softly at him and he ducks his head once more. “I like cats and this is the shelter where I got two of the three of mine. So I like to come and volunteer at the shelter that gave me my babies.” he says softly almost as if he doesn’t want to share this information but needs to to explain why he volunteers here. Your answer smile is sweet and kind which shocks him for a moment before his ears flush once more.

“That’s really sweet Minho.” you say softly in awe of his kind nature. “And I’m sure the shelter employees are thankful for your help.” you say with a firm nod of your head. He smiles proudly at your words before there’s a happy cry from behind you. You turn around and spot an older woman opening the front door of the shelter with a wide happy smile on her face.

“Good morning Minho! A pleasure as always. Who have you brought with you?” she greets him and asks while opening the door wider to let him inside.

“I’ve brought a date to help with the kitties today.” he says excitedly and happily before grabbing onto your hand and pulling you with him inside.

It’s a few hours later and you’ve helped the staff with getting all the kitties out of their cages and into the appropriate open rooms where they can roam around while people come in to view them to make a decision on which one to adopt. You’ve helped the staff file paperwork, make numerous call backs to people who are interested in adopting, as well as helping with feeding the elderly cats in the shelter.

Just as you’re rounding the corner of the front office your little shadow leaps onto your shoulder with a soft purr and you smile widely at the rambunctious kitty who’s been trailing ever since you let her out of her cage this morning. You nuzzle your nose into her soft black fur and she purrs louder into your ear as she nuzzles back against your head. Chuckling softly, you walk into the open room where all the older cats roam and spot Minho sitting in the middle of the room with a cat toy in one hand while multiple cats try to grab the dangling piece that he’s flicking back and forth. You smile softly as you spot the two cats curled up in his lap and the third one splayed out next to him with its head resting on his thigh as it stares up at him, you can’t stop yourself from sighing softly at the image. The man is such a softie for the cats and your heart swells in your chest with affection for the man. You wonder slightly if this is what baby fever feels like but with cats and you quickly shake your head at the thought trying to chase it out. You shouldn’t be having these thoughts about a man on your first date.

“I see your little black shadow hasn’t left your side.” Minho says with a soft smirk as his eyes stay trained on you while still flicking the cat toy from side to side.

“She knows who her bestie is today.” you quip back at him and he smiles widely at you with a knowing look in his eyes. “What?” you ask cautiously and he quickly shakes his head as you come take a seat next to him on the floor, one of the elderly cats comes slowly walking up to you and plops right in your lap making you chuckle softly.

“I know that look, I’ve had it each time I adopted one of my babies.” he said knowingly and you look over at him quickly before you tilt your head to the ground with a soft frown. You hadn’t expected to become attached to the little black cat so quickly this morning but Minho was right. You liked the cat’s presence and didn’t want to leave it here.

“Is it bad that I only came to help and want to leave with my own little ball of fluff?” you ask softly and Minho smiles warmly at your worried question.

“Not at all. Besides, Shadow suits you, she found her perfect partner in crime.” he says knowingly and you look over at him with warm fond eyes that sparkle. “If you’re serious about adopting I can help you. I know all the great places to buy cat things and we can totally have playdates with my babies and your new little one if you want.” he said starting to grow excited at the thought that you’d adopt Shadow.

“You’ll help me?” you ask softly with wide hopeful eyes and Minho chuckles softly before nodding his head.

“I have to take responsibility, I was the one who brought you here in the first place.” he said softly as he leaned in towards you and you grinned widely at him. The way he was being so sweet with you made your heart flutter in your chest and couldn’t stop yourself from leaning forward and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Minho stared at you wide eyed for a moment and you mimicked his look before Shadow meowed loudly in your ear pulling you both out your stupor causing you both to blush brightly.

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” you apologized softly and Minho shook his head quickly at you in response.

“Don’t apologize. I liked it.” he answered and you smiled shyly at him. “Why don’t we go up to the front and get the paperwork filled out so that you can adopt Shadow and then we’ll go grab lunch and go shopping for everything she’ll need.” he suggested softly and you nodded your head at him happily. Minho then stood up before reaching down to help you up as well, when you stood in front of him he tugged you close, smiling softly before leaning forward and pressing a kiss to your cheek as well. “C’mon let’s go make you a cat Mama.” he teased softly and you flushed once more at his words as he smirked softly at you. “Cutest cat Mama out there.” he said softly and you groaned softly in response as he giggled at you.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

@channiesrightasscheek

#my writing #stray kids #skz #skz x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know #lee minho

110 notes · View notes

lycheeloving · 2 days ago

Text

Second chapter!! Happy Valentine's day <3

Bruce finds you at work and doesn't leave you alone.

< first chapter

The next day at work, it all feels like a fever dream. Did you really meet Bruce Wayne? And talk to him all night? You feel a bit nauseous just thinking about it, but you just remind yourself that you'll never see him again. Even if you did get along really well...

Whatever, you'll just daydream about kissing him in the moonlight, that's just as fun as the real thing, right? Not that you could compare it to the real thing, you'd have to kiss someone at some point to know what it's like.

Maybe you should have kissed Bruce yesterday, he certainly seemed like he would have been ok with that, but that was probably just wishful thinking anyways. Oh well, too late now.

The bell that lets you know somebody entered the store rings and rips you out of your thoughts. Fuck. You hate when there's costumers, which is why you chose to work at the shittiest bookstore in Gotham. And are hiding in the back.

You're supposed to say something like "I'll be right with you!", but you're not going to do that. You hate talking loudly. Especially to strangers, especially when you can't even see them. But you never even say anything when you're out in the front and making direct eye contact with them, so whatever. You just hope they won't ask you for help with finding anything, just having to ring them up is bad enough...

Why do you have to get costumers at all? Fuck, you should really look for a job with less contact to people, but this is the best you've been able to find so far.

You reluctantly leave the safety of the back room, only to find a guy in an oversized hoodie and sunglasses absolutely beaming at you. Why is he looking at you like that? Should you know him?

Only when he takes the sunglasses off do you realize that it's Bruce. No way, how did he find you? You feel your palms getting sweaty.

"Finally! I found you! Do you know how hard it was to find this book store with the minimal description you gave me?"

Not hard enough, apparently, considering that he was able to find you this soon. It hasn't even been a full day!

He's still smiling at you. "I've been to multiple book stores this morning! I'm so glad you told me you'd be working today, or I would have had to ask everyone if you're one of their coworkers!"

"Yeah, well, if I had wanted you to show up here, I would have given you more details, probably." You deadpan, hoping your voice isn't shaking.

He's not deterred, he just keeps talking as if you hadn't said anything: "Wanna get lunch with me? When's your break? We could go to that café around the corner that I saw on my way here!"

Is he not getting that you don't want him here? Well, you do want him here, but you don't. You want him to think you don't want him here so he'll leave before you can embarrass yourself.

"I can't leave for my break, I have to stay here. I'm the only one working right now, I can't just- just lock up and get something to eat." Your boss actually allowed you to do just that, but when you came back from doing it the first time, an angry costumer was waiting for you and yelled at you for 10 minutes about how it's rude to just close the store in the middle of the day. You don't want a repeat of that, so you started eating your lunch at work whenever there were no costumers. Which is almost always, luckily.

"I could go get you something and we can eat here! It doesn't seem like you get a lot of costumers so we won't even be disturbing anyone!" Why is he so persistent? Can't he go talk to some supermodel or something?

"I'm not hungry." You kind of are, actually.

"That's fine, we can just talk! I just wanted to spend some time with you. You know, I haven't clicked with anyone like this in a long time, I couldn't just let you go."

Wait, is he serious? Well, why else would he go through the effort of looking for you... But still, you can't quite believe it. Are you being pranked?

"You should go. What if costumers start showing up? I'm sure you don't want some weird fan to recognize you."

Bruce ignores what you say and stays. He talks to you for about half an hour, well, mostly he talks at you, until he has to leave because his lunch break is over. You just stand there, perplexed. Does he really want to hang out with you?

He returns the next day. And the next. And the next. Every day, always during his lunch break. It takes a few times until you stop trying to ignore him, a few more times until you start actually talking to him, and a few more times until you agree to eat lunch with him. Not go anywhere else, just eat your own lunch at the bookstore.

You can't stop yourself from trying to push him away a little bit, though.

You put down your fork. "You know, it's rude of you to keep visiting me at work, where I can't just leave. This is basically harassment."

"If you want me to go, I'll go. Just say so, and I'll never show up here again, I promise."

You don't want him to leave. Well, you do, because you don't want to get even more attached, but you don't, because, well, you're getting attached. You can't bring yourself to make him leave.

You huff and roll your eyes. "Whatever." You pick your fork back up and continue eating.

He tries to suppress a smile. Gross. He's so cute.

Whenever he catches you playing a silly game on your phone (which is basically every time he enters the store, as you love slacking off), he insists on befriending you on it if possible, so when you're not hanging out he'll send you a booster on your candy-crush-esque game, or play against you on a quiz app.

Sometimes he uses the chat option there to tell you to go to sleep when it's late and he catches you playing, even though he's obviously awake as well! Hypocrite. It makes you smile every time.

One day while you're eating lunch together, a few months after he first showed up, he puts down his fork and says: "I think I need to make this more clear. I am interested in you romantically. I want to date you."

You almost spit out your lunch, but manage to swallow it without choking. "H- Wh- Huh? What?"

"We can just be friends, I'd love to be friends, we already are friends, in my opinion, but I would also love to date you. So if one day you decide that you want to date me, please let me know."

You already want to, but you will absolutely not be informing him of that, thanks. Asking for what you want? What are you, a well adjusted person? You blink owlishly at him instead of saying anything. That should suffice as a response, right? No, you should probably say something.

"...Look, even if I was interested in dating you—", which, again, you literally are, but why would you tell him that;

"—you're famous, and at some point it would come out that I was dating you, and the paparazzi would publish one single picture of me and I'd immediately panic so hard I would pass out and die. This—" You point your fork between the two of you. "—is already risky enough. Whatever this is, anyway."

Bruce, as always, chooses not to address the parts of what you were saying that were clearly your anxiety speaking and simply grins.

"So you do want to date me? It sounds to me like you're just looking for excuses. Don't worry, if I don't want anyone to know about you, noone will! People don't tend to recognize me when I'm not wearing a suit, especially in environments where they're not expecting me, so anywhere outside of my workplace and fancy parties. It's worked so far, hasn't it? Not a single person has recognized me here! Dating won't change that. So, if you do want to go on a date with me, just say the word. Please."

What word? Wait, he means that metaphorically, right? No, but seriously, what would you say, how would you say that without sounding totally weird?

"That's not what I was saying. At all. Stop misinterpreting me." You roll your eyes at him. He changes the topic, but he keeps smiling until he has to leave.

Lying awake that night, you think about what he said. Does he actually like you? Or is he just pretending, because he likes a challenge? Knew you'd be difficult to get close to, and he gets a kick from being someone's first relationship, kiss, everything, and then leaving them? You feel nauseous and you suddenly feel cold. How are you supposed to figure this out? You try to tell yourself that it's only your anxiety speaking, that Bruce is actually a nice person and wouldn't do that, but you can't quite convince yourself.

The next day, your way home after work (and after pretending your conversation with Bruce yesterday didn't happen, which luckily he played along with), you see something on the ground that reflects the light in a way that catches your eye.

What is that? It's kind of hidden behind a trash can.

You take a step closer, hoping it's not some kind of trap, but you can't think of a villain who would hide shiny things on the floor to kill civilians. At least not in that color, the Joker would make it colorful, and this object appears to be... black?

Oh, it's a Batarang! You've never seen one up close, but they can't be super rare with how often people online post about having found one, there's even one guy who collects them and has an entire wall plastered with them. Allegedly. People online are saying that most of them are probably replicas, but you can't tell, as you've never seen a real one. Until now.

That makes you think, just how many Batarangs does Batman have? More than enough if he let's random people keep them. You think about picking it up and taking it with you. It would be really cool to have a Batarang...

You reach out towards it, but stop right before you touch it. Is it stuck in the floor? Fuck, just how sharp are those things...?

Maybe you should leave it here, you'd just cut your hand open on it, trying to get it unstuck.

Plus, maybe Batman will find this one if you leave it here, and then re-use it! Reduce, re-use, recycle, Batman!

You leave it where you found it, after taking a few pictures of it as proof.

The next day, Bruce asks you if you did anything interesting yesterday, like he does every time he sees you. Usually you'd say no, but you did find that Batarang... Would Bruce care about that?

While you're contemplating, Bruce says: "You'd have said no by now if nothing had happened! Come on, please tell me?"

Fine! Whatever! You'll tell him, even if he'll probably think it's boring.

"Ok, so, on my way home yesterday... I found a Batarang. And, um, it got me thinking, well, first of all, how many of those does that guy have? If he's just leaving them lying around like that, right? Oh, and, it was so sharp, it was stuck in the floor, though I guess maybe that just means Batman is really strong? Either way, I thought he doesn't kill, right, but considering what he's working with it's a miracle no criminal has ended up dead yet, right?" You stop rambling, realizing that Bruce hasn't said anything yet. At least he appears to be amused.

"You have a lot of thoughts about Batman, huh?" He grins. "Yeah, he must have tons of those things, I've seen the posts. Did you take it with you?" He didn't respond to your killing thoughts... Oh well, you did give him a lot of information all at once.

"No, I didn't... But I thought about it! I mean, it seems like that's what everyone else is doing, but with it being stuck in the floor like that I was worried I would cut my hand open trying to get it unstuck! And with my luck there would have been germs or poison on it and my wound would have gotten infected, like, immediately, and I would have died. So I left it there for Batman to hopefully find again. I mean, he should probably be reusing the ones he already has, right? Reduce, reuse, recycle, I'm just helping Batman be more climate friendly!" There you go, rambling again.

Bruce seems almost too amused at all of this.

"Well, do you want it? I can come with you when your shift is over and help you get it unstuck, if you want. If nobody else has already taken it. I'm sure Batman won't mind. And if it ever comes out that he's not trying his best to be climate friendly, I'll personally go kick his ass, I promise."

"Uh. Um. You don't have to do that!"

"...Kick his ass or go get the batarang for you?"

"I meant getting the batarang, but also please don't fight Batman. He'd wipe the floor with you. No offense."

"Well, first of all, I think I'm just as strong as Batman-" You roll your eyes at him. Dork.

"And second of all, I don't have to get it for you, but I want to. Please let me?"

Ok. Fuck. Whatever. This is the first time you'll be seeing him outside of work, excluding your first meeting.

"Uh. Ok? I, um, my shift ends at 8."

"I'll pick you up in front of the store, then. It's a date!"

"Uh! No, well, yes, but, it- um-"

"I'm just teasing you." He winks at you. Winks! Is he trying to kill you? You turn your face towards your food so you don't have to look at him. Asshole. Stop being so hot.

Later, at 8, he's already waiting for you in front of the store while you're locking up.

"Ready to go?" He smiles.

"Uh, yeah! Sure!"

You start leading the way to where you found the batarang, talking about whatever comes to mind on the way.

Finally, about halfway on your way home, you reach the place where the batarang should be. You hope it's still there, but somebody else could have taken it. You push the trashcan it was behind to the side, and...

There it is!

"Look, it's still here!" You turn around to Bruce, smiling. He smiles back. You fight the urge to giggle or hide your face behind your hands, he needs to stop being so cute.

"Didn't you say it's stuck in the ground? Why wouldn't it be here anymore?"

"Uh, you said you'd help me get it out? Somebody else could have done the same thing!"

"Right. But they don't have my getting batarangs unstuck from the ground skills."

You roll your eyes. How often could Bruce have come in contact with a batarang? His only advantage compared to you is that he's stronger and not afraid of cutting his hand open. At least that's what you think.

You watch as he grabs the batarang and gets it unstuck in seconds. Seriously? It was that easy?

"Woah. I think I would have been able to do that myself, that looked super easy. Sorry to have made you come all this way..." Apparently it wasn't stuck in there as much as you thought? Even if a considerable part of it disappeared beneath the ground. Hm. Weird. Maybe there was a batarang shaped hole there before it landed there? Or Bruce is just a lot stronger than he looks.

"No, I'm glad I came along! I wouldn't have wanted you to cut yourself accidentally." He wraps the batarang in a piece of fabric. Some kind of rich people tissue, maybe.

"Let me carry it home for you?" He looks at you in a way that makes you melt a little bit. Ok, fine.

"Oh, uh, sure!" You did enjoy walking around with him. And not just because walking with someone in Gotham is safer than doing it alone.

"Also we could maybe order dinner? And eat together at your place?" And let him into your apartment that's not cleaned up? That looks shitty even when it is cleaned up?

"Don't push it."

"Or we could go somewhere? I'll pay, of course."

And absolutely embarrass yourself and make him never want to see you again and talk about you to journalists that you're a horrible person, which gets published in every newspaper ever so you have to move and change your name? Ok, maybe that was a bit dramatic.

Bruce can clearly see the anxiety on your face.

"It doesn't have to be a date, if you don't want that."

Be brave! Be brave! You can do this!

"Uh." You almost choke on your words. "And... if I do... want that...?"

You might actually pass out, this is horrible. If he doesn't respond in less than a second, your flight response is going to win and you'll run away. And quit your job, so he can't find you again.

"That would be wonderful! We can take it slow, ok? Absolutely no pressure to do anything you don't want to do whatsoever, I promise."

You nod, not feeling brave enough to say anything. Maybe those were your last words ever.

"So... Dinner at your place? As a date?"

You nod again. Shit, fuck. Are you actually going to date Bruce Wayne? What were you thinking? Wait, does going on one date even mean you're 'dating' him? What's the definition here?

You start walking again, leading Bruce to where you live. If he hates your apartment and leaves and you never see him again that's fine and you'll be able to handle it, right? But that won't happen, so calm down. But if it did happen, you'll be fine and ok and fine. It's fine! Oh fuck, what if you misunderstood him? Did he even mean dinner tonight? Are you embarrassing yourself by assuming he'll come with you right now?

Bruce walks right beside you and starts talking again.

"I'll order. What do you want?" While saying this, he puts an arm around your shoulder. You tense. Woah.

"You said you'd take it slow!" Look at that, you can talk again.

"Too much?" Yes. But also no. But yes. But no.

"I don't know! Maybe?" He takes his arm away and you can breathe again, but somehow at the same time you miss his warmth.

"Don't worry, I'll take it so slow. The slowest. You won't regret dating me, I promise. This'll be so much fun, you'll see." He smiles.

You don't know about that, but you do know that at the very least it'll be interesting. You hope he won't notice you looking up what the definition of dating is on your phone while he's ordering food later.

#bruce wayne x reader #x reader #reader insert #dc x reader #batman x reader #lycheewritings

73 notes · View notes