#have come back after beating it the first time!

[ellecdc]

Stolen Siblings and 10 Year Plans

poly!wolfstar x Rosier!reader who is to go nowhere near them under any circumstances [667 words]

CW: fem!reader, siblings, rivalries, chaos and fluff

“Oi! Rosier!” Sirius called, dodging a few first years who went careening by him as he made his way over to the Slytherin table. “What’s the deal with your sister?”

Evan fought (and lost) against an eye roll as the hand currently gripping his spoon tightened.

“For the last time” he seethed “I have no bloody clue what a wrackspurt is.”

“No, not that one.” Sirius dismissed with a wave of his hand. “The other one.”

Evan’s eyes narrowed at the Gryffindor. “Y/N?”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah; what’s her deal?”

“What do you mean ‘what is her deal’?”

“You know…is she single? Does she like blokes? Do you know where I can find her?”

Sirius had barely gotten the end of his sentence out when Evan’s hand slammed against the table, earning him a look of concern from Dorcas who protectively slid her bowl of porridge closer to herself.

“Why in the buggering fuck would you want to know?” Evan demanded.

Sirius offered a flippant shrug of his shoulder. “She’s fit, yeah? I’m thinking of asking her out but thought I should check first.”

“I thought you were dating Lupin!”

“I am dating Lupin!” Sirius confirmed with a wide smile just as Remus appeared behind him.

“‘Lo, Rosier. Meadows.” Remus greeted.

“Lupin.” Dorcas greeted in turn, though Evan didn’t bother with the pleasantries.

“Oh come on! What’s with you bloody Gryffindors?! Your weird friends already stole Reg!”

Sirius’ brows furrowed as he looked towards the offending weird friends currently sitting on either side of his brother at the Gryffindor table.

“Stole? Wasn’t he technically mine first?”

Evan didn’t grace that with a response, simply pushing his bowl away from himself and making to stand.

“No. Nope. Absolutely not. I cut my losses with Reg, I made peace with the Hufflepuff,” Evan stated, gesturing vaguely to Regulus and then to Pandora who was sitting nearly on top of one Xenophilius Lovegood, “but Gryffindors?! Not a fucking chance.”

“Awe, come now, Rosier, there’s no need for that-” Remus started, but was interrupted by Evan calling Barty’s name.

“You rang?” Barty drawled as he jumped down from one of the high windows, apparently having been enjoying his breakfast from above.

“They’re doing it again.” Evan complained.

“What do you mean?”

“These two fancy Y/N.” He explained petulantly as he gestured towards said two.

“Again?! What is with you Gryffindors?!” Barty screeched, turning to ask what Sirius assumed to be a rhetorical question. “First Potter and Evans ruin our Blackier wedding-”

“The what wedding?” Remus asked cautiously.

“The Black-Rosier wedding, Lupin, do keep up.” Barty spat at Remus’s interruption. “Do you know how adorable my nieces and/or nephews were going to be?!”

“When in Merlin’s name was Reg and Y/N dating?” Sirius asked then.

“They weren’t.” Dorcas offered in monotone. “Barty just likes making 10 year plans.”

“But…other people’s?” Remus tried, but the conversation was swiftly moving along.

“Go find Y/N,” Evan directed Barty, “she’s to go nowhere near these two.”

Barty’s interest seemed positively piqued at that; foiled 10 year plans forgotten. “Oh! A little game of finders keepers? Don’t mind if I do!”

And the two Slytherin’s were off.

“Are…are you boys going to do something about that?” Dorcas asked after a few beats of silence, gesturing towards the direction that the two boys had just disappeared with a flippant thumb.

“She’ll sniff those two out in a matter of minutes and avoid them like the plague.” Remus snorted as leaned forward to pluck a strawberry from the spread. “Besides, we’ve got a secret weapon.”

“Astronomy tower.” Sirius offered conspicuously as he folded the map up and tucked it back into his pocket.

“Brilliant.” Remus confirmed, offering Dorcas a salute. “Best be off.”

“Stay out of trouble, will you?” Dorcas called after them, though she knew it was a lost cause.

“You know what, Meadows?” Sirius returned as he followed Remus backwards. “I don’t think I will.”

Dorcas let out a chuckle turned sigh. “Figures.”

[pleasureable]

Pink Goes Well with Purple

Summary - After entering in a series of death games, a popstar fallen from grace finds comfort in a certain purple haired stranger.

Warnings - mentions of reader having pink hair (hence the title lol), ooc Thanos?, bad writing, please excuse any grammatical errors, this is pretty short

A/N - this is my first ever attempt at writing fanfiction for a character so I know this story might be hot ass, I just really wanted to jump on the Thanos bandwagon since he's one of my favs from this season and there's not enough fics on here for him to quench my thirst lol

Once a universally loved popstar, the emotional distress caused by the separation from your ex-boyfriend caused you to fall down a rabbit hole of sex and drugs, not to mention the $70,000,000 lawsuit you were slapped with after punching a paparazzi for putting his camera just a tad bit too close to your face. The heavy fallout from the legal battle was enough to make the whole world turn its back on you. Essentially blacklisted from the industry as a whole, you were desperate to rebuild your image (or at least get your money back) in any way you possibly could.

That's when you were approached by a man in a suit offering you $100,000 if you beat him in a game of ddakji. Managing to win 2 out of the 3 games played, you were given your $200,000 as promised by the suit-clad man standing before you.

"You know, I have a simple solution to your debts." he said. You were confused as to how he knew you had debts, you didn't recall mentioning your financial situation to him, at all. You tried to brush his comment off, maybe he had seen your name in a tabloid mentioning your lawsuit somewhere and he recognized you.

"How do you know I'm in debt?"

No answer, he just pulled a card out of the inside pocket in his suit and handed it to you. "We don't have many spots left so if you're interested, please call us as soon as possible." Then, he was gone.

You spent the rest of the day looking at the brown business card given to you, you took notice of the shapes that were on the front of it. The simplistic design of the card was weirdly intriguing. On the back, a phone number. On one hand, you didn't want to be wasting your time. On the other hand, you needed money in order to rebuild your life. So, this could either be the biggest scam or the biggest blessing of your entire life.

Fuck it, you dialed.

You didn't really know it at the time, but that phone call would unleash a chain of events that would change your life, forever.

That's how you winded up in the situation you were in now. Transported to a room designed to simulate a courtyard, a giant doll on the other side of the room.

Suddenly, you heard a voice come up from behind you, "Hey señorita" the deep voice spoke. Turning your head around, your eyes were met with the sight of a tall, purple haired man. "Knew I recognized that pretty pink hair from somewhere. You're that singer that socked that paparazzi guy in the face; Y/N, right?"

"Yes, Y/N. Who are you?" I said back. "You don't know who I am?" He said, a twinge of pretend hurt in his voice. "Am I supposed to?" You always had a slight dislike for people who expected everyone to know who they were. Clearly, this guy was one of those people.

"No, but we can get to know each other. Tell me about yourself, beautiful."

"Are you flirting with me?" a slight smirk began to form on your face. While his attitude was a bit off-putting, he was pretty cute.

"Yo, pink hair, you're so fine

like a bouquet of flowers, all intertwined

You're the rose to my thorn, the petal to my stem

Red, orange, yellow, green

I'm a legend, Thanos"

You giggled at his comically bad attempt at freestyling. "Thanos, huh? I guess that would explain the purple hair. Although, you're not as hideous as the titan."

"I'll take that as a compliment, petal."

Masked men wearing pink jumpsuits began to round up every other person who was dressed in the same blue-green sweatsuit as you and Thanos; you did a quick head count, confirming the amount of people to be about 400. Once a female voice on the intercom explained that you were all going to participate in a game of Red Light Green Light, the big robotic doll began to recite the games' chant.

Red light, a bee had landed on the neck of the girl standing in front of Thanos while the doll was scanning the room for movement. ''There's a bee on you, don't freakout." Instantly, the girl began to swat at her neck in an attempt to get the insect off. While the scene unfolding was slightly amusing to watch, your heart felt like it had stopped once a single bullet pierced her forehead. Her blood had splattered onto Thanos's face, and you watched as his face dropped once her body hit the ground.

Green light, Thanos picked up his cross-shaped necklace and opened it, revealing an array of colorful, circular pills. "Want one, petal? They'll help you relax." Red light, you stood still while staring at the pills in his hands; you had been clean for a little over 3 months now, but pill popping had never sounded better. "Fuck it, give me one."

Green light, he quickly placed a blue colored pill in your hand then grabbed an orange pill for himself. He grabbed your hand and started to lead you both further across the courtyard. Immediately, you began to feel the effects of the mysterious pill you had just ingested. As you continued to advance through the game, your vision became nothing but a colorful kaleidoscopic blur. The sudden energy burst allowed you and Thanos to quickly cross the red finish line, jumping, dancing, and twirling together on the way there.

After the game was over, the remaining players were all taken back to the room where your bunk beds were. You and Thanos were standing against a wall together, giggling at seemingly nothing. "Stick with me from now on, petal. I'll protect you." He said, finishing his statement off with a playful wink. "THE Thanos wants to protect me? Wow, I'm so fucking lucky" you chuckled. "I'm serious! I wouldn't want anything to happen to my flower now, would I?"

You just looked at him with a slight smile. His nickname for you made you blush, your cheeks taking on a subtle hue that matched your hair. He had such a way with words, you couldn't help but be totally charmed by him. "Fine then, let's team up. Thanos the Mad Titan and Y/N, Popstar Fallen from Grace; world's greatest duo." Your words made him smile like an idiot. He loved your company already.

"Of course we're the world's greatest duo. Pink goes well with purple, petal."

[hexescore]

oh and by the way, i love you.

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, ekko, jayce, jinx, mel, sevika, viktor, vi.

☆ ◞ summary: first 'i love you's with (character)!

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. pre-established relationship (caitlyn, jinx, mel, viktor). friends-to-lovers (ekko, jayce, sevika, vi).

CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

It's quiet, the early morning blessing you both with a peaceful silence that allows you two to truly appreciate the sight in front of you— each other. Caitlyn enjoys moments like this, waking up with you, getting to see the way the rising sun filters through her curtains to cast a golden glow across your skin.

Her hand, which is in yours, gives a gentle squeeze. You give her a sleepy smile, and she chuckles as she leans in to press a quick peck to your lips, and then another, and another, before you're both shuffling together, closer. Legs and arms entangled, a slowness in you both knowing that neither of you have to leave anytime soon.

"You know," She whispers, her eyes shut. She had imagined how she'd say this a million times, wondered when it'd be the right time, but Caitlyn quickly realizes that perhaps the right time is the time she makes to say it. So she makes the time. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat, and you pull away to look at her. Her eyes open, and you can see the panic flashing in her eyes- was it too soon? did she get confused? had she-

"I love you, too." Her tense form immediately relaxes again, and she buries her head into your neck, shaking her head as she lets out a breathless laugh. You laugh along with her, both of you feeling nerves and excitement at those words.

"Don't scare me like that," she whines against your skin. Indulging this rare side of Caitlyn, you gently pat her back, cooing at her.

"'m sorry, 'm sorry, won't happen again." You'll definitely respond faster next time!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

EKKO

Ekko had been acting quite strange as of late, and had you been any less keen you'd just assume he was busy- but this was different, he was most definitely avoiding you! Which is why you devised a plan to corner him and get to the bottom of this whole situation.

It was like any other day, except you had been lying in wait. Waiting, and waiting, until he was finally alone. You continued to follow him to a secluded area. "Ekko." He tensed up, but recovered quickly as he turned to glance at you.

"Oh, uh, hey, what's up?" Was he serious? You cross your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed look. Ekko's guilty conscious is clear as day when it comes to you, from the way his Adam's apple bobs to the way his fist clench and unclench. You frown.

"Ekko..." He doesn't say anything. "Alright, I'll ask it. Why have you been avoiding me?" He falters, looking ashamed. He knew it was wrong to avoid you, but when he came to realize how intense his emotions were for you it freaked him out. He hadn't... He didn't mean to... well, fall in love, during such a time.

The silence is heavy, and you debate just leaving, before Ekko clears his throat. "There are things that I've been meaning to tell ya... I'm just having a hard time finding the words..." He scratches the back of his neck.

"Like?" You press, needing to know what has been so hard to say that he's been avoiding you.

"Like... I love you?"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

"Jayce? What are you doing?" Jayce, with his hand respectfully on your lower back, guides you away from the boring and artificial conversations of Piltover's finest. He excuses you both, much to your dismay. "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere private," He says through a tense smile. You soon find yourself down the hall, away from the party but still able to hear it's chatter. It seems Jayce hadn't prepared for what comes after he got you away from those flirty elites.

"Well?" You ask, head tilted in a questioning way. "Are you going to explain why you so rudely pulled me away? I was about to get some nice funding for your-" Jayce cuts you off, desperation rolling off of him in waves.

"Because I love you," He says, "And I can't stand to see them look at you, touch you-" He stops to take a deep breath before he gets himself too worked up. "Look, I know... I know you probably don't feel the same, and I understand if you don't, but-"

"Jayce," You call once, and like an obedient dog he stops everything he's doing. Instead he waits, hanging on to your words. Your arms wrap around his neck, and you pull him into a kiss. It's needy, filled with want and love and passion. Until you can't breath, you wait until you can't breathe to pull away, and look him in the eyes.

"I love you."

For the first time that night, Jayce's lips curl into a genuine smile. It's so bright and warm you get weak in the knees and butterflies in your stomach.

"Can we ditch the party now?"

"Oh definitely."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JINX

"Wrench!" Jinx calls dramatically, hand stuck out and awaiting her tool- which you promptly hand to her, repeating her words 'wrench.' She giggles as she grasps the wrench and twists a few bolts on her latest invention.

When she finishes, she takes in inhale of breath, ready to shout the next tool she needs, but already in her hand is a can of spray paint. She blinks a few times- how did you know? She grins, looking back at you, before looking at the can of spray paint.

"This is why I love you, ya know that?" She says, not really processing the words until you say them back to her.

"You... You love me?" The shock is evident in your voice. It's not that Jinx hasn't shown her love, her affections, for you, but this is the first time she's vocalized them and it has your heart hammering in your chest. She blinks a few times, lifting her goggles to rest on top her head.

"I did say that, didn't I?" She says, more to herself than to you. She then looks you in the eyes, that sparkle in them has your throat tightening up. "Yeah, I love you." You try to speak, truly, but you can't get a word out. "Jeez, is it that surprising, thought it was obvious?"

"No, it's just-" You finally manage to speak. Actually, you finally manage to get a good look at her. Her cheeks are a little flushed, she's fiddling with her tools, she's nervous- she's vulnerable- and you feel a protective instinct come on. "I love you, too- I really, really love you."

She laughs nervously, turning away from you. That's enough emotional vulnerability she's willing to share today. "Yeah, yeah, let's not get too mushy, 'kay?" You don't push it, instead nodding along. "Uh, anyways... Hand me that wrench again...!"

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

MEL MEDARDA

"You don't have to say it back," Mel Medarda has always been diplomatic, even in your relationship. She's also always been rather guarded, keeping all her cards close to her chest- but she allows you from time-to-time to catch a peak behind her walls. "I just wanted to let you know. I... I love you."

Undoubtedly, you love her back. You've loved her from the moment she smiled at you- Mel was hard not to love. Which is why you're having a hard time responding, because how could you even possibly begin to explain just how much you love her?

Mel begins to grow withdrawn, those small anxieties nipping away at her mind. Did you not feel the same way? Had she embarrassed herself with her little display? Did she ruin this relationship in one phrase? She takes a step away from you, wondering if she should take her leave.

Thankfully before than can happen, you've caught her wrist and meet her eyes.

"I love you, too." A breath of relief leaves you both. "Mel, I... I can't even begin to explain, I mean, it's just that you... god, you, you definitely deserve a better response than this mess but, I mean it, truly. I love you. I've loved you since the moment I saw you. I'll always- I'll always love you."

"Darling..." Mel started to feel flustered, your earnest rambling getting her cool and collected persona to crack a little. "I get it."

"Right, sorr-" Before you can apologize for your cute, anxious rambling, Mel shuts you up with a kiss. Something that symbolizes that you both understand just how much you both mean to each other.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SEVIKA

Sevika can't help but crack a smile at your antics sometimes. She's watching you with a close eye as you dance in an exaggerated way, being goofy in a way that's so very rare in the undercity. She shakes her head as you sit in the seat across from her, wiggling your brows. "Dance with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." She snorts, "How you made me fall in love with you is still beyond me." Sevika takes a drink, not noticing what she said. You, on the other hand, have gone still. "What's wrong with you now?" She asks, already exasperated.

"You love me?"

"What're you-... Shit." She definitely didn't mean to say that, but now that it's out there, she might as well commit. She downs the rest of her drink, clears her throat, and looks away from you.

"And if I do? Would that be a problem?"

"Not at all- I love you, too!" Your enthusiasm has her taken aback once more. She looks at you incredulously, searching your face for any sign of lying or messing with her. She finds nothing but genuine love. Shit, shit, shit. Sevika was so totally unsure on how to handle this.

"You love me, huh?" When you nod, eagerly, Sevika bites her cheek. Well... She supposes if it's you, she could try and give it a shot. "I guess, yeah, I do love you... so... what're we gonna do about that?"

You had a few ideas.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

"Yes, yes, I understand." Viktor says as he wraps the scarf you gifted him around his neck. "I'll be back tonight for dinner, not to worry." You don't really believe him when he says that, still you help him zip up his winter coat.

"If you're not," You say, taking a step closer, your lips hovering over his. "I'll personally drag you back here." Your lips meet his and he hums into the kiss, pulling away with a small smile.

"I'll be here." You just hum dismissively. You'll believe when you see it. He rolls his eyes at your sass, opening the door and stepping out. "Alright, I'll see you then. Goodbye, I love you." He closes the door, and just as quickly he's trying to pry it back open.

You're laughing your ass off on the other side of the door whilst Viktor's ears turn red. "Dear, please, open the door, I forgot my keys... and I need to say those words properly..." he groans, his head resting against the door. After a few seconds, the clicks unlock and it opens to reveal you, tears in your eyes from laughing.

"This is not funny."

"It's a little funny." You tease, handing Viktor his keys. "I lov-"

"Wait," He halts you. "Let me... Let me say it properly." His blush moves from his ears to his cheeks. He takes your hand and presses a sweet kiss to it, looking up at you through his lashes. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Viktor."

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VI

You're patching her up after a particularly brutal beating. Her job, these missions, can get pretty violent, and it's always up to you to heal her wounds. 'I don't trust any other doctor,' she explains before you inform her that you are not a doctor. Despite that she still finds you after every fight she gets herself in.

You sigh, cleaning a nasty cut on her face. "You've got to be more careful." You tsk, reveling in the way she hisses at the disinfectant. It's what she deserves after scaring you to death all these times.

"Worried 'bout my pretty face?" You scoff, rolling your eyes at her.

"More like your brain- I'm afraid you can't afford to lose anymore braincells." She laughs at your snark. She likes that about you, likes everything about you, actually. Her hands find your waist, pulling you closer to her. You huff, pulling back to get a better look at her wounds.

"Hey," Vi calls, and you just hum in response. "I love you." You freeze, before looking down at her with wide eyes.

"Did you actually get brain damage-" She bites back another laugh, shaking her head. "Vi...?"

"I love you. Have for a while, so no, this isn't a brain damage confession." Oh. You falter for a second, hands shaky as you finish placing the band-aid on her cheek.

"If you're messing with me-"

"I'm not." She insists, earnest in her affections. "So... Do you-"

"Yes." You mumble, turning your face to hide it from her. "I... Love you, too, Violet."

[atlabeth]

(please) spare me indignity

pt 3

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you and spencer spend more time together. it's bad, then it's good, then it's something else altogether.

a/n: continuing the gideon!reader series! a whole lot of this is arguing because they love each other fr. sorry this took so long, for some reason i had a really hard time finding my footing here but i hope you enjoy!! reader is a victim of the sassy man apocalypse bc this may be s1/2 spencer but he is not going to not be standing up for himself!! have this new banner that i made to try and help with my inspiration. title is from nothing new by rio romero

wc: 5k

warning(s): r and spence argue some more. angst, hurt w/o comfort, then hurt with comfort! idk theyre kinda sweet

You and Spencer spend the next six and a half hours watching movies. 

You make it through Goodfellas and you only tell him to be quiet twelve times. You take a break to get water and make popcorn, which was so generously provided in your grocery supply, and while you’re doing it, Spencer insists on picking the next one. You end up watching Psycho, and you don’t think he lets a single scene go by without explaining the meaning behind it. 

You choose Notting Hill after, and he knows just as much. He picks Halloween—it doesn’t really help your stalker anxieties, and Spencer apologizes profusely when you bring it up, but you still end up finishing it. Next you go for Pointe Grosse Blank, then Spencer picks Kolya, a Russian film that he specifically put into the box. 

There are subtitles, but he spends half the time translating for you anyway—apparently there are nuances to the script that an English translation doesn’t get compared to the original Russian, and that would be a tragedy. 

He’s in the middle of his third rant going on seven minutes when you finally break. 

“Okay,” you say as you reach for the remote, “I can’t do this anymore.”

You do a double take when your hand meets another instead of hard plastic, and you see Spencer beat you to it. You pull your hand away as soon as possible, feeling your face heat from annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he echoes. “The movie’s not over yet.”

“I can’t take any more of your rambling,” you say. “I’m cutting you off.”

He frowns. “We have to finish the movie first.” 

“What are you, a broken record?”

“I couldn’t be a broken record because I said two different things,” he protests. “Besides, what else are you going to do?” 

“Unpack my things? Read a book? Sit in silence staring at the wall in my room?” You shrug as you stand up and walk over to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot of options.” 

“Gideon told me not to let you out of my sight,” Spencer says, standing up as well. 

“You can see me pretty well from there,” you say. “You don’t have to invade every bit of my privacy.” 

“I— I kind of do,” he says. “The whole point of a safe house is to keep you safe. If you’re off doing your own thing, it’s not really safe.”

“It’s not like I’m leaving!” You throw up your hands in exasperation. “What, are you going to sleep with me too? Make sure I don’t go anywhere in the middle of the night?” 

It’s almost funny how fast his face flushes bright red. You’ve got a feeling he doesn’t have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. 

“That’s what I thought,” you say. “Keep watching your movie if you want. Just leave me alone.” 

You feel his eyes on your back as you storm off to your room. The childish part of you wants to slam the door, but you decide to throw Spencer the smallest bone and leave it open. 

It’s not his fault that you hate him, and that just makes you hate him even more. He gets to come out of this the bigger person, a saint for putting up with your various deficiencies while keeping you safe from a stalker. You’re just the difficult, ungrateful, estranged bastard daughter of the most deified man in the Behavioral Analysis Unit who can’t set her personal grudges aside for her own good. 

You shove your duffel bag into the bed with a little too much force. You unzip it, deciding to try and occupy yourself with unpacking. You’re here for the indefinite future, so you might as well make yourself at home. 

You can’t help the dry laugh that comes at the thought. You don’t know if you’ve ever felt at home anywhere. 

This might be the worst thing about this whole situation. You’ve got a stalker out there, and it’s making you do all this bullshit introspection against your will. It’s got you thinking about your dad and your relationship with him, and thinking about Spencer Reid and how he’s replaced you in your father’s life without even really knowing about it because he didn’t know about you until he walked into your dad’s office a month ago.

Ten minutes pass in a blur before you’re knocked out of it by a rapping on your door. You turn to see Spencer standing in the doorway, expression unreadable.

“What?” you ask.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says. “I’m just checking in.”

“I’m still alive,” you say. “Nothing exciting happened in the five seconds I was gone.”

“It was ten minutes and thirty two seconds, actually,” he says. “But— but good.”

Again, more silence passes between you. You look up at him from your pile of clothes after thirty seconds. 

“Are you just going to stand there?”

“I— I don’t know what else to do,” he stammers.

“Didn’t you say you did something like this before?” you ask. “Guarded some girl from her stalker?”

Spencer nods. “She was a lot easier to get along with.”

You roll your eyes. “Somebody out there wants to kill me to get back at my dad. Sorry that I’m not the pinnacle of happiness.” You make a point to avoid his gaze. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’ve done this all before. You should have some kind of idea of what to do besides bothering me.”

“How am I bothering you?” Spencer asks in exasperation. “I’ve said three sentences to you!”

“Everything you do bothers me, boy genius,” you say. “I thought you would have figured that out by now.” 

“I—” He looks like he wants to say more, but instead he just clamps his mouth shut and shakes his head before he walks away. 

You stare down at your pile of clothes, largely unfolded and scattered around the bed. The silence doesn’t give you the satisfaction you thought it would. 

It only lasts for all of thirty seconds though, and you don’t have time to linger in the discomfort—you hear footsteps, heavier ones this time, and you look up to see Spencer round the corner once again. 

“What is your problem with me?” he blurts out. 

You frown. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” Spencer nods. “You hate your dad, fine— but he’s not here for you to fight with, so you’re taking it out on me. It’s classic displacement, and you don’t get to take it out on me.”

“Why not?” you ask. 

“Because it— it’s not fair!” he sputters. “I didn’t do anything to you— I didn’t even know you existed until a month ago!” 

“Well, gosh, boy genius,” you say, “I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure it out yourself.”

“Stop calling me boy genius!” he exclaims. “We’re the same age!”

“Then stop acting like one,” you retort. “I know you’ve got a psychology degree, but you don’t need to use them on me whenever you can.” 

He frowns, his mouth opening for a second before he closes it. 

“Were you going to ask how I knew that before you realized the obvious answer?” you ask. 

“No,” he says. 

“Yes, you were.” You continue folding your clothes. “You went to Caltech, MIT, and Yale, even though it was your safety school. You’ve got three PhDs, two BAs, and you’re working on a philosophy degree, but you’re not done with it yet.” You shrug. “A little difficult to make it to classes with all the FBI stuff.” 

“…Does he really talk about me that much?” Spencer’s voice is quieter than it was before. 

“Oh, yeah,” you say. You set a finished pair of jeans to the side then look at him. “I graduated from college too. Granted, it was a couple years ago, not when I was 17, but I think it still warrants a little support.”

“You went to George Mason,” Spencer says. 

Your movements stutter. You weren’t expecting him to actually know.

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart skips a beat. “How do you know?”

Has he talked about you to the team before? Sure, they didn’t know you existed before you showed up out of the blue, but maybe he showed them a picture after it happened. Your mom carries one of you in your cap and gown in her wallet—maybe he got a hold of one and Spencer caught a glimpse of that. Maybe you just missed it and he does have a picture of you on his desk. Maybe—

“You have a sweatshirt for it,” he says with a gesture. You look where his finger is pointing, and sure enough, your GMU sweatshirt is tangled up with a couple of other crewnecks.

“…Of course,” you say. You don’t know why you even dared to hope. “Because it’s more likely that you’d notice something like that than it is for my dad to talk about me.”

Spencer says your name, and you hate the sympathy in it. 

“No.” You cut him off before he can get any further. “Don’t try to defend him. You know,” you huff a cold, humorless laugh, “he missed my graduation, too. Two separate dates for commencement and my actual school’s ceremony, one 45 minute car ride, and he couldn’t make it to either one.”

“You don’t know how busy we are,” Spencer tries again. “We work weekends and holidays and around the clock— sometimes we get called in at 3am to stay in some random town for weeks at a time, and there’s nothing we can do about it! I— I mean, we’ve had three days off in the past 47 days and—”

“That’s why I have a problem with you!” you cry out, throwing the shirt in your hand onto your bed as you turn to face him. “Because I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve lived an hour away from my dad for the past six years, but his team that he spends all his time with didn’t even know I existed until I showed up at your office.” You take a step forward, anger resurging inside of you. “Because I threw away a chance at an Ivy to get to see him more, just to deal with the same bullshit as usual. Because I worry about him dying every single day he’s in the field, and he can’t even give me a phone call at the end of it all—” another step forward— “and even in the middle of this shitshow, you think you have a right to defend him— to- to tell me how to feel about him!”

You move even closer, close enough to see his wrinkled button-up is partially untucked, his lips are slightly parted, and his stupid doe eyes—that haven’t left yours—with his stupid dilated pupils, and you jab your finger in his chest. 

“Because all I ever wanted is my father’s affection,” your voice breaks, and you hate the way it makes you feel, “and he’d rather build an entirely new life with an entirely new kid than give it to me.” 

You push your way past him, making sure to shoulder-check him on your way out. You don’t look back as you forge your way to the bathroom (that you unfortunately have to share), even though his gaze burns into your back. 

You close and lock the door. It’s childish, you know, but you need to be alone right now. You can’t stand to be around him.

Spencer just— he irritates you in a way that no one else ever has. He’s your age and more accomplished than you could ever dream to be, with almost six times the degrees and a much better job, and probably a family that loves him. Who wouldn’t love him with everything he’s done?

You, apparently.  

You plant your hands on the countertop as you stare into the mirror. Your usual dark circles have become more pronounced over the past month, and you can’t help a wry laugh at the thought. All that trouble sleeping and it was for the wrong damn reason. 

If you knew someone was watching you, you would have moved out of Virginia months ago. But maybe this bastard would have found you anyway. If Spencer’s profiling is right and he’s going after you because of your dad, you don’t think much could really dissuade him. 

Tears pool at your waterline, and you wipe them away with a rough hand before they can manifest into something more. You slump back against the opposing wall as you continue to stare at yourself. 

You’re pathetic and you can’t even find it in yourself to care. 

You hear the sound of footsteps once more and you wrap your arms around your midsection. This chill won’t go away. 

“…Are you still alive?” a hesitant voice calls. 

You bite back a remark. “I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” 

“No.” You don’t know what makes you answer honestly. 

A beat of silence passes. You really do feel like a kid. You’re talking to him through the door because you just yelled at him and Spencer is still being the bigger person. 

“Can I help at all?”

This answer comes a little quicker. “No.”

Again, more silence.

“Okay.” Spencer pauses, and the footsteps start again. His voice is a little closer the next time he speaks. “Just… let me know when you’re turning in. So I know you’re still alive.”

You huff. He can’t even stick to his guns and hate you like you hate him for ten minutes. “I don’t think I’ll be dying anytime soon.”

“You never know,” he says. “Spontaneous human combustion might not be proven beyond pseudoscientific concepts, but there’s a first time for everything.”

The laugh that comes out of you is unexpected, both in its lightness and occurrence at all. “Keep an ear out for the smoke alarm, then.”

“If you smell anything burning, stop, drop and roll,” he says. “Make sure you don’t run. All it’ll do is add to the oxygen and feed the fire.”

“Okay,” you say. “…I still don’t like you.”

You swear you can hear the smile in his words. “I know.” 

-

You wake up when the smoke alarm goes off. 

It’s a very rude awakening. It jolts you out of your very uneasy sleep to unfamiliar surroundings—in your disoriented state, you almost forget where you are. 

Right. You’re in a safe house in the middle of nowhere because someone is stalking you. How could you possibly forget?

You stumble out of bed, rubbing your eyes to try and assuage some of your exhaustion as you leave your room. 

“Is the place on fire?” you ask through a yawn. 

“No!” Spencer exclaims, sounding more panicked than usual. That straightens your back and speeds your pace. “No, everything’s fine—” 

You smell smoke, and as you come around the corner, you see him waving his hands overtop the toaster trying to dispel said smoke. You can’t help but laugh, and you actually smile when he gives you the most helpless look. 

“I’m so good at so many other things.”

“What are you trying to do?” you ask wryly. “Burn this house down to try and get a better one?” 

“This wouldn’t have started a fire,” Spencer says. “Toaster fires usually spread because they’re below wooden cupboards, which catch easily and spread everywhere else.” He gestures at the toaster, which he has plugged in to an outlet on the side of the island. “No cupboards, no house fire.”

“You started this because you were making toast?” you ask. 

He flushes. “I’m used to the toaster I have at home. I have the settings worked out perfectly there. This one is all wrong.” 

You sigh and shake your head. “Just… hit the reset button, and open the door. It’ll be fine.” 

“I can’t open the door,” he says. “It goes against the safety thing.”

“Then open a window.”

“Making it easier to get in here in any way goes against the safety thing,” he says. 

“So we have to just deal with the smoke?” you ask in exasperation. 

Spencer hits the vent button on the microwave, and the fan whirs into action. “No?”

You shake your head in disbelief as he then reaches up to hit the button on the smoke alarm. His t-shirt lifts with the movement—your eyes drift to the bare strip of skin, and you immediately look away when you realize. 

“Where’s the coffee in here?” you ask, clearing your throat as you start sifting through drawers. “I’ll be even worse to deal with if I don’t have caffeine.” 

“I already brewed a fresh pot,” Spencer says, gesturing with his head. “Half and half is in the fridge, and sugar is in the cabinet.” 

“Oh,” you say. You stop what you’re doing, your hands lingering above the drawer handle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You see him shrug out of your peripherals. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Because I was a total asshole to you last night, you want to say. Because I’ve been awful to you since I met you and you refuse to fight back and give me a better reason to hate you. 

“Because you didn’t need to,” you finally say. Good one. 

“I did. So you’re going to have to deal with it.” Spencer takes the burnt toast out and throws them in the trash can, talking while he does it. “You know, it’s actually a rumor that burnt toast contains carcinogens and can increase the chance of cancer. Acrylamide forms when you burn food, but researchers haven’t found a link between starchy foods with high amounts of acrylamide and cancer.” 

You hum in some form of acknowledgement as you take a mug out of the cabinet and fill it from the pot. You take a sip and grimace—it’s not the best, but it’s caffeinated. After three years of shitty gas station coffee throughout college, you can deal with it. 

“How did you sleep?” Spencer asks. 

“Fine,” you say. 

He frowns. “Really?” 

“Yes,” you say, a little rougher. “The dark circles come with the model.” 

“There are a lot of causes other than sleep deprivation,” Spencer says. “Contact dermatitis, hyperpigmentation, dehydration, alcoholism, stress—” 

“Got plenty of that,” you interrupt. 

“Even genetics can play a part in it,” he says. 

You huff. “I think this is one thing I can’t blame my dad for. I haven’t slept since the nineties.”

“Well, you should try,” Spencer says. “The blood vessels around your eyes don’t constrict like they should when you’re sleep deprived, which means your blood vessels dilate, which increases blood in the area, and that gives you dark circles.”

“Wow,” you say wryly. “I really look that bad with them?” 

“I— that—” Spencer’s face flushes red as he stutters, and you hide the slightest smile with your mug— “that’s not what I mean! I’m just trying to give advice to help—” 

“I know.” You set your mug back down, not able to fully bite back your amusement. “I was joking, Spencer.” 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s… new.” 

“Am I not allowed to joke?” 

“It just doesn’t seem like you,” Spencer says. “Especially after last night.” 

“I’m too tired to fight with you right now,” you sigh. “Enjoy your break.” 

He clears his throat as he takes two fresh pieces of bread out, then looks at your mug. “You drink it black?” 

“It’s not coffee if you don’t,” you say. “It— it’s a sugary mess.” 

“It is not!” he exclaims. “It still has the same amount of caffeine, and it’s still coffee—” 

“No it isn’t!” you laugh, and you nod at his mug. “How much sugar did you put in there?” 

“A couple spoonfuls but—” 

“Spoonfuls?”

“But it’s how I like it!” Spencer defends. 

“Don’t you have some facts about how harmful excessive sugar consumption is?” you ask. 

“Of course I do,” he says. “I also have some about the benefits of black coffee, but I’m not going to tell you now.”

“Wow,” you say. “I’m so hurt.” 

He shakes his head as he slots two more pieces of bread into the toaster. “And to think, I was trying to make breakfast for you.” 

Again, that gives you pause. Why does he keep trying to do nice things for you?” 

“Don’t bother.” You pick up your mug and go into the living room. “I don’t really eat breakfast anyways.” 

“That’s not healthy,” he calls after you. 

“Most things I do aren’t,” you respond. “What’s on the agenda today?” 

“Skipping breakfast puts you at a higher chance of heart disease,” he says. 

“Then I guess we won’t have to worry about the spontaneous combustion, will we?” You look back at him. “What’s on the agenda?” 

Spencer sighs. He’s given up momentarily, it seems. “Gideon’s going to call me in thirty-two minutes for an update. The whole team has been focusing solely on your case.” 

You perk up. The coffee warms your hands through the mug but it doesn’t fully assuage the chill down your spine. 

“Do they have any leads?” 

“I don’t know,” Spencer says. “Gideon hasn’t called me yet.” 

You roll your eyes. “Do you think they have any leads?” 

“Maybe.” The toaster pops and he pulls the bread out, then starts buttering it—or trying to. His brow knots in annoyance at the stick of butter, still hard, and he pushes his glasses up with his free hand. You have to look away. “Like I said, Gideon helped start the BAU. He’s solved more cases than anyone else, and,” you feel his eyes on you, “it’s personal this time. He’s probably working around the clock.” 

“Just have to hope they get somewhere,” you murmur. Your coffee tastes even more bitter than  usual, but you drink it anyway. 

“They will,” Spencer says. “I promise.” 

“Y’know, people keep making promises they can’t keep,” you say. “I’m getting real tired of it.” 

“Well, I’m not leaving your side until they do,” he says. “And I’m going to keep you safe. So consider that promise kept.” 

“Great,” you say. “I’m stuck with you until I die or this is solved.” 

“You’re not going to die.” 

“You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously.” 

“Then don’t say everything so seriously.” 

You huff a laugh and shake your head. Spencer comes over with his plate of messily buttered toast—not very easy with fully solid sticks of butter—and sits down across from you. He holds the plate out. 

“Want one?” 

“I told you, I don’t eat breakfast.” 

“You should.” 

“Because one piece of toast will make so much of a difference,” you mock. 

“It will,” he says. “Maybe it’ll even make you happier.” 

You roll your eyes and drink more of your coffee. “Are you going to bother me all day like this?” 

Spencer took a bite of toast then shrugged. “If you’re this blase about everything relating to your health, then yes.” 

You groan as you stand up. “It’s too early to deal with you. See you in a few hours.” 

“And good morning to you too,” Spencer says wryly. You make a parting gesture with your hand in response. 

It’s been a day and a half, and not only have you argued with him twice, but he still refuses to give you anything to work with, still insists on trying to be there for you. It’s as infuriating as it is gratingly admirable. Anyone else probably would have tried to kill you by now. 

Well, you’ve already got a stalker trying to do that. 

You sigh and down half your coffee. You’ve got a long day ahead of you. 

-

Spencer doesn’t know why you not liking him bothers him so much. 

It’s illogical, but it makes sense for you. Your dad spends more time with him than he does with you, and you’re projecting your hatred for Gideon onto Spencer. Whatever. 

But it’s not just whatever, and that irks him. 

This is an assignment, simple as that. Gideon trusted him enough to put you under his protection, even if it’s for your mental health more so than your physical. It should be a point of pride, being chosen for something like this by someone like Gideon.

Spencer presses his fingers against his temple. You’re a lot, there’s no way around it. But you also claim to hate him, and he knows that’s not true. 

Yes, you argue with him. Yes, you’re short with him. Yes, he lost his temper momentarily because not even Spencer is capable of endless grace. 

But he also sees your moments of lightness throughout it all. Your brief smiles, the quips that lean towards jokes more than insults—and he notices your eyes, and the brightness that breaks through on occasion. 

He always notices your eyes.

Spencer’s phone rings in his pocket, jolting him out of whatever reverie he found himself in. He pulls it out and flips it open, then presses it to his ear. “Gideon?” 

“Reid,” he greets. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” he says. “You’re calling twenty-four minutes early.”

“We just finished a briefing,” Gideon says. “I wanted to get word to you as soon as possible.” 

Spencer sits up. “What is it?” 

“Morgan, Hotch, and Garcia have been working together to comb through my past cases and see what they’re up to now. They finally found a potential unsub,” he says. “Someone I put away a decade ago was released last year, and recent records indicate he’s back in the area.” 

“Who is it?” he asks. 

“Adam Hernandez. Also known as—” 

“The Stafford Strangler,” Spencer finishes. “He killed three people in two weeks in the 90s—classic spree killer. You caught him with David Rossi’s help.” 

“Released on good behavior, despite the victims’ families campaigning against it,” Gideon says. “You know it?” 

“Obviously,” he says. “I’ve read all of your old case files.”

Gideon chuckles, and he can almost imagine him shaking his head. “Of course you have.”

“Do you think Hernandez is your guy?” Spencer asks. 

“I’m not sure yet,” Gideon says. “We applied for a warrant—as soon as we get it, Morgan and Elle are heading his way to ask a few questions.” 

“You think he’d do something like this?” Spencer shifts his position as he frowns. “Hernandez got fired, lost his house, then went off the deep end. He killed because he didn’t see any other solution. The guy going after your daughter is a lot more emotional about all this, and—” his throat feels dry all of a sudden— “and it’s like he’s got some kind of attraction to her.” 

“You don’t need to remind me,” Gideon says roughly. “We’re going for leads where we can, and we’re still working every other angle. It doesn’t end with Hernandez.”

“...Good,” Spencer says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help from here.” 

“You’re already doing everything I need you to do.” Gideon pauses, and he hears the creak of the chair in his office as he adjusts how he’s sitting. “How is my daughter doing?” 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Her mood changes with the wind. One second she’s trying to start a fight with me, the next she’s trying to joke around with me. It— it’s a lot, I won’t lie.” 

“But how is she handling all of this?” he asks. “Staying in the safe house, dealing with a stalker, feeling like a sitting duck.”

“Very cynically,” Spencer says. “She keeps talking about dying or getting killed.”

Gideon sighs. “That sounds like her.” 

“She’s… she’s mad at you, mostly.” Spencer picks at a hangnail, ignoring the sharp, temporary pain. “Every time I bring you up, it lights a fuse. You’re the one thing she hates to talk about.” 

There’s nothing but silence on the other end. 

“Gideon?” he asks. “Did I lose—” 

“I’m here,” he interrupts. “Just… thinking.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Spencer says. “She’s—” 

“It is my fault,” Gideon interrupts again. “Has she told you much about her younger life?” 

“...Some,” Spencer says. 

“Like?” 

Spencer doesn’t really know what to say. He doesn’t want to just tell Gideon that you’ve told him he’s been an awful dad. That it’s really all you’ve told him. 

“You can say it, Reid,” Gideon says. “I won’t get mad.” 

“...She says you’ve missed out on her whole life,” Spencer finally says, notably quieter. “Her high school graduation, her college graduation— most of the stuff that happened in college, actually.” 

Gideon lets out a rough sigh. “I’ll always regret it.” 

“So it’s true?” Spencer asks. He’s surprised at the sharpness of his voice.  

“I don’t get to control when cases come in,” he says. 

“We’re a whole team of qualified agents,” Spencer says. “We— we always have been. Especially when you and Rossi were together. It was like the golden age of profilers.” 

“Spencer—” 

“You made it to my graduation!” he interrupts. “You were there for my chemistry PhD, and you said you would be there when I get my philosophy degree, but you couldn’t make it for your only child’s high school and college graduations?” 

“I already told you I regret it,” Gideon says. His voice is as calm as ever, and for some reason, that irks Spencer even more. “What more can I say? It’s in the past now. I can’t change what I did.”

Spencer stares at the wall. He doesn’t know why this is such a damning thing to him. 

His own dad has missed all of his graduations. He’s missed almost every part of his life. But his dad walked out—he wanted nothing to do with Spencer or his mom. 

Your dad is right here. Gideon is still around, working every day to save lives and change the world and take down monsters—but he’s still not there for you. 

He’s so close and yet he always steps out of your reach. 

“Spencer.” Gideon’s voice is tinny through the speaker, and he presses his phone back against his ear. 

“Call me back the second you get another lead,” Spencer mutters. 

He hangs up without another word. 

[peachylynnie]

ace

word count: 1.7k

synopsis: in which sylus defies all logic and odds, just for you.

contains: part 2 of blackjack, sylus x fem!reader (non mc, first time meeting), slightly obsessive sylus, alcohol consumption, cursing, mentions of weapons and violence, and gambling (know the rules of blackjack).

a/n: in blackjack, you want to get as close as you can to 21 without going over. to bust means to go over 21. to stay means to stay with the cards you have. you can tap for more cards or wave to stay. a natural (best outcome) means you immediately get 21 with your initial cards. but, you don't have to get to 21 to win. so long as the dealer has a worse hand than you, you win. essentially, it's a game against the dealer, not the people you play with. reblogs & comments are appreciated.

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sylus has never lost in blackjack before.

he's mastered every gambling card game for the sake of business deals and corrupt clients. and yet, here you are, spitting at his mastery as you flip another twenty, forcing him to either stay at his nineteen or risk a bust. and sylus never stays or busts in blackjack.

while your hands question almost every statistic and probability out there, your expression is what truly does it for him. even though you've only been winning, you haven't shown a trace of happiness or any other emotion normally present at a poker table. there's nothing when your opponents raise their bets, nothing when you win their bets, and infuriatingly nothing when your silver-haired opponent leans on the table and gazes at you hungrily after you take his chips for the umpteenth time tonight.

chuckling to himself, sylus can't help but think, what's going on in that pretty little head of yours? what will it take for you to look at him with half the interest he's looking at you with right now?

"because the lounge closes in less than thirty minutes," you gesture to the clock, snapping the silver-haired man out of his thoughts. "this will be the final round."

you hand a deck of cards to sylus, signaling him to shuffle. he takes it from you, trying not to shudder when his finger grazes yours.

sherman and his lackey groan upon checking how many chips they have left. "and here i thought blackjack was the easiest game against the house," the former complains as he lights a cigar.

"perhaps," the latter starts carefully, "we can wager something different this round." he shares a knowing look with his boss before turning to sylus. "what do you think, mr. sylus?"

sylus sighs as he finishes shuffling the deck. that idiot messed up his shuffle. great, now he looks like an idiot to you. "what would you like to wager?" he huffs as he places the deck in front of you.

"the deal, sylus," sherman snaps. "if i win, we have a deal."

sylus laughs mirthlessly, shaking his head. seems like the imbecile finally decided to drop his friendly act. "and what will your little employee wager?" he asks with faux curiosity.

"that depends on the lady in front of us, mr. sylus," the man in question answers before licking his lips at you. "say, miss dealer. if i win, how about you accompany mr. sherman and me back to a hotel nearby? we promise you'll be thoroughly compensated."

the head of onychinus stands up swiftly, his hands curling into fists. he should have seen this coming. the knowing look sherman and his lackey shared earlier wasn't just a shot at trapping him into a deal; it was an attempt at you and who knows what nauseating desires. before he can pummel the two men into the ground, you speak.

"i'm afraid that won't be possible, gentlemen," you pick up a chip and flip it between your knuckles. "the main objective of blackjack is to beat the dealer, not to win exclusively." your eyes never leave the chip. "for example, what will happen to your wagers if only i win?" you place the chip down. "in other words, multiple wagers are useless in blackjack due to its main objective."

sylus smirks as he sits down, pride blooming in his chest. not only were you good at blackjack, but you were also good at navigating your way in and out of technicalities. oh, he's definitely buying you a drink after this. you earned it. besides, he's curious to know what a talented little lamb like you is doing in the n109 zone. maybe a drink or two will soften you up and lay your mind bare.

"what would you suggest, miss dealer?" sherman questions angrily, his eye twitching. "you're impossible to beat, and unfortunately," he chucks a gun onto the table, "i'm not walking away without a deal."

sylus tenses. you don't flinch.

"change the main objective," you eloquently respond as you reach for the deck of cards sylus shuffled. "the three of you will play against each other, and whoever gains a blackjack or the hand closest to it will have their wager fulfilled." you fingers never slip as you pass out the cards. "while a tie may be possible, the likelihood will be drastically reduced, as you will no longer be playing to beat me." your braid your fingers and rest them against your stomach, your eyes unwavering. "you will be playing to win."

while sherman and his lackey mull over your proposal, sylus takes a sip from his glass, his eyes glued to you. what could you possibly gain from this? no bets you can profit from have been placed. not to mention your choice to stay out of this round just cost you your chance to prevent sherman and his lackey from fulfilling their profane desires. his brows furrow, no longer enjoying the feeling nor taste of fizz on his tongue. this entire night you've only led him in circles, forcing him to deal with your unpredictable actions and signature indifference. does he hate this? fuck no. your antics give him a sense of desire, a drive—something he's been severely lacking for a while.

but, sylus' patience is wearing thin. he swears if he can't get you to look at him with anything but that damned emptiness, he's going to force his way into your eyes until they are filled to the brim with nothing but him, him, him.

"mr. sylus?" sherman's lackey snaps him out of his thoughts. "your wager?"

"ah," sylus places his glass down, ignoring the cracks forming on it from how tightly he was gripping it. "if i win-"

he pauses, noticing something.

"miss dealer, why did you give yourself cards? i thought you weren't playing," he inquires with a tilt of his head.

"i gave myself cards to stay true to the dealing rules of blackjack," you answer calmly, extending your arm towards sherman's cards to begin the game. "don't worry, mr. sylus. i won't be playing this round, only dealing. my cards are facedown, after all."

sylus inhales sharply. you said his name. you said his name for the first time. and fuck, did it feel so good to hear it on your tongue.

"stay or hit, mr. sherman?" you option the man. he has an ace of spades and a seven of hearts, giving him eighteen. the man takes another puff of smoke before tapping the table. "a hit," you confirm before flipping a four of clubs. the man curses loudly, sputtering on his cigar. "too high," you declare as you immediately move on to his lackey.

"stay or hit?" you repeat. the lackey has an ace of hearts and an eight of clubs, giving him nineteen. the man sighs before waving a hand. "stay," you confirm before turning to sylus.

you still upon seeing his cards. a ten of diamonds and a nine of spades, bringing him to tie with sherman's lackey. so much for the likelihood of a tie being dramatically reduced. you exhale before asking, "stay or hit?"

"hm," sylus hums. he could technically stay and walk away with a tie. sherman won't be selling him fake protocores since he lost, and his lackey won't get his way with you since he tied. besides, hitting would be risky since the chances of getting a two are barely one percent, and the chances of getting an ace are either four or two percent, depending on what you have.

sylus tilts his head, realizing something.

"miss dealer, may i look at your cards?"

"i don't see why not," you say after a few seconds, ignoring sherman and his lackey's complaints.

"thank you, miss dealer," he purrs, reaching for your cards. "you won't regret it."

you don't say anything. you just cross your arms and lean against the table, resuming your unconcerned demeanor.

sylus grins after flipping your cards. an ace of diamonds and a ten of diamonds. you had a fucking blackjack. for the nth time of the night, you drew another natural. there's no way he's letting you go after this, not after you reduced his chances of getting an ace from four to two percent.

at this point, you've already realized why sylus wanted to see your cards. he was trying to gauge his chances of getting an ace, but since you had the third one from the deck, his chances were now fatally low. not to mention, his chances of getting a two were also low, meaning staying was the best option. you reach for his cards, hoping to clean up and get the fuck out of the n109 zone because you know from the depraved looks he's been giving you, prolonging your stay would be dangerous.

but what you don't know is the type of person sylus is. he's the type of person to spit in the face of fate, probabilities, and every distinct concept known to dictate humanity. people don't call him a "relentless conqueror" for nothing. unfortunately for you, this man has found something he relentlessly wants to conquer: your fucking attention. he makes that very clear when he taps the table.

and god, is he glad he decided to hit because you finally reacted to him.

your once-indifferent eyes were now faltering with uncertainty. your once-crossed arms were now hanging loosely at your sides. your once-relaxed voice was now quivering as you asked, "i'm sorry, a hit?"

sylus runs a finger upon his lips, trying to control his manic grin. oh, you looked utterly confused, and he was all for it. never has he seen such a beautiful and enticing sight: you, pushed to the absolute brink with your eyes bewitchingly transfixed on him, trying to figure out why the hell he would hit when his chances of winning are painstakingly low.

"yes, sweetie." your brows furrow when he calls you that. "a hit," he confirms with a teasing smile.

you gape at him (yes, keep looking at him like that; fill your eyes with him and him only) for a few more seconds before reaching for a card. people just really like to gamble, you reason. there's no way an ace can come out of this. however, your lips can't help but part when you flip over the card.

an ace of clubs.

he won.

[carnalcrows]

wide awake

genre: smut

pairing: dae-ho x m!reader

CW: bottom reader, sub!top dae-ho, public sex, reader rides dae-ho like there's no tommorow, breeding, creampie, y/n is not used.

word count: 1.3k

The living quarters were eerily quiet, the only sounds the soft snores and occasional murmurs of the sleeping players around you. The lights cast long shadows over the rows of bunk beds, leaving much of the room in darkness.

You sat on the edge of your bunk, your eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement. Sleep wasn’t an option—someone needed to stay awake, especially after what had happened the last few nights. You’d taken it upon yourself to watch over your group, ensuring they made it to the next game alive.

But then, you heard it.

A faint whimper broke the stillness, barely audible over the ambient noise. At first, you dismissed it, thinking it was just someone caught in the throes of a bad dream. But then you heard it again—your name, whispered like a prayer, soft and desperate.

Your gaze shifted to the source: Dae-ho, curled up on his bunk just a few feet away. His face was tense even in sleep, his brows drawn together as his lips formed your name again, this time louder, more pleading.

Your heart skipped a beat, a mix of curiosity and something far more primal sparking within you. Quietly, you slipped from your bunk and padded over to his. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his hands clutching the thin blanket like it was a lifeline.

“Dae-ho,” you whispered, your voice low and steady as you crouched beside him.

His eyes fluttered open, hazy and unfocused, but the moment they met yours, something shifted. His face flushed, his lips parting as he stared at you, clearly caught between embarrassment and relief.

“Y-you’re awake,” he stammered, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“You were calling my name,” you said, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Pretty loudly, too. What’s going on?”

“I... It’s nothing,” he muttered, turning his face away, but the deepening blush on his cheeks betrayed him.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing,” you pressed, your voice soft but teasing as you leaned closer. Your hand found his, gently prying his fingers from the blanket. “Come on, Dae-ho. Talk to me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. Finally, he exhaled, his breath shaky as he whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The admission hung between you like a live wire, the air thick with tension. You couldn’t deny the flutter in your chest—or the way your own pulse quickened at his words.

“Is that so?” you murmured, your voice dropping as you leaned in closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “And what exactly were you thinking about?”

Dae-ho swallowed hard, his breath hitching as your proximity overwhelmed him. “You... Just you,” he admitted, his voice barely audible.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. The vulnerability in his eyes was stark, but so was the desire simmering beneath the surface. It was intoxicating.

“Well,” you said, your lips curling into a sly smile. “I guess I’ll have to help you with that.”

You moved closer, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. His breath hitched again as your lips brushed against his, a featherlight touch that sent a jolt through both of you.

The kiss deepened quickly, his hands gripping your arms as if afraid you’d pull away. His lips were warm and insistent, moving against yours with a need that matched your own.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his lips, “Quiet, or you’ll wake the others.”

Dae-ho nodded, though the look in his eyes said he wasn’t sure he could comply. You smirked, brushing your lips against his one more time before letting the moment linger, the promise of more hanging in the air like a loaded gun.

Dae-ho nodded, though his breath was still unsteady, and the way his eyes roamed over your face made your heart race. You could tell he was holding back, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on your arms.

“You’re not very good at being quiet, are you?” you teased, brushing a thumb over his flushed cheek.

“I can be,” he said, though the way his voice wavered betrayed his confidence.

“Guess we’ll see about that,” you murmured, your lips finding his again, slower this time but no less deliberate. The kiss deepened naturally, your tongues meeting in a dance that left both of you breathless.

Dae-ho’s hands slid down your arms, hesitating for a moment before gripping your waist. The touch was tentative but firm, as though he was still testing the waters. You leaned into him, letting him know without words that this was okay, that he was okay.

You pulled back slightly, enough to study his expression. His lips were swollen from your kisses, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips.

“What?” he asked, his voice hushed but tinged with curiosity.

“Nothing,” you said softly. “You’re just... adorable when you’re flustered.”

That earned you a shy smile, and for a moment, the tension eased, replaced by a quiet warmth that settled between you. But then his hands tightened on your waist, his fingers digging in slightly, and the hunger in his gaze returned.

“I’ve been holding this in for so long,” he confessed, his voice trembling. “Watching you, thinking about you... I didn’t think I’d get a chance to say it, let alone—”

“You don’t have to explain,” you interrupted, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I get it.”

His breath hitched, his hands sliding up your back as he pulled you closer. The kiss that followed was more urgent, his lips moving against yours like he was afraid the moment would slip away if he didn’t hold onto it.

You let him take the lead this time, savoring the way his confidence grew with every touch, every kiss. His hands explored cautiously at first, but soon they were gripping you with a boldness that sent shivers down your spine.

He slowly pulled your track pants down, while trailing kisses down your neck. His hand went under your boxers, pulling out your upright erection. He pushed his thumb over the head, precum collecting onto it. You shuddered, every movement of his hand sending jolts of electricity up your body. 

He pulled his own track pants and boxers down, and slowly lifted you onto his lap. You straddled him, pushing your own boxers all the way down.

“You gotta be quiet baby, can you do that f’me? “, before he could reply, you gently pushed yourself onto his cock. He immediately covered his mouth with his hand, eyes going wide. As you settled down on his entire length, you placed your hands on his shoulders and slowly began to move.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, groaning with every movement you made, your walls clenching tightly around him.

As you felt your climax nearing, you had to cover your own mouth, out of the fear of making any noise, while your other hand was tightly gripping his shoulder.

The faint rustle of someone shifting in their sleep reminded you both of where you were, but it only seemed to heighten the thrill. The risk, the stolen intimacy—it made every touch, every whispered breath, feel electric.

Dae-ho’s hands held on to your waist for dear life, his nails leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin. He bit your shoulder to prevent any noises, eliciting a gasp from you.

Without warning, he releases, painting your insides. You, however, continue riding him until your climax, a thick white line forming at the base of his cock.

Soon, you cum, staining his green jumper white. The both of you let out shaky breaths, still tightly holding on to each other, unable to let go. Dae-ho doesn’t pull out, rather, he simply turns around and snuggles into you, still filled to the brim with his release.

‘We can worry about this tomorrow’, you think to yourself before sleep takes over you.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[brooke121000]

hello! i love love love your writing, the style, the detail, the dialogues, everything! can i request spencer and reader sleeping together for the first time but it’s set in season 5 and spencer’s leg is recovering? the tension they’d have because reader doesn’t want to hurt spencer but he needs reader so badly

a/n: omg tysm!! I LOVE this prompt. I went a LITTLEE crazy with this but anyway! none of my stuff is proofread so apologies for any typos or mistakes!! 🫶

the healing part • s. reid

warnings: p in v, p0rn with plot, switch!spence if you squint, do a backflip and take your glasses off, quick escalation, no pr0tection (bad idea!)

———————————౨ৎ———————————

A GSW to the patella.

That’s the phrase you had heard shouted out from the trauma room in the hospital- after a particularly rude nurse had steered you out into the waiting room to “let the doctors work”. It didn’t help that Spencer was so pro-healthcare, he wouldn’t listen to any of your protestations. 

It also didn’t help that the rest of the team was so flippant about his injury- in comparison, you looked nearly obsessive. “Are, um.. are you the girlfriend?” A very nervous and very confused nursing student had once asked you, earning a chorus of giggles from everybody on the team.

But it was better now. At least, a little better. He could walk on crutches, and he wasn’t so groggy all the time. You wanted to help. You wanted to care for him. So, you asked to come over. 

“This is all really nice, you know-“ Spencer began, listening helplessly to the boiling sound of the kettle.

“It’s alright, really, Spence.“ you rebutted. “For christs sake, you were shot. The whole team should be over here right now.”

He sighed, watching as you poured the kettle and dropped in the aromatic tea bag. “The whole team is busy.” 

“Yeah, well I’m not. So drink your damn tea.” You grinned, walking over and handing him the mug. “Careful, it’s-“

“Hot?” He beamed, sitting up in his spot and taking a careful sip.

That caused you to crack a smile. “Oh, cut it out.” You replied, reaching out your own mug and clinking it with his.

“Can I try yours? I couldn’t help but notice you picked a better flavor.” He murmured.

You begrudgingly handed him your mug, which he accepted- placing his own on the bedside table. Then, you two fell into a silence as he sipped, full eyes locking with yours.

You smiled, sitting beside him. “…do you like it?”

“..ehh, so so.” He handed you back your mug.

You looked down, watching the swirling steam. You felt a little pathetic, running around attempting to care for a man who’d probably rather be alone. “..look.” You began.

 “I know I can be obnoxious. And I guess I’m.. invading your space, or whatever- but, I just care.. entirely too much. I can’t leave you here to- hobble around your apartment on a bad leg. I just can’t.”

“..is that what you assume I think of you?”

Your face got hot. Oh, Jesus. Had you just made tonight all about you? “No, no, I just-“

He placed his mug down. “Because I’ll tell you what I think of you. You’re kind. You’re profoundly empathic, about everything. It’s.. admirable. And I don’t mind tea, or hugs, or extra blankets. If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve said so.”

“..really?”

He nodded, his eyes flickering down your form.

A little bit of silence fell over you two, your faces close. And then, catching you completely off guard, he.. kissed you. He placed a gentle hand to the back of your head to pull you closer, and kissed you, sure and patient.

Heat rose within you, caught completely off gaurd.

“Spencer, I..” 

You wanted an explanation. You wanted a talk, anything- but Spencer wanted anything but. He knew you, and he didn’t want you to get the chance to second guess yourself.

“Don’t say anything. Please?”

Your heart racing, all you could conjure up was a stupid nod, leaning in to meet his waiting lips. Butterflies beat their wings inside your stomach, his lips tasting of the autumnal tea you had given him. 

The kiss felt so utterly familiar it hurt. 

His hand tightened in your hair, a tiny whine evident in his quick breathing. You fumbled on the mattress, nearer to his chest- and everything caught momentum, like a boulder flying down a hill- no way to stop what was happening, or where this was going. 

You moved, and he guided you, to sit on his lap, his hands on either side of your face.

You trembled with need, shaking hands going to the buttons of his shirt. When his hands fell to your waist and you had pulled the fabric off of him, you leaned closer on his lap- and that’s when it happened.

“Ah-“ he winced, moving his affected leg.

fuck. You thought. The leg!

Suddenly, guilt rose in your chest. You suddenly felt intensely guilty, like a negligent nurse trying to bang their sickly patient. Had you really hurt him?

“Ohmygod, Spencer, did I hurt you? I totally forgot about your leg-“

“No, no- it’s fine, just ignore it.” He breathed.

Your brows furrowed at the thought. “I.. I can’t just ignore it, I’ll.. I’ll hurt you.”

“..” he paused, his hands on your waist tightening as he looked up at you with big oaken eyes, warm enough to melt butter. 

“please?”

“Spencer, I can’t.”

“No, no- I need this, I need you, just.. please?” He practically whined.

at times, Spencer was a force. Usually in the interrogation room, or hunched over a chess board, but this was a very different kind of persuasion. And who could say no to those eyes?

Fuck. Guess I’ll just have to make it work. You thought.

He pulled you into another rushed kiss, heat pooling in your core as you practically tore his clothes off- his own firm hands making quick work of your blouse. Only when the last article had been kicked off and tossed to the floor and you two were bare, panting and blushed in front of each other did it start to set in. Was this really happening? Two coworkers- Jesus, this was scandalous.

With his eyes on yours and his hands on your waist, you didn’t really care.

“need you, god- I’ve been waiting,”He spoke, his voice weary with desire.

“mhm, I know, just-“

He pulled you closer to him with the sole purpose of placing more kisses to your neck, leaving a trail of flushed skin. You were just focused on regaining your breath.

When his gripped slipped lower on you, he looked to you for confirmation. “is- is this okay?”

Lost for words, or breath, or patience, you managed a stupid nod.

He slipped a hand between your two bodies, his fingers grazing your clit and sending fireworks up your whole body, causing you to shift on top of him. 

“oh, Jesus- you can’t move like that.” He breathed, one hand holding your hips firmly in place as he aligned himself with your entrance, heat already pooling between you two.

When you lowered yourself onto him, you both gasped. he hissed, grabbing control of your hips.

You managed a shaky nod as he stretched you farther- lowering you down onto him. He threw his head back, brown curls rustling against the pillow as another gasp slipped.

“spence!”

“god, I know, baby..”

You smiled at the nickname. Your hips connected, and a shudder ran though you. He seemed impossibly deep. Eager to remove the pressure and no longer holding any patience, he helped you in raising your hips. 

a string of moans fell from your lips, eager noises filling the dimly lit room as your hips connected once again. You were conscious of his injury- but no longer terrified. Especially when you saw the look on his face- flushed and pleading.

He continued to pull your hips up and push them down, helping you ride him. A string of whimpers and gasps filled the room as the tension in your stomach only intensified-

“ah!-“

He guided your trembling hands to his chest, and you balanced yourself, your nails pressing into the skin.

Desperate for your own release, you took control- pushing your hips up and down on him and hitting a spot that sent fireworks through your core.

“god-“ he gasped, his hands tightening on you. “don’t stop,”

Your knees pressed into the mattress, and it feels like everything got too much all at once. It felt too good, you were too close. Suddenly, he grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your back.

“wha- spence, your- your knee,” you babbled.

“Don’t.” He said simply, entirely focused on you, and that was enough for you to shut up entirely. He lifted your knees to press up against him, and you swear your vision nearly went white at the feeling.

He was insatiable, and so were you. Hand planted on the headboard, he was pushing into you at a punishing speed, pulling ribbons of whines and moans out from you. 

“fuck, spence- ‘m so close, cmon,”

You fluttered around him and he groaned, deciding to pay you back with his hand, which was promptly slipped under your body and between your legs to circle your clit-

oh.

god.

And you were done. The chord inside you snapped, sending you hurtling over the edge. You damn near screamed, head pushing into the pillow as your thighs clenched around him.

“thhaaats it,”he breathed, grabbing your thighs for purchase. With one last push, one last circle of your hips, he flew over the edge as well- warmth pooling between your legs as he gasped, his gaze never leaving you.

He pulled out and took his spot next to you, pulling your head to his chest.

“god, I didn’t break you, did I?” You asked nervously, trying to shift your weight off his leg.

He grinned.

“I should be asking you that right now, y’know.”

———————————౨ৎ———————————

[minniesfiles]

YOUNG, WILD AND FREE

There was nothing Mingyu valued more than his freedom — not even your friendship.

❧ PAIRING; mingyu x reader

❧ GENRE; angst

❧ TAGS/WARNINGS; friends with benefits, friends to strangers, angst, school au, swearing, unrequited love, mingyu is an asshole, crying, mention of smoking

❧ WORDCOUNT; 2.1k

𐚁₊⊹

▍12 JULY 2015

Eighteen is an age where most teenagers are expected to have their minds set on the future by making plans, and preparing for adulthood.

But for you and Mingyu, life had a different flow, one that refused to conform to societal expectations. To you both, eighteen wasn’t the end of your teenage years but the peak of them — a time to savor the short-lived moments of youth before the emerging responsibilities of adulthood could tighten their grip.

You had your entire lives to be serious, to settle down, and to embrace the grind. For now, life was about embracing freedom and chasing the kind of memories you’d still laugh about decades later.

The word “fun” held a different connotation to you. It was about enjoying the reckless energy of youth and pleasures.

It meant sneaking into wild parties with flashing lights and loud music, losing yourselves in the rhythm of the dance floor. It meant exploring the highs and lows of life without apology — whether through alcohol-fueled nights that blurred into dawn or the moments of sexual intimacy that only the two of you shared.

Those moments weren't uncommon though — they became a routine to you. In the world that you and Mingyu lived in, everything was an adventure, and nothing was too risky if it promised even a silver amount of excitement.

The way you two fit together was magnetic, like two pieces of a puzzle meant to magnify each other's joy and chaos. You pushed each other deeper into the vortex you called life, and he carried an unshakeable confidence that you returned.

But even as you laughed and celebrated your youth, things began to change — subtly at first. It was in the little things. Like the way he would look at you as if he were looking for something deeper, or the quiet moments in which the usual play of your shenanigans would cease and a wordless burden would linger.

“Have an extra cigarette?” Mingyu asked as he jogged towards you, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You shook your head with a half-smile, “sorry, this was my last one.”

With a careless shrug, you dropped the burning stub onto the pavement and crushed it under your boot.

“Liar,” he said with a scoff, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to you. His presence was so casual, as if the air between you two wasn’t filled with tension.

You glared at him, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Mingyu, what do you want?” you asked sharply, crossing your arms in an attempt to create some barrier between the two of you.

“Chill, I didn’t even do anything,” he said defensively, his hands shooting up as though to shield himself from your sharp tone. But you weren’t having it.

“No, I mean, why are you here? Surely you want something,” you repeated, narrowing your eyes. There was no way Mingyu had just ditched his best friend’s birthday party to come and find you for no reason, especially not after what happened.

He sighed deeply, shifting uncomfortably before speaking. “Look, I wanna talk about that night…last week,” he started hesitantly, his voice quieter than usual.

Your heart skipped a beat, and the mention of “that night” made a knot form in your stomach. You shot up from the rusted bench, shaking your head quickly.

“I don’t want to do this,” you muttered, your voice low but firm. You couldn’t bear to go back there — not with him.

But Mingyu wasn’t going to let you walk away that easily. “Y/n, wait!” he called out, suddenly on his feet.

His hand grabbed your wrist before you could take another step, and spun you around to face him. The sudden movement startled you, and before you knew it, you were pressed up against his chest. You froze, the proximity making it impossible to ignore the intensity in his eyes.

“That night-” he began, his voice trembling slightly, but you cut him off before he could finish.

“Please, can we not talk about it?” your voice was almost a whisper now, your resolve crumbling as the weight of that memory pressed against your chest. Each second felt heavier as the images of that night played in your mind.

Mingyu’s grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you anchored there. “You know we were drunk,” he said softly, his gaze searching for yours.

“And I know those words…they didn’t mean to come out of your mouth. But I need you to understand that I’m not ready for things like that.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, each syllable piercing through your chest. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for what you felt, for what you said that night. And hearing him say it out loud — hearing the finality in his tone — was enough to break something deep inside you.

Your shoulders slumped as the weight of his rejection settled in. It wasn’t anger or frustration that you felt in that moment, but a bone-deep sadness. Your heart felt like it had been sliced in two, leaving you standing there completely shattered.

Yet, you said nothing. What could you say? The words that had once tumbled out of your mouth were now stuck in your throat, choking you.

You didn’t even realise your eyes were welling up with tears until you felt the warm streaks slide down your cheeks. Embarrassed and overwhelmed, you pulled away from Mingyu’s grasp with a sharp jerk, and wiped your face with shaky hands.

“I wasn’t drunk that night, Mingyu. But I was definitely stupid to have my hopes high” your voice cracked as you blurted.

His expression froze, and his brows furrowed in confusion as he searched your face for clarity. “What do you mean?” he asked.

But you didn’t want to explain — not now, not like this. “Forget it,” you said harshly, taking another step back and shaking your head as though that would erase the vulnerability you had just exposed. You refused to let him see any more of the pain that clawed your heart.

He stood still, staring at you as you turned on your heel and tried to leave. But before you could get too far, you heard the sound of his footsteps behind you. He wasn’t going to let you walk away, not without answers.

Grabbing your wrist, he spun you around, his grip firm but not forceful. His other hand came up to tilt your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes burned with something between frustration and desperation.

“Y/n, I need answers,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “You’re not in love with me, are you?”

Your breath caught in your throat as you stared at him, frozen. He pressed further, his voice louder now, “answer me, goddammit!”

“SO WHAT IF I AM?!” you shouted back, your voice rising before cracking.

“So fucking what?!” you could barely hold yourself together anymore, your words spilling out in a shaky defiance.

“Y/n, we’re just fuck buddies. I thought we made it clear that no feelings were supposed to be involved, and that we wouldn’t fall for each other,” Mingyu said, his voice firm yet laced with frustration.

He looked at you like he was trying to drill the words into your mind, as though reminding you of the rules would somehow erase everything you were feeling.

“I know, okay?! I know!” you shouted, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.

“But I couldn’t help it, Gyu. I couldn’t help how I feel about you. It just…it just happened,” you sobbed, rubbing your face in frustration. The tears wouldn’t stop falling, each one a reminder of how deeply you had let yourself fall for him.

Mingyu’s expression hardened, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Maybe hesitation, or guilt? He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again. He didn’t know how to respond, and that silence stung more than any words could have.

Finally, he sighed “stay away from me from now on” he said. His voice was cold and detached, as if he flipped a switch and turned off all the warmth you’d once felt from him. His eyes bore into yours with a glare that was meant to sever ties.

Your heart shattered. The pain was unbearable, like a knife twisting deeper with each passing second. “I want to have fun, Y/n, and I don’t need you and your stupid feelings ruining anything for me,” he added, his tone sharp and unforgiving.

He turned to walk away, and something inside you snapped. Before you could think, you ran after him, grabbing his wrist with trembling hands. “Mingyu, wait!”

He stopped but let out an exasperated sigh, turning back to you with visible annoyance. “What now?” he asked sharply.

You stepped in front of him, tears streaming down your face as you looked up at him. “Please don’t do this,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, and I can’t help how I feel about you. I love you, Gyu. I love you. Why can’t you understand that?”

Your shaking hands reached up to cup his face. Your touch was desperate and filled with longing, hoping — praying — that he would finally see how much he meant to you.

“Why can’t we give each other a chance?” you asked again, your voice quivering as tears spilled. There was a pleading in your eyes that you hoped Mingyu would notice.

But all he did was glare back at you. He took a step back, shaking his head, and pushed your hands away from his face. “The thing is, I don’t love you, Y/n,” he said bluntly, his tone sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“And you can’t force someone to love you either.” The heaviness of his words hit you like a tidal wave, and your knees threatened to buckle under the growing ache in your chest.

He took a deep breath, running a hand through his dark hair before continuing, “And plus, we’re only eighteen. There’s still so much I want to do, so much I want to experience. Getting into a relationship is a huge commitment, and I’m not ready for that kind of thing right now. We’re young, wild, and free, Y/n.”

His voice softened for a moment, almost as if he was trying to make you understand his point. “I just want to enjoy my life and do what I want before I even think about settling down.”

He studied your face for a moment, his gaze intense but unreadable. “Come on, Y/n, you used to think like that too. What happened to that girl? You’re the one who used to say we’re too young to have these kinds of feelings, too young to get caught up in this kind of drama. What changed? What happened to you?” his voice cracked slightly as he asked, but he quickly masked it with frustration.

You couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. Instead, your gaze dropped to the ground as silent tears rolled down your cheeks. “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“But things can change. People can change. Feelings can change. I love you, Mingyu,” you confessed, your words broken by a quiet sniffle.

He scoffed, taking another step back. “Well, I don’t,” he said flatly. “And I need you to stop contacting me from now on.”

His words were final as he walked past you, and you didn’t chase this man this time no matter how much you wanted to. You stayed rooted in place, letting the silence envelop you as you silently cried. For the first time, you realised that no amount of love on your end could ever make him stay.

You stumbled and collapsed onto your knees as sobs wracked your body. Tears streamed down your face, blurring the lights of the city around you. You never loved anyone before, not like this, and you never experienced the gut-wrenching pain of heartbreak either. The sting of rejection pierced deeper than you ever thought was possible. You had no idea what it meant to feel this hollow, this abandoned, until Mingyu.

Some of the things he said still echoed in your mind — they weren’t entirely wrong. You once believed that you were too young for anything serious, too young to tie yourself down.

But somewhere along the way, your feelings shifted. You saw a future with him, imagining moments far beyond your eighteen years. Yet, reality came crashing down. To him, you were never more than a temporary connection, a mistake you had mistaken for love.

[tinyproprodigy]

"Look at me..." Student!Gojo x Stoic Special Grade 1 Sorcerer reader (NB)

Geto’s ver - Shoko's ver - Nanami ver 𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

1. The First Meeting:

It starts when Gojo first sees you in a meeting with Masamichi Yaga in a secluded area of Jujutsu High. His curiosity piques when he sees a sorcerer of your caliber—one not affiliated with the school (though the age of most of the students, almost passing off as one)—exuding a quiet but undeniable power. You’re calm, reserved, and composed, completely different from Gojo's usual playful energy, which only intrigues him more. You barely acknowledge his presence, and that just makes him want to know more about you.

2. Subtle Beginnings:

At first, Gojo tries to play it off like it’s no big deal. But his friends, Geto and Shoko, start noticing him lingering around Yaga’s office, waiting for you to show up. Geto raises an eyebrow, smirking, while Shoko simply observes, knowing that Gojo’s “harmless” infatuation could lead to something more amusing than he realizes.

3. Uninvited Encounters:

Gojo doesn’t let the cold indifference you show him get to him. He begins “accidentally” crossing your path more frequently—usually in the hallways, by the cafeteria, or even outside near the gates. His usual cocky attitude doesn’t faze you, but Gojo can’t help but find it amusing that he’s the one trying to make you notice him, rather than the other way around.

4. The Playful Approach:

He gets more daring in his attempts to get your attention. Sometimes he’ll crack jokes or give you those dramatic, over-the-top greetings like “Oh! It’s you, the mysterious Special Grade 1 Sorcerer! I must be blessed by fate to see you again!” His friends often exchange glances, silently debating whether or not they should step in and save him. But they know Gojo’s persistence won’t back down, even if you don’t respond.

5. The Silent Challenge:

You remain indifferent, your cold demeanor not wavering. But Gojo’s efforts only grow. One day, he takes it a step further and challenges you to a friendly sparring match. He’s hoping that perhaps you’ll let down your guard a bit during the fight, but you're completely stoic, not even flinching when he pushes you to your limits. He gets an adrenaline rush from the fact that you won’t react to him, which makes him want to break through your walls even more.

6. Getting Noticed (Finally!!):

One day, after a particularly challenging mission, Gojo catches a glimpse of you talking to Yaga. There’s a moment where you give him a short, almost imperceptible soft glance, and for the first time, Gojo’s heart skips a beat. He can’t be sure if it’s just a casual look, but to him, it’s everything. He smirks to himself, knowing he’s finally started to get under your skin, even if it’s just a little.

7. Getting Closer:

There’s an unexpected warmth in the way Gojo treats you now. He might still joke around, but there’s an underlying tenderness in his words when he speaks to you. He’s no longer trying to force an interaction but rather seeks you out when he senses that you might need assistance. Whether it's with a cursed object, a piece of advice, or just an awkward silence between the two of you, Gojo gradually becomes more attuned to your needs.

8. Observing in Silence:

Geto and Shoko are the first to realize Gojo’s interest.

“He’s been unusually quiet,” Shoko says, watching as Gojo stares out the window, clearly lost in thought. “Bet he’s thinking about that Special Grade sorcerer.”

“Oh, you mean the one who looks like they’d rather fight a cursed spirit than talk to him?” Geto teases.

Gojo denies it, of course. “What? No! I’m just intrigued. They’re so mysterious, you know?"

Shoko and Geto begin to notice the subtle shifts in Gojo’s behavior. He's no longer his usual cocky self, especially when it comes to you. His attempts to make you laugh or get a reaction from you have become more genuine. Even though you stay cold and composed, Gojo begins to understand the weight behind your stoicism—perhaps a deep well of unspoken emotions or the weight of your responsibilities as a Special Grade 1 sorcerer. It doesn’t deter him; if anything, it draws him closer.

9. Quiet Moments:

The real breakthrough comes during a rare, quiet moment after a mission. The two of you are sitting side by side in an empty room, the silence comfortable for the first time. Gojo speaks gently, not in his usual teasing tone but with sincerity. “You know, you’re the only person who can actually make me shut up for five minutes,” he says, giving you a playful smirk. This time, though, you glance at him—just for a second—and he feels a flicker of something more between you.

10. Unspoken Understanding:

By now, Gojo has become almost hopelessly infatuated with you, in a way that’s different from his usual flirty nature. He doesn’t need you to fall for him right away, but he enjoys the challenge and the quiet moments he shares with you. He loves that you’re someone who doesn’t simply melt at his charms but rather makes him work for your attention. And maybe, just maybe, there’s a spark of something in your gaze every time he teases you—something he plans to explore, no matter how long it takes.

𖤐 ִֶָ 𓂃 🧷

Hope you enjoyed!!! I liked the idea of strictly focusing on Gojo’s pov like how crushes are in real life. It's difficult to gage people's minds and thoughts of you when u often think about the so much and the less you know, the more they draw you in and cooler they are! For all he knows the reader wasn't so indifferent from the start. That's power of POV for you. Like and repost!! My account is practically dead *sympathy wanting sobs intensify* also will be doing a Geto and Shoko ver tomorrow!!!

And now for the serious stuff (˶º⤙º˶)

© property of @tinyproprodigy . please don't claim, copynpaste or translate my work on this and / or any other platforms.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Too Much (Dean’s POV)

Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

The OG story is here; it’s the same story, just from Dean’s perspective with a scene of his added in

Things were different now. Dean knew it, but he wasn’t willing to face it.

Ever since Sam had died in his arms, Dean couldn’t look at the world the same way. It was bigger, it was darker, it was scarier—and he was no longer certain he could protect his siblings.

He couldn’t let his nerves affect his relationship with Sam; Sam would call him out on it in a second. But he couldn’t help his sudden overprotectiveness of you.

He didn’t think you’d notice the little things, like bringing you with him any time he left, or going with you any time you left, or generally doing whatever he could to stay as close to you as possible.

“What’s with the shadowing? You’re like a magnet,” was the first thing you said about Dean’s behavior, but he brushed it off with a halfhearted quip about keeping you out of trouble.

He knew he was pushing it when he ignored the usual sleeping arrangements and shared a bed with you, despite it being Sam’s turn, but he couldn’t help it. He found he couldn’t sleep without the sound of your breathing right there, without knowing he could protect you if anything came after you.

But he really took it too far at the store.

He hadn’t meant to freak out on you and run around the store like an idiot the minute he couldn’t see you, but losing sight of you had scared him more than he’d ever admit. He’d turned his back for just a second to grab some pie, and you’d disappeared. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he ran down the aisles searching for you, and even when he found you it didn’t calm down—not until after he knew you were safe.

“Where were you?” He snapped, checking you over carefully; you were, of course, fine.

“I…went to find the bread.” Your face was scrunched up in that concerned look that Dean hated so much.

“You can’t just wander off!” Dean took your shoulders in his hands and shook you, as if to knock some sense into you. “I didn’t know where you were! You can’t do that, understand?”

“Dean—�� you didn’t understand, but Dean needed you to agree.

“Understand?”

“I understand!”

Dean forced himself to let go of you, telling himself that this was nuts, that he was nuts, that you were safe and he needed to stop acting crazy.

“Ok,” Dean breathed, willing himself to calm down. He grabbed the bread from your hands and tossed it in his basket.

“Dean—“

Dean refused to let you start lecturing, or worrying about him.

“Come on, we should go.”

He was glad you didn’t argue as you let him lead you out of the store.

…

It was the first hunt after Sam died. Sam seemed ready for it, but Dean wasn’t. Not just because he didn’t want to take his little brother into danger again, but also because he hated leaving you behind. Anything could happen to you while you were alone in the motel room, and Dean wouldn’t be able to do anything.

You caught Dean staring, and he quickly looked away—he couldn’t meet your eye, you’d read him too easily.

Sam packed his bag of weapons all too quickly, beating Dean out the door. Dean stayed in the doorway, still unwilling to leave you here alone.

“Don’t open the door for anyone,” he said to you. “And just…” what was he supposed to say? He’d done this a hundred times before, so why was it so hard now? “Be safe.”

…

All the breath in Dean’s body left him the moment he laid eyes on the shifter.

It can’t be…

“Y/N?” Dean’s grip on his knife faltered, and for a moment he was frozen.

“Dean, it’s the shifter!” Sam’s voice from behind him spurred Dean into action, but too late. You—no, the shifter—were running at Sam, and Dean had a split-second decision to make.

“No!” Dean jumped in front of his little brother, driving his knife into the shifter’s chest.

It’s a shifter, just a shifter…

That may have been true, but that didn’t change the fact that it was your body that shuttered in pain, your voice that cried out, and your eyes that fogged over and began to shut.

“No no no no…” Dean groaned, dropping to his knees as your body gave out. Dean held your form in his arms, and all he could do was watch as your blood pooled in his hands and your breathing slowed to a crawl.

“De…” Sam’s hand gripped his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not her.”

It’s not her. You know it’s not her.

But knowing it didn’t change anything. Dean still couldn’t find it in himself to abandon the dying creature in his arms that looked up at him with your eyes. He couldn’t help the fear that gripped his heart as he watched those eyes close, and stay closed. He watched your body give one last, shuddering breath, and then stay eerily still.

“Dean.” Sam shook Dean’s shoulder. “Dean c’mon. It’s not her.”

That reminder shook something loose in Dean’s head.

“It saw her.” Dean gulped. “If-if it looked like her, it had to have seen her. What if it—“

“We just saw her, she’s fine,” Sam assured him, but Dean wasn’t listening anymore. He laid your body down gently on the ground before jumping to his feet.

“We need to get to her.” Dean left no room for argument as he rushed for the Impala, trying to ignore the blood soaking his hands and the memory of your life draining out in his arms.

…

Dean broke every speed limit getting back to the motel, and when he reached the room he slammed the door open so hard he was sure it would dent the wall. But he didn’t care.

You had jumped up when the door opened, and now you were standing in the middle of the room—safe. Dean went straight for you, ignoring whatever question you were asking him as he pulled you into his arms and held onto you like a lifeline. The hug wasn’t enough—he felt like he needed to hide you from the world. Dean lifted you into his arms, sitting down on his bed and cradling you against him like he used to do when you were little. He started to rock back and forth, focusing on nothing but your heart beating against him.

Sam was trying to talk to him, but Dean didn’t hear anything until Sam started talking about the shifter.

“Somehow, it must’ve seen you, because it…it looked like…Dean had to—“

The image of your dead body flashed in Dean’s mind, and he tightened his hold on you, resting his chin on your head and lifting his hand to the back of your neck.

He barely heard you assuring Sam that you were ok, that nothing had happened, and soon enough Sam left to shower.

“Dean?” Your voice sounded strained; worried.

“Just don’t go away,” Dean whispered. You couldn’t leave him—he couldn’t take it.

“Dean, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here, I’m ok.”

Your words didn’t seem to get through Dean’s fogged mind; not when he still had your blood on his hands.

“I stabbed you through the heart. You—you died in my arms.” Dean tried to ignore the tears pricking at his eyes. You weren’t dead, you weren’t—it was just a shifter, and you were reminding Dean of that just now, though he was barely listening.

“You can’t go away. You can’t do that to me, understand?” Dean pulled you even closer—it was like he couldn’t get you close enough, or safe enough. “I-I can’t lose you the way I lost Sammy. I can’t watch you die, I won’t.”

“That’s what all this was about?” Dean knew you were finally piecing together all his clingy behavior, but when he felt you trying to escape his hold he tensed.

“Don’t go,” he begged. He couldn’t lose you tonight, not again.

“Ok, ok I’m right here, I’m staying. But…but is that why you won’t let me go anywhere alone? You think I’ll…I’ll die like Sammy?”

Dean’s heart caught in his throat. Why did you have to see right through him?

“No, you won’t,” he promised. “Because I won’t let you.”

“Dean, you can’t…you can’t be around me all the time. It’s too much, it’s not healthy.”

Dean’s mind was working overtime. What would he do if you tried to get more space from him? If you didn’t let him protect you? He’d go crazy if he couldn’t protect you.

“You can’t leave. You can’t.” You can’t die like Sammy.

“Dean.” You were moving around now, trying to escape Dean’s grip.

Dean’s heart skipped a beat. Why were you so determined to not let him help? He felt like if he let you go now, he’d lose you forever.

“Please, don’t go, please.”

You can’t leave me, you can’t leave me…

“Dean, we can’t live like this. You’re gonna make yourself sick with worry, and I’m gonna go nuts if you don’t give me some space.”

Dean swallowed, trying to let your words sink in. You were right, he knew it, he’d known it ever since he started to feel this way, but he didn’t know what to do about it.

“Dean?” You prodded. “Are you hearing me?”

He knew what he had to do. But he couldn’t do it; not tonight.

“Yeah. Ok, I hear you, and I’ll try to do better, but…but can I have tonight?”

“What?”

“Just…” Dean took a deep breath, trying to force his thoughts into words. “Just let me do this tonight, ok? I saw you did, and I-I can’t…”

“Ok.”

Dean breathed a sigh of relief when he felt you finally relax into him. He twisted around, laying down so the two of you could get some sleep, but never releasing his hold.

He knew he would have to back off—it was what was right for the both of you.

But for tonight, he couldn’t bear to do anything but listen to your steady heartbeat and feel you breathing in his arms. He needed to know you were safe, and there wasn’t a safer place he could think of than right here in his arms.

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @casmustdiee @987coley @deadlymistletoe @wayward-impala83 @whump-loverz @johannelis2302nely @studiogrimm810 @tell-elle

[fairqves]

꒰ ˗ˋ HIDDEN LOVE ! ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ ˊ˗

(🐰) ──𝓝A JAEMIN﹙ 재민 ﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ secret relationship ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ kiss ៸ petnames ❞ bf! 𝒿aemin x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 0.8K ꒱ SYPNOSiS 𐙚 in which you and jaemin, secretly dating, share quiet dates at night and stolen moments, until one winter night, he proudly introduces you as his girlfriend, leaving you both flustered .ᐟ HEAVILY INSPIRED BY HIDDEN LOVE ── LiBRARY

THE CHILL OF THE CRISP WINTER AIR BITES AT YOUR CHEEKS as you tighten your scarf around you and slip your hand into jaemin’s pocket.

it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before—your hand fitting perfectly into his, warm and cozy.

the city is up with twinkling lights and the scent of freshly made hot chocolate from a nearby stand.

jaemin glances down at you, a small grin tugging at the corner of his lips. his fingers tighten around yours. “cold?” he asks, his voice soft but teasing.

you shake your head. “not when you’re with me.”

he chuckles, a deep, warm sound that makes you feel like you’re floating on clouds everytime you hear it. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

jaemin has always been like this—quietly attentive, ridiculously charming in his own ways.

he doesn’t have to try—just being around him feels like the sunlight touching your skin after a long, snowy night.

but there’s also a secret to your relationship.

after all, jeno’s your older brother, and your brother has always been overly protective of you—if he knew you were dating his best friend, he’d most definitely lose his mind.

so, for these past months, you and jaemin have kept this relationship just between the two of you.

it’s your little secret—a hidden love that makes every moment spent together feel like a treasure.

the two of you stroll along the glowing streets, your intertwined hands swinging back and forth between you.

the world feels cozy tonight, the streetlights colouring over the snowy sidewalks. jaemin slows his pace, matching you as he glances around the street.

it’s then when you notice someone approaching from the opposite direction—a familiar figure wrapped in a thick coat and scarf.

your heart skips a beat as jaemin stiffens beside you, his grip on your hand faltering for just a moment.

“jaemin!” the boy calls out, their voice bright and cheerful. it’s one of his acquaintances—a classmate, maybe? you’re not sure, but they definitely know him well enough to stop for a conversation.

you instinctively start to pull your hand away, but jaemin holds on tight. you glance up at him, your wide eyes questioning him, but he just gives you a reassuring smile.

“hey,” jaemin greets casually as the person comes to a stop in front of you. his tone is relaxed, but you can feel the subtle tension in his posture.

for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to make up an excuse or pretend you’re just a random friend. it wouldn’t be the first time.

but then, to your surprise, he shifts closer to you, his hand still firmly holding yours. “this is my girlfriend,” he says, his voice steady and confident.

your heart skips a beat. girlfriend. the word feels like a burst of fireworks in your chest, warm and bright.

the other person’s eyes widen slightly, but they quickly recover, offering you a polite smile and a nod.

“oh! nice to meet you,” they say, clearly caught off guard but polite nonetheless.

you manage a small, shy smile and a quiet “nice to meet you too,” but most of your focus is on jaemin.

his hand, his words, the way he’s standing so close to you—it all feels like a fever dream.

the conversation is brief, just a few pleasantries exchanged before the person waves goodbye and continues down the street. you watch them walk away, your mind still reeling from what just happened.

jaemin turns to you, his expression unreadable as he glances down at you. “are you okay?” he asks, his voice laced with concern at your blank expression.

you don’t answer—not with words, at least. instead, you stand up on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips.

it’s quick but full of warmth, a burst of affection you can’t hold back any longer.

when you pull away, jaemin is staring at you, his eyes wide and his cheeks dusted with pink. “w-what was that for?” he stammers, his usual confident composure completely shattered.

you grin, your heart swelling at how flustered he looks. “i’m your girlfriend,” you say simply, your tone playful. “so i can kiss you whenever i want, right?”

jaemin blinks at you, his lips parting as if to argue, but then he lets out a quiet laugh. he rubs the back of his neck, his free hand still holding yours.

“i guess you can,” he whispers , his voice tinged with amusement and shyness at your sudden demeanor. you beam up at him—for so long, you’ve been hiding your relationship, keeping it tucked away like a fragile secret.

but now, with jaemin calling you his girlfriend out loud, it feels like you’re finally stepping out into the light.

he tugs you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders as the two of you start walking again.

the night feels warmer now, the cold air no match for the happiness bubbling inside you.

and as you lean into jaemin’s side, you can’t help but think that this—being with him, holding his hand, hearing him call you his girlfriend—is the best feeling in the world.

© FAIRQVES 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. jaemin being duan jiaxu just makes so much sense to me. neways can u tell i’m in my active era.. (for nct cuz fhe brainrot is so real) haechan ur next bae 😜🫰

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[mysunshinetemptress]

Tex Headcanons

A/n I have never done head-canons before so I’m so sorry if these aren’t what were expecting…

Tex is the the only girl and youngest of three, her brothers Tristan and Jesse.

Tex is a daddy’s girl all day long that man is wrapped around her finger.

Tristan and Jesse are bull riders much their mother’s dismay especially after Tex’s accident when she was younger.

Mitch and Tex have been best friends since the first day of kindergarten, their parents used to think they would end up together, getting married until Tex came out.

Mitch calls Tex Oakley after Annie Oakley a famous sharpshooter, she beat him shooting rubber ducks at a funfair when they were ten and it’s stuck.

It’s Tex that introduces Dakota and Mitch to each other playing wingman at a party and although she doesn’t know it yet she will “best man.” at their wedding.

Tex doesn’t have many girlfriends before Leah, sure there isn’t a great selection in the back arse of Montana but none of them have ever made her feel like Leah does.

Tex never believed in love at first sight, always laughed at Mitch when he described himself falling in love that way with Dakota, Tex doesn’t believe in love at first sight until she sees Leah in Nashville.

Tex can’t sleep in the months between the first time she sees Leah till she finally hears from her again, she stays out late riding in circles, she’s up early often dragging Mitch with her into the mountains, she’s can’t sleep with out seeing Leah, and so she has to keep her mind occupied best way possible.

Tex doesn’t go anywhere without her hat, since the time she was three years old and her dad bought her her first one she refuses to leave anywhere without it, and it’s rare she will take it off. She’s even worn it to prom much to her mother’s disappointment.

At first it was to be just like her dad, but after her accident it became away to hide her scar

Any of the girls she has been with before Leah have never been allowed to take it off her or wear it.

Tex is tough on the outside like most women of Montana her face very rarely gives anything away unless she is around Leah, Leah makes her crumble.

Tex isn’t a girlie girl but also not a tom boy she’s just Tex.

Tex will only answer to Tex when Leah calls her. Leah is the only person she will allow call her such a silly name, Tristan tried to once thinking he was funny and she left him stranded in Wyoming for an hour.

Tex is amazed by England the first time she ever visits, it’s her first time outside of the US, what she’s even more amazed about is the strangers that come up to her in the street and ask for a photo, Leah tells her it’s because of the hat.

Tex loves Leah’s family, they are much like hers in how close they all are and she feels at home with them.

Tex isn’t much of a hugger, sure if you ask she’ll give you one but it takes her a minute to get used to Leah’s constant touches weather that be Leah holding her leg, her hand or wrapping her arm around her.

Tex is going to marry Leah she knew that from the minute she lay eyes on her, she’s just waiting for an appropriate time

Tex loves Leah but when the question arises about long distance and eventually where they are going to raise their family she can’t help but clash heads with the blonde and say Montana

[daniiiboo]

PLEASEEE write smth abt napping with luke

i actually cannot get the thought out of my head i just need domestic fluffiness with luke RIGHT NEOWWW 😣😣

an afternoon nap - lh43

summary - you get back from shopping and luke convinces you to take a nap

dani's thoughts - MY FIRST REQUEST!!!! I love this and I hope I get more requests soon <3

warnings - nu uh nothin

word count - 426

Luke's apartment was illuminated by the soft golden rays that streamed through the curtains, streaming down from the couch. Visiting after a long day of running the shops left you completely exhausted. Despite being such a caring boyfriend, Luke immediately requested you to take a break. 

"You have been running around all day. Just sit on the couch and let’s chill." he said to you.

You didn't need much convincing. The couch was too warm for comfort, and Luke's hooded appearance and sweaty clothing made him stand out.

You leaned over the soft cushions and said,

"Are you not tired?". 

With a grimace, he smiled.

"I could use snooze too.". 

As soon as you caught sight of it, Luke was draped with a blanket from the backside of the couch and snuggled up next to both of them. His height made it difficult for him to sit still, but he didn't seem to care. 

With a soft voice, you whispered, "You're warm.". 

He taunted, "You're frigid," waging his arm around your neck and pulling you in. 

His breathing was so soothing that it quickly brought you to a state of calmness. His hand exhibited absent-minded patterns on your arm, the kind of small, loving touches that made you feel like you were in control. 

His voice was soft and squeaky, as though he was feeling easily uncomfortable. 

"Ah, no," you muttered with your eyes wide open. "Don't go off before me, though.". 

He laughed, "No guarantees," and leaned down to kiss you on the temple. 

All else except for the air conditioner's gentle hum and Luke's heart beating steadily beneath your hearing, disappeared from the room. The sound of his chest rising and falling, you and his breathing blending together like the sound from above, leaving the world outside. 

Upon awakening, you were uncertain about the time it had been, but the sun had faded and covered the room with amber and orange hues. Luke was still sleeping, his head pressed against your body and his arm tightly gripped the waist.?... 

Brushing a strand of hair from his face while smiling to yourself. The man muttered briefly but didn't emerge, his lips flicking open and he smiled slightly, as if a sight to behold. 

For a brief moment, you simply enjoyed the peacefulness and stillity of it all. He felt like the world had come to an end in his arms, and everything seemed so effortless. 

You couldn't help but feel like there was nowhere else to be when his grip became more pronounced and tightened.

[inhuman-obey-me]

Congratulations on the 100k likes!🩵 And happy new year!

Can I ask for 65 with Solomon?

Really love your writing, keep up!

Thank you so much!! ;//u//;

Solomon + 65 | "Rain" - Unprocessed

He shouldn't want this. He shouldn't want you.

For centuries, Solomon has led a rather solitary life. Being the most renowned sorcerer throughout history was a rather isolating existence, one that had garnered him a great level of notoriety in some circles. The Sorcerer's Society begrudgingly worked with him (after having once thrown him out completely), the witches preferred to stay acquaintances and business partners, and the demons … well, most of his demons didn't particularly care for him, for obvious reasons.

He's done more than his fair share of unsavory deeds in his quest for power, in his mission to show that humans could hold their own against angels and demons alike. He had not meant to become immortal, but what better way to utilize his eternal life than to safeguard the human realm in a way only he could? It was a burden he ultimately placed on himself, one that Solomon believed only he was able to carry. So he must do it alone.

Then you arrived.

It happened so quickly, a whirlwind of events that led you to becoming his apprentice — his first apprentice in a very, very long time. You started to spend great lengths of time together, filled with laughs and debates and companionship. He's not sure when exactly it was that you had wormed so deeply into his heart that now it ached anytime you were no longer near.

Solomon watches you now from a distance. The town is bustling on this rainy evening, and he can see you perfectly framed by one of Cafe Lament's windows. The candles and lights surrounding you awash you in a captivating halo-like glow, making you feel even further from his reach. With a wry chuckle, he turns away.

"Solomon!"

He hadn't made it very far before he hears your voice, his heart skipping a beat. He musters his usual smile as he turns towards you, but is caught by surprise as you throw your arms around him.

"Where have you been? I swear it's been so hard to get a hold of you lately." You squeeze him for a moment before pulling back to examine his face. "Is everything okay?"

"Ah, yes, just … been busy with some research projects, that's all." Solomon finds himself wanting to sink into your embrace, his conflicting emotions battling in his chest. No, he shouldn't want this. You deserved better than him.

"Is that all?" You question, eyes narrowing. "Something is on your mind, I can tell."

You had become awfully good at reading him, despite his constant attempts to hide behind his well-crafted mask. But how could he tell you? That he had become dependent on your warmth? That you were too good for him? That he was scared of losing you one day whether to his secrets or to your mortal life, leaving him all alone again?

"It's nothing, really. Just tired." His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing away droplets of water on your skin from the light rain. "Sorry if I made you worry."

"Hm." You don't seem entirely convinced, but to his relief, you accept it. "Well then, guess I'll just have to help you get some rest."

Before he can answer, your lips find his in a slow, languid kiss. He sighs into it, his arms coming to hold you close as he gives in. As the world fades away, so do his concerns — right now, all he wants is to feel you in his arms and pretend like you were the only two humans left in the universe. In this moment, at least, he'd allow himself this selfishness.

[soobnny]

the alchemy — athlete!chan x reader ; established relationship (0.9k words)

where’s the trophy, he just comes running over to me

olympic inspired fic

Chan told stories.

His hands, rough with hard work, held strength and sacrifices. Years of training manifested in his calloused palms, in the occasional cuts and bruises.

They were proof of his passion, his dreams, his ambitions.

It’s almost funny how that entire world he had crafted with tears and sweat and sacrifices all boils down to a single moment, to right now, under the watchful eyes of thousands. Maybe even millions.

On the other side stood a realm, a place he can reap the efforts he’d planted step-by-step. He can faintly see victory from where he’s standing.

The crowd is a blur of color and noise. There are hands with flags waving, faces of anticipation, voices that brewed with support. Chan can feel the weight of the entire stadium pressing against his chest.

There is drumming, and beating, and shouting, and cheers.

And then static.

He breathes in, the space falling away in consequence. There is only the wall of focus he’s just built for himself—only the track, the runway, the pole, the leap.

The bar was set higher than it had been on his first attempt. A podium finish was in his reach with the pole in his hands and the runway in front of him if he would just make this jump.

A sharp breath.

The faintest rustle of the uniform he’s wearing.

And then the low hum of static.

There is nothing but the vault.

His pulse is thudding in his ears, heartbeat echoing a steady beat of anticipation. The sound of his shoes hitting the ground seemed louder than it was earlier.

There was only one thing to do now.

Chan’s gaze falls straight to the landing zone. He zeroes in on the marks, the mat awaiting his landing, the exact moment the pole would bend, how his body should fly above the vault.

That entire world, the callouses in his hands, the roughness of hard work, the countless hours of repetition were all about to be reduced to that one line on the horizon.

His grip tightens on the pole, familiar yet too rigid for comfort. And then he’s at the starting line.

At a last effort of any fragment of comfort, he searches for you where you stand. You were there, always have been, with eyes holding softness, and hope, and comfort. Something no one else could ever replicate.

A flicker of a smile curves at his lips, and then, as if his body has always known the exact timing, his legs start to move. One step, two steps. One after the other. His speed picks up, his hands instinctively tighten around the pole as it digs into the ground beneath him, and then he flies.

Chan flies, and the crowd falls silent in anticipation.

His entire world spins in such a short amount of time, even stills as his body—taught with the thrill of possibility—twists. There is muscle memory in the way he soars in the air, the same air heavy with the taste of victory that wasn’t his yet.

Gravity takes over.

Everything else falls behind him. Flashbacks of late night practices, and crying, and thinking he’s not good enough. Moments when he’d almost given up. Days when he’d felt like his efforts were going nowhere.

You’d always been there to help him back up.

You. You. You.

Thud.

His body hits the mats, and the sound echoes for half a second.

Just like that, it was done. He had done it.

His breath comes back in quick bursts, heart hammering in his chest.

When the mat propels his body back up, he lands on his feet. And before he can really process the victory he’d been working upon, he’s already turning. Sprinting.

The only direction to go now was the stands, the only direction left was to you.

You. You. You.

His legs carried him faster, and faster, and the world moved in a similar slow motion as he was when he was flying. The cheering, the flashing lights of cameras, the explosiveness of the stadium, everything was abandoned in the background.

Chan barrels into you, arms pulling you into the tightest embrace he could muster. For a moment, nothing else mattered—the gold medal, the record, nothing. Except for the fact that he had made it, and you were there with him to see it happen.

“Channie” is the only word you can muster, voice thick as you loop your arms around his neck.

Apparently, it’s also the only word he needs to pull himself back, hands resting on your shoulders as if needing to anchor himself to the moment. His eyes look into yours for a split second.

His eyes told stories too. It was always his most honest and obvious tell. And right now, they were looking at you with so much love.

Yours, with pride.

“Baby—“

Without warning, his lips find yours.

You feel everything in one kiss. The adrenaline, the years of work, his entire world. Chan leans into you, breathing you in, feeling the surge of everything he had accomplished into someone that felt like home.

Fuck, you make him happier than any Olympic gold medal ever could.

Somewhere in the distance, the announcer’s voice rings out his name as champion, but all he can ever see and hear right now is you. It was done. He’d made the vault, now all he needed to do was hold onto you.

There’s plenty of time for the rest later, plenty of time for celebrations, for the podium, for the journalists.

Right now, it was only ever you and the bright smile on your face, and the same smile he’s mirroring on his own.

And right now, in this moment, Chan doesn’t have to jump to know what it feels like to fly.

[lunebulous]

How would Xavier react to seeing you dressed as a bride? - Bonus Chapter

C.w: fluff, non-established relationship, silly, xavier x reader, sfw, corpse bride mentions, not proofread.

Stirring a purple juice that seems to be thicker than it should, Xavier is startled by his own doorbell. He’s not waiting for anyone - didn’t ask for any takeout today - so he knows it’s you. He tries not to smile to himself as he dries his own hands in a dish towel nearby, only then realizing the mess he made in the kitchen. He starts desperately trying to tidy up before you ring again - so this will have to make do. He turns off the oven and rushes to the door. 

“Coming.” He says in a soft and happy voice. And as if you didn’t hear, you start repeatedly ringing it again just to annoy him. 

He opens it. “What’s all this for? Is someone chewing your arm off?” He smiles, just genuinely content in seeing you smiling at him, even if there is a hint of suspiciousness in your eyes. “No, but with the time it took you to answer me, I already could have started decomposing!” You retort, making him softly roll his eyes before taking a look at you. You are so adorable. There is what seems to be a pink photo album in your hands. He furrowed his eyebrows before letting you in. “It’s from the photoshoot my friends and I did, the pictures are ready and Anne just delivered it to me!” You say, taking your shoes off. Xavier giggles to himself when he sees your shark socks, but decides to not tease you about it - for now. “Since you were very kind and brought me food, I wanted to have my first look with you!” You walk towards his sofa, and he follows soon after, gazing at the top of your head. He wishes he could kiss it. “First look, huh. Did you have fun?” He asks, taking the photo album from your hands. It’s a baby pink hard leather cover, his fingers grazing against the texture. There is embroidery in the middle of it: a heart with an arrow through it. First look… Now he could say he had this experience once. “A lot. It was very funny, none of our costumes blended with each other so we were laughing the whole time.” You scoot closer, signaling for him to open it already. 

“What were you again..? Dead bride..?” He places his arm on the back of the couch behind you, giving some space for you to move freely. “Corpse Bride, Xavier! I thought you knew who she was!” You stare at him, slapping his knee playfully. 

“I do!” - He doesn’t. - “I just.. don’t remember the names, that’s all.” He shakes his head, looking down. “And you didn’t look like a corpse.. You looked like a cute-” “I know I didn’t! I wasn’t ready yet. You’ll see! Open it! Hurry!” Xavier sighs softly, his heart beating out of his chest. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed he didn’t get to compliment you. But he opens the album anyway. The first few pictures are you and your friends arriving, holding lots of bags. The photos are mostly made of ‘backstage’ moments, just as you and your friends requested. Throughout the pictures you can see the process of you guys taking out the makeup, some of you suddenly in costumes, Sam opening a package of a bald cap while Lexy laughed in disbelief. You haven't appeared in a lot of pictures yet. “Here Lexy is laughing because Sam chose to be Pitbull. It’s an old singer known as Mr. Worldwide. He’s bald, so she had to be too.” you’re grinning from ear to ear. “Pit. Bull..? Why did she choose.. a bald man? Out of so many..” He takes a look at you, meeting your ‘why-not’ gaze. “You girls...” Xavier is smiling too. He’s happy you’re happy with your weird little friends. “It’s the only time she’d have the opportunity to be photographed professionally as a bald man. That’s enough reason, I think. I get her.” You simply say, as he turns one more page. Finally, his pretty girl. You’re still in your normal clothes, painting one of your friend’s face orange. The picture is - in its own way - beautiful. It captures you both smiling to each other, even if your friend is half-orange in it. You’re not wearing that hairpin yet though. “Where did you get that hairpin..? It was pretty.” He stares at you in the photo. “Oh, Anne, the short-haired lady that photographed us gave it to me. First she just wanted to try making a hairstyle on my hair but she decided I should keep it after all.” You answer, mindlessly getting closer to him and turning another page, against his will. He wished he could look at you longer but he’s happy you’re leaning on him now.

“I understand.” Now he’s facing a picture of you, just the way you were when he saw you in-person there. In a bride dress, hairpin in place holding your bun up, with a smile so bright and beautiful it makes his heart clench. You’re leaning against the window, looking to your side and probably laughing at something one of your friends did. The natural light casts an ethereal glow around you. He can’t help but place a hand on his chest, disguising it as an itch. He quickly glances at you as you’re concentrating on the picture beside it. You are so precious to him and you have no idea. But someday he'll show you, by having you wear a white dress again, accompanied by a beautiful blue sapphire ring on your left hand. And you turn the page again. He frowns imperceptibly, letting you have your own special experience. After some chuckles and curious questions, you guys are almost at the end of the photo album, where lies a group picture. Xavier suddenly snorts at the scene. Getting startled by it, you look down to see what made him get that reaction, and your hands immediately press on your mouth, shoulders starting to shake from how much you’re holding back a loud laugh.

It’s you - Corpse Bride - along with Lord Farquaad, Morticia, Lorax, Gojo and Pitbull. There is no possible way this photoshoot made sense and you started thinking that this was the most irresponsible financial decision you have ever made - but worth the laugh. At the same time, all Xavier can see is you, almost melting on his lap over the album - laughing so hard it’s silent. It doesn’t take long before you sit up correctly again and he takes another look at the picture, now chuckling. You try to say something but there’s tears in your eyes and everytime you look at the picture you find something new to laugh at.

Finally getting to the end, he closes the album and you let out a heavy sigh, two tears streaming down your face. Xavier looks at you, and carefully dries them with his thumbs, using a light touch as to not ruin your makeup - just the way you taught him. 

He himself sighs a bit too, feeling a mixture of love and pure admiration for your laugh and your own kind of weirdness. He cradles your face in his hands, the moment suddenly intimate between both of you. Calming down, you look at his eyes, searching for a feeling’s name you don’t even know. 

He is not drying up your tears anymore, just.. holding you with adoring eyes. It makes you blush and panic a little, suddenly getting up. “Xavier, I-!” He looks at you with parted lips and wide eyes, before quickly going back to his smirking face. You try to not feel like there’s a lingering desire to hold each other close as you look down at him in silence for some seconds. “Uhm..Oh!” You start patting your pockets. “Anne said you paid her a sandwich before you came to the studio! She told me how she forgot her money and all, and how lucky she felt when you appeared and offered to pay for her!” You take out an envelope out of the inside pocket of your jacket, as Xavier stares at you with the most confusing expression you have ever seen etched on his face. But you keep going. “So she.. wanted to pay you back. Here it is.” You give him the envelope. Xavier takes it hesitantly, immediately noticing that the envelope feels firmer than it should. He has an idea of what it may be in mind, but he’s not so sure of it. You quickly take the photo album from his lap, breathing deeply as your heart starts calming itself down. You take a last glance at him - he’s staring at the envelope. 

“Tell her I said thank you.” Xavier softly analyzes the envelope, not opening it. “I will. Then.. I should get going.” you point to his door behind you. “I left my windows open and I don't want all of my reports flying down the window.” You blurt out, making things up just to leave. Xavier can tell you’re nervous, so he doesn’t insist. He gets up and accompanies you to the door, waving bye. Slowly walking back to his living room, he opens the envelope. He knew it. It's two pictures of you, his beautiful pretend-bride. Both of them are identical - taken moments apart. You are sitting on a low stool, legs close to your body and a bottle of orange juice at your feet. In one of them you are taking a full bite of the sandwich he brought you, and in the other one your eyes are squinting in pure joy as you chew with round cheeks. There’s a soft blush on your face and he can tell how happy you were. Xavier caresses the picture as if you could feel it. As if you could feel how much he wants you by his side. He’s just waiting for the right moment. For the right moment to hold you close, to kiss your soft lips, to claim you as his. To ask you if he can be your boyfriend, just to wait some more before asking if you’d like to be his wife. But right now, something takes him out of it. He sniffs something. He startles like a cat, running to the kitchen. Shitshitshitshitshit! Instead of turning off the oven, he turned it all the way on. He sighs. “Not again…!” Turning off the oven - correctly, this time -, he takes a look at your pictures again. Turning them, he found out Anne had written “Your future bride looks cute enough to make a grown man cry, indeed.” And he blushes immediately. She still has no idea Xavier isn’t even her boyfriend yet, but it’s not like he’ll correct her anytime soon. He looks at the overheated oven, smelling like burnt iron.

First, he must learn how to cook to be a good husband, after all.

I hope you guys enjoyed this little series - and if it's of interest for anyone, Xavier kept these photos under a pile of clothes in his wardrobe - but he took some pictures of it with his cellphone so he could gaze at his bride anytime he felt like it - constantly.