#he also had these glasses on for like just a moment in two different scenes but you couldn't see them too well in gifs

[cbeargyu]

affection ✧.* c.soobin

summary: you weren’t looking for love. just… something. a hand to hold, a moment of quiet, a heart that didn’t feel so heavy. but chasing affection in the wrong places had left you emptier each time — until you met him. soobin. kind, gentle, patient soobin. you pushed him away when he tried to reach the parts of you you didn’t want anyone to see. but he stayed. he saw the broken pieces and didn’t flinch. and somehow, just standing next to him felt like coming home.

pairing: nerd!soobin x fem!reader

tags: angst, hurt/comfort, unrequited love, slow burn, mutual pining, emotional vulnerability, past trauma, soft smut, comfort sex, college au, emotional intimacy, fluff with heavy angst, crying during sex, heartbreak, toxic ex (jaehyun).

warnings: sexual content (soft smut, explicit but tender), emotional vulnerability, references to emotional manipulation/past toxic relationship, crying during intimacy, self-worth issues, mentions of emotional trauma, angst-heavy scenes, mild cursing, reader has intimacy and trust issues, soobin is the softest human alive and will make you cry (18+ only, minors DNI).

notes: i’m so happy and grateful for all the love the beomgyu fic has received — it truly means a lot to me 🥺🖤 just a reminder: English isn’t my first language, so thank you for your patience! This is also my first time writing smut, so I hope you enjoy it and feel the love I put into every word.

soobin never planned to go to that party. he had a project due on monday, a group report no one else was helping with, and a whole list of unread notifications in his coding forum. parties weren’t his scene. they were loud, chaotic, full of meaningless chatter and fake small talk.

but his roommate, choi beomgyu begged him to go — “come on, hyung, the girls from visual communication are joining this time. you can't code your youth away.”

so, reluctantly, soobin showed up, neat as always — white button-down shirt, black slacks, and his usual black-rimmed glasses that he adjusted every few minutes out of habit. while his classmates shouted over music and downed shots of soju like water, he sat at the far end of the table, sipping a soda, quietly observing.

that’s when you walked in.

he saw you before you noticed him. you wore confidence like perfume — not overwhelming, but impossible to ignore. your black crop top hugged your body perfectly, a short skirt revealing just enough, and those heeled boots clicked against the floor like a beat only you could walk to. your hair fell just right. your eyes scanned the room like you already owned it.

and then they landed on him.

you tilted your head curiously. he looked different from the others — formal, stiff, awkwardly seated like he was out of place. but there was something about him... maybe it was the way his lips twitched nervously whenever someone made a joke, or how his fingers tapped rhythmically on his glass, like his brain was always working on something unspoken.

you slid into the empty seat across from him.

“hi,” you said, voice clear and sweet, but assertive. “soobin, right?”

his eyes widened slightly. “y-yeah. How’d you—?”

“you’re the only one not yelling,” you smirked. “kinda refreshing.”

he chuckled nervously, pushing his glasses up. “i guess i don’t blend in much.”

“that’s a good thing,” you replied without hesitation. “wanna drink?”

he hesitated, eyes flickering to the soju bottle you were holding.

“i don’t really drink.”

you leaned closer, a playful smile on your lips. “i won’t let you overdo it. promise.”

something about the way you said it — lighthearted, but sincere — made him nod.

you poured the drinks. one. two. light sips. soft laughter. his walls started to come down, little by little. you asked about his major. he asked about yours. you joked about how communication students always had to look flawless for presentations, and he admitted he didn’t even own hair gel.

then, the conversation shifted.

“so, uh,” soobin began, scratching the back of his neck, “i’ve been playing around with some indie game engines. just as a hobby. i’m trying to create this… interactive narrative? like a retro pixel art game with moral choice-based paths. i know it sounds kinda nerdy—”

“nerdy?” you interrupted. “that sounds sick. wait—so, like, the player’s decisions affect the storyline?”

his eyes lit up. you weren’t mocking him — you were interested.

He nodded, and as he talked, he got more animated. His voice rose with excitement as he described the branching paths, the artwork, the emotional arcs. he didn’t notice the way you shifted closer, your hand now resting on the table near his. he didn’t notice the way your thigh gently brushed his leg under the table.

“so... moral choices, huh?” you say, chin propped on your hand as you watch soobin’s eyes light up with every word he speaks. “like what? save the princess or let her die?”

he laughs, warm and unguarded. “kind of. but more... morally gray. like: help your friend cheat on an exam and risk your own grade, or tell the professor and lose the friendship.”

you raise a brow, intrigued. “damn. that’s... deep. and very specific. did that happen to you?”

he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “no. maybe. it’s a hypothetical.”

“right,” you say with a smirk, reaching for the soju bottle to pour another round. “well, professor choi, i hope you gave your digital friend some slack.”

“i made two endings,” he replies, then pauses. “wait, professor?”

you shrug, tilting your glass toward his. “you talk like one. all serious and nerdy.”

“i’m not that serious,” he protests, smiling now, more relaxed.

you lean in slightly, voice soft. “you kind of are. but I like it.”

he’s silent for a moment, blinking.

then, in a softer voice, he asks, “what about you? i’ve been rambling this whole time. what’s your major again?”

“media production,” you say casually. “i make pretty things look important.”

he smiles. “sounds fun.”

you nod. “it is. lots of editing, lots of late nights. but i like telling stories.” you pause, your gaze dipping to his lips for the briefest second before locking eyes again. “even the fake ones.”

he laughs at that. “maybe you could help with the cinematics for my game.”

“only if you give me creative control over the main character’s love story.”

he raises a brow. “that’s... oddly specific.”

you wink. “everything’s a love story, soobin.”

he swallows, hard.

but he noticed when you suddenly leaned into him to hear better — the bar had gotten louder, the music thumping. your shoulder touched his. your chest grazed his arm. and for the first time in his life, choi soobin forgot how to breathe.

you didn’t pull away.

neither did he.

you both sip your soju, and for a moment, neither speaks. the table around you has gotten louder. someone yells out a drinking chant. you glance sideways, then lean in just a little more so he can hear you.

“you know,” you murmur near his ear, your breath warm against his skin, “your friend beomgyu is wasted.”

soobin follows your gaze. beomgyu’s halfway off his seat, swaying dramatically while trying to sing along to a girl group song.

he huffs a laugh. “he’s always like that. gets drunk off three shots and starts performing like he’s on music bank.”

you turn your face toward soobin’s, still whispering. your lips are inches from his ear. “at least he’s not in the bathroom with a sunbae.”

soobin blinks. “what?”

you grin. “my friends went with a few. they’ve been gone for a while.” you pause for dramatic effect. “you do know what happens when girls go to the bathroom with sunbaes, right?”

soobin’s entire face flushes.

“i—uh—i mean—maybe they’re just—talking?” he stammers.

you burst into soft laughter, brushing his knee with yours under the table. “you’re so pure, soobin.”

“i’m not!” he protests, but he’s still red, ears pink and glowing.

“oh, really?” you tease, tilting your head. “then why are you blushing so hard?”

he opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. he looks away, adjusting his glasses, trying to hide the way his eyes keep drifting back to your lips — still glossed and shining from the soju.

you lean closer, your voice barely above a whisper now. “you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

soobin freezes.

you smile.

and he realizes something, right then and there: you're not just beautiful. you're dangerous.

the music booms louder. someone starts chanting for shots again. but for you and Soobin, the world has narrowed into one tiny space: the few inches between your face and his.

he’s looking at you like he’s not sure if this is real — like you might vanish if he blinks too long.

but you don’t.

instead, you stay close. too close. your perfume has wrapped around him like a spell, and your knee is still brushing against his. the room is hot, but it’s nothing compared to the burn beneath his skin.

“soobin,” you whisper again, teasing, your voice honeyed, “are you really as pure as you look?”

“i—” he starts, voice dry, but you cut him off.

you tilt your head and, without warning, you press your lips to his.

it’s soft.

just a taste.

he freezes for a second — surprised, breath caught — and then, like something deep inside him snaps, he kisses you back.

harder.

with need.

his hand finds your waist, gripping tight, pulling you closer with a quiet desperation. you gasp slightly against his mouth, not expecting the sudden boldness. but you love it. you lean in more, wrapping your fingers around the collar of his button-up shirt, tugging him toward you.

he tastes like soju and mint gum and something that’s just… soobin.

his other hand fumbles before settling on your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. there’s something both unsure and intense in his touch — like he’s scared he’ll mess it up, but even more scared to stop.

you pull back just enough to breathe, your lips swollen and your eyes glazed with heat.

“not so pure now, huh?” you murmur, teasing again.

he looks at you like he doesn’t know whether to kiss you or confess something bigger — but he chooses the first, crashing his mouth back onto yours with a groan that rumbles from his chest.

when you shift closer, almost climbing onto his lap, he holds you with more force than you expected. his fingers dig into your hips as if anchoring himself, as if he doesn’t want to let go.

your hand slips beneath his shirt, palm brushing his stomach, and he exhales sharply against your mouth. his lips move to your jaw, then your neck, uncertain at first… until he hears your soft gasp.

“let’s go,” you whisper in his ear, breathless, the suggestion hanging hot in the space between you.

he stiffens. “to… my place?”

you smirk. “too far.”

your hand slips into his, firm and electric.

“my apartment’s closer.”

you don’t wait for him to agree.

you just lead him out — past the pulsing music, past beomgyu still singing in his drunken stupor, past your friends who are nowhere to be seen — and into the cool night air, where soobin’s heart beats so loud he’s sure you can hear it.

he doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

but he knows he’s not stopping you.

and that he wants this — you — more than anything he's ever wanted before.

your apartment was dimly lit — soft, warm, intimate. the moment the door clicked shut behind you, it was like the air changed. soobin stood there for a second, his eyes scanning your space like he’d just stepped into another realm. then you turned to him, a teasing smile curling at your lips, and tugged him gently by the hem of his shirt.

he followed like gravity.

the first kiss happened slowly — a hesitant brush of lips that turned into something deeper. desperate. heated. you tasted of soju and strawberry gloss, and he tasted like restraint finally snapping in half. his hands found your waist, clumsy at first, then firmer, as if he was trying to memorize the shape of you with his fingers.

clothes fell off in pieces — half-forgotten in the trail from the hallway to your bed.

soobin’s eyes never left yours, even when you pulled him over you, even when your nails raked softly down his back. he asked you quietly if this was okay. you answered with a kiss that made him groan against your mouth.

and when he finally moved inside you — shaky but tender — it wasn’t perfect.

it was better.

it was real. hot. messy. and achingly good.

you guided him, whispered to him, taught him what you liked — and he listened. god, he listened. every sound you made, every arch of your back, he responded like he was being graded on it.

and if he was, he passed with flying colors.

he was intuitive. curious. attentive.

no man had ever made you feel like that.

the climax hit you like a wave crashing too fast — unexpected and all-consuming. his name fell from your lips like a secret, like a confession. and when it was over, when you lay tangled together in the silence of your room, your heart was racing not just from the sex, but from him.

you should’ve felt satisfied.

instead, you felt… addicted.

the hum of the editing lab wrapped around you both like a low heartbeat. it was almost midnight, and the room had long emptied, save for the soft glow of the screen and the occasional sound of soobin typing, hesitant, as if even his fingers were overthinking.

you leaned back in your chair, eyes on the render but mind somewhere else — maybe still tangled in his sheets from last night.

“you okay?” he asked quietly, glancing sideways at you.

you nodded, absently. “just tired.”

"so..." he starts, voice low, not meeting your eyes. “last night. i didn’t mean to stay so long.”

you tilt your head, smirking. "you mean, you didn’t mean to keep me up 'til 3 am?"

his ears flush pink, but he chuckles. “well, you didn’t seem to mind.”

you lean in, your voice dropping an octave. “i didn’t.”

it was a half-truth.

you weren’t tired. you were numb.

not from exhaustion, but from the repetition — the cycle.

work. touch. release. silence.

he opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, then stopped. instead, he scrolled through the code, pretending to focus, but his eyes kept drifting.

you noticed. of course you noticed.

you always did.

“you know,” you said, breaking the silence, “your animation loop still stutters at frame 27. i can help you clean it up later.”

he smiled — small, shy. “you don’t have to. I already owe you too much.”

you shrugged. “it’s your project, soobin. i’m just… happy to be part of it.”

another silence fell, but this one was heavier. His gaze lingered on you longer now. not the way he did when you were naked and under him. this was different. softer. wanting.

you hated that look.

so you stood up, stretching slightly, letting your shirt ride up just enough to tease.

“i should go,” you said.

he blinked, caught off guard. “already? it’s not that late—”

“you need rest,” you cut in, grabbing your bag. "big day tomorrow.”

he hesitated. “can i… can i come over?”

you turned to him slowly, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“do you want to?”

his ears flushed. he looked down at his hands. “you know i do.”

you stepped closer, just enough to feel the warmth of his breath. “then say it.”

soobin looked up, meeting your eyes. there was something fragile in his expression — hope, maybe. longing.

but you didn’t let it bloom.

you leaned in, brushing your lips against his, soft and fleeting. a kiss with no promise.

no future.

“i’ll text you,” you whispered. “if i feel like it.”

then you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you.

it was past 1:30 a.m. when you heard the soft knock at your door.

three short taps. hesitant. familiar.

you were in bed, hair loose, wearing nothing but an old oversized tee and underwear, your laptop glowing softly with a paused movie. for a second, you thought you were imagining it. but then it came again — one more knock. you got up slowly, half-annoyed, half-curious.

when you opened the door, there he was.

choi soobin. hoodie slightly damp from the drizzle outside. his glasses fogged up. eyes wide, like he didn’t plan on actually doing this until he did.

you leaned against the frame, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “couldn’t sleep?”

he looked down, hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“i couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted quietly. “i didn’t want to wait for a text.”

your lips curled slightly. “bold tonight, aren’t you?”

he gave a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “can i come in?”

you stepped aside, not saying a word. he brushed past you, and you closed the door behind him with a click that sounded like permission.

as soon as he turned around, you pressed him against the wall, your hands sliding under his hoodie. he gasped softly, but his hands found your waist like instinct.

“i wasn’t sure you’d come,” you murmured against his jaw, lips ghosting over his skin.

“i told you i would if you asked,” he whispered, already breathless.

“i didn’t ask.”

“you didn’t have to.”

you kissed him then — no teasing, no buildup. just lips crashing, hungry, messy, desperate. he kissed you like he’d been starving for it, like he’d imagined this moment a hundred times, and now it was finally real. your fingers tangled in his hoodie, pulling it up, and he broke the kiss only to help you tug it off.

your hands roamed his chest, down to his abs — firm, warm. he wasn’t the scrawny nerd you first thought he’d be. He had strength, a body that surprised you. you tugged him down by the waistband of his sweats, eyes locked on his, voice a low whisper against his lips.

“sit back for me, soobin.”

he blinked, confused, aroused. “w–what?”

you pushed gently at his chest, guiding him to the edge of the bed. he obeyed without protest, legs parted, hands gripping the sheets.

“i want to taste you,” you said simply, dropping to your knees between his thighs.

his breath hitched. “y/n…”

you smiled up at him, slow and sinful. “relax.”

with one hand, you pulled his sweats and boxers down in a single motion, exposing him fully. He was already hard, flushed and twitching, and the sight of it made you ache.

“shit,” he whispered, covering his face with one hand. “i can’t believe this is happening.”

you leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, then up, up — teasing, warm, slow. he trembled under your mouth. when you finally took him in, inch by inch, his hand flew to your hair, not to push, just to hold. like he needed something to ground him.

“f–fuck, y/n—” his hips bucked slightly, but you pressed a hand to his stomach, holding him in place. your tongue swirled around him, dragging moans from his throat like music.

“you feel so good,” he groaned, head falling back. “i don’t think i’m gonna last…”

you pulled back just enough to say, “then don’t.”

then you took him deep again, your rhythm relentless, cheeks hollowing, eyes locked on his. watching him fall apart under your touch. his thighs tightened, his moans got louder, breath ragged.

“y/n— i’m— i’m gonna—”

you didn’t stop.

you stayed right there, even when his hips jerked, when he spilled into your mouth with a broken, helpless cry of your name. you swallowed, slow and deliberate, then licked your lips as you sat back on your knees, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

he looked down at you, completely wrecked.

“you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, eyes still glazed.

you just smirked. “not yet.”

then you pulled him down to the bed, climbed on top, and whispered against his lips:

“soobin,” you whispered, voice low, sultry. “you gonna just stay there, or are you gonna fuck me like you mean it?”

his eyes widened, dark with desire. “i don’t wanna mess this up.”

you stepped closer, pressing his hand against the curve of your ass. “then don’t.”

That was all it took.

he grabbed your thighs and lifted you easily, like instinct, like he’d wanted to do this forever. you wrapped your legs around his waist, lips finding his again as he carried you, bumping into the walls, breathless laughter between kisses. when he laid you on the bed, his hands trembled — not from fear, but anticipation.

he knelt between your legs, pulling your panties down slowly. watching your expression. eyes flickering between your parted lips and the way you bit them.

“god, you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “i’ve never seen anything like you.”

you smirked, “then show me how much you like what you see.”

and he did.

his mouth, warm and eager, exploring your skin, your thighs, your core. It wasn’t perfect, but it was passionate. raw. messy. and so damn real. you moaned his name, fingers tangling in his hair, and when he finally slid inside you — slow, deep — he gasped like it was the first breath he’d taken in hours.

“so tight,” he groaned into your neck. “fuck—i... i love this..."

you rocked your hips against his, matching his rhythm, breath against his ear. “feel me, baby. you’re inside me now. nothing to overthink.”

his pace quickened, your bodies moving in sync, sweat slicking your skin. his name spilled from your lips, breathy and broken. he looked down at you, jaw clenched, fighting to last.

“i’m close,” he warned.

you cupped his face, kissed him deep. “then don’t hold back. cum for me.”

he did — with a soft, choked moan against your neck, his whole body trembling. and you followed soon after, your climax crashing into you like a wave, sharp and sweet and overwhelming.

you lay there for a moment, tangled in sheets and each other, chests rising and falling in sync.

but then, the moment passed.

you pulled away first.

no words. no promises. you grabbed his hoodie from the floor and tossed it to him.

“It’s late,” you said, voice flat now.

he nodded, quietly getting dressed, still catching his breath. “right. i’ll… see you tomorrow? for the project?”

you smiled faintly, eyes unreadable. “of course.”

and just like that, he left — around 3 a.m., hoodie half on, hair messy, heart heavier than he’d admit.

you lay back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was addictive.

but this wasn’t love.

just affection.

the next day, you were already in the media lab by noon, hair up in a clip, sipping an iced coffee like nothing happened. like you hadn’t spent half the night moaning his name into your sheets. you were scrolling through some reference animations when you heard the door creak.

he walked in — soobin, hoodie slightly rumpled, eyes darker than usual, laptop tucked under one arm like a shield.

“hey,” he said, voice low, careful.

you didn’t look up right away.

“hey,” you replied casually, then shot him a glance. “you look like you slept five minutes.”

“three,” he muttered, sitting beside you. “thanks to you.”

you smirked. “you're welcome.”

he chuckled under his breath, but the way his eyes lingered on your collarbone, on the way your fingers tapped against your straw — it wasn’t casual for him. not anymore.

“so… did you get a chance to work on that npc dialogue system?” you asked, flipping the screen toward him.

he blinked. took a second too long to switch gears. “yeah, uh—yeah. i built the first tree structure. i’ll show you.”

you leaned closer, shoulder to shoulder, like nothing. like you hadn’t had him inside you hours ago.

he shifted uncomfortably, adjusting his position, fingers suddenly awkward on the trackpad.

“you okay?” you asked, feigning innocence.

he nodded, then… hesitated. “do you… always do that?”

your brows lifted. “do what?”

he stared at the screen. “act like it didn’t happen.”

you tilted your head, biting back a grin. “did you want a commemorative plaque or something?”

soobin flushed immediately, lips pressing into a line. “no. just—forget it.”

silence stretched for a moment. you let it.

because you were fine. it was what it was.

friends. collaborators. occasional bodies tangled in bedsheets.

no promises.

no future.

just affection when the night hit hard and the skin craved warmth.

you leaned in again, voice low and playful, barely above a whisper. “i like you better when you’re coding instead of catching feelings.”

that made him laugh — small and bitter, but still soobin.

“yeah,” he murmured, “me too.”

you sat side by side, going over the storyboard edits for soobin’s game. but his knee kept brushing against yours. your fingers kept finding excuses to linger near his. every time you spoke, he looked at your lips instead of your eyes.

a laugh. a brush of fingers when you reached for the same pen. the hum of your breathing syncing unconsciously as you leaned over his sketchpad, discussing the new character render.

but the tension was undeniable — thick, like summer air before a storm.

you shifted in your seat. soobin’s gaze followed the curve of your mouth when you smiled at something dumb he said. his knee bumped yours under the table — once, twice — and this time he didn’t move away.

your eyes locked.

he licked his lips.

you tilted your head.

“are you going to kiss me,” you whispered, “or just keep pretending you’re focused?”

soobin blinked, startled — but only for a second. his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in with a hunger he rarely let slip. his mouth found yours in a kiss that was wet, desperate, a little uncoordinated, but still made your body heat like a fever.

you straddled him in the lab chair, fingers digging into his shoulders as his lips mapped your throat. he groaned quietly when your hips rolled against his. you loved how sensitive he was, how new it still felt to him.

his fingers fumbled at your waistband, and yours slipped under his hoodie, nails grazing the skin of his stomach.

and then—

his voice broke through the haze.

“i think i love you...”

time paused.

the kiss didn’t end — not completely. but you stilled in his arms, lips barely touching.

he looked up at you, chest heaving. there was no mask, no hesitation in his gaze — only raw, trembling honesty.

you swallowed hard.

“someone could see us,” you murmured, pulling back slightly. your hand pressed flat against his chest. “we shouldn’t… not here.”

he nodded slowly. “right. sorry.”

but you saw the flicker in his eyes.

he knew you weren’t talking about getting caught.

and you knew… he meant every word.

soobin picked at his food, eyes blank, fingers tapping against the side of his glass.

beomgyu dropped into the seat across from him with the energy of a man who hadn’t just bombed an engineering quiz. “yo, you look like someone stepped on your graphics card.”

before soobin could reply, minah slid in beside beomgyu, planting a kiss on his cheek. “hey, babe.”

soobin blinked. “you guys are dating?”

minah giggled. “it’s recent. we met at that party a few weeks back. y/n introduced us.”

beomgyu grinned. “she’s basically the campus matchmaker.”

soobin tried to smile.

minah looked at him with a knowing softness. “she said you two are close. working together?”

“yeah,” he said, voice low. “the game project.”

“she always puts her heart into everything,” minah said, stirring her coffee. “she’s one of the kindest people i know. genuinely warm. i’ve never seen her turn anyone away.”

beomgyu smirked. “you sure that’s all it is, soobin? that game project?”

Soobin froze, caught.

minah’s smile wavered. “can i… tell you something?”

his throat tightened. “yeah.”

minah took a breath. “she dated someone last year. jung jaehyun. from the film department.”

beomgyu’s eyebrows rose. “that asshole?”

minah nodded. “he cheated on her. more than once. manipulated her too — made her feel like everything was her fault. she loved him so much, and he treated her like she was disposable. it took her almost a year to recover. she still isn’t fully herself.”

soobin felt the blood drain from his face.

“she stopped believing in love,” minah whispered. “she’s terrified of it now. of letting someone in. that’s why she pushes people away when it gets too real.”

suddenly everything made sense.

the kiss that ended too soon.

the soft panic in your eyes when he said those words.

the coldness in your voice that didn’t match your trembling fingers.

you were afraid.

not of him — but of what he made you feel.

the soft hum of the bustling street outside the café filled your ears as you stepped out into the cool evening air. you hadn’t expected to see soobin again so soon after that moment in the lab — after everything.

but there he was, standing a few feet away on the sidewalk, looking lost in thought, as if he had been waiting for something… or someone. the moment you saw him, your heart did something unexpected. It skipped, then raced. the last few hours replayed in your mind like a movie — the confession, the words you couldn’t quite process, and the tension that clung between you two.

it felt as if the air around you was thick, but in a way that made it harder to breathe, harder to stay composed. you didn’t know what to expect. but you couldn’t walk away now. not after what had happened. you hesitated, then took a step toward him, the streets buzzing around you as you made your way through the crowd. and when he turned to face you, his eyes met yours, searching. they held something — hope, maybe.

but beneath that, a vulnerability, something you’d never seen in him before. “soobin,” you said softly, just to break the silence that seemed to hang in the air. his lips parted as he spoke your name, but before he could say anything else, he took a step closer.

“i didn’t expect to see you here,” he said with a small smile, his voice a little breathless. you stood there, unsure of what to say next. the weight of your emotions was too much to voice. you’d been trying to keep your distance, but everything you’d told him in the lab — everything that had been left unspoken, was still so fresh. "y/n," he began, his tone softer than before, as if he was carefully choosing his words. "i heard something earlier... from minah. about you and jaehyun."

you froze for a moment, your heart dropping to your stomach. you hadn’t expected this, not now, not after everything. the mention of jaehyun's name immediately brought a rush of old memories — the good and the painful.

soobin noticed your reaction, his expression filled with concern. he continued, his voice quiet but sincere. “she... she told me about your past with him. how he hurt you. how you’ve been carrying that pain for a long time.”

the words hit you like a cold wave, and you immediately felt the familiar wall go up inside you. the one you had built after jaehyun shattered your trust. you tried to keep your composure, but it was hard to suppress the hurt that resurfaced in an instant.

"i didn’t mean for anyone to know," you said softly, voice barely above a whisper.

soobin stepped closer, his gaze steady but filled with empathy. "y/n, i... i didn’t know. but hearing that from her, i just want you to know that i’m not like him. i’m not going to hurt you. i care about you."

it was like everything about him had a magnetic pull on you, drawing you in. but what was it? you wanted to understand it, but you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet. you had never really thought about falling for someone again — not after what jaehyun did to you. but soobin? he was different.

from the moment you met him, something in you had clicked. his presence, his voice, the way he made everything seem lighter. it had been almost a shift in your routine. the days had become brighter, the moments when you found him beside you felt full of a warmth you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. and, just like that, your feelings for him had grown, but slowly. subtly. almost like an invisible thread that tied you to him.

and now, standing here, you realized that in the short time you’d known him, everything had changed. your world had shifted, in the best way possible. you couldn’t even remember what life was like before him anymore. the routine of school, the small annoyances that once felt like mountains, they didn’t matter anymore when you were around him. soobin made everything feel like it could be okay, like things could be light again. he made you smile without trying, made you laugh just with the way he looked at you, or the way he spoke to you. and as your heart raced now, looking at him, you realized it had been him all along, ever since that first encounter.

he took a slow step toward you, his eyes full of something sincere. “i never expected to meet someone like you,” he said. “you… you’ve made things so much better. i wasn’t sure how to say this before, but now, i have to tell you. i’m really glad i met you.” your heart skipped a beat. the words, his honesty, made your chest tighten.

"i am too," you whispered. "but i’m just... scared. you know?" he paused, looking at you with understanding.

“scared of what?” he asked gently.

"scared that i’m not ready for this," you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. "scared of... falling for someone again. what if i screw it up? what if i can’t do this? i don’t want to hurt you, soobin."

soobin stepped closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from him. his voice was barely above a whisper.

"y/n... i'm not going anywhere. i’m here for you. whatever this is… i’ll be here, for as long as you’ll have me." you felt like you were losing control of everything inside of you. his words, his sincerity, the feeling of being cared for in a way you hadn’t felt in so long, it made your heart ache in the best possible way.

you looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you felt a flicker of hope. but then the fear crept back in. the fear that maybe you weren’t ready to trust again, that maybe you weren’t worthy of someone’s love, especially not someone as kind as soobin.

"why does it have to be so hard?" you whispered, almost to yourself.

soobin squeezed your hand, his voice steady and calm. "because it’s worth it. if we give it a chance. if you give me a chance."

you didn’t know what to say. the vulnerability that you felt in this moment was overwhelming, but you also realized something. soobin wasn’t asking for perfection from you. he was asking for honesty, for a chance to show you that he wasn’t like jaehyun.

and despite all the fear, despite the scars left by the past, you wanted to believe him. you wanted to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different.

soobin and you walk into your apartment, the door clicking shut behind you like sealing a secret. neither of you speaks—there’s no need. the electricity between you crackles in the silence, heavy with all the things you’ve both wanted to say but instead chose to show.

soobin shrugs off his hoodie in one smooth motion, and underneath, the fitted polo clings to his arms, hugging every inch of muscle you’ve fantasized about. your eyes drag over him, slow and hungry, and he catches your gaze, a smirk twitching on his lips.

“come here,” he murmurs, voice thick with intent.

you don’t even make it to the bedroom before his hands are on your waist, his mouth crushing into yours with a hunger that steals the breath right out of you. you melt into him, fingers gripping the fabric over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart pounding like it wants to break free.

the kiss deepens, lips sliding, teeth nipping, tongues meeting with desperation. he backs you into the wall, grinding his hips into yours just enough to make you gasp. one of his hands travels under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your waist, while the other cups your jaw to tilt your face and devour your mouth deeper. you moan into the kiss, your knees going weak, and he catches you like he was waiting for it.

“you feel so good,” he breathes into your neck, licking and sucking at the skin there, leaving you marked—claimed. “you drive me fucking insane.”

by the time you reach the bed, your shirt is gone, your bra unclasped, and soobin's hands are everywhere—greedy, but still careful. he kisses down your chest, slow and savoring, like he’s worshipping you with his mouth. then his fingers slip under the waistband of your panties, finding you already soaked.

“fuck,” he groans, voice rough, eyes hooded as he pulls them down. “look at you. so wet for me already. you want this?”

“god, yes,” you whisper, breath trembling.

he slides a finger inside you, slow at first—testing. then a second joins, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that makes you whimper and arch into him. he watches you like you’re his favorite sin, completely mesmerized by how you fall apart under his touch.

your moans get louder, higher, your body trembling as he picks up the pace, his thumb circling your clit with expert pressure. he kisses your thigh, murmuring praises between each stroke—how beautiful you look, how tight and perfect you feel, how he could stay between your legs forever.

when your climax crashes into you, it’s sudden and overwhelming. Your walls clench around his fingers as you cry out, your hips jerking and your thighs trembling. he doesn’t stop until he’s milked every last spasm from your body, until you’re panting and spent and completely undone beneath him.

“shit… that was so hot,” he says, his voice low, lips brushing against your cheek as he slowly withdraws his fingers. you catch his gaze and, feeling bold, you take his hand and pull his glistening fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean while holding eye contact.

soobin lets out a broken sound—half-moan, half-growl—as he crashes his lips to yours again, desperate, messy. he pulls you into his lap, settling you on top of him, both of you half-naked and feverish with want.

your body is still humming, trembling in the aftershocks of your climax when soobin kisses you again—hungry, desperate, like he’s chasing something deeper. his hands don’t leave your body, fingers tracing over your hips, up your stomach, down between your thighs again.

you whimper when he strokes you, still sensitive, but the way he looks at you—so enamored, so lost in you—makes the overstimulation morph into pleasure all over again.

“you can take it,” he murmurs, pressing soft kisses along your jaw. “you’re so fucking perfect like this… i need to feel you again.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer. his fingers glide between your folds, spreading the wetness he’s already coaxed from you. he groans low, almost a growl, as he guides himself to your entrance, teasing you just enough to make you whine.

then he pushes in, slow but deep, stretching you inch by inch.

a gasp leaves your lips as he bottoms out, your body molding to fit him. he shudders against you, his arms wrapping around you tight like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“fuck—” his breath stutters. “you feel so good, baby… so fucking good.”

he starts moving, slow at first—rolling his hips in a steady rhythm, savoring the way your body clenches around him. His forehead rests against yours, and when you open your eyes, you find him staring at you like you’re something sacred.

that’s when his voice breaks.

“i love you,” he confesses, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. “god, i love you so much it hurts.”

tears spill from his eyes, slipping down his cheeks before he can stop them. the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability in his touch—it makes your chest ache.

you don’t answer with words. instead, you hold his face, kissing his tears away, soothing him with soft whispers, with the warmth of your body moving in time with his.

then you shift, pushing gently on his shoulders, guiding him onto his back. he lets you take control, his lips parted in awe as you settle on top of him, sinking down onto him so slowly that he swears under his breath.

“fuck—” he gasps, head tipping back against the pillow.

you start moving, rolling your hips, riding him at your own pace, watching the way his brows knit together, how his hands grip your thighs, his lips falling open in pleasure. he looks wrecked beneath you, completely at your mercy.

“you’re such a good man, soobin,” you whisper, leaning down to press kisses along his damp cheeks. “you don’t have to hide from me. i see you… and i want you. just as you are.”

a broken sound leaves him—half-whimper, half-sob—as his hands slide up your back, pulling you closer. you keep moving, slow and deep, letting him feel everything.

his hips stutter under you, his breathing turning erratic.

“baby, i—” he cuts off with a strangled moan, his body tensing beneath you. “i can’t— i’m gonna—”

“cum with me” you whisper, kissing him deep as his release overtakes him.

soobin lets out a wrecked, breathless moan, his whole body shaking as he spills inside you. sis hands grip your waist, fingers digging into your skin as he rides out his high. his chest rises and falls in heavy gasps, eyes fluttering closed, overwhelmed and undone.

even as the tremors subside, the tears don’t stop. you brush them away with gentle fingers, pressing soft kisses over his damp cheeks, his forehead, his lips.

“you’re okay,” you murmur. “i’ve got you.”

he exhales shakily, arms wrapping around you as he pulls you against his chest, still buried inside you, still trembling. he doesn’t say anything, just holds you—like you’re his anchor, his salvation.

and you let him.

because even though you didn’t say it back, he knows.

he feels it in the way you kiss him. in the way you hold him. in the way you don’t let go.

and for now, that’s enough.

he stops, just for a second, forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaky and shallow.

“i love you,” he says, barely louder than a whisper, but it hits like thunder.

you freeze, just for a moment. your heart skips, your lips part—but you don’t say it back. not yet. instead, you kiss him. slow, deep, tender. you pour everything into that kiss—every spark, every silent yes, every beat of your heart screaming me too.

he exhales like it’s all he needed. you hold his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones, and whisper, “you’re everything right now.”

he nods, tears brimming in his eyes.

and for the rest of the night, you show him. again and again, in every touch, every breath, every moan—you show him exactly what he means to you.

it’s more than just affection.

[darkmatilda]

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your first solo, undercover mission unexpectedly spirals out of control when a real heist begins at the scene.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x newbaumember!femalereader, robbery, the reader becomes a hostage, is beaten by the attacker (quite severely), killing of hostages, shooting, inspired by s1e9 where spencer saves elle on a train (the plot is very similar but set in a different scenery), spencer's pov, the attackers are definitely not the gentle type, reader is wearing a skirt (her whole outfit is described), glasses reid propaganda

𝐚/𝐧: merry christmas guys <3 fasten your seatbealts and get ready for this rollercoaster.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

"Why do I get the feeling that neither of you is even half as stressed as I am? Actually, scratch that—neither of you is even one-tenth as stressed as me?”

The question left your lips accompanied by a kind of sigh, an attempt to expel the air poisoned with anxiety and replace it with something fresh, clean.

"Because we know you’re going to do brilliantly, sweetheart," Penelope replied without hesitation, sparing you only a fleeting glance as she momentarily tore her eyes away from her computer screen. One of many screens.

Her office was filled with an uncountable number of them, all glowing brightly and lighting up the small, dimly lit space, which was also packed with her colorful accessories—pom-pom-topped pencils and flowerless plants in tiny pots, most adorned with smiling faces or hearts.

"Or rather," Reid interjected, spinning in a circle on his swivel chair, "because we both doubt you’ll even be remotely useful out there." A white box of Chinese takeout rested on his lap.

You shot him a grimace.

"Next time you try to undermine my self-confidence, make sure I’m not holding anything sharp," you warned, pointing one of your chopsticks at him. Yes, less than an hour before your first solo assignment, you were all happily indulging in junk food from the closest restaurant to the office, ignoring the looming possibility of digestive regrets. "Or you’ll lose an eye."

"Aren’t you tired of trying to kill me yet? First, you gave me a concussion…"

"You didn’t get a concussion, Reid. Stop exaggerating…"

"And now, you’re openly admitting that you plan to cause me permanent damage by depriving me of my sense of sight—which, as it is," he said, tapping the frame of his glasses, "is already in less-than-stellar condition."

"You two are just adorable when you argue with each other like an old, bitter married couple," Penelope commented with a small smile on her pink-lipsticked lips.

You first looked at each other, then at her, eyebrows raised, and in a synchronized moment, you both let out a huff. Unfazed, she continued.

"But now we really need to get to work. The exhibit starts in an hour, and you should get there with him. Have you ever used that microphone? It’s the latest model we’re testing, gosh, I’m so excited…"

"You’re adorable when you act like a typical nerd," you shot back, mimicking her little smile and tone of voice.

"A nerd I proudly am! Just like this guy here," she nodded toward Reid, who pouted slightly, looking offended. "You’re surrounded by nerds, sweetheart. Soon enough, you’ll become one too."

"Dear God, forgive me my sins and watch over me…" you whispered, staring at the ceiling.

The mysterious he that Garcia mentioned was named Christopher Allen, and he was surprisingly young for a neurotechnology engineer. He worked on issues surrounding the human brain and developed devices designed to have a broad range of effects on it. But why were you supposed to go with him to some exhibit? Equipped with a spy microphone? And why was it stressing you out so much that for the past ten minutes, you had only been picking at your Chinese takeout instead of eating it?

Well, it's hard to decide where to start explaining from.

You were summoned before Hotch yesterday, who informed you that an opportunity had arisen for you to prove yourself in the field. Alone, undercover, for the first time in your—let’s be honest—tragically short career at the FBI. On top of that, this was meant to test all the new equipment your team had received, the kind that Penelope had been so enthusiastic about. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the main reason you’d been assigned this task. Someone had to check the effectiveness of the gear, and at the same time, you, the rookie, needed to gain more experience. Allen’s case was like killing two birds with one stone.

This scientist had worked with the FBI multiple times, and that’s why when danger started looming over him, he was quickly assigned protection. The threat came from threatening letters and even a direct attack at his own home, which fortunately didn’t end in tragedy. Allen was descending into paranoia and was afraid to even attend public events, even ones with full protection, like the tech exhibition—taking place in one of the modest local museums—designed to showcase the latest advancements in neurotechnology and more.

He was probably afraid that during the event, someone would simply rush at him with fists and try to murder him in front of dozens of random technology and brain enthusiasts. Or something like that. Your task was to pretend to be his assistant, never leaving his side and carefully observing the surroundings. And that was it. Nothing too demanding was expected of you, unless things started to go south. However, that seemed highly unlikely, as everyone made it clear to you.

Still, you couldn’t shake the fear—whether justified or not—that something would go wrong. And it would be your fault.

“Reid, clip the microphone on her,” Penelope interrupted your train of thought with the order. “You’ve never used one of these before, have you, sweetheart?”

You nodded in confirmation, watching as Reid set aside his box of Chinese takeout to take the tiny device from her.  He stopped a step in front of you, perched on the edge of one of the desks, his gaze shifting uncertainly between the small black microphone in his hand and you.

“Where… where can I…?” he asked, trailing off as he made a vague gesture with his hand, surprisingly loaded with awkwardness.

“Oh,” you let out a confused sigh, beginning to consider where it might be best to place it. The sleeve? Shouldn’t it be closer to your face to capture even your quietest whispers?

“Okay, I’ve got an idea,” you said, starting to unbutton your white shirt, revealing a significant portion of your neckline. “Here?” you asked.

“Yeah… I think so,” he replied hesitantly but didn’t move.

It wasn’t until a moment later that he swallowed and, with a slow, deliberate motion, reached for a section of your shirt near your cleavage. His actions were careful—almost excessively so—like his top priority was ensuring he didn’t accidentally brush against your skin.

The microphone’s clip was quite small, though, and attaching it to your clothing required him to take another step closer and lower his head near your chest.

Even as your breathing slowed, you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Penelope shaking her head in amused disbelief. 

You preferred to look straight ahead rather than at his fingers, working with such careful focus, though you couldn’t help but let your gaze flicker to them repeatedly. Just for fractions of a second—it was difficult to pull your eyes away once they landed there.

Only when he finished, his hands dropping quickly to his sides as he stepped back, did you realize you’d been holding your breath for quite some time. You became acutely aware of how stifling Penelope’s little office was—how did she even manage in the summer?

"That's not all," the woman on the screen broke the silence, one you hadn't even realized had fallen. "There's also a transmitter you'll need to keep on you somewhere. Securely, so it doesn't fall out. Are you planning to go dressed like that?"

You glanced down at your outfit. A simple black skirt and white shirt—the first thing that came to mind then you learned you'd be posing as an assistant.

"Inappropriate?" you asked, searching for an answer first on Garcia's face, then on Reid's. The latter gave the barest shrug, barely even looking at you.

"You look amazing. Absolutely stunning, darling. I wish I could have an assistant like you," Penelope reassured you. "But in this economy, I can only dream about it. Anyway, my point is, you don't have any pockets. Where are you planning to keep the transmitter and your gun?"

"I was thinking of just tucking it into my skirt. At the back."

"I don’t think that’s the best idea," Reid interjected doubtfully. He hadn’t reclaimed his spot on the swivel chair and stood instead, arms crossed over his chest. The embarrassment you’d managed to put him in (quite adorable, really) was slowly dissipating, leaving only a faint blush on his cheeks. The corner of your mouth twitched when you noticed it. "I mean, it could fall out, or start sticking out, which could lead to questions like why an assistant is walking around with a gun..."

"Okay, I get it," you sighed. You could’ve thought this through a bit better. "Maybe I’ll have time to swing by home and grab, I don’t know, a blazer or something..."

"You won’t," Penelope declared after glancing at the time. "But you can always borrow my jacket."

You looked at the garment draped over the back of her chair—a bright pink leather jacket. You didn’t even bother responding; you simply stared at it, letting the expression on your face do the talking.

"Alright, I admit it, I didn’t think this proposal through. So, it looks like we’ll have to..." She trailed off, her gaze landing on Reid’s figure. Surprised by the attention, he pointed at himself.

You also directed your attention at him. He was wearing a simple brown blazer, which would go well with your unremarkable outfit.

"Take it off," you instructed.

He was silent for a moment, though there was no visible protest on his face—just doubt.

"It’s gonna be too big," he remarked, his hands gently grasping the edges of the jacket as if unsure whether to take it off.

"Apparently, oversized is coming back into fashion."

"Okay, fine," he sighed, removing the jacket. Underneath, he wore a shirt and a black vest, from which a matching tie peeked out. Initially, he seemed hesitant about the idea, but handed it to you with some urgency. "Here you go."

You sent him a brief, grateful smile.

"You’re saving my mission, Reid. I’ll mention you in the report. And I’ll frame your name with a little heart, drawn with one of Penelope’s glitter pens," you declared.

He returned the gesture, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly as he gave a small nod. You noticed his gaze was almost fixed on your face, as if some invisible force were forbidding him to look away, down or sideways.

You didn't think too much about what it meant, you didn't really have time. You put on the blazer, which was indeed a little too long, and hid the transmitter in the inside pocket. You placed the weapon at your hip, concealing it with your clothes. As you were about to leave, you said talk to you later because the two of them were going to communicate with you through the earpiece the entire time. They wished you good luck, and you were just about to leave the desk when Reid, suddenly as if unable to stop himself, said your name one last time.

You looked at him questioningly. Instead of responding, he made an uncertain gesture near his chest. Confused, you looked down.

For the entire time, half of the buttons on your shirt were still undone.

*

You had never met him in person, but you recognized his face from snippets of interviews that occasionally appeared online, or perhaps he had even been on the news a few times. He was in his thirties, give or take five years, hard to tell. His entire persona seemed to be built around the carefree nature of a young eccentric with a sharp mind and an unrestrained tongue, constantly refining his thoughts and conclusions, often controversial, causing an uproar among the public. Without a doubt, he was one of those people often called a genius. Which, not always, was a compliment.

Allen seemed deeply displeased by your presence. He looked… tired. His red hair contrasted with his very pale complexion, as if made of glass, and dark circles rimmed his eyes. He wasn’t shockingly tall, about your height, but with broad shoulders.

"The FBI was supposed to provide me with protection because some psycho is literally trying to kill me, and they send you?" he asked, bitterly, exchanging a brief handshake with you before getting into the car.

You both sat in the back, the driver at the wheel. You were supposed to arrive at the exhibition together. His reaction caught you off guard, his open anger sparking the same feeling in you.

"What's your problem?" you asked. His insulting tone irritated you the most, especially since he hadn’t even had the chance to get to know you.

For a moment, the man sat staring out the window. His body was tense, almost stiff, as if stressed. His elegant attire, with a shirt half-tucked into his pants and too many buttons undone, suggested that he usually dressed more casually.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if furious, then hastily wiped his face with his hand.

"Just..." he began coolly and cautiously, as if holding back some cruel words. "I get the feeling that everyone is downplaying the seriousness of this situation."

"We're all approaching this with the necessary commitment," you replied, though it wasn't entirely true. Allen had every right to fear for his life, but each of you honestly doubted anything would happen to him during this exhibition. If the threat had been real... Hotch probably wouldn't have sent you. "Believe me, we understand the gravity of the situation..."

"Really? Even the letters I've been getting? The content of them?"

You knew about the threats sent by an unknown sender, but you hadn't delved into what exactly they contained. Seeing you hesitate to answer, Allen scoffed.

"You're fucking great at your job, no doubt. So let me fill you in. They come every day. Every fucking day. And I read every single one of them. You know, I've even started seeing a pattern. First, they beg me. Then they threaten to fucking kill me. Smash my face into the ground, beat me to death with a metal rod, rip out my ribs, douse me in gasoline, and set me on fire..." He paused, dramatically scratching his chin. "Oh, almost forgot. They're going to peel the skin off my back. Then there's a day off. No letter comes. The next day, they apologize. I don’t know if this psycho has some extreme split personality or... or... I have no fucking idea. The cops said, get this, it's normal. 'Cause I’m a public figure."

"They brushed it off?" you asked, slightly shaken.

No matter how famous he was, threats were still threats.

He shrugged. He was trying to speak with a voice full of dismissive irony, but it wasn’t working. He stumbled, taking breaks to swallow. Though he had treated you like a complete jerk earlier, you were starting to understand.

“First off, until someone broke into my house and tried to drag me out of bed and take me…God knows where. Probably if I hadn’t had a dog…” he trailed off, glancing back out the window. You’d arrived at the museum, where the exhibition was to be held, but Allen hesitated to get out of the car. “This guy is nuts, whoever he is. I don’t know what to expect from him. He wants to kill me, kidnap me, torture me? Or maybe he’ll just settle for shooting me from a distance like I’m some goddamn Kennedy?”

“That doesn’t really sound like him,” you said in a calming tone. “He tried to kidnap you from your house, why would he suddenly attack you in a public place…”

“My fiancée is pregnant,” he suddenly blurted out.

You blinked, unsure how to respond to the sudden confession.

“Congratulations?”

“For her safety, I sent her very, very far away, somewhere she shouldn’t be in any danger,” he continued, completely ignoring your words. “And though her and the baby’s well-being is my top priority… I also need to take care of myself. I need to make it to their birth…and longer, of course. But that’s why I’m afraid to even go out to the damn store for milk, and that’s why I was so pissed off when I found out they assigned me a woman who, no offense, looks like she wouldn’t know how to hold a gun.”

You instinctively scoffed at his last comment, though it was hard to stay particularly mad at him, knowing everything he was going through. An awkward silence fell between you, heavy and laden, during which the two of you simply stared at each other. It hit you that you were responsible not only for his safety but also for ensuring that someone’s fiancé and future father would make it home.

“We should get going,” you said, nodding toward the museum. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a certain tension at the thought of leaving the car. You shook your head slightly, trying to dispel it. “And just so we’re clear, I do know how to handle a gun—more than you’d think. But for your sake, you better hope we don’t have to put that to the test.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the corner of his mouth twitch.

"Well then, onward, assistant. Tell me, how much do you know about neurotechnology?"

Well, by the end of this day, you were definitely going to know a lot more. Together with Allen, you crossed the threshold of the museum. Its decor clashed with the theme of the exhibition, but apparently, they hadn’t managed to secure a better location. 

The interior layout was harmonious—rounded arches were supported by symmetrically arranged marble columns, and the dominant shades were gold and royal red.

Your destination was the exhibition hall, circular in shape, where mahogany tables served as display stations for various prototypes in the fields of medicine, neurobiology, and informatics. In other parts of the building, there were tall, arched windows, but this particular room had none. No natural light entered; all illumination was generated by lamps that, to their credit, mimicked the natural diffusion of sunlight quite effectively.

Among the displays were an interactive brain map and various projects still in development but aimed at assisting people with disabilities.

You observed all of this with interest while simultaneously listening to your companion’s impromptu lecture on the human brain (apparently, talking helped him calm down). At the same time, you were closely monitoring the crowd around you.

True multitasking.

The exhibition was open to everyone; no one was checking who entered the venue. Although you counted three security guards in the room—dressed in simple black suits and mostly tasked with ensuring that no one tried to steal anything—there was a subtle air of unease hanging in the atmosphere. If Allen’s suspicions were correct, the person intent on ending his life could be one of these faces. To your surprise, however, he suddenly seemed far less concerned about it than you were.

“You don’t have to follow me around like a shadow,” he said, leaning toward you to make himself heard over the murmur of surrounding conversations. A familiar face with a loud, bright red tie waved at him and began making their way over. “Just don’t take your eyes off me, no matter what. And keep an eye out for anyone suspicious—whatever that means to you. Hey, man!”

He greeted his acquaintance with a friendly handshake. Following his instructions, you took a small step back, deciding to take a short stroll among the exhibits. But after barely two steps, your finger went to the discreet earpiece hidden under your hair.

“Are you there, my lovely nerds?” you asked with a playful smile, knowing they couldn’t see it but imagining their reactions.

“At your service!” Garcia responded enthusiastically, and you could almost picture her saluting on the other end.

“And what about Mr. Smartass? Did he get bored and wander off to study the reproductive habits of ants?”

“I heard that!” he replied, summoned by his new nickname. “Such gratitude for letting you borrow my jacket.”

“Speaking of the jacket,” you continued, “I found a candy in the pocket. How thoughtful of you to leave me a little sweet treat.” You weren’t joking; there really was a candy inside. You inspected the wrapper and frowned. “Marzipan? Ugh. Do you have the taste buds of my grandma?”

"To what I know, I haven't had a taste bud transplant. Especially not from anyone's grandmother," he replied nonchalantly. "And as for those ants..."

"Sorry to interrupt, my darlings, but I have a few questions about the sound quality of these new microphones..."

True to her word, Garcia began asking you how well you could hear them and instructed you to lower your voice to a whisper and then raise it sharply. Some sort of test or whatever. You did it all patiently while staring at the red-haired mop at the station across from you. Allen seemed pretty relaxed now, probably realizing nothing was going to happen to him.

"Okay, now do the sound like a chicken. I mean the noise."

"What?"

"You know, cluck."

"Pen, is this really necessary?"

"Yes, sweetie. I need to check something else. Last thing, I swear. Scout’s honor."

You sighed, looking around at the people nearby. Few were paying attention to you, you were just one face in the crowd. God, for something like this, you could ask for a raise.

"Exactly, honey. Just louder," Garcia asked.

You rolled your eyes and tried again to make the chicken sound. An older couple glanced at you, their eyes wide with horror.

"Alright, enough," you muttered, embarrassed, into the earpiece, quickly moving to a different spot.

And then you heard the pair on the other side literally choking with laughter.

"I fucking hate you guys," you said. "I hate you. Especially you, Penelope. Give me Reid on the mic, from now on I'm only talking to him."

Another burst of laughter from the woman. You clenched your jaw. And as if that weren’t enough…

 "Did you want to hear me, little chick?" Reid asked politely.

“I should’ve gouged your eye out with a chopstick when I had the chance,” you hissed into the phone, a little too loudly, drawing a few curious glances. You were supposed to be watching for suspicious people, but it turned out you were acting the most suspicious of all…

“Did you catch what she said?” Reid addressed Penelope. “I only heard clucking.”

“Ha-ha,” you rolled your eyes.

For fifteen minutes, you had to endure such jokes. You seriously began to worry that they’d never get tired of it, but finally, after a quarter of an hour of psychological torture, they fell silent. You kept a sharp eye on your surroundings.

“By the way,” you began, still a bit offended by the chicken joke. “You guys should regret not being here to see these inventions. Perfect for you, nerds.”

“Well, actually, we can see them,” Reid’s voice came through the earpiece, sounding very clear, clearly taking the whole mic for himself. “Garcia grabbed footage from the cameras inside the room.”

“So you can see me? This whole time?”

 “Yep. And we saw that terrified couple who ran as far away from you as they could as soon as you started clucking like a chicken. Poor souls.”

You ignored the comment and began scanning the room for the cameras. When you found them, you scratched your forehead with your middle finger.

“Can you see this too?”

“I can see how much fun you’re having,” he scoffed. “Are you going to include that in your report?”

“Exactly. Right under your name, framed with a glittery little heart. Any other requests?” Not waiting for his response, you added, “By the way, how do I look in your jacket? Does it fit me well?”

"I think so. I mean, the blazer is incredibly well-tailored. And of good quality. It’s impossible for it to look bad on anyone." He paused for a moment, and his voice grew more serious. "How’s it going? Have you noticed anything suspicious? Still feeling stressed?"

"Not anymore," you admitted, speaking the truth. Even though the exhibition had just started and was supposed to last about another hour, you felt like you had passed some milestone where nothing could go wrong anymore. "But of course, I’m still keeping an eye out. I had a little chat with Allen…"

"I heard," Reid acknowledged. "Very interesting lecture on the human brain, I must admit."

You let out a small laugh.

"I talked to Allen earlier. Still in the car. After what he told me, I don’t think he's a paranoiac. The guy is just really worried about his safety. And not just his.”

A moment of silence fell on both sides.

"Speaking of Allen, he's heading your way," he informed you, likely watching the feed from the cameras. "I guess I'll hear from you later then. I mean, I’ll be hearing you the whole time, just not the other way around. Unless you want me to constantly broadcast about ant reproduction?"

"Sorry, Reid, but I’ll pass. Maybe some other time," you chuckled, noticing the engineer approaching. As he walked, he bumped into a man in the crowd and exchanged a quick apology. You used that moment to add something else, a bit impulsively. "And what about this? Do you see this?"

You pressed the inside of your hand to your lips before unfolding it, sending a kiss toward one of the cameras. Reid was silent as Allen drew closer.

"I see it," he finally admitted, quieter. You regretted not being able to see his expression, it was unusually hard for you to picture it at that particular moment. Was he smiling? "And I like it a lot more than what you showed me earlier."

You turned your back to the camera so he wouldn’t see you smile. It only hit you afterward that he probably saw it anyway, just from a different angle.

"I see you're enjoying the exhibition," Allen said, standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets. He had stopped pretending to be the classy guy and fully embraced his more laid-back side. "So, uh, sorry, but I think I'd rather head out now."

Worried, you discreetly glanced around.

"Did something happen? Did someone stare at you weirdly, do something...?"

He shook his head, a negative gesture.

"Nothing like that. I just saw what I needed to see. Check it off the list, I’m ready to leave..."

After his words, an absolute darkness fell.

Absolute darkness, in the truest sense of the word. The exhibition hall had no windows. When the lights went out, it felt as if someone had tied a cloth tightly over your eyes. Yet, like a fool, you kept looking around, as if moving your head could somehow tear through the blackness enveloping you, freeing you from the growing panic that was slowly flooding your senses.

“Garcia, what’s up with the cameras?” Reid’s voice sounded in your ear. He was confused, not yet frightened. He didn’t know what was happening yet. None of you did.

The people around you, of course, were also surprised by the sudden blackout. A few muffled gasps echoed, one or two squeals, a smattering of curses. But there were no screams, no one tearing at their throats or blindly bolting forward, trampling others in the process. That came later.

Exactly four seconds after the first gunshot rang out.

Before, the world seemed to freeze in place; everyone’s breaths were trapped in their lungs, unwilling to escape, even out of curiosity. Your body lunged forward as if trying to flee, but it quickly dawned on you that there was nowhere to run. Where had the shot come from? Who had fired it? Was someone hurt?

Something—or rather, someone’s hand—clamped painfully around your wrist. Instinctively, you tried to pull free, letting out a sound somewhere between a growl and a garbled cry.

“It’s me,” Allen choked out, his voice trembling. You couldn’t see his silhouette, but you knew the blood had drained from his face. “What the fuck... what the fuck is happen—”

The second shot rang out, closer and sharper than the first. Chaos erupted in the room. Screams, so hysterical they drowned out the voices coming through your earpiece, filled the air. Something struck you hard, sending you stumbling as pain radiated through your shoulder. It was an empty kind of pain—something you felt and yet didn’t. You realized it must have been one of the panicked people charging blindly through the dark.

“Here,” you commanded, your mind snapping briefly into clarity. In your mind’s eye, you pictured the layout of the room before the lights went out. The corner of the hall, the wooden table behind you, where one of the prototypes had been displayed.

You slipped under the table, dragging Allen with you. He groaned as his head hit the underside of the furniture.

You were so utterly disoriented that it felt as though your own name was echoing on a loop inside your head. It took you a moment to realize it wasn’t just your mind playing tricks—it was someone’s voice, growing more familiar with each passing second.

The third gunshot.

Allen choked on his breath, his hand still gripping your wrist so tightly you feared it might snap—yet you didn’t register it as pain, merely as a sensation. The two of you crouched beneath the table, facing each other, teetering on the edge of succumbing to the abyss of panic.

Reid spoke your name again, faintly, as though he were far too close to the microphone. As though leaning in would somehow make you hear him better—make you respond.

“I’m here,” you managed to stammer, the first thing that came to your mind.

"Thank God, I thought..." he sighed, suddenly stopping, as if realizing it wasn't yet time for relief. "Are you... are you hurt?"

"My arm."

You didn't know why those words escaped your lips. Maybe because, although your mind was too occupied with trying to figure out the situation to focus on something like pain, your body couldn’t ignore the fact that it felt it. Against your will, you let out a hiss and finally pulled your hand out of Allen's grip.

"You've been shot? We... we can't see anything, do you have anything to stop the bleeding, maybe use my jacket..."

"I don't know what's happening, we've completely lost access to the camera feed, someone must have turned them all off, just like the power... Reid, immediately notify Hotch, he needs to know something's wrong..."

On the other side, chaos erupted, comparable to the one surrounding you. Penelope was aggressively pressing the keyboard keys, Reid was rushing between a phone conversation with Hotch and throwing random phrases at you like stay where you are or how's your arm?

But was staying put the right decision? Wasn't it just waiting for the person responsible for starting this... massacre to come for you? On the other hand, how were you supposed to escape? In complete darkness? You had a weapon... but what good was it if you couldn't see anything? A sound of resigned sobbing escaped you.

And then, suddenly, right before your eyes, Allen’s red hair materialized, his fingers pressed into his skull as if he wanted to tear it apart himself. You both looked into each other's eyes. Visibility returned.

“We have light,” you said, though it didn’t loosen the grip on your chest.

“What?” Penelope sputtered, confused. “We still can’t see anything, the cameras are still…”

Allen let out a choked cry. You followed his gaze. Just before your hiding spot, a pair of leather shoes stopped.

“Get out,” commanded a male voice. You lifted your head. Above you stood a man with dark facial hair and a submachine gun, looking like an extension of his broad shoulder. You immediately noticed, besides the weapon, he was also carrying a black sports bag slung over his shoulder. Both of you were too disoriented and terrified to follow the order. “I said, fuckin’ get out and against the wall, I won’t repeat myself.”

Like animals herded into a pen, you followed his instructions to the designated spot. The entire crowd inside gathered against one of the blood-red walls of the room, some pressing their backs against it as if that embrace would ensure their safety...

“What’s going on there now?” Reid asked. “We still don’t have a feed... I can hear you breathing,” he blurted out unexpectedly.

You realized that your breath had indeed become heavy and loud. It dawned on you that you hadn’t gone through any extensive training on how to handle a situation like this; you were useless...

“Just...damn it, I know it’s easier for me to say, but try not to panic, okay? Whatever’s going on... panic will only make it worse. You need to focus, please. Can you do that? Breathe? Slowly, like I’m doing now?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his jacket, feeling it under your fingers. Closing your eyes, you could almost imagine him standing right in front of you, in this very building, speaking those words. It helped calm you down, at least enough for your mind to stay somewhat communicative...

“Good. Very...very good. Now, can you describe what’s happening over there?”

You knew that every piece of information you passed on would be worth its weight in gold. You tightened your grip on the fabric of Reid's jacket and began scanning your surroundings.

“One shooter. He’s herding us... all of us, against one of the walls and... stuffing prototypes into the bag, every one he can get his hands on,” you reported, describing everything you’d seen. “It looks like a robbery.”

“Just one?” Reid asked. “What were those shots? Someone... got hurt?”

You were about to deny it when your attention was drawn to a bloodstain spreading across the marble floor at the opposite corner of the room. Allen nudged you, pointing to something else—a body lying motionless.

“Guards. He... he killed all the guards,” you recognized them by their uniforms, the words barely escaping your throat. So, he hadn’t hesitated to kill, not one of those inexperienced types with any moral inhibitions. Trying to make sense of everything happening around you, you pressed your hand to your forehead. “But... but how could he see them in this darkness...”

“Night vision,” Allen interrupted suddenly, his previously hunched figure straightening as he realized it.

You found the man busy with the theft and controlling the area. He was quite solidly built, you could compare him to Derek. And, as the engineer had observed, around his neck hung a device for seeing in the dark.

“The police have arrived outside the museum, but they won’t go inside as long as you’re trapped with him. They don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Penelope informed you, then let out a soft, wheezing breath, as if she was trying to calm herself down. “Sweetheart, the whole team is on their way too. From now on, you’re our informant…”

“Is Christopher Allen among you?” A commanding voice suddenly cut through the sheet of panic blanketing the room, drawing everyone’s attention. It belonged to a truly imposing man with a shaved head and a forehead lined with wrinkles that seemed to stem more from exhaustion than age. But by far, the most significant detail about him was the submachine gun he held in his hands.

Two. There were two shooters.

Your focus shifted to the man standing right in front of you, as if delivering some kind of speech. At first, you didn’t even register what he’d asked. He repeated the question quickly and impatiently, and you froze. Not that you’d been particularly active before, but in that moment, all your bodily functions seemed to shut down completely. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Allen—not even for a fleeting glance.

“Christopher Allen. Biotech engineer. He should be here,” the man continued, scanning the faces in front of him almost desperately, searching for the one he needed. He sounded almost... distraught? That broken expression, teetering on the edge of tears and madness, starkly contrasted with his militaristic physique.

Suddenly, his accomplice appeared, tugging at his arm.

“Jesus, give it a rest. We need to get out of here. The car’s waiting for us, remember?”

He shoved the smaller man with a force befitting his build, sending him staggering backward.

“I’m not leaving until I talk to him!” he declared with furious determination. “Christopher Allen…”

“You’ve gotta be shitting me…”

“Allen…”

His eyes scanned the surroundings until they landed on the two of you. You felt someone lightly wrap their fingers around your forearm, gripping it almost instinctively. It wasn’t a strong or painful hold, but rather one born of genuine fear, seeking protection. Protection that, from the start, had been your responsibility to provide. Yet now, standing face to face with two armed assailants, with lifeless bodies lying in pools of blood in the same room…you felt the crushing weight of an obligation you were physically incapable of fulfilling, creating a storm of chaos within your mind.

Allen must have been fooling himself into thinking he could blend into the crowd and remain unnoticed. Even as everyone’s gaze began to focus on him, urgently and with some unspoken hope, he stubbornly stood still. Or was he simply paralyzed by fear?

For the first time since he was called out, you looked at him. His eyes conveyed one thing: a simple message. It was him. The man who had been sending him threats, the one who had broken into his house. You furrowed your brows, this whole situation was becoming incomprehensible. He cared so much about kidnapping the engineer that he had organized the heist at the exhibition where he was supposed to be?

 “Come here. I need to talk to you, you… you need to do something for me.”

Once again, in your ears, you heard the description of the tortures that were mentioned in the letter.

"You have to do this," you said very softly, almost a whisper. "We can't let him get angry. Do you hear me?"

 It seemed like your words weren’t reaching him at all. You nervously glanced at the gunmen, hoping that the command you had given hadn’t raised any suspicion or made them think you were trying to outsmart them, deceive them in some way. Slowly, but with deep remorse, you loosened Allen’s grip on your forearm. His chest wasn’t rising, as if he weren’t breathing. But then his gaze shifted, not to you, but to the people around you, to the ones standing in fear, waiting for his reaction. Something in his face shifted, then he took a step forward.

“Slowly,” you instructed.

It seemed like the best solution. Unsub knew that the person he was looking for was among you, he had identified him without any difficulty. Allen couldn’t hide or escape, all that was left for him was to comply with the orders, for his own sake and for everyone else's. It was also important that he stalled for time. You hoped that as soon as your team arrived, they’d be able to come up with something. Maybe they were already there, working to make contact with the shooters and free you all, alive and unharmed.

At the same time, someone called your name.

"Report in."

It was Hotch. At the sound of his stoic voice, a fleeting wave of relief washed over you. You even parted your lips to answer when you realized the second gunman was staring at you. The room fell into absolute silence as Allen slowly approached them. You shouldn’t reveal that you were with the FBI or any other agency—that was a basic rule…

 "Listen to me carefully now," the unsub spat, placing one of his massive hands on Allen's shoulder, causing him to almost buckle under the forceful touch. Someone behind you let out a muffled cry. "You need to remove it from me, do you understand?"

"Shit," his partner muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He was holding a bag with the stolen equipment, constantly glancing toward the exit. You wondered if he had anything to do with the threats sent to Allen. "Shit, we need to get the hell out of here before the cops completely block our escape. We don't have time for your fucking delusions!"

“Remove…?” the baffled engineer repeated, completely thrown off.

“The chip. The one inside me. Right here, on the back of my neck.” The man jabbed a finger at the spot. “Someone has to cut it out of me. You work with brains—you must know how to do it. He’s controlling me, watching my thoughts… I saw an interview with you once. I know you’re the only one who can do this…”

The man’s words devolved into a stream of incoherent rambling. Allen had no idea how to respond, and silence stretched on the other end of the phone. Meanwhile, the second gunman tried once again to persuade his partner to escape, but this only triggered an explosive burst of rage that made everyone around them shrink in fear.

“Shut up, or I’ll blow your head off too!” the man shouted. “I’ve waited too long for this. I don’t give a damn about all that crap you stole. I don’t care if they catch me. He’s going to cut out that chip!”

“What chip?” Allen finally managed to stammer. “I don’t understand…”

“The chip the government implanted in me to control me! That’s why no hospital will remove it—they’re all under government control! Only you can do it!”

“The unsub is delusional, that much is clear,” Reid’s voice suddenly crackled in your earpiece, catching you by surprise. He must have made it from Penelope’s office to the museum—where he joined Hotch and the rest of the team—at an impressive speed. “The reality he’s constructed is starting to blur with actual reality, which makes him extremely dangerous. Just from the tone of his speech, you can tell he’s emotionally unbalanced and on the brink of a breakdown. Unfortunately, this means his actions could be erratic and violent, with a strong tendency toward escalation.”

"What can I do?" you whispered as quietly as possible, taking advantage of the commotion in the center of the room.

"Are you there? Can you speak safely?" he asked, exhaling a breath of trapped air. "I mean... What you can do, first and foremost, is stay cautious. Don’t say or do anything that could provoke him further," he instructed, his tone turning focused and determined to provide you with as much guidance as possible. You nodded almost imperceptibly as you listened, as if he could see you. At some point, your fingers began nervously clutching the fabric of his blazer again, a small, unconscious tic.

"Don’t confront his delusions—or rather, don’t outright deny them. Try not to introduce any new elements either, to avoid deepening his paranoia, alright? That could put you in even greater danger..."

"Above all, try to redirect his anger away from Allen and the other hostages," Hotch cut in. "We’re working on a way to get inside. You just need to buy us some time."

Buy some time, it was easy for him to say, you thought with sudden frustration. What exactly could you do? It was incredibly hard to make any decisions when you were fully aware that their consequences could result in the death of an innocent person—or people.

Allen was still in front of the unsub, gripped tightly by the gun-wielding man, slightly shaking his head from side to side, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.

"But... but how am I supposed to get the chip out, do you really believe the government..."

"He doesn’t have the right tools," you interrupted, taking a step forward to draw the shooters’ attention to you. You raised your hands in a gesture of surrender as soon as you found yourself in the second man’s line of sight. You were scared of the direction Allen was heading in—after all, Reid had told you not to deny his delusions. Though you weren’t sure it was the right approach, you tried to make eye contact with the unsub. You had a feeling that he might only fully understand what you were trying to convey if you did.

Everyone was looking at you now. Nervously, you swallowed before speaking again.

"If you want him to remove the chip from your body... you’ll need at least a scalpel. Well, and if it was implanted by the government... that might not be enough?"

To your surprise, the second attacker spoke up.

"She's right, Erick, we don't have anything like that. Leave him, we need to get out of here... though fuck, it probably doesn't matter anymore, I wonder if the police have already caught our driver..."

You hoped that the team had heard this and started looking for suspicious vehicles in the area. Erick, or rather the unsub, began to stare intensely at you, analyzing what you'd said.

"Keep it up," Reid said. "It looks like you’ve planted some doubt in his mind about his own plan. You can keep going in that direction, just please, please, be careful..."

"Reid," Hotch admonished him.

You took a deep breath, your mind was working so fast that it was starting to go blank. You had to say something more before it consumed you entirely.

"But... but I'm sure that if you had met under different circumstances, outside the museum, he would have been able to extract the chip..."

"No! I've waited too long, I can't stand having this crap under my skin for another minute! He'll take it out now, or he won't leave here!"

Allen's raised hands trembled at those words.

"How can we communicate with the police? Is there a phone here?" he asked his companion.

"Are you fucking out of your mind..."

"They'll bring us the equipment. A scalpel. They won't have a choice, or I'll shoot them all, one by one."

"We should focus on how to get out of here..."

"I DON'T CARE ABOUT THAT!" the unsub roared at him. Fueled by this outburst, he shoved Allen away so forcefully that the man fell to the floor. The startled man took a step back, unable to hide his fear. It was clear who had the final say in this duo. Erick was not only physically larger, most likely more ruthless, but above all, incredibly unpredictable. Without looking at you, he issued an order.

"Everyone sit against the wall, you too." Allen awkwardly got to his feet and almost ran to the indicated spot.

You didn't want to sit, to put yourself in an even more vulnerable position. But when a man with a submachine gun and a completely deranged gleam in his eyes is standing in front of you, you don't have much of a choice. Slowly, you sat down on the floor, surrounded by all these terrified people.

You studied the faces of everyone around you—scientists and random people who had ended up here simply because they were intrigued by the exhibit's theme. And that innocent curiosity had led them into such a hopeless situation, where each breath, drawn into trembling lungs, could prove to be the final one. What terrified you was the fact that the only thing distinguishing you from them was the tiny microphone pinned to your clothes and the earpiece in your ear.

The woman sitting next to you, so close that your elbows were touching, looked as though she was about to faint. Without hesitation, you offered her your hand, which she took with no resistance. In situations like that, the escape from fear was desperately sought wherever it could be found—even among strangers.

“What’s happening in there now?” Hotch asked.

You explained the situation to him as clearly and logically as possible, correcting anything they might have missed due to their lack of actual insight into what was happening inside the museum. The woman beside you looked at you strangely, smudged mascara around her eyes.

“Please don’t worry,” you whispered, making sure none of the attackers could hear you. Though maybe you shouldn’t have, you felt you needed to reveal yourself to her, to help her survive the nightmare she had found herself in. “I’m... a federal agent. I have contact with the team outside, they’re working on how to get us out of here.”

You didn’t know if those words had particularly soothed her fear—just as you spoke them, Allen practically pressed himself against you, trying to whisper something into your ear.

“Give me your gun,” he practically ordered.

You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in shock. No words were needed. Your face clearly expressed one big what?

He looked like one of those people going on and on about a newly invented device they had been working on for years, staying up every night. In his eyes was a comparable crazy but incredibly self-assured gleam.

“I know you have it, but you won’t use it. Because you're scared. And I don’t blame you!” he quickly added, moving slightly away from you. Still, your faces were tilted toward each other in a conspiratorial whisper.

“But listen to me. He cares about me, right? Or rather, he cares that I get the nonexistent chip from him. He won’t hurt me when I get closer, he’s too desperate, in his eyes, I’m his only chance…”

“You must have lost your mind,” you said through clenched teeth. Was he really willing to take such a risk and play the hero when he and his fiancée were expecting a child? “And what about the other guy, huh? Do you think he’ll just stand there calmly when...?”

“Then I’ll shoot him first. I used to go to the shooting range, I was pretty good at it. The other one will be too scared to hurt me, and then I...”

“Absolutely not,” Reid interjected.

You snorted.

“As if I would even consider it…” you muttered. Looking at Allen, you tapped your forehead. “No way. You’re not risking your life on such a stupid plan where everything could go wrong…”

“Do you think I’m asking for your opinion?” he hissed, clutching his head in desperation. “The answer is no. I’m just saying, give me your gun. Where is it?”

As he said this, he grabbed the fabric of your blazer, searching under it for what he so desperately wanted. You tried to catch his hand, but he trapped it in his grip, digging through the layers of your clothes, under your skirt. You jerked your whole body in an attempt to break free.

“Leave me alone, they’ll notice us soon…”

“What’s he doing?” Reid asked sharply. Although he couldn’t see what was happening, his voice was not only confused, but also clearly worried, maybe even angry.

“Just give it to me, what the hell does it hurt…”

His hand, despite your resistance, finally reached the grip of your gun, slightly sliding it out from beneath your skirt. You shot a quick glance toward the attackers, still engrossed in their conversation—or rather, argument. Terrified by the thought that they might notice what Allen was pulling from under your clothing, you instinctively swung at his face, causing his head to snap back with a muffled cry of pain.

“What language do I need to speak for you to understand? What you’re planning is idiotic,” you said, your words flowing together with a surprisingly calm yet furious ease. You struggled to keep your voice low, feeling as though shouting might make him grasp it faster. But that wasn’t an option. “You’d risk not only your life but everyone else’s,” you said, gesturing toward what you now had no choice but to call the hostages. “And no one wants to die because of some brainless idiot with a hero complex.”

After you hit him, Allen backed away to a distance that no longer invaded your personal space. With your breath quickened, you adjusted the position of the gun, suddenly panicked that it might fall out during his attempt to grab it against your will. Despite yourself, a strange feeling overcame you. Out of everyone—of all the people trapped in the museum—you were the only one with even minimal knowledge of what to do in this situation, the only one with outside communication to the police, and, most importantly... a weapon. And yet, with that arsenal at your disposal, you were doing embarrassingly little to improve the situation.

Your jaw tightened at the thought, your fists clutching the fabric of your blazer so hard that your knuckles turned white. It was astonishing how much that small action helped you regain your composure. Not just the feel of the fabric but also... the scent. You could almost imagine you weren’t entirely alone in this. And though you wouldn’t trade places with Reid or anyone else from the team for anything, you couldn’t shake the feeling they would handle this far better than you were.

And speaking of Reid...

"Are you okay?" he asked again, his tone much softer than before.

"I'm fine," you tried to give your voice a casual, almost dismissive tone, though you doubted you fully succeeded in masking the tension. You let out a helpless scoff in an attempt to lighten it. "I mean, fine as much as one can be fine in this situation..."

You trailed off, and he hesitated before replying.

"Hang in there, okay?" he said, so quietly you thought you might have misheard. It made you wonder if it was because he didn’t want anyone else to overhear what he was saying into the mic. If that were the case, was it because he didn’t want anyone accusing him of chatting with you when he should be doing something more important? Or maybe, he just didn’t want this simple yet anxious message to reach unwelcome ears and lose its sense of privacy. You heard him swallow. "We’ll get you all out of there soon. Garcia got the phone number of one of the attackers, the delusional one—his name’s Erick Larson, by the way. If he has it on him..."

As if on cue, the sound of an incoming call rang out. They stopped talking, and the surprised man reached into his pocket.

"What are you going to do? Negotiate?" you asked.

"Hotch is going to talk to him. The main goal is to get the hostages released."

The word hostage sounded so strange to you; you couldn’t connect it to your situation. A hostage didn’t have a gun tucked under their clothing or communicate with an FBI team through an earpiece. Those people, holding each other's hands in fear and huddled on the floor, were the hostages. Not you.

"Can you stay on the line?" the words slipped out before you could stop them. "Just, I don’t know... tell me how it really is with those ants or something." You squeezed your eyes shut as a wave of embarrassment crashed over you. You were acting like a scared child who needed a bedtime story to forget the monster under the bed. "Forget it, that’s stupid. You’ve probably got your hands full. Focus on helping us, on the negotiations."

"I'm still on the line," he reassured you, even before the echo of your last words faded. "And I’ll stay on it the whole time. And since talking to you might help you not lose your mind in there... well, I guess that counts as helping all of you. The information you’ve given us, everything you’ve told us... you’re playing a crucial role in all of this."

"I don’t think so. I could be doing so much more."

"Like what, something that idiot was planning?" he asked, stressing the word idiot. "Please, don’t even think about it. You’re doing exactly what’s needed. You’re not sticking your neck out, you’re staying in contact with us. You’re calming the others down, like that woman. That... that’s heroism, not blindly rushing at two armed men."

Moved by his words, you weakly smiled. You’d forgotten again that he couldn’t see you, or maybe it was just automatic.

"Stop, I’m going to blush. But... but thank you, Reid."

"You don’t need to thank me. Oh, he picked up..."

And indeed, Erik pressed the phone to his ear, probably realizing that it was the police trying to make contact. You fixed your gaze on him.

A completely new stage of the robbery was beginning, one on which everything depended—negotiations.

*

Spencer had never had a particular obsession with control. 

In the vast majority of crisis situations, all he needed was a deep understanding of the causes and course of events. A thorough analysis of what had happened so far, drawing conclusions based on that, and then coming up with possible solutions, each with its pros and cons, which he also had to consider.

It involved emotionally distancing himself from the situation and relying on advice from his trusty friend—logic. And when he was guided by that cold logic, he didn’t feel the need to actively participate in what was happening around him or take any direct control. But in that particular moment—ever since he had heard the first shot coming from inside the museum, shortly after losing access to the cameras—he was almost losing his mind over how little he could do. Powerlessness was the first blow, the fact that her life, and others', depended on a man with probable schizophrenia, driven by dangerous delusions, the second, much stronger one.

As with every hostage situation, a makeshift operations camp was set up outside the building, where all necessary units gathered. Garcia stayed at her post, but he saw no other option but to go there personally. The rest of the team quickly gathered, and Hotch arrived so fast it seemed like he lived just around the corner. After all, there was a member of his team inside, the one he had sent there, never expecting such a turn of events. The two perpetrators, who were working together, seemed to have two completely different goals. One, apparently, was persuaded to go along with a simple robbery and escape. The second, Erick, however, had a different, more complicated desire from the start. He wanted Allen, who was supposed to extract a non-existent chip from his body, allegedly implanted by the government.

Allen. He spoke that name with an incomprehensible bitterness and disdain. He was disgusted by his thoughtlessness, pure stupidity. Though he was familiar with his achievements in the field of neurotechnology, he couldn't call him a scientist, really not anything other than an idiot. And it was all because he had nearly put her and everyone else in danger, because he pressured her so much that she had to defend herself by striking him in the face. He remembered how once they had slept in the same bed, so small that they almost fell off it and were forced to lie literally on top of each other. By accident, he had jabbed her with his elbow in the ribs, and before he could even whisper an apology, she hit him with such force that he lost his breath. He hoped Allen had taken an even harder blow.

He forced himself back to reality, as everyone gathered around Hotch, who was leaning over the phone. The unsub had answered, and the discussion began.

"We'll deliver what you need. All the equipment. But first, you must release the innocent people inside and promise you won't hurt anyone else. Not Allen, or anyone."

They argued, a lot. Of course, they wanted him to let everyone go, which was, realistically, impossible. Eventually, the number sixteen was agreed upon, a little more than half of the people present.

Through the microphone clipped to her clothes, they could hear him pointing at the people who were to be released. The second perpetrator seemed to have completely given in to his paranoid companion, and stopped trying to convince him to escape. He must have realized it was already too late for that.

“You’re the one who’s leaving,” he said, his words very clear, suggesting he was standing very close to her, pointing at her.

Spencer straightened up, a sudden rush of premature relief washing over him. Premature—that was the key word.

“No,” she protested sharply. “No, let her go instead of me. She’s older and not feeling well. I should stay…”

He pressed the microphone to his mouth, trying to talk her out of it.

“Do what they say, resisting might make him angry…”

“No, Reid, she’s right,” Hotch interrupted him. Spencer looked at his boss in surprise, shaking his head in confusion. Instead of explaining his decision to him, Hotch turned to her.

“You have to do everything you can to stay inside. You’re our only source of information, our access to what’s happening in there.”

“Hotch…”

Someone, JJ, placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from protesting further. It dawned on him that they were right, but... it was hard for him to accept. It was true that, as an FBI agent, part of her duty sometimes meant risking her life for the greater good. Still, this decision made his hands ball into fists, and he had to take a deep breath to steady himself. Suddenly, it struck him that if an unfamiliar agent, not a member of the BAU, not his friend, and someone who hadn’t shared a bed with him when his fear of the dark grew stronger, were in the same situation... he would have agreed with Hotch without hesitation.

“I told you to leave, so you leave. There’s gotta be sixteen people, or they won’t bring it to me, goddammit.”

“So let someone else go…” She cut off abruptly, a rustling sound echoing through the air, as if— as if he tugged at her clothes. Spencer almost spoke again but stopped herself. The same thought had crossed Hotch’s face, he saw it. 

“Seriously, this will be better. I... I can help with removing the chip...”

“Allen has to do it.”

“Yes, but…” her voice grew more desperate, trying to come up with something more, an excuse to fulfill her duty.

“Oh, what don’t you understand, you stupid bitch…”

Spencer anticipated the sudden outburst of aggression, he had felt it building for a while. Though the unsub was unpredictable, his anger rose and fell within mere seconds, Spencer knew it was all heading in that direction. So, he squeezed his eyes shut just before the horrible, dull thud rang out, followed by a muffled cry of pain. Then the sound was drowned out by a rush, something like a thud, and he could only guess that she had fallen to the floor.

He didn't open his eyes, but something pricked at his chest. He knew that if he looked at Hotch, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from giving him a big, i told you so. It wasn’t even about being right—he didn’t care about that, not at that moment. What mattered to him was that nothing happened to her, and that was exactly what had just happened.

No one from the team said a word, though Derek turned his gaze away from the speaker, his expression one of discomfort, like someone averting their eyes from an unpleasant scene. Hotch stared at some fixed point ahead, his face unreadable, before leaning into the microphone just as—

“What the hell is this?!” the unsub suddenly screamed. “A gun? Why the hell does she have a gun on her?!”

Reid’s eyes shot open as he nearly dropped to his knees by the microphone, as if somehow that could help. The weapon must have slipped out when she fell, sliding free from where it had been concealed beneath her clothes…

He noticed Elle nervously biting her thumb, her face pale as a sheet. He read the same grim, terrified realization on her face that had already taken root in everyone’s minds. She was burned. Her cover as the assistant was completely blown.

“He can’t find out she’s FBI,” Gideon declared, leaning heavily against the edge of the table. “He’s a paranoid maniac who thinks the government is after him. If he realizes a federal agent has been in there the entire time…”

“Wait!” the second attacker spoke up. He had long since given up and was now quietly following his partner’s orders. “I heard the hostages talking... something about there being someone from the FBI among them, someone who’s in contact with the cops. I thought they were just talking crap, but...”

“How does he know that?” JJ asked, her lips slightly parted in shock.

“She told one of the women,” Spencer blurted out, though it felt like the words came from someone else. Some part of him—still detached from the full realization of what her exposure meant—clung to the fragments of logic not yet consumed by his nerves. “To calm her down... but that woman must have passed it on to someone else.”

“FBI?” the unsub repeated, almost in a daze. “Fucking FBI?”

The sound of something slamming echoed sharply—an explosion of frustration and shock. Every pained whimper, every labored breath she took, reached Spencer with cruel clarity, amplified by that damned new microphone clipped to her chest, capturing every sound in merciless detail.

He wanted to cover his ears, to block it out, but he couldn’t. His lower lip trembled, caught between screaming or vomiting the moment he opened his mouth. 

Covering his ears would have been a selfish gesture, one that would only bring relief to him. She didn’t have that option; all that was left for her was to endure, as he assumed, the next kicks...

He lowered his head, not looking at the others, not wanting to see their equally helpless expressions. And although he hated himself for even thinking about it, he took two steps to move away. To escape from this place, from these sounds. Because he simply couldn’t bear them.

However, he didn’t get far; he staggered as if drunk and had to grab the table tightly to keep from falling. JJ, in some protective impulse that she probably wasn’t even aware of, reached out her hand, wanting to touch his shoulder, but he pushed her away.

“I’m calling him,” Hotch announced, immediately moving into action. “Maybe that’ll stop him…”

“Check if she has a microphone on her. If she’s with the FBI, she could have been spying on us the whole time,” suggested the second attacker, in a strangely satisfied tone. He was probably some sadistic bastard who enjoyed this turn of events.

This caused Erik to stop his attack. He completely ignored the incoming call. She took a breath, inhaling deeply, though it clearly caused her pain.

“She has…”

The unsub’s voice became very clear, he must have located the microphone and then disconnected it from her clothing, carefully watching him.

“We need to go in, we have to do something,” Elle said desperately, but it didn’t stir anyone else. 

Yes, they needed to do something, but... what? Going in meant putting the hostages at risk, and their survival was the priority.

"I knew the government was spying on me," Erick muttered to himself, the microphone had probably slipped from his hand and fallen to the ground. "Not just with the chip, but they also sent that fucking..." He kicked her. "...agent."

"Give it to me," Spencer requested, exhaling with a resigned hiss. He was, of course, referring to the microphone. She still had the earpiece in; she could hear him. He didn’t yet know what he intended to say. Maybe he’d ask her to stay strong? Assure her that it would all be over soon? Would that even count as a lie if he had no real certainty they could take any action to save her? Or was this one of those morally gray situations where a lie was better than the truth?

Without protest, someone handed the microphone to him, practically shoving it into his hands.

But then they lost the connection.

The unsub must have destroyed it, stomping the microphone underfoot.

And before it happened—before the static filled the line—a gunshot rang out.

Spence found himself sitting on a chair. Not that he’d blacked out in the literal sense, but one moment he was standing upright, and the next he was slumped onto the seat—probably the only chair in their makeshift camp across from the museum. It was one of those folding chairs made of black metal and unbelievably uncomfortable. For some reason, their look always reminded him of golf courses in the blazing sun. Sometimes they’d be there… wait, why the hell was he thinking about chairs?

Disoriented, he lifted his gaze. Derek was pacing back and forth, his hands on his head, while Elle and JJ were nowhere in sight. Hotch stood in front of him, turned slightly to the side, eyes fixed on the ground, a phone pressed to his ear. His rolled-up sleeves exposed tense veins on his forearms, his hands clenched into fists.

“You killed a hostage,” Hotch said the moment the attacker picked up. Hearing the words spoken aloud, the gunshot echoed again in Spencer’s mind. He flinched, though he hadn’t the first time it happened for real.

It really happened. This wasn’t some hysterical thought creeping into your mind when someone you care about is late to a meeting and doesn’t pick up their phone, the kind of thought where your brain starts whispering that something terrible must have happened. It wasn’t a dream either, nor a nightmare blending with reality. And it wasn’t some devastating novel, a climactic moment designed to shatter the reader’s heart into pieces.

This

really

happened.

"I’ll remind you of the terms of our agreement," Hotch continued. His tone was usually sharp, leaving no room for argument. But now, having just lost a member of his team and addressing the person responsible for it, his words didn’t just cut—they sliced. Spencer fixed his gaze on him, unable to comprehend how Hotch could remain so composed in the moment. He himself…

“You don’t harm anyone else, and in return, we provide you with the necessary tools. Shooting that innocent person…”

How did it come to this—that the person who, just that morning, ordered Chinese food with him to calm her nerves; who had teasingly told him to clip the microphone onto her, leaving him flustered; whose sweet scent of hair lingered so strongly in his senses that he had to hold his breath just to focus; who, one moment, could make him laugh until tears blurred his vision, and the next, worry so deeply about her that he felt feverish with concern; who listened, truly listened, even when he had grown tired of his own voice; who helped him discover pieces of himself he hadn’t known were there; who revealed, day after day, some new and enchanting fragment of her soul; and whose laughter made him want to capture its melody, bottle it, and keep it for eternity—was now reduced to the cold, detached phrase an innocent person shot dead?

He realized his mind had become entirely consumed with replaying those moments. Thanks to his eidetic memory, each recollection was painfully vivid, yet at the same time—perhaps due to the awareness of what came next—filled with a paralyzing void. Detached from reality, he wasn’t even listening to the ongoing negotiations, only snapping back when the shadow of someone’s figure fell over him.

“Spencer,” Gideon called his name, alternating between looking at him with concern and averting his gaze, as if unable to bear the shattered expression on his face. “Did you hear what Hotch said?”

He couldn’t bring himself to shake his head, though he doubted it was necessary. Rarely did something fail to interest him, especially something Hotch had said, but whatever it was, it had landed firmly in that narrow category. After all, what could Hotch possibly have said? That he’d reached an agreement with the murderer, who would now release eighteen hostages instead of sixteen? Or perhaps, in an act of twisted mercy, he’d declared that once they brought the requested items, the killer would allow one person to go inside and retrieve her body?

He had seen many bodies with gunshot wounds to the head in his life. A vision of her with similar injuries haunted him, so vivid and detailed that he closed his eyes in an attempt to escape it. But the moment he did, the image only grew stronger, searing itself into his mind with unbearable clarity.

"He wants you to go inside pretending to be a surgeon. That’s what the unsub is asking for in exchange for the hostages. Your task would be to fake removing a chip from his body, pulling off one of your magic tricks," Gideon explained matter-of-factly, though his expression betrayed a certain doubt about the plan. He suddenly fell silent, hesitation creeping into his voice. "If you can’t do it… this isn’t an order, kid. No one will blame you if you say no."

“We didn’t know it would be such a terrible mistake,” Gideon said quietly.

“Well, that’s the thing about mistakes,” he scoffed bitterly. “You don’t usually realize you’re making them. But you should be able to predict them, especially when someone’s…” His voice broke, and he looked away, his anger momentarily crumbling into something rawer.

Even though he had lashed out at Gideon, the older man didn’t react with anger. Instead, he stared at Spencer with a calm, almost sorrowful expression. When Spencer stood, he felt the weight of Gideon’s hand resting on his numb shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” he declared after a moment.

There was no fear in his voice, no visible sign of stress. Under different circumstances, he’d likely have been unraveling, nerves fraying at the thought of entering the building with the task of saving her. But now…now all he wanted was to stand face-to-face with the man inside. More specifically, next to his neck. With a scalpel in hand.

There was no time to waste. He practiced his sleight of hand trick—making the chip suddenly appear in his palm—a few times. It had been a while since he’d done it, but even so, it came off flawlessly every time. He clenched the small device tightly in his hand and, before he knew it, found himself standing at the foot of the museum steps.

The doors opened, and the first hostages began to emerge. Their reactions followed the same pattern. First came the shock—the struggle to process that they were truly stepping outside again, alive. Then, as they began to accept it, their terrified, hesitant steps turned into a relieved jog, and their eyes brimmed with tears of gratitude.

Spencer stopped, his gaze fixed on the faces of random strangers as they rushed past. Somewhere, deep down, he held onto a foolish, fleeting hope that she might appear in those doors as well. She didn’t, of course.

But if she had… he thought, his chest tightening at the mere idea. If she had, he wasn’t sure he’d ever stop being thankful. Not necessarily to God, but to everything—every twist of fate—that had brought her back.

He had seen the interior of the building on the camera footage and had managed to memorize it. He knew exactly where to head to meet the unsub. The unsub was standing right in the center of the room. Spencer knew there had to be a second shooter somewhere, but he was afraid to look around. If his gaze happened to land on her, not only would his chip trick fail, but he was also certain he’d never be able to shake the image from his mind. It would embed itself in every cell of his brain, one after the other.

He focused all his attention on him, on Erik. He turned to him trustingly, showing the spot on his neck where he believed the chip was located. Everything about his posture radiated the peak of madness. His voice and expression oscillated between hope, desperation, paranoia, and much more that could be listed.

Spencer tried to concentrate on the chip in his hand, not on the scalpel in his other hand. He knew it would be incredibly foolish, but as he was so close to this man's throat, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He realized that the only thing holding him back was the awareness that the second shooter was likely keeping him in their sights. It was almost certain; he didn’t need to look around to know that. But as soon as the blade touched the man’s skin at the back of his neck, his gaze, against his will, began searching. He looked at the wall where the remaining hostages were gathered, the ones who hadn’t made it into the lucky sixteen. He didn’t find the shooter.

But he found her. If he weren’t wearing his glasses, he might have assumed he’d mistaken her for some other woman. He could only blame his brain and possible hallucinations... but before he could entertain those thoughts, one simple sentence took over his mind.

She was there. Blood dripping from her nose, clothes torn, curled up on the ground among the rest of the hostages, but she was there. She was there, alive.

*

When you stood up for that woman, a brief struggle broke out between you and the unsub. He ordered you to go outside, but the voice in your ear told you to stay inside at all costs. Unsure of what to do, you started mumbling excuses and explanations, leading to an argument... during which he swung his weapon at you, aiming for your face.

As you fell, your weapon—clumsily shoved into your clothing after an argument with Allen—slipped out. And then things escalated rapidly.

Upon learning you were with the FBI, the unsub went into his usual paranoid frenzy. He dropped the microphone he had taken from you, and the heavy kicks of his leather boots landed on your body, on your ribs, on your back. You could barely keep up with protecting yourself, as the blows kept coming faster and faster.

And in that moment, something happened that probably saved your life. But at the same time, it cost another man and his family everything.

Allen sprang at the second attacker, who was almost hypnotized by the injuries being inflicted on you. He seized the moment of distraction, yanking the weapon from his hand and turning it against its owner. You remembered the fleeting look of triumph on his face as he aimed it at Erik. And then, the look of confusion when he was overtaken and the bullets tore through his body.

Somewhere in that moment, your microphone must have been destroyed, leaving you without contact with the team. And without it... you were just like any other hostage. Beaten, forced to stem the blood running from your nose with your blazer. You remembered glancing at it, running your finger over the fabric soaked in crimson, and thinking you'd have to wash it before returning it to Reid. Then, the hopeless realization hit you that maybe you wouldn’t get the chance to do that, and helpless tears filled your eyes for the first time.

It was strange that the unsub decided to spare you. Was it the incoming phone call that distracted him? Or perhaps the death of Allen? Was he the reason for this whole attack? You weren’t sure, maybe both at once. But you managed to return to your spot against the wall, where the other hostages had moved as far away as they could from the two lifeless bodies lying in a pool of blood.

Behind your back, the unsub was arguing with the police, probably Hotch. You weren’t paying attention to their negotiations, instead kneeling beside Allen. Completely staining your clothes, you reached for his hand. His eyes were wide open, his chest... maybe rising slightly, or maybe it was just your perception. In any case, you didn’t grab him to check his pulse, to see if there was anything that could be done to save him. You knew there wasn’t. You took his hand in a gesture of gratitude for everything, filled with sincere and deep compassion, despite everything that had happened between you. Maybe he turned out to be a jerk in that one, crisis situation where it’s normal for people to lose their minds. But what mattered was what kind of man he was in everyday, calm conditions. What kind of friend, fiancé, father he was.

You froze in place, staring at his face, his messy red hair. You snapped back to reality only when you realized the unsub was releasing the hostages. You weren’t part of that group. He didn’t look at you, or Allen, or his dead accomplice, as if you didn’t exist. The people were let out of the building, and then…

You nearly jumped to your feet at the sight of Reid, but the sharp pain in your ribs stopped you. Instead, you stared at him, confused as to why he’d gotten himself into such a messed-up situation alone. No one was with him, and you couldn’t even tell if he was carrying a weapon. Why was he taking such a risk? Couldn’t they have sent someone else?

Although your gaze bored into him, asking without words, he stubbornly avoided looking at you. It took a while, but then it hit you—he’d probably been told to hide the fact that you knew each other. He was pretending to be a surgeon, you realized.

You watched in shock as the unsub dropped his weapon and turned his back to Reid, begging him quietly to remove the chip from his body.

Before Reid touched the scalpel to his neck, he looked straight at you. You couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you knew there was a lot going on. It was a long moment of eye contact, which he broke to get to work. Focused, brow furrowed.

You shook your head in disbelief when he really pulled the tiny device from his body. Wait, so what? It had really been there all along? The unsub wasn’t a paranoid delusional?

At the sight of the chip, Erik staggered with a mix of hysterical joy and relief, and after a moment, he literally collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands. His body was shaken by sobs as he muttered his thanks. He was... absolutely harmless. The hostages took advantage of his vulnerability, using the opportunity to silently leave the museum. You found yourself among them, even helping those who, due to shock, struggled to move. How? With your injuries? You had no idea.

You pointed one woman toward the ambulance waiting outside the building, ready to take any injured hostages. Around you, sounds echoed, people were running in all directions. A sense of disconnection and disbelief washed over you, as if you couldn’t quite grasp that it was all over.

You turned around, sensing someone's presence behind you.

The first thing you noticed was that Spencer was still wearing his blue rubber gloves. Strange, but the first thing that came to your mind was to focus on that detail. You even opened your mouth to speak, but stopped when he gently cupped your face in both of his hands. As if you were a fragile relic, he tilted his head slightly from side to side, almost as though he was trying to deny the fact that you were standing before him.

"As if you saw a ghost," you whispered, a faint smile appearing on your face.

Taking advantage of the fact that he was leaning toward you, you pressed your forehead against his. With your eyes still open, you saw his eyelids tremble. When he closed them, you caught sight of that single tear beginning to form beneath them.

*

"Reid," you said, as he and the rest of the team were heading towards the exit. All heads turned in your direction, but you only cared about that one. "Can we talk?"

He opened his mouth, seemingly surprised by the request, but then swallowed and nodded.

"Sure. If... just, sure."

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh. Since your rib injuries were numerous, you had to be taken to the hospital for an X-ray. Your face wasn’t looking too good either. Only a few hours had passed since everything happened, and all your wounds were fresh and painful. After taking a decent amount of painkillers, you felt a bit like you were floating. You were sitting on the hospital bed, your legs resting on the floor as if on a bench. You made space beside you, and although he hesitated for a moment, he sat right next to you, so close your shoulders almost touched.

What you wanted to say, everything you felt, was hard to put into words. So you spent a few minutes in silence, during which you concluded that the simpler, the better.

"Thank you, Reid."

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively.

"Thank you? For what? I should be thanking you."

You knew this would happen. That he would downplay what he did, and it would be incredibly hard for you to express all the gratitude you felt towards him.

"For what? For everything," you stated briefly. He was preparing a response, but you beat him to it. You even raised a finger decisively, signaling for a moment of silence. You had a lot to say. "Not just for pretending to be a surgeon and getting into that museum. And don't shrug it off like it was a small thing! You saved those people."

"Maybe a little, but…"

"But that's not all. You were… you were with me the whole time. You kept talking to me the entire time…"

"Just like everyone else…"

"Everyone else gave me orders. Told me what to do to survive and what not to do. And of course, I'm incredibly grateful to them—if it weren't for them, I would have probably pissed off that unsub after less than fifteen minutes and we'd all be dead by now."

Reid flinched when you said that. Maybe you should hold off on such words, while the whole situation was still so fresh.

"You... you kept asking how I was feeling, talking to me, just... your voice, the fact that I had you on the other end, it helped me not panic. When, at the very beginning, you asked me to breathe with you..."

You shook your head, holding back the involuntary recollection of that moment, that memory when you were still trapped in that building with two armed men. Helpless and lost, clutching his jacket with all your strength. 

You realized with growing difficulty that you were holding back tears.

Reid had been listening to you quietly the whole time, but suddenly, he lowered his gaze. His hand found yours, hesitated for a moment, then gently grasped it. You immediately squeezed it tightly. Something came to your mind.

"And what did you want to thank me for?" you asked, referring to when he interrupted you the first time.

"It's not... I don't have as much to say as you do," he confessed, circling the topic more than addressing it directly. He still hadn't let go of your hand, and as he thought, his thumb seemed to absentmindedly stroke its surface.

"Wow," you murmured. "I never expected Spencer Reid to say something like that in my presence, but here we are. So?"

He smiled for a moment at your comment. However, that expression quickly gave way to a more serious one, carrying with it the unburied remnants of the horror you had both endured just a few hours ago.

"Just for you being alive," he said. Your brows furrowed slightly when you heard that. It wasn't what you expected. "For a while... when you were still inside, and your mic was destroyed..." With a sigh, he tilted his head back, holding back from returning to that moment. It couldn't have been easy for him, referring to exactly the moment that caused him pain. "We heard a gunshot. Everyone thought it was you.  That's why... that's why I just wanted to thank you for that."

Given that you had absolutely no control over it, those were the strangest thanks anyone had ever given you. But still, they squeezed your heart like no others ever had.

You leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek.

taglist: @she-wont-miss @mggslover @nyeddleblog @dylanobrienswife0420 @wmoony

@heddgie @khxna @marauder-exe-old @yujyujj @charleyreid @kitty-kai @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @beesin03 @misserabella @re1dsb1xch

[suliigwp]

MY WOMAN

Lewis Hamilton, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc , Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Max Verstappen

SULI: Okay Ser Lewis version! I love you guys but please no more my woman request 🙏 I have no idea how to make them different anymore. Thank you for requesting!

Warnings: men.ewew

It started over lunch. One of those polished, high-stakes networking events where everything looks elegant and progressive on the surface—until you start listening too closely.

The executive sat across from her, older and well-respected, known for his influence behind the scenes. He had a charming smile and a careful tone, and he talked just enough to make her feel heard—until he didn’t.

“You’re brilliant,” he said, lifting his wine glass as if offering a toast. “Sharp mind, well-spoken. And of course, you’re stunning. That’s part of the appeal.”

She smiled politely. The kind of smile that looked gracious but was actually a mask.

Then he added, casually, like he was doing her a favor:

“You know, if you just… softened your presence a little, more doors would open for you. You have to let men feel like they still matter in the room. Play the game, just enough.”

Lewis sat still beside her, his expression unreadable.

He didn’t say a word. Just took a slow sip of his drink and met the man’s eyes over the rim of his glass. A flicker of something passed between them—unspoken, but unmistakable.

Later, when they left the table and slipped into the elevator, silence fell. Her smile vanished the moment the doors closed.

She didn’t look at Lewis, but her voice was low. Tight.

“You didn’t say anything.”

He glanced at her. “Did you want me to?”

“I’m not sure.” She folded her arms, leaned against the metal wall. “It just... felt like you didn’t have my back.”

That made him turn fully toward her.

“I had your back,” he said evenly. “I just didn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing it.”

She frowned, unsure what that meant.

Lewis pressed the elevator button for their floor again, even though it was already lit. Something to do with his hands.

“You have no idea how often I’ve heard men like him say that same shit. To me. About women like you. The only difference is, they used to say it behind closed doors.”

She looked at him, jaw clenched. “And what? You were just going to let it go?”

He let out a soft breath. “Of course not.”

...

She didn’t find out what he did until days later.

By then, the man had been quietly pulled from two of the strategy boards. Disinvited from an upcoming FIA summit. His name was no longer on certain email chains, and he didn’t seem to know why. Only that his access was being limited.

Whispers started circulating. It wasn’t public—but it was effective.

She learned about it not from Lewis, but from a mutual colleague who said, “You know Hamilton had something to do with that, right? The man’s radioactive now.”

She marched back to the hospitality suite, heart pounding.

He was at his desk, tapping through telemetry on his laptop.

“You did it behind my back,” she said sharply.

Lewis looked up, calm. “I did it quietly.”

She stepped in further, lowering her voice. “You went after him?”

“No.” He closed the laptop. “I just made sure the people above him knew who he really was.”

She exhaled hard. “I could’ve handled that myself.”

“I know,” he said.

“Then why didn’t you let me?”

Lewis stood up. Walked over. His voice dropped, soft but deliberate.

“I didn’t handle it because you’re a woman. I handled it because you’re my woman. And I’ve had to watch women I love—my mum, my friends, my team—be belittled and pushed aside for years. I’ve watched them smile through it, stay quiet so they don’t seem angry, play it safe. I’m done watching.”

She stared at him. Breathing harder now. Angry, but also—

Moved.

“Lewis—”

“You didn’t need saving,” he said. “You’ve never needed saving.”

A pause.

“But when someone thinks they can reduce you to a pretty face and a polite tone... they don’t just disrespect you. They insult everything you’ve fought to become. And I don’t let that slide.”

He stepped closer, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his chest.

“You’re not too much. You’re not too sharp. You’re not too loud. You are exactly who you need to be, and if that makes people uncomfortable, let them squirm.”

His voice softened to a whisper:

“I didn’t silence him. I just reminded him that power doesn’t look the way he thinks it does.”

She stared up at him.

And then, because she couldn’t hold it anymore, she stepped forward—slowly—and laid her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, his hand cradling the back of her head like it was second nature.

They stood there for a long moment. No more words. Just steady breathing. His hand tracing slow, calming circles against her spine.

[tbaluver]

I Saw Mommy Kiss Santa!- The Love And Deepspace Men

in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader summary: your child(ren) caught you and santa kissing! genre: fluff fluff + silly + drabble a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ justt one moree holiday drabble just bc i love the holidays and i've always wanted to do holiday posts! this isn't proof read btw i had the idea written out and i wanted to make sure this gets posted before christmas at least- i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope you all have a happy holidays! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas day. the cookies you and the kids had left out were completely gone, quite literally no crumbs on that plate and the glass of milk was left empty right beside it.

although xavier didn’t really like the idea of santa claus, he could tell how excited his boys were when santa was going to visit overnight. you had mentioned that they might try to peek, given how excited they were that they couldn’t sleep, so xavier thought it was a good idea to help keep the surprise.

however both of you didn’t expect that they would peek in the worst possible moment.

xavier had just finished placing the last presents under the tree while you were wrapping up the dishes you’d used to bake with the boys. as you walked over to him, you’d admire the scene he’d set up for them so perfectly, you couldn’t help but smile. it truly did look like santa had come.

you lean in to kiss xavier, his hands naturally wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. but little did you both know, your two boys had quietly sneaked down the stairs and were watching from the steps.

before either of you could react, they charged at xavier with plastic swords in their hands, ones that he had given them, and began attacking him. he was quick to stop them and the boys froze, their eyes wide in realization.

“huh? but we saw santa..where did he go?” the older one asked, clearly confused. their plan had failed.

“um.. ho ho ho? merry christmas?” xavier scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he sets their toys down on the couch.

“papwa where did santa go?” the youngest asked, his voice trembling as tears were welling up in his eyes.

“santa was in a hurry tonight,” xavier says softly, kneeling down to their level and pats both of his son's head. “santa was nice enough to lend me his suit..so i became santa’s helper.”

you crouch down beside them, trying to calm them down. “why did you attack your father? i’m sure santa wouldn’t have liked that.” you asked softly.

“we saw santa kiss you momma!” they exclaimed in unison.

xavier turns his gaze to, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “santa kissed you?”

you had to explain to xavier later that he was santa after you put the boys back to bed.

Zayne:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas. your daughter was tucked into bed while you and your husband just waited a little longer to ensure she was asleep before starting to make it look like santa visited.

your husband loved you and your daughter more than anything. which is why tonight he was determined to make it perfect and the reason why he was wearing the santa suit you had secretly bought him. it was an effort to see that big smile on her face when she woke up. however you try to hold back your laughter every time you pass by him in that red suit.

zayne used his evol to make a few final touches to the scene. he conjured up a powdery snow on the floor, carefully leaving footprints to mimic santa’s path. he made sure to eat the cookies and drink the milk that you and her left out, also leaving snowy handprints. zayne also made sure to leave a beautifully written thank you note near the empty plate, making sure it was written differently than his.

once everything was perfect, you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. as he pulls away, he whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

but neither of you were unaware that from the spot behind the stairs, your daughter had peeked through the railings, watching you kiss santa.

christmas morning

your daughter came running into your bedroom, squealing in excitement as she jumps onto your bed. she tugs both of you to get up as she drags you both down to the living room where a mountain pile of presents laid under the tree.

but there was a moment of hesitation on her face. you exchange a curious glance with zayne as your daughter stopped in front of the tree.

“what’s wrong dear?” zayne asked, kneeling down to her level.

she twiddles her thumbs nervously, her gaze darting back and forth between you and zayne. “well..” she hesitates, “i-i know i wasn’t suppose to be awake last night.. but i hear santa’s boots and i wanted to see if he was really there. and he was!”

you raised a brow, realizing what she meant. but you didn’t understand why she seemed so conflicted. “you heard santa? did he wake you?”

you daughter nodded eagerly, “yes i saw him! but..i saw mommy kiss santa!” her voice trembling.

you both froze for a moment, exchanging a look. zayne tried his best not to crack a smile but you could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“no, no hon,” you try to reassure her before it escalates to anything else, “i didn’t kiss santa.”

zayne nods along, “it’s true she didn’t kiss santa. she was just giving him a hug, my love.”

your daughter’s eyes widened with curiously as she darts her gaze between you and zayne, “really?”

zayne smiles softly, lowering himself to her height. “yes, mommy was just thanking santa for all the presents because you’ve been such a good girl this year.”

relief flooded your daughter’s face, making you both relax. her smile lights up the room as she threw her arms around you both, hugging you tightly. “yayyy! santa must like mommy a lot then!” she chirps happily.

“of course he does. now, let’s see what he’s brought you this year.”

Rafayel:

surprisingly it did not take you that long to convince rafayel to play santa. sure, it was meant for you rather than for the kids but he took the role very seriously even when the children weren’t evem around to witness it.

all he had to do was eat the cookies, stomp around in his boots to make sure the kids could probably hear him in the living room and neatly arrange the presents under the tree. but no, rafayel decided to go all out. and honestly, you couldn’t say no his dedication and work.

he starts by making a grand entrance, the sound of jingling sleigh bells ringing near the children’s room, only for it to backfire. the noise woke up the kids and they all debated if they should sneak out to see if santa was really here.

rafayel didn’t stop there just yet. he called a in a few of his friends, the seagulls, to nibble on the carrots left for the reindeers, making sure there were a few crumbs scattered to ensure they were eaten. he even made sure to leave tracks outside the house to show that reindeers were definitely there.

but that wasn’t the end of it. using powdered sugar, he carefully creates santa’s footsteps around the living room to make it look like santa himself had walked around and set up the presents. as you finished up filling the fifth stockings and stepped back to admire the scene, you couldn’t help but feel excited when your children wake up in the morning.

rafayel steps out of the powdered sugar footprints and saunters over to you with a playful grin. “well? give santa a kiss?” he says, spreading his arms wide. you rolled your eyes playfully but you couldn’t resist. walking into his arms, you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer while the other tangled gently in your hair, deepening the kiss.

but before either of you could fully enjoy the moment alone, you heard a small thud and a very panicked rafayel. “hey!! glub glubs-!”

the kids had been watching the entire kissing scene unfold from the stairs and before any of you could react they rushed over, tackling santa rafayel. the squealing stopped abruptly when they looked up. their faces frozen in confusion as they realize it’s their father.

“fawther?” one of them asks, eyes wide.

“papa?” the other repeats, staring at him in total disbelief.

“you..you’re santa?”

rafayel sat up as he brushed himself off, “listen glub glubs..don’t tell anyone okay?” he winks at them, motioning for them to come closer. “you see.. us lemurians actually work with santa. we have an important job in making sure sharks don’t eat him if the reindeers fall asleep. and this year.. santa needed a little help making sure your presents came in extraaaa safely!” he closes his eyes dramatically while nodding. he knew he played it off well when he hears the kids gasp and squeal in excitement

rafayel grins, standing up and playfully ruffling their hairs. “yupp! now let’s get you all back to bed. ya know you shouldn’t be up right now or santa might come back and take all your presents away!” he teases as they gasp in unison, shaking their heads furiously.

“what if he comes back and kisses mommy this time?”

rafayel chuckles as he turns his gaze to you and raises a brow, “puh-lease. as if i’d ever let him.”

Sylus:

it was a few hours past midnight, meaning christmas had finally arrived. while your daughter was tucked in, you and sylus worked under the warm glow of the fireplace and the tree lights, setting up presents and carefully arranging them to make it look like santa paid a visit.

you thought it would be funny handing him a red suit and boots to stomp loudly on the floor but little did you know sylus had his own revenge. with a smirk, he hands you a silly oversized elf hat. ‘my perfect little helper’ he teases.

you carefully stuffed extra toys and candy into her stockings that hung over the fireplace as sylus made a show eating a few of the cookies you had baked together with her, making sure to offer you a couple bites as well. he made sure to leave her a special postcard for her and made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop one of santa’s golden bell.

when you both finished setting everything up, you stood back and admired both your work. everything was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your baby girl to see that santa had visited.

sylus slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he lowers his height and presses his soft lips against yours as you slip off the ugly elf hat he’d given you. but neither of you knew that your daughter along with mephisto was quietly watching from behind the banister.

her eyes widened in disbelief as she exchanges looks with mephisto. how dare santa make a move on her mommy? before either of you could react, she charges down the stairs.

your daughter rushes straight at sylus, who was dressed as santa while mephisto swung at you instead, squawking extra loudly as it flapped around you. your daughter tugs at santa sylus’s boots, wailing, “go away leave mommy alone!”

but when ‘santa’ crouches down at her, her eyes widened with shock. she realized that it was her father underneath the suit. he gently scoops your daughter up as he stops mephisto from attacking you. “what’s the matter, sweetie? you know you’re not supposed to be awake right now,” he says gently.

her eyes threatened to spill tears while her lower lip trembled, “i-i..i heard santa and I just wanted to see him! and then i saw mommy kiss santa!” she whimpered

sylus glanced at you with a raised row, trying not to crack a smile. “sweetie..don’t worry. mommy would never kiss anyone else but you and me,” he says softly, brushing her hair from her face. “santa knew you were awake, so we switched places.”

you daughter gasped, sitting up in sylus’s arms with wide eyes. she looked back and forth between you both, “waaowww!”

you were honestly equally impressed by how quick he had come up with an explanation and at how well he played along. “now, now..let’s all get some sleep and we can see what santa left us in the morning, okay?”

“yayyyy!” she cheered, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

[hattiewritesalot]

Poison

Azriel x Reader

Summary: At an event hosted by High Lord Beron, Azriel's closest friend Y/N seems to be incredibly wasted. The only problem? Azriel knows that she doesn't get drunk. Ever.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, poison, vomiting, a drunk love confession, a bit of angst but it is all in all quite fluffy

A/N: So this may or may not be inspired by the scene in Wicked King where Cardan gets poisoned... enjoy!! :3

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Y/N is, as always, on high alert as she follows Rhys into the ballroom. Something combined with her dislike for social events and her lack of trust for the High Lord of Autumn meant her eyes and ears were everywhere, keeping constant watch over everything. Azriel’s large hand gently splays over her bare back, the rough fingers a gentle reminder that he’s there, and possibly to tell her to stop being so tense. She shoots a glare at her best friend, who responds with a badly-concealed smile.

She’s dressed in black, they all are, as is custom in the Night Court. Her dress is floor length, the black satin offering a nice hold around her figure, the neckline a low plunge, and the slit on her left side allowing her some freedom. The fabric is littered with silver threads and diamonds, meant to represent constellations, and also to match the sparkly heels on her feet. She looks pretty. She feels it.

A servant welcomes them warmly, almost immediately offering the group a drink of champagne, which she takes. Cassian snorts, and teases her for taking the only glass that the poor servant had, but she rolls her eyes and takes a sip.

She rarely drinks. She doesn’t like it. She’s seen enough of the boys’ drunk shenanigans to be put off it for a lifetime. She usually stays sober, if not tipsy, whenever they go to Rita’s, opting for escorting a stumbling Rhys back to Feyre rather than being the one stumbling.

But one drink won’t hurt. Not tonight. Tonight, she’ll need it.

The Inner Circle split up around the room, Azriel hot on Y/N’s trails, scarred fingers just barely tracing her bare shoulders. She sighs, leaning against a wall, him doing the same. “Time check?”

Azriel snorts. “You’re the one with the watch.”

She clicks her tongue, and checks the time, leaning back with a groan. “Two more hours of… this.”

“Always a ray of sunshine.”

“Says the shadowsinger.” she grins. Azriel was the first person she’d met in the Inner Circle, and coincidentally, her closest friend. They’d been attached at the hip the moment she’d introduced herself. They know everything about each other, inside and out. 

She’d never admit it, but her heart longed for the Illyrian. He was always so clever, so considerate. And, not to mention, his sharp features and hazel eyes made heat rise in her cheeks; hot, blissful, lovestruck heat.

“I think Cassian wants me for something.” Azriel muses, tipping his chin towards where Cassian was very unsubtly gesturing for him to accompany him. Y/N narrows her eyes at the redhead he’s standing with, and laughs. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say that were Eris Vanserra. Good luck, Az.”

Azriel groans, playfully tugging her hair as he walks over to his brother.

All alone, now. She drinks her champagne, downing it almost immediately. She liked champagne. It never got you too drunk, never made you too irrational. “Enjoying the festivities, Y/N?” Beron’s voice purrs out from behind her. She forces a smile.

“I’d say yes, but it appears I’ve run out of champagne.” The High Lord cocks a brow at her words, and offers her another glass with a different, more vibrant liquid. “Try this. It’s exclusive to the Autumn Court. I believe you’ll enjoy it, it’s not too strong.”

She eyes the glass, before taking it, taking a sip. It’s a subtle flavour - fruity, slightly bitter. “Thank you, my lord.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he walks away. 

Cauldron, this drink is good. She drinks every last drop, and places it down on the table next to her, looking for a bottle of the same-

Oh. Oh. This is fun. Fun, fun, fun!

Why isn’t she having fun! Tonight is amazing!

An uncontrollable giggle tears from her throat, the sound throwing her off slightly as wave after wave of lucid dizziness hit her. She laughs, clutching her chest. This is so fun!

Where’s Azriel? Is he having fun? Oh, she loves him. Loves him so much. Where is he!?

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

Azriel cracks his neck, obviously not wanting to engage with the eldest son of the High Lord, who clearly would rather be anywhere else. Cassian is long gone, with the excuse of seeing Nesta, and now Azriel has been left to deal with Eris. This could not get any worse.

Until it does.

Y/N beams at him, tripping over her feet to get to him, stumbling as she slumps into his arms, snorting and giggling. He freezes. Eris chokes on a laugh. Her hands reach up to grab his face and tug at his hair.

“Y/N?” he murmurs, taken slightly off-guard by her strange behaviours.

“Azzy!” she squeals, laughing and kissing his cheek. Eris cocks a brow. “Looks like your little Y/N’s had too much to drink.” His words echo around Azriel’s head. No, that can’t be. Y/N doesn’t like drinking. And why would she get drunk here of all places? And why-

His heart sinks. Her pupils are dilated. Her body is trembling. Her skin is turning clammy. 

This isn’t alcohol. It’s poison. 

His eyes go wide as he pulls her form into his arms. “Y/N?” he mumbles, a little firmer now. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Nothing, silly!” she squeals. Eris laughs again, and Azriel’s head whips towards him. “What the fuck did you do to her!?” The eldest son’s eyes widen at his harsh, almost growling tone. 

“Me? I’ve done nothing. She’s just drunk, shadowsinger.” He sneers at him down his pointy nose. Azriel clutches Y/N closer, ignoring all of her babbles as she squishes his cheeks and tugs his dark locks like a child. 

“I love you!” she squeals. “I love you sooooo much. So much. I wish we were mates.” she slurs. Azriel takes a shaky breath at her words, and Eris gestures to her flailing form. “See? Drunk.”

“She’s not- she’s not drunk, she’s- fuck, where’s Rhys?” His tone is desperate as he searches for the High Lord. Y/N’s knees start to buckle, but he wraps her arms around her thighs. “Stay with me, sweetheart, you’re gonna be okay.” He manages to catch the attention of Rhys, whose eyes go wide at the sight of Y/N’s slumped form, and he rushes to them. “What-”

“She’s been poisoned.” Azriel chokes out, panic surging in his veins as he hugs his girl as tightly as he can to his chest. “We- we need to get her out.” Rhys takes a breath, and seems to send a message to Feyre, because she starts to round everyone up. “She’ll be okay, Az, just calm down-”

“I’m not going to calm down! She could die!” He snaps. Rhys backs off at the protective gaze in his brother’s eyes. “Get her back to the Night Court, I’ll sort out here.” Azriel hooks one arm under her knees and the other on her back as he closes his eyes, winnowing back to Velaris. 

She squirms, shoving herself onto the cold floor of the Moonstone Palace, and she pukes, gasping and gagging. He shushes her gently, his shadows swirling around her and stroking her hair back as she retches. “It’s okay, you’re okay. Get it all out.”

As she vomits, his mind can’t help but flick back to what she said in the Autumn Court. ‘I love you!’ ‘I wish we were mates.’ His heart flutters at the recollection, but he silently growls at it to shut up. She’s been poisoned. Her head isn’t right. She was probably just saying words for the fun of it. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it.

But still…

No, heart, stop it.

He pulls her up against his chest when she’s finished, gently rubbing her back. She sobs, slurring unintelligible words. He kisses her sweaty temple and carefully carries her up to her room, murmuring sweet nothings to keep her calm, but her body thrashes. Her eyes are rolling back. His hands are shaking. 

He just about manages to get her writhing form onto the bed when Rhys arrives, Madja hot on his trails. “She’s been poisoned?” she asks. Y/N screams in response. Rhys winces at the noise, but the expression worsens at the fury on Azriel’s face.

“Azriel-”

“Go on.” He growls. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t storm back in there and kill them all.”

“Because first of all, that’ll be a lot of paperwork for me, and second of all, I don’t think Y/N wants you to leave.”

Rhys is, frustratingly, right. Y/N has taken it upon herself to latch onto Azriel’s arm, clutching him and mumbling profusely, cheek squished against his bicep. He sighs, and gently pats her hair, shooting a glare to the High Lord of Night in the process.

He sits with her the entire time Madja treats her, his fingers tightly intertwined with hers. The healer concludes that she’ll be okay, but not without side-effects. She says he was clever to get her home so quickly. It wasn’t out of intelligence, it was out of fear.

She gives Y/N a sleeping draught, just so her aching body can get some rest, and then she leaves. Azriel stares at his best friend’s face, and figures he should do the same. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, smiles at her fluttering eyes, and moves to leave.

Standing in the doorway, however, his eyes flit back to hers, the hazel of his irises connecting with her soft hues.

And then he feels it.

Like a string pulled taut, it snaps within his chest, flooding his veins with the pure bliss of finally having something to protect, to care for, to love. It roars throughout his body, his heart burning with the golden flames of the bond.

Mate.

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PART TWO HERE!!

lol hmu I write for acotar now

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

⋆ synopsis. you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing. idol bf! san & fem!reader

taglist. @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

wc. 3,1k

warnings. unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, pet names (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

nic’s notes ⋆ this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional!

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[starkwlkr]

just a girl | f1

an: this is me asking for your letterboxd pls i need letterboxd mutuals 🤭 my account is deadpunks also made the reader have glasses because we need more glasses representation in fanfics 😔 (to the girlies that wear glasses, this is for you!!!)

Las Vegas Grand Prix Weekend

“What movie did I watch?” Y/n read the comment that a fan left on her instagram live. She adjusted her glasses and smiled. “I just finished ‘Drop Dead Gorgeous’ it’s so underrated. The cast is so iconic like you have Kirsten Dunst, Brittany Murphy, Denise Richards, Amy Adams and Allison Janney in one movie. It’s definitely in my top four.”

It was hours after qualifying and Y/n was exhausted, but all she wanted to do was finish watching her movie. Unfortunately for her, the movie she had just named wasn’t anywhere on streaming so she brought her portable dvd player and a stack of dvds. When Lando saw her watching a movie and crocheting a scarf for herself in her garage, he laughed at the scene. He actually found it adorable.

“What’s my letterboxd? Okay, listen. . . I don’t give it out to just anyone so this is between you lovely people and me, okay? My letterboxd is ilovecillianmurphy420 and please follow me, I am desperate,” Y/n laughed. She then took her phone and saw all the new follower notifications from letterboxd. “I’m going to ask the social media admin to ask everyone on the grid for their four favorites. Lando is definitely going to name animated movies. That or he’ll forget what a movie is and say nothing.”

What’s your four favorites?

“Whoever your asked for my four favorites, I’m blocking you. How dare you ask me that question . . . Paddington 1 and 2, Saw and Mamma Mia. I know I said drop dead gorgeous was in my top four, but I lie all the time.”

The next day, her letterboxd account had become the second most followed account.

INSTAGRAM

liked by oscarpiastri, letterboxd and others

yourusername just watched the masterpiece that is jackass number two

formulaupdating can i ask why you don’t post about f1 that often?

yourusername no you may not

oscarpiastri i was there too

yourusername ok

landonorris didn’t you watch that last week?

yourusername this is my own private domicile and i will not be harassed

landonorris ?

yourusername bitch

Load more comments

After The Race / Interviews

Y/n hated being interviewed, it was the absolute worst thing on earth. No wait, forgetting her AirPods was the worst thing, but interviews were right behind that. She was exhausted and now she had to deal with reporters asking her what she thought about the championship battle.

Her fingers brushed the strap of her cap nervously as the interviewer’s voice cut through her anxiety.

“Y/n, P7 today—solid result. How are you feeling?" The reporter asked.

Y/n blinked, her eyes flicking around as she tried to process the question, and then her gaze landed on her own shoes. She cleared her throat awkwardly, looking up only to meet the camera for a brief, uncomfortable moment.

“Uh, yeah. It, uh . . . it was. . . good. I mean . . . yeah, I’m happy with it, I guess," she mumbled, her voice faltering.

The reporter smiled kindly, already used to the shy responses. “What do you think made the difference here in Vegas?" He waited patiently for Y/n’s answer.

Y/n’s lips parted as she prepared an answer, but the words tangled up in her brain. She shifted from foot to foot, adjusting her grip on the cap. Fuck, why can’t you think of anything?!, she thought to herself. “Uh . . . I don’t know . . . it’s just . . . uh, a little . . . weird, with all the lights and, you know, the . . . Strip, and, um . . .” Her voice trailed off.

The interviewer gave her a soft chuckle, understanding that Y/n’s awkwardness wasn’t lack of confidence, but rather a product of her introverted nature. Before the interview could go on, two figures appeared behind Y/n.

Oscar had cut in, Y/n’s pair of glasses in his hand. He placed a hand on her shoulder and handed the glasses to her while Lando ruffled her hair. She happily accepted them and placed them on her face.

“Alright, alright,” he said with a grin, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve tortured her enough, mate.”

Y/n let out a relieved sigh as she turned to Oscar, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. “You’re doing great, really,” he said quietly, his tone meant to ease her nerves.

Lando then spoke up. “Are we done with the interrogation? She's literally about to disappear into her own head if we keep this up."

The reporter chuckled. “I was just asking Y/n about her performance today.”

Y/n hadn’t even noticed that she had completely abandoned the interview. She had started doodling on Oscar’s hand. The Aussie had given her the pen he had used from a fan when he was signing autographs. It was their thing. Whenever she would get nervous and Oscar was around, he would let her draw on his hand. Somehow the hand doodles calmed her.

“Right, Y/n?”

That’s when she picked up her head and noticed Lando was staring at her. “Sorry, what?”

“The race,” Lando reminded her. “She was brilliant out there. Absolutely nailed it.” Y/n didn’t have the words to argue. Instead, she ducked her head, feeling both embarrassed and grateful.

The three drivers said their goodbye to the reporter and walked away. Lando threw an arm over Y/n’s shoulder, grinning. “You know, for someone who hates interviews, you’ve got a hell of a lot to say . . . just not when it’s on camera.”

Y/n’s lips twitched into a small smile, and she felt a brief wave of gratitude for her friends’ protective camaraderie. She glanced at Oscar, who gave her a knowing nod, his usual quiet confidence offering her a sense of calm.

“You guys are unbelievable.” Y/n laughed lightly.

“Yeah well you’re the idiot who’s going to have to deal with us.” Lando replied.

“Unfortunately.” She teased.

“The idiot with the crocheting skills and silly little film reviews that are very popular on the box app.” Lando added.

“What?” Y/n stopped walking and stared at Lando. She looked over at Oscar for an answer, but the Aussie just shrugged his shoulders.

“I do believe our dear Y/n wants a hot priest?” Lando teased, bringing up Y/n’s lastest letterboxd review about Fleabag. “That’s a bit scandalous, don’t you think?”

“Hot priest?” Oscar couldn’t believe Lando had just said those two words together.

“You two don’t get it! Come on, we’re watching Fleabag!”

[bucketsorbueckers]

No Hard Feelings - Chapter 7

Paige X Azzi

warning: language

A/N: for once, i'm not sorry. have fun :) happy sunday.

word count: 6K

Azzi’s POV

Last Year

It wasn’t anything elaborate. Just dinner.

Azzi had picked the spot. A little place near campus with string lights and soft music and those booths where you could sit side by side instead of across from each other.

She’d texted Paige the time. Even picked out the outfit she knew Paige liked. Jeans and the oversized cream sweater that always made her smile.

And Paige said she’d be there. “7:00. I’m yours.”

Azzi got there at 6:45. Ordered water. Checked her phone. Waited.

When 7:02 rolled around, she wasn’t really nervous. Paige was prompt, typically, but Paige was also busy. The spotlight she’d always existed in had somehow swelled—so large now that the light nearly eclipsed everything.

And Azzi understood that. She really did.

Sometimes, things came up. Things Paige couldn’t plan for. Things that weren’t her fault. So Azzi breathed through it. Smoothed the hem of her sweater. Picked at the condensation on her glass.

Even when the clock hit 7:11. Even when the server came by again, smiling too gently. Even when the door kept opening and never revealed the face she was waiting for.

She told herself to wait five more minutes. Then five more after that.

By 7:25, she wasn’t checking her phone for texts. She was just watching the minutes pile up, quiet and heavy and stupidly hopeful.

The waiter stopped by. Awkward. Kind. Pitying in a way he probably didn’t mean to be.

“Still waiting?” he asked, glancing at the empty seat across from her.

Azzi nodded. Sort of. There wasn’t much conviction left in it. A half-smile. A polite maybe.

By 7:35, though, she felt silly.

Not furious. Not even disappointed, just…stupid. For thinking maybe tonight would be different. For getting ready a little too early. For straightening her hair and putting on makeup she didn’t even really like. For trying.

She pulled her sleeves down over her hands, stared at the flickering candle in the middle of the table. Willed herself not to look at the door again.

It was just a dinner, she reasoned. But it was one she had planned. For them. Because they hadn’t had a them moment in a while, and she thought maybe it would help.

Especially with the tournament starting in two days. She’d figured this would be good, for them, for Paige, for her. A moment to breathe before the pressure sank its teeth in. A reminder that they existed outside of wins and stats and noise.

Finally, her phone rang. She exhaled before picking it up, already bracing for the shape of the apology.

“Az,” Paige’s voice came through, rushed and familiar, like it always was when she realized too late.

Azzi didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“I’m so sorry. The podcast ran over. I tried to get out of it but my manager made it clear it was a big deal and so I just. Azzi, I’m sorry. Are you still at the restaurant? I’m on my way.”

Azzi looked down at the table—half a water glass, a candle nearly burned out. The napkin she’d folded and unfolded three times.

She dropped it gently beside her plate, stood.

“No. I left a while ago.” A beat. “No worries, P. I know you’re busy.”

And it wasn’t even a lie. She did know Paige was busy. Her life spun faster than most people’s. Always somewhere, always someone needing something. It was the cost of being extraordinary. Azzi had never resented that.

“No,” Paige pressed back. “I’m not ever too busy for us. For you.”

Azzi bit down on her bottom lip as she threw a few bills on the table. Just a tip for their time and the awkwardness she knew she had made them feel. And as she headed out, she felt a bit upset. Nothing to cause a scene but enough to let it boil over. 

“It’s fine, P. I know I’m not your girlfriend. You don’t owe me anything.”

There was a beat. Just long enough to hear Paige inhale.

“Azzi,” she said quickly, “you know—”

But the line went dead. Azzi blinked at the screen, frowning. Blank. Dead. She sighed as she put the car in drive and headed back to campus. 

Around an hour late, a knock. Sharp. Too fast. Like whoever’s behind it was pacing.

Azzi blinked at the door. It was well past 9 PM. No one knocked at this hour unless something was wrong.

Azzi opened the door slowly. And there she was. Windblown, flushed, heart in her hands, literally. Paige. 

A bouquet of daisies. Azzi’s favorite. The kind she mentioned once, offhand, after a road game. A bag from that bakery in West Hartford—chocolate croissants with the flaked salt she loved, still warm. And tucked beneath it all, a small card with her name on it. In Paige’s handwriting. Slanted. Rushed.

She looked like she hadn’t taken a full breath since their phone call. 

“I know you said I don’t owe you anything,” Paige blurted, “but I owe you this.”  She stepped forward, arms overflowing, eyes too bright. “You didn’t think I wanted you to be my girlfriend?”

Azzi didn’t say anything. Not right away.

“You never asked,” she said finally.

Paige let out a soft laugh. Half breath, half nerves. “I didn’t ask because I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

She was holding the bouquet like she hadn’t realized she’d been crushing it. Azzi’s favorite, of course. Because Paige always knew. She looked at her, like the next sentence might actually hurt.

“You scare the shit out of me,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d give me the chance.”

Azzi’s eyes narrowed, but not unkindly. “Paige. We’ve been doing this for months.”

Her voice was flat, but her ears were burning. 

Paige shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d let me say it out loud.”

Azzi stared at her for a long second, then shook her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

“An idiot with croissants,” Paige said, holding the bag up slightly.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.

“You could’ve asked,” she muttered.

Paige grinned, wide and relieved and so painfully her.

“Why do you think I’m here?” she said, already setting the flowers and the croissants down on Azzi’s desk like she’d planned this out, even though they both knew she hadn’t.

Then she turned, suddenly shy in a way Azzi almost never saw.

“Azzi Fudd,” she said, grinning. “My best friend. My favorite person. The only one who tells me when I’m being insufferable and somehow still likes me anyway…” She took a breath.“…will you be my girlfriend?”

Azzi just stared at her for a second. Long enough that Paige started shifting her weight, like she was already preparing to get turned down. But then Azzi smiled. Small. Real. The kind of smile that tugged up slow, like she was trying not to let it show too much.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, okay.”

Paige let out the kind of breath that sounded like she’d been holding it for weeks.

“Cool,” Paige said, cheeks pink. “Cool cool cool.”

Azzi grinned. “Someone once told me Paige Bueckers doesn’t get nervous.”

“Yeah, well,” Paige said, tilting her chin up like she hadn’t just brought a pastry peace offering and confessed her feelings. “That version of Paige Bueckers didn’t have a reason to be.”

Azzi snorted. “Sure. Generational player. Plastered on screens and billboards. Fighting to be one of the best to ever do it. No pressure.”

Paige shrugged, lips tugging into a smirk. “Yeah, but that version had never asked the Azzi Fudd to be her girlfriend.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile was stupid-wide.“You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” She said. “But I am your girlfriend.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. 

“Say it, Az.” Paige said. Azzi tilted her head. “Say I’m your girlfriend.”

Azzi couldn’t even try to bite back her smile, “You’re my girlfriend, Paige Bueckers.”

“You’re fucking right I am,” She muttered, popping a bite of croissant into her mouth before closing the space between them. 

The bus came to a harsh stop in front of the hotel. Unexpectedly.

Azzi blinked hard, her head jerking off the window. Around her, the team stirred in slow waves. Hoods pulled back, tangled legs uncurled, groggy voices muttering about food and beds.

She grabbed her bag and followed the shuffle into the lobby, where room keys were being handed out one by one. CD looked exhausted already, trying to get the already exhausted group to focus for five seconds. 

“Fudd,” she called.

Azzi stepped forward, took the sleeve, and glanced at the number: 535. She flipped it over.

Roommate: Bueckers.

Her stomach dipped.

“Wait,” she said, too quietly at first. Then again: “Wait—sorry, I usually room with Caroline or Jana.”

CD didn't even look up. “Jana requested Caroline. Said they’re in some group project together for a psych class and needed to finish a big chunk of it this weekend.”

Azzi blinked. “They don’t even have a class together.”

Across the lobby, Jana was gesturing wildly with a manila folder, holding it up like it contained nuclear codes, while Caroline sat slumped in a chair, mouthing I hate you with the full force of someone who absolutely did not sign up for this.

Azzi tried to catch either of their attention, but they never looked her way.

“And Nika?” Azzi asked.

The assistant coach was already moving on to the next name. “Azzi, take the key and go get some rest.”

Azzi stared at the card. Room 535. Bueckers.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t roomed together before. They had. For years. But not since…everything.

She took a breath. Stuffed the card into her hoodie pocket and headed toward the elevator.

Paige was nowhere in sight. Not in the lobby, not at the front desk, not trailing behind anyone else like she’d gotten stuck signing something or charming the staff. Azzi figured she’d see her soon enough. She always did. Paige had this uncanny way of showing up exactly when you’d finally stopped waiting.

The elevator creaked open and Azzi stepped inside, one of the freshmen yawning beside her like she hadn’t just slept for two hours on the bus with her forehead pressed against the window.

Fifth floor.

She followed the numbers—529, 531, 533—and paused in front of 535.

The card key beeped on the first try. A small miracle given her experience. 

Inside, the room was dim and quiet. Two beds. Two lamps. One of everything. And her body ached to just fall face-first into one of them. But routines mattered. Especially on the road. Especially this early in the season, when everything still felt fragile and unearned—rhythm, chemistry, trust.

So instead of collapsing onto the mattress like every inch of her skin was begging her to, Azzi did what she always did: she dug through her bag, found her floss, and started there.

Standing in the hotel bathroom with the fan humming overhead and the fluorescent light making her look just a shade more exhausted than she felt, she threaded the floss between her teeth.

Normalcy, maybe. Control.

Her reflection blinked back at her. Dark circles, tight shoulders, a flash of something in her eyes she didn’t feel like naming.

Halfway through the process, she heard it. The door. A soft beep. The thud of it opening.

And then, Paige’s voice. Muffled. Half-laughing. Mid-conversation.

Azzi froze, floss still looped between her fingers. She hadn’t realized how quiet it had been until Paige’s voice filled the space. Or how much she’d been bracing for it.

The door clicked open just as Azzi was rinsing the mouthwash out of her mouth.

She turned, hand still on the faucet, to see Paige standing there. Bag slung over her shoulder, hood half-up, blinking like she'd just walked into a memory she wasn’t ready to remember.

She froze in the doorway. Like Azzi was the last person she expected to see.

“Az?”

Azzi nodded once, trying not to choke on the minty flavor still clinging to the back of her throat. She grabbed a towel, dabbed at her mouth, and leaned her hip against the sink.

“You didn’t know I was your roommate?”

“No,” she said. Honest. Like she couldn’t even pretend otherwise.

Azzi kept her face steady, even as her stomach coiled. “CD didn’t mention?”

Paige finally stepped inside. Set her bag down carefully, like she was trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Guess not,” she said. “I thought I’d be with Nika.”

Azzi nodded, once. Clipped. “Well. Surprise.”

Paige let out this little exhale. Not a laugh, not quite. More like the sound someone made when they weren’t sure what else to offer.

Azzi turned back to the mirror. Unscrewed the cap on her face wash. Let her fingers move the way they always did. She needed that. Needed something to do with her hands.

Behind her, Paige didn’t move. Still standing like the room wasn’t hers yet. Like Azzi’s presence took up too much space.

“Haven’t picked a bed yet,” Azzi said, eyes closed tight as she rubbed the cleanser into her cheeks. “Feel free to grab whatever.”

The words seemed to break whatever spell Paige was under. Kickstart her back into motion. She finally shut the door behind her with a soft click.

Azzi stayed in the bathroom a little longer than necessary. Slow. Methodical. Borderline dramatic with each step. A delay. A stall tactic. But eventually, there was nothing left to do. She stepped back into the room just in time to catch Paige mid-change, half undressed.

“Oh god,” Azzi blurted, immediately covering her eyes. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

“Az,” Paige sighed. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

And somehow, that made it worse.

When Azzi finally peeked, Paige was already changed. Her usual oversized t-shirt and boxers…so familiar it formed a chasm in Azzi’s chest.’

The shirt was the same one from last year’s tournament. Soft with age. The logo cracked down the middle. Azzi had stolen it once for an entire week and Paige hadn’t even asked for it back. The same boxers she always wore to sleep, the ones she insisted were the only kind that didn’t bunch up because she moved a lot when she slept. The way she stood, arms crossed over her chest, hair falling in that exact way it always did when she was a little sleepy. 

Memories started stacking. Fast. Sloppy. Unmanageable.

The way Paige always tucked her hair behind both ears before bed.

The way she used to stretch her legs across Azzi’s lap without asking.

The way that shirt used to smell like them.

Azzi blinked. Swallowed. Tried not to let any of it show on her face.

“Done with the bathroom?” Paige asked, voice tight, polite.

Azzi nodded, her mouth dry.

Paige didn’t say anything else. Just offered a quick smile and moved past her with careful steps. Like even brushing against her would’ve been too much. And Azzi stood there, stuck somewhere between nostalgia and nausea.

The sound of the toilet flushing knocked her back into the present.

She turned toward the beds and saw that Paige had taken the one near the window.

Of course she had.

Azzi wasn’t surprised. Paige knew she hated mornings. The way the light cut through even the heaviest hotel curtains, always finding the one sliver of skin left exposed. It made her grumpy, disoriented. Paige used to tease her about it. Used to guard the window like it was her job. And now she’d chosen the window bed. Not to provoke. Not to be kind. Just… because she remembered.

It was a terribly damning thing: to be known that well by someone who wasn’t yours anymore. And worse still, to feel the knowing in your bones, and want it anyway.

Eventually, Paige came back.

They didn’t talk about it. Whatever it was. Just moved around the room in that too-careful way—like if they touched the wrong thing, the whole thing might collapse in on itself. They both climbed into bed with a sigh too synchronized to be accidental. The lamp between them stayed on.

Azzi was tired, but the wrong kind. The kind that settled in her bones and buzzed behind her eyes. The kind that made her too aware of everything—the way the sheets felt too stiff, the hum of the air conditioner, the sound of Paige shifting under the covers like she was trying not to make a sound.

Paige sighed. Not dramatically. Just… enough.

“Hey, Az?” she said softly.

“Mm?”

“You wanna watch a movie? Love and Basketball?”

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand. Screen lit up with Cam’s name. FaceTime. She had promised she’d call once they were in for the night. And she’d meant to. She really had. She just hadn’t expected this.

She looked at the phone. Watched it vibrate against the wood, inching closer to the edge like it might throw itself off if she didn’t decide soon.

Then she looked at Paige.

Glasses slightly crooked. Hair still damp from the shower, curling at the ends. A little star-shaped pimple patch on her cheek like she forgot it was there. Paige. Not perfect. Not polished. Just…hers. In all the ways that mattered. In all the ways that hurt.

The phone buzzed again. Azzi didn’t flinch. She didn’t sigh. She didn’t explain.

She just reached out and hit Ignore.

“Sure,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

And Paige smiled.

Paige’s POV

Paige fumbled with the cords, trying to get her laptop to mirror onto the TV. Her fingers were clumsy with it. 

Usually, Azzi would just crawl into her bed. No discussion. No hesitation. They’d watch the movie on her laptop until Azzi fell asleep, head tilted toward her shoulder like she didn’t mean to.

But Paige knew better than to ask for that now.So she didn’t. Just went full tech-mode instead, pretending she wasn’t trying to fill the silence with HDMI cables and remote settings. 

Finally, the movie flickered onto the screen and Paige exhaled, the tension in her shoulders loosening just slightly.

“There we go,” she muttered. She backed away from the TV, retreating to her bed like it might swallow her whole if she let it. She tugged the blanket up to her chin, even though it was too warm for it.

She kept her eyes on the screen. Not on Azzi. Definitely not on Azzi.

The opening notes of Love & Basketball filled the room—soft, familiar, painfully specific. It was their movie. The one they always said they’d never get sick of, even after a hundred rewatchings.

Paige could practically hear it before it even started: Azzi pretending not to mouth the lines, Paige pretending not to watch her do it.

She remembered the first time they’d watched this movie together.

How Azzi had curled into her side without asking. How Paige had gone stiff for maybe five seconds. Long enough to catalog the heat of Azzi’s shoulder, the press of her thigh. Short enough to convince herself Azzi hadn’t noticed.

She didn’t remember most of the movie. Just the way Azzi smelled like vanilla shampoo and chlorine. The way her breath landed soft against Paige’s collarbone, steady and unbothered. Like she’d done this a hundred times. Like Paige wasn’t sitting there trying to remember how to breathe.

She’d kept her eyes on the screen, nodding along like she was following the plot, but her heart had been screaming something else entirely.

Something terrifying. Something gentle.

Something that sounded a lot like: oh.

She already knew she liked girls. That part wasn’t new. But this felt different. It wasn’t the idea of love that scared her.

It was Azzi.

Azzi, who didn’t need to say much to be heard. Who was careful with her words and even more careful with her eyes. Azzi, the prettiest girl Paige had ever seen.

Paige stared straight ahead and pretended to follow the plot, but all she could think was: Is it supposed to feel like this?

Like awe.

Like falling.

Like maybe if she looked down, she'd see her heart sitting there in her lap, cracked open and waiting.

They were eighteen then. Too young to call it love and too far gone to pretend it wasn’t. And lying here now, years later, Azzi a few feet away, Paige could still feel it.

That same oh. That same ache. That same, stupid, impossible kind of love that had never left her, not really.

And still, Paige just stared at the TV. Kept her face neutral, her breathing even. The movie played on.

But eventually she lost the war.

Her eyes dragged away from the screen like they had a mind of their own, landing on Azzi across the room, curled up under her blanket, face lit soft and golden by the TV glow.

She looked the same and entirely different. The same slope of her nose. The same stubborn crease between her brows when she was thinking too hard. But something about the distance, about the space between the beds that used to not exist, made it all feel unfamiliar.

Azzi hadn’t looked over once. Not when the movie started. Not when Paige picked this movie of all of them. Not even when Monica let Quincy into her room like it was the easiest decision in the world.

Paige swallowed, suddenly aware of every inch between them. She turned back to the screen. Let it play. Let the dialogue hit her chest and echo there. But she didn’t laugh at the funny parts. Didn’t smile at the familiar ones.

They were nearly three-quarters through the movie when Azzi’s fidgeting got so persistent it pulled Paige out of the trance she'd been forcing herself into. At first it was small. Blanket shifts, the soft rustle of cotton against skin. But now it was rhythmic. Anxious. Like something in her couldn’t sit still anymore.

Reluctantly, Paige dragged her eyes away from the screen. Azzi was already looking at her. And Paige inhaled—sharp and shallow—like she’d been caught in the middle of a confession.

It wasn’t fair, the way Azzi looked at her. It stripped away all of Paige’s common sense, like it always had. Plucked any reasoning she’d carefully stitched together over the past few weeks and tossed it out the window like it had never mattered.

Because it didn’t. Not really. Not when Azzi looked at her like that. Like they were still in love. Like none of the distance even existed. Like Paige hadn’t cried in her car for forty minutes just last week because she missed her person. 

Paige felt her chest tighten. Her body remembered this look. Her skin did too.

She used to think that if Azzi ever looked at her like this again, she’d say something brave. Something honest. Something like don’t leave again or I never stopped or you ruined me and I let you.

But it wasn’t any of those things.

It was something more broken. More battered. More hers.

“Fuck, Az,” she rasped, voice catching like it hurt to say. “Please come here. Please.”

Azzi’s eyes widened. Just a flicker. Barely there. But Paige caught it like she always did. That soft edge of surprise, the way her breath caught, the way her fingers tightened in the blanket.

For a second, she didn’t move. Like she needed a beat to decide if she’d imagined it. If Paige really meant it. If this wasn’t some cruel trick of memory and low lamplight.

Then—slowly, like the world might shatter if she got it wrong—Azzi shifted. Tossed back the covers. Crossed the space between them like it hurt. And Paige just watched her come closer. Watched her come home.

Paige lifted the comforter without a word, scooting toward the middle of the bed, making room like it was instinct. Like her body remembered even if her mind was still catching up.

Azzi hesitated for just a second, like she didn’t know if she was allowed, before crawling into the space that had always belonged to her. She tucked her knees to her chest, careful not to take up too much room. Like she didn’t want to be a burden. Like she thought this might still be temporary.

And Paige stayed where she was. Kept the space between them. Because she should. Because she was supposed to. Because reaching for her might mean admitting something that she couldn’t take back.

But even with the inches between them, her body softened. Uncoiled. Deflated in the best, most dangerous way. Like finally, finally, she could rest.

Paige watched as Azzi reached out, her hand trembling just slightly as it hovered near the lamp.

“Okay?” Azzi whispered.

Paige couldn’t trust herself to speak. She made a sound. A half grunt, half exhale that must’ve been enough, because a second later, Azzi clicked the switch. And the room was swallowed by darkness. It was the kind of dark that made every breath feel louder. The kind that pressed in around them.

They lay there, inches apart.

Close enough that Paige could feel the heat of Azzi’s body radiating under the blanket. Close enough that she could smell her shampoo. That warm, familiar vanilla one that used to cling to Paige’s pillows long after she’d left.

Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Paige stared up at the ceiling she couldn’t see. Her fingers ached to move. To reach. To close the smallest distance she had ever felt so violently aware of. But she didn’t. She stayed still.

Seconds stretched into minutes. But Paige could tell Azzi was still awake. She didn’t need to look. She knew the difference.

Azzi had a way of breathing when she slept. Soft and steady, like the world couldn’t touch her. Paige used to stay awake just to listen to it. Used to lie there in the dark, barely blinking, afraid that if she closed her eyes she’d wake up and find it was all some cruel dream.

She’d memorize the rhythm. Count the beats between inhales. Trace the shape of contentment in every exhale.

She’d never told Azzi that. Never admitted how long she stayed awake most nights, just watching her sleep. Just trying to believe that she got to have this. That she got to keep her.

And now they were here again. Bodies curled close, breaths shared in the dark.

Paige had almost convinced herself not to hope. Almost convinced herself that Azzi would fall asleep first, that the silence would stretch until morning and they could pretend this never happened. That lying side by side in the dark, hearts beating too loud, didn’t mean anything anymore.

But then, a whisper. So soft Paige almost missed it.

“Paige?”

She stiffened, the sound of her name pulling her from half sleep like a tide. She rolled onto her side, careful not to jostle the space between them, even though it barely existed anymore.

“Hm?”

"Can I ask you something?" Azzi’s voice, barely a breath.

Paige turned her head on the pillow, heart thudding. “Yeah.”

A pause. Long enough that Paige thought maybe she’d changed her mind.

Then: “Do you still think about it?” Azzi asked. “About us?”

Paige blinked into the dark.

“Every day,” she said. No hesitation. No point in pretending.

Azzi was quiet again. And then, even softer,

“Will you hold me?”

Paige’s breath caught. She didn’t speak. She just shifted. Closed the distance they’d both been pretending not to notice. Reached for Azzi under the covers, pulled her close.

Azzi melted into her like she belonged there. Like she always had. Her head tucked beneath Paige’s chin. A hand resting gently at her waist.

They lay like that for a while.

Tangled limbs and silence. The kind of quiet that wasn't empty but full—thick with everything they hadn't said and maybe still couldn't. Paige’s fingers moved in slow, steady circles against the bare skin of Azzi’s back, like she was trying to memorize her all over again.

“Paige?”

Her name, again. Soft. Almost afraid. Paige closed her eyes. She’d heard her name in packed arenas. On highlight reels. Echoing through speakers loud enough to shake the floor. She’d heard it shouted by coaches, screamed by fans, printed in headlines.

But nothing ever touched her like the way Azzi said it. Like it wasn’t just a name. Like it still belonged to her. The girl underneath all of it. Just Paige. As she was. As Azzi had always seen her.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

Another pause. The kind that made her heart crawl up into her throat.

“I’m sorry,” Azzi choked out. The words barely made it past her lips, like they’d been caught in her throat for weeks. Maybe longer.

Paige froze, her hand stilling against Azzi’s back. She didn’t need to ask what for. She already knew. All of it. The leaving. The silence. The terrible, aching gap that had lived between them for months, growing roots in all the places love used to be.

Azzi’s breath stuttered. “I was scared. Of what it meant to keep you. Of what it would do to lose you. Of not being enough for either. So I left before you could realize I wasn’t.”

Paige felt the words like bruises blooming across her chest. She tugged Azzi closer, wrapping an arm around her like she could anchor her there. She didn’t speak because she knew Azzi wasn’t done. Knew she needed the words out of her body, spoken into the dark where they could breathe.

“I missed you so much it made me mean,” Azzi whispered, voice trembling. Paige closed her eyes. Let the ache rise. Let it settle. “I’m never mean.”

That made Paige laugh. Not loud. Not happy. Just...a sound, cracked open from somewhere deep. 

“And I’m sorry,” Azzi said. “I know you deserve more than that but—”

Paige didn’t let her finish.

She leaned in and pressed her lips to Azzi’s before the spiral could pull her under. It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t rehearsed. It was instinct. Tenderness. The only way she knew how to say you’re here now, and I still want you anyway.

Azzi stilled. Then melted like her body had been waiting for permission to exhale. And in that quiet collapse, Paige tasted everything.

The apology. The ache. The impossible kind of wanting that clung to the bones no matter how many times they tried to shake it loose.

That kiss wasn’t a fix. But instead a soft, trembling maybe that they both desperately needed.

When she pulled away, Paige could just make out Azzi’s face in the faint light bleeding through the window. Shadow and softness and everything she’d almost forgotten how to survive without.

“I know,” she whispered, and it came out gentler than she meant. Like forgiveness wrapped in silk. “I know.”

She reached up, brushed a thumb across Azzi’s cheek, caught a tear before it fell. Let her fingers linger.

“But not right now,” she murmured, barely more than breath. “Please.”

Azzi stilled. And Paige closed her eyes.

“I just want to hold you,” she said. “We can ruin each other tomorrow. Tonight, I just want this.”

Azzi didn’t speak. Didn’t argue. Just gave the smallest nod. Barely a movement, but full of meaning. A truce. A surrender. A yes, okay, I’ll let you hold the weight of this, just for tonight.

Then, slowly, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the curve of Paige’s neck. Not in apology. Not in desperation.

But in something quieter. Something closer to reverence. Like she wanted to leave a part of herself there, just in case she couldn’t find the words later.

Paige’s breath caught.

And then Azzi curled into her chest, like she wanted to disappear into the shape of her. Like if she pressed close enough, deep enough, they might become one person. One heart. One body that didn’t know how to stay broken.

Paige held her tighter. Her chin rested on Azzi’s head, her hands at her back, their legs tangled, inseparably so.

And then, Paige closed her eyes.

She waited for the sound of Azzi’s breathing to slow. It didn’t take long, just a few minutes of quiet, curled-up stillness, and then there it was. That rhythm Paige knew by heart. 

She existed in it for a while. Let herself feel every inhale, every exhale, like they were proof. That Azzi was here. That this was happening. That she hadn’t imagined her way into another night of almosts.

But she didn’t let herself believe it was permanent. Not yet.

She just held the girl she loved, like maybe if she stayed still enough, the world wouldn’t notice. Wouldn’t ask them to name it. Wouldn’t make them say all the things they were still too scared to speak aloud.

And if this was all they got…

This night, this silence, this impossible closeness, then Paige would take it. She’d memorize it. Stitch it into the lining of her ribs. Carry it like a secret she never wanted to let go of.

That night, Paige Bueckers slept. Really slept. For the first time in weeks, her body unknotted, her mind quiet. Not because it was fixed. Not because they were okay. But because Azzi was in her arms, and that had always been enough.

And when morning came—when sunlight broke through the curtains and laid its golden weight across the bed like a question—Paige didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away. She pulled Azzi closer, pressed a kiss to her temple, and whispered something so soft it barely reached the air.

Stay.

Not just for now. Not just for this.

But for everything.

[faynthearted]

maybe I'm overthinking things, but whenever I see people talking about significant/transformative moments in tianshan's relationship (barring their fight, the kiss, the ear piercing, etc.), I'm always a little disappointed no one points out the scene where the boys are going through the cardboard boxes of random things from he tian's childhood and he tian says something to the effect of, "the entire world is out there but everything I've ever owned only fits in these two boxes" and then he discreetly places his hand palm-up between him and guan shan. and guan shan pauses for a moment before placing his glass in his hand. and then the chapter ends.

this moment is one of the few panels I've saved over the years:

like... it's short but there's so much emotion behind this scene, it's hard for me to put it into words succinctly. and it stands out to me because it's not particularly intense or climatic like their other big moments. it happens soon after she li assaulted guan shan on the riverbank — which was heavy on the drama and ultimately the catalyst for tianshan's relationship. he tian had also just been financially cut off from his family and guan shan had been physically and emotionally vulnerable/exhausted for some time. basically, things were still raw and hectic for both of them in different ways

so this quiet, subdued, and wordless interaction between them on the balcony was very interesting. I honestly think it's one of the first instances in which tianshan have a personal/intimate mutual understanding of one another without an outside force influencing it or the moment being interrupted. and somehow, it's both abnormal and very fitting that he tian didn't make a grand gesture in this moment. like, if you think about it, he simply turned his hand on the cushion and looked at guan shan. it wasn't obvious; he wasn't making a scene. but of course guan shan, hyperaware of him, noticed

and the fact that the chapter ends after that also stands out to me. again, if he tian was being his normal self, he probably would've said/complained outright that he obviously wanted guan shan to give him his hand, not his glass, or he probably would've grabbed guan shan's hand as he was placing the glass down because he tian always just takes what he wants and tames guan shan's defiance or embarrassment after the fact

but instead, the chapter ends. and it doesn't even feel abrupt, really. it feels complete. and it makes me assume that he tian accepted the glass as guan shan's response and didn't press the issue. he might've just held onto the glass in his lap (or drank from it while maintaining eye contact) and then moved his attention back to the group at large. and, again, that's both abnormal and fitting for him in this scene

and I know I just said "guan shan's response" but what's frustrating — and fascinating! — is that I've yet to come to a definitive conclusion about what the (unspoken) question/response between them was to begin with. of course, he tian had just finished talking about the paradoxical state of his life — about how he could have everything and yet he has next to nothing — so maybe his "question" for guan shan was as simple as: "even if I don't have/want anything else, can I at least have you?"

but I also think it's interesting to consider that jian yi immediately laughed at he tian after he finished talking, accusing him of being dramatic (and in jian yi's defense, he'd never really seen an honest version of he tian like guan shan had at that point, so I don't blame him for thinking he tian was just being melodramatic for attention as per usual). anyway, jian yi and zheng xi got a good chuckle out of it, but guan shan didn't. iirc, he actually looked a bit lost in thought before he noticed he tian looking at him, and then his hand between them

with that small detail, it makes me think he tian's question leaned more toward: "do you believe me?" or maybe "do you understand me in the ways I want you to?"

I'd like to think he tian wouldn't have offered his hand if guan shan had also rolled his eyes with zhanyi — poor little rich boy — and dismissed what he'd said. but then again, with the state of their situation/relationship at that point, I don't think there was a chance in hell that guan shan would've dismissed him. I'm sure we can all agree that he tian's intense emotional response to finding guan shan injured and subsequently taking care of him without expecting anything in return drastically changed guan shan's perspective of him. guan shan had a lot to process at that point in the manhua, and a lot of hard truths to start acknowledging. it was clear that he tian had a lot on his mind during that time, too

so guan shan placing the glass in he tian's palm might've been him saying, "I'm still figuring this (us) out... but my answer isn't no" (hence the reason why he tian presumably didn't push the issue further bc he was more cognizant of guan shan's boundaries by this point) or it might've been him saying, "yeah, I'm starting to understand you, and you're not what I thought you were but that's not scaring me away" (therefore affirming he tian's question so he didn't feel the need to pursue the moment or make a bigger scene)

in any case, although there's no continuation after that scene, I think they were both satisfied by the end of the evening. I don't think he tian was disappointed by guan shan's response, and guan shan would've known that too. in fact, I'd argue that guan shan wanted to reaffirm he tian's emotions in that moment. the worst (yet easiest) thing guan shan could've done is look at him, look at his hand, and then look away and ignore him — literally leaving him empty-handed. that would've left he tian in a sour fucking mood... or at least a bit wounded

but instead, guan shan chose the more honest/reciprocal route even if he wasn't 100% sure yet. and... I don't know. it really stands out to me and I think a lot more was happening in that interaction than what could've been expressed in words. and yet I've literally never seen anyone talk about that scene since it was posted — which, fair enough. it's only a couple of panels. but I think about it constantly!

[miyukisu]

Talk Like That .ᐟ

❤︎ | Who would have thought that your quiet and stoic boss had such a dirty side to him? (2.7 wc) ╰ feat. hiromi higuruma (jjk) x afab! reader

kinktober entry no. 3 | kinktober masterlist

tags - degradation, office sex, semi-public sex, hiromi is very mean, paralegal! reader, spanking, punishment, p in v, blowjob, pussy eating, doggy, protected sex

minors do not interact

H I R O M I H I G U R U M A

You passed by those bold letters plastered across the matted glass of his office almost everyday. After all, your office was a little bit down the hall from his.

Everyone in the firm knew who Hiromi Higuruma was. For one, he was perhaps the most talented man working there. But also because he was the finest man you have ever laid your eyes upon.

Hiromi always came to work looking sleek and prepared for the day. You would never catch him dead with tousled hair or his suit disheveled.

In fact, people slowly became jealous of his secretary. She spent all hours of her working day right in front of his office, relaying calls to him, and accompanying him in several errands.

It was ridiculous. His secretary probably had grandchildren at her age. But you understood why anyone would be jealous.

Part of you wanted to spend time with the stoic and brooding man too. But it was tough. Too fucking tough.

He wasn't the type to engage in pleasantries or make himself available for too long at office events. You've been working at the firm for so long, yet you barely knew anything about him outside of his achievements. It was almost impossible, you thought.

That was until you, as a paralegal, were requested by him.

────────────

All those years of hard work finally paid off now that the biggest shot at the firm took notice of you. It was your chance to prove yourself at work and to Hiromi. Of course, it was a primary goal to impress him.

The case was demanding, a high-profile one at that as well. It was no surprise that you had to spend many sleepless nights at the office. But you weren't alone—Hiromi was often left to work late hours too.

Sometimes you'd drop off a file or two and discuss a bit. Ordinary stuff, all things considered. However, tonight was different; tensions were high.

You had made a mistake earlier today. You missed a detail and the client had to know about it. There was a whole scene in the office that afternoon. Hiromi had to clean up after your mess. None of it was his fault and he had to embarrass himself for the sake of some paralegal he probably only learned the existence of recently.

Usually, you'd be ecstatic to catch a glimpse of him so late at night. But right now, he was the last person you wanted to see. Hiromi didn't show it, but he was definitely angry.

────────────

You knocked slowly against the open glass door of his office. You were sure it was just the two of you in the building at this hour. At least, if he decides to reprimand you for your shitty performance—no one would have to hear a thing.

Hiromi didn't bother looking up; he knew who it was. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and you let yourself in.

"Here are the files you were asking for earlier," you say as you hand it over to him. Hiromi uses the pen in his hand to point to an empty space of his desk.

It takes you a few seconds too late to understand, but you place the documents neatly before taking a step back. He continued skimming over the document he was currently holding, a bored expression painted on his face.

"Learned your lesson yet?" he asked flatly.

You were hoping not to go over this again, but it was inevitable. "Yes, sir... I'm terribly sorry for what happened earlier. It won't happen again."

"Words... always just words, but it never gets reflected in your performance," he retorts. Hiromi sets down the document in his hand before grabbing the papers that you brought. Still—he hasn't spared you a single glance.

Despite the impartial look on his face, you could tell that he wasn't exactly happy at the moment. You nervously awaited for a comment or critique from him about your work as he proceeded to go over it quickly.

"Are you sure I won't find another mistake in here?"

"Y-yes, sir. I'm certain."

He hummed lowly. "Then I better not see one. You know what'll happen if I do."

Right. You were going to be removed from the case and some other paralegal would take your place. Then, Hiromi would never ever look your way. That fact in particular made you the most anxious you've been thus far.

You watched as his weary eyes scrutinized your work. The black orbs darting quickly from one side to another, his lips still pressed into a thin line.

If you had hoped he would dismiss you without another scolding... oh, you were dead wrong.

Hiromi's eyes squinted at a particular line before dropping the documents on his desk and running his large hand over his face. You felt the blood drain from your face and your heart drop to your stomach. This wasn't good...

He finally looked at you, but with that kind of expression—you'd rather that he not looked at you at all. His dark eyes bore into your skull. No words were spoken yet, but you knew the thoughts running rampant in that head of his.

None of them were good.

"You were certain you made no mistakes—yes?"

"I'm sorry," was all you could mutter. What else was there to say? Nothing would soothe his wrath.

He slammed an open palm against his desk. "What the hell do you do all day in this office? Hm?"

Hiromi stands up, not letting you reply. "Come here," he commands. You had never heard me speak or had seen him look this way. But the stress and frustration at work—coupled with his personal affairs—simmered within him. He was only a man; he too had his limits.

You sheepishly shuffled closer to his desk, head hung low.

"Look at me."

And you do.

Your eyes meet and it stirs an emotion in you that you can't quite put a finger on. He leans in, his smell permeating your nostrils and down to your core. Hiromi smelled good, of course, that much was to be expected.

"Tell me—what the hell do you do all day in this office?"

"I don't know what..."

"You don't know what that means? Can't even answer a simple question?"

He grabs your jaw slowly, applying just enough force to make your lips pucker. "Do you know how humiliated I was earlier because of your mistake?"

You mutter another apology, albeit a bit muffled. Hiromi scoffed in response. "Is that all you can do? Say sorry for every stupid mistake that you make?"

"I'm starting to think all you do here is prance around in your tight clothes, batting your eyelashes at anyone who'd look at you. You like their attention, don't you?"

Hiromi lets go of your face, giving you a chance to speak. "I don't... I don't want their attention... I don't do the things you just said... I..."

"I only want your attention."

His taut expression seemingly softened, though traces of anger were still evident. You added, "Maybe I was trying too hard because I wanted to impress you and in the process I kept messing up more because... because..."

You were a stuttering mess; you weren't even sure why the hell you were telling all of this to him. It was pathetic and unprofessional. But it hardly mattered in an odd situation like this.

"You wanted to impress me?" he asked.

Everyone did; everyone wanted to look good in the eyes of the Hiromi Higuruma. You were no exception to that.

"Yes, sir..."

He takes a step back from his desk, sitting back down on his leather swivel chair. "Come over here," he says as his finger makes a come hither gesture.

You gulped down hard before going around his desk, standing right in front of him. Hiromi still had a bored expression plastered on his face. "On your knees."

Your eyes widened ever so slightly. There was no mistaking his words. He was actually asking you to—

"O-okay," you replied shakily. You dropped down to your knees, but before you could get any closer, he leaned down and grabbed you by the hair; your messy bun became messier. He only did so—not to hurt you—but to make you look at him and to make sure you'd hear him loud and clear.

"You really want to make it up to me?" he asked lowly and you nod.

His fingers slowly detangle from your locks as he leans back in his chair. "You know what to do then. I'm sure you've been waiting to do something like this."

You'd be a fucking liar if you said you haven't dreamt of doing something filthy like this with the hottest man in the office. It only made it better that you were actually doing it inside his office.

You crawled closer to him until your head was between his thighs. It thrilled you straight to your core. Your fingers lightly traced the seam of his trousers before pulling his zipper down. After undoing the button, you slowly tugged the pants and boxers that were in the way. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of his cock—though it was only half hard.

Seeing how it was now—it made you wet thinking about it at its biggest. It was overwhelming now it was actually in your hand. Warmth radiated from it as you brought your face closer.

"You look famished. Fantasized about this before haven't you?"

In response, you simply kissed his tip—earning a hiss from him. You spat on it, letting the glob of saliva trickle down his length before your hand spread it all over. In one go, you took as much as you could in your mouth.

His girth made your eyes water. He relaxed in his chair as if he found peace in your warm mouth, a soft groan slipping from his chapped lips. You made sure to go at an excruciatingly slow pace, not wanting to overwhelm yourself. This might just be your last chance to impress him; you weren't about to fuck it up.

"Guess there is something you can do properly hm?"

A familiar set of fingers tangle in your strands again, slowly guiding your head. "Sucking it so enthusiastically—maybe paralegal work isn't your calling."

All the dirty talk went straight to your sopping cunt, making you moan around his length. He hisses again, "Fuck... you're enjoying this way too much."

He pulls your head away from your cock, taking the time to admire the fucked out expression on your face. Saliva dribbled down your chin as your half-lidded eyes stared back at him.

"Don't wanna cum in your mouth. Stand up," he orders again.

He stands up along with you. Before you could even gain your footing, he had bent you over on his desk—knocking over the stuff that littered the surface.

A gasp escapes you as he roughly pushes your black pencil skirt, bunching it up at your waist. He marveled at your stocking-clad ass. A harsh slap surprised you.

"O-ouch..."

He leans against you, his chest pressing into your back. Hiromi's hand snaked to your front, lightly gripping your neck. You could feel his minty breath against your neck as his nose jabbed your cheek. "That's for the first fuck up."

Then, another slap. "That's for your fuck up now."

Another slap. "And that's just for my own pleasure."

He pulled away, the abrupt absence of his warmth making you feel restless. Your senses were flooded by a plethora of things that you didn't notice how he knelt down in front of your heat. Hiromi wasted no time and ripped the barrier that was your black stockings.

"Fucking slut. You should see how drenched you are right now."

He presses a kiss over your clothed cunt, his nose poking at your hole. You let out a breathless groan, finally nearing some much needed stimulation.

His finger hooks into the gusset before pulling it out of the way. He found it pitiful how you clenched over nothing. He'd give you something to clamp on soon anyway.

Hiromi dove right in, lapping at your folds. He took his sweet time, much like you did with him. His tongue teased the length of your slit first before thrusting it into your neglected hole.

A desperate moan echoed through his office as you squirmed. But Hiromi held you by your ass, making sure you would stay still for him. He went faster and faster, not allowing you to adjust. And in no time, he had you cumming on his tongue.

God, it was unfair that an attractive and talented man like him had to be good at sex too.

The last bit of strength that held you up had disappeared, leaving you slumped over his desk. He reached for his drawer, looking for a condom. As much as he wanted to fuck you raw—let you know reaaaal well the consequences of your actions—Hiromi was still a rational man.

He'd have his fun, safely.

Hiromi wasn't in much of a hurry as he idly rolled the rubber down his cock. Besides, time was probably going slower for you right now. Who would've thought just a little bit of pussy eating would get you undone so quickly?

Pathetic. But Hiromi secretly liked it.

He lazily rubbed himself as he lined his cock against your dripping entrance. There wasn't a chance of him going slow now. Hiromi plunged his entire length into your cunt. Your soft moans came out in unison as the lawyer threw his head back a bit.

It had been a while since he let off some steam... and maybe the first time he had a cute little paralegal bent over his desk.

"Finally got what you wanted? Tell me how much you wanted this."

"Wanted this so much," you blabbered. You could hear yourself and even you were surprised by how shameless you were. Hell, if dick as good as this was going in and out of you—maybe it's not that surprising that he could coax out even the most deprived thoughts in your head.

"Fucking slut. You wore this pretty skirt for me, didn't you?"

"Y-yes. I did."

"Fuck right you did," he says. Hiromi takes your arms and crosses them behind you, grabbing it so he can slam harder into you. His grip was bruising, but the pain was easily overlooked by how good he was making you feel down there.

"Maybe I should keep you on this case—not as paralegal, but as my stress reliever. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His question was only meant by a strangled moan, but it sufficed. The way you eagerly took him in was more than enough to let him know. "Such a perfect slut," he whispered under his breath.

The relentless snap of his hips had you clenching down and he was definitely feeling it with the way he would suck in through his teeth. He knew you were close and so was he.

"Fuck," he drawled out. "Pussy so good... making me cum too quickly for my liking."

Hiromi let go of your arms, letting them fall to your sides. Instead, he grabbed on to your hips, pulling you into his. The lewd squelching sounds along with your moans were certainly heard from beyond his glass office.

"Sir... I'm so close... shit."

He took that as a sign to keep up his maddening pace. Your orgasm came crashing and white spots flooded your vision. If it weren't for him holding up your hips, you would've been completely slouched on the wooden desk.

"Fuck... take it all," he says before his thrust become sloppy. Eventually, he released into the rubber. Hiromi rode out the last few seconds of his climax before slipping out of you. As he took his hands off your flesh, his hand prints were left as a souvenir.

He took the rubber off his sensitive length, tying it up and chucking it into the trash bin. Hiromi sat back down, exhausted, while you were still bent over his desk. Perhaps it'll be a while before you'd gain your strength again.

Until then, he'll admire your pretty pink pussy.

©miyukisu do not repost/reupload/translate any of my works on other platforms

╰ author's note 100% of my knowledge on law comes from Suits so don't come for me

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Toto Wolff with wife reader. Taking rookie under her wings like Ollie & Kimi. With their son, Jack as their younger brother. And Toto being so done with her but still love her as she was si kind in his eyes. Fluff and cute. Up to you. Thanks!! :))

Mama mode overdrive

Word count: 1.2k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x wife!reader, feat. Jack, kimi and Olli

Summary: In the aftermath of Kimi's crash at Monza, you take on a motherly role, comforting Kimi, worrying about Ollie Bearman, and ensuring that your little racing family is cared for and safe

______________________________________________________________

The Monza paddock buzzed with the usual high-stakes energy, but inside the private motorhome, it was a different kind of intensity—a quiet, comforting cocoon amidst the chaos. After Kimi's crash in P1, the tension hadn’t really left the air, not for you, not for anyone who cared about the young driver. His father, Petri, had arrived moments after you had managed to corral Kimi into the motorhome, his concern evident in the deep lines on his face.

But it wasn’t just Kimi you were worried about. Your mind kept drifting to Ollie Bearman, the young rookie who had also recently joined f1. Ollie wasn’t there today—he had a prior engagement. But that didn’t stop you from thinking about him, from worrying about whether he was eating enough, drinking enough, or getting enough rest. Ever since Ollie had joined f1, you had taken him under your wing, just like you had with Kimi. The young drivers were talented and fiercely determined, but still so young, and you couldn’t help but feel protective of them.

Petri stood by the small kitchenette, making a pot of tea as he glanced over at you. You were seated on the couch, gently coaxing Kimi to lean back and relax, your fingers running through his hair in a repetitive, soothing motion. Jack, your little boy, was curled up beside you, his tiny hand clutching yours, his wide eyes fixed on Kimi with a mix of concern and admiration.

Kimi, for his part, was trying his best to downplay the whole situation. “I’m fine, really,” he insisted, though his voice was a little too weak to be convincing. “It was just a bad corner, nothing to worry about.”

But you weren’t having any of it. “You’re going to rest,” you said firmly, smoothing back his dark hair. “You took a hard hit out there. Let me take care of you, okay?”

Kimi sighed, his resistance waning under your gentle insistence. “I’m not going to win this argument, am I?”

“Nope,” you said with a small smile, continuing to gently rake your fingernails through his hair. It was a gesture that came naturally to you, something you did to comfort Jack when he was anxious or when Ollie was feeling the weight of a race. And now, it was helping Kimi relax, the tension slowly leaving his body.

Petri watched from across the room, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. He walked over with two mugs of tea, handing one to you before settling into the chair next to Kimi. “You know,” he began, his tone light but with a teasing edge, “you’re turning into a bit of a mother hen, Y/N.”

You looked up at Petri, a little surprised but mostly amused by the comment. “Am I?” you asked, not entirely sure whether to be flattered or defensive.

Petri chuckled, patting Kimi on the shoulder. “You’re fussing over him like he’s made of glass. But I have to say, I think he likes it.”

Kimi gave a tired laugh, his head resting against the back of the couch. “She’s worse than you, Dad,” he teased, though there was a warmth in his voice that belied the lightness of his words. “But... I guess it’s not so bad.”

Toto, who had been leaning against the doorway, couldn’t help but grin at the exchange. He stepped further into the room, moving to stand behind the couch where you and Jack were seated. “I’ve been telling her the same thing,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “But she just can’t help herself.”

You rolled your eyes at the two men teasing you, but there was a smile on your lips as you continued to run your fingers through Kimi’s hair. “I’m just making sure everyone’s okay,” you defended yourself, though your tone was playful. “After that crash, I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing.”

Petri nodded, his expression softening as he looked at his son. “I know you mean well, Y/N. And I’m grateful you’re here for him, for all of us, really.”

Kimi’s eyes fluttered open at that, and he gave you a small, appreciative smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You blushed slightly, not used to being the center of attention like this, especially when you were just doing what came naturally. “I just care about you guys,” you said softly, your gaze dropping to Jack, who had nestled into your side, his little head resting against your arm. “And I worry. Maybe a bit too much.”

Toto squeezed your shoulder, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “You do worry too much,” he agreed, his voice tender. “But it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve got the biggest heart.”

Petri nodded in agreement, though his teasing nature wasn’t entirely gone. “She’s got a heart big enough for this whole paddock,” he said, looking over at Kimi, who had closed his eyes again, clearly comforted by your presence. “But you’re right, Toto. We’re lucky to have her around, even if she does fuss a bit.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at their words. Maybe you were a bit overprotective, but seeing Kimi resting peacefully now, and knowing that Jack felt safe enough to relax beside you, made it all worth it.

As the afternoon wore on, the motorhome remained a sanctuary of sorts. Kimi dozed off fully, his breathing evening out as you continued to softly stroke his hair. Jack had also fallen asleep, his little hand still wrapped around your fingers, his small body curled into yours.

Petri watched the two boys—one his son by blood, the other his son in spirit—with a fondness that only a father could understand. He glanced at you, seeing the way you were caring for them both, and felt a deep sense of gratitude.

“You know,” Petri said softly, not wanting to wake the boys, “you’re really something special, Y/N. Not everyone would take on this kind of responsibility with so much love and patience.”

You looked up at him, a little taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. “I’m just doing what anyone would do,” you said, a bit embarrassed by the praise.

But Petri shook his head. “No, not just anyone. You’ve made this team feel like a family, and that’s not something you see every day. It means a lot to us.”

Toto, still standing behind you, nodded in agreement, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder. “He’s right. You’ve got a way of making everyone feel cared for, even when they don’t realize they need it.”

You blushed again, feeling a bit overwhelmed by their kind words. But as you looked down at Kimi and Jack, both of whom were now sleeping peacefully, you felt a deep sense of contentment. This little family you had built, here in the middle of the high-pressure world of Formula 1, meant everything to you. And if that meant being a bit overbearing, a bit of a “mother hen,” then so be it.

Toto leaned down to kiss your cheek, his voice soft in your ear. “I love you, you know that?”

You smiled, leaning into his warmth. “I love you too, Toto. And I love them,” you added, your gaze drifting back to the boys.

“We all do,” Petri added, his voice warm with affection. “Now, why don’t you get some rest too? You’ve been looking after everyone else all day.”

You hesitated for a moment, but then Toto gently pulled you up, guiding you to a chair nearby. “He’s right. You’ve earned a break,” he said, sitting you down.

[sengenism]

The Ishigamis and The Gifts of Science

Dr. Stone is a love letter to humanity and its sciences. The main character, Senku, often acts averse to all forms of affection, and the only love he doesn't deny is his love for science. But Senku is so so full of love. He just expresses it in a way other than physical touch or words of affirmation. He gives.

But let's go back to the one who taught him so– Byakuya Ishigami, his father. The love of Senku's life.

Byakuya is introduced in the tenth chapter of the manga as a dotting father who sells his car to present Senku with scientific instruments he will need for a more efficient research. This car is Byakuya's means of transportation, and given that he is crying and shaking in this scene, it could not have been easy for him to lose it. But his love for Senku is so big, that he wants to support his son's passion even if it means sacrificing a great convenience for him.

And Senku? Senku truly fell in love with science at this moment.

If there is anything that Senku is, he is Byakuya Ishigami's son through and through. They may seem like two very different people, as Byakuya is an openly affectionate guy while Senku is more closed off with showing his true emotions. But Senku takes more from Byakuya than not, and one of them is by showing his love and/or care for others through giving the gifts of science.

And it starts with Byakuya.

[Bodysuit Acquired!]

Byakuya had failed his first attempt at being an astronaut ten years back, but he doesn't give up and tries again. Senku then creates a bodysuit that manipulates muscle movement to help Byakuya pass his swimming test. And while the bodysuit doesn't quite help Byakuya to swim, the thought Senku had put into it had motivated Byakuya more than ever to pass the test. This is one of the fundamentals of gifting– sometimes, it really is the thought behind it that matters.

This motivation is what Byakuya credits during his interview with JAXA for passing the tests. He understands that Senku might not have given him any words of encouragement, but this bodysuit was all the words that were needed between them. Senku wants Byakuya to achieve his dreams just as badly. It's the way Senku shows his love for his father.

And it's the way Senku shows his love for others too.

[Glasses Acquired!]

One of the primitive aspects of the Ishigami village is that it considers bad eyesight as a type of "disease". Fuzzy disease, to be exact.

Suika wears a melon mask at all times to help clear her eyesight, which Senku later reveals is due to the pinhole effect. She, however, has never told Senku or the others about having the fuzzy disease. Senku himself notes how odd it is for her to wear a melon around, and confronts her about it once he decides to create glass. This is one of the most beautiful scenes in Dr. Stone, as Suika finds out that her disease was never a disease, and is finally able to see as clearly as the others. Senku basically gives her perfect eyesight, something she didn't even know was possible before.

[Antibiotics Acquired!]

One of the most beloved people in this village is the priestess, Ruri. Two of Senku's new friends, Kohaku and Chrome are deeply affected by her unknown fatal disease. Senku is such a person who would help a stranger even if there is no benefit to do so (though he would never admit to it), what more a person who his new friends truly love and care about. He cures Ruri of pneumonia, giving her a chance to live a life without the worry of it being her last day every day.

[Cola Acquired!]

Senku forms an alliance with Gen, who plays the role of Tsukasa's spy, for the promise of a bottle of cola. Both Senku and Gen are aware that the cola is only a front for Gen's loyalty to Senku and the Kingdom of Science, for Gen needs his superficial reputation as a comfort and cannot simply join them if there is no personal benefit for him to do so.

This cola is also the first gift post-petrification that Senku brands himself on, probably because it represents the first gift that is not out of necessity and leans toward a comfort/luxury that they both used to enjoy in the modern world.

For a modern man such as Gen, drinking his favourite soda in the stone world might have been one of the happiest days in his life.

[Cotton Candy Acquired!]

Senku cares about people so much, even if the people in question have tried to kill him. Senku sees Homura as a soldier who is merely following the orders given by her leader, but he also sees the Homura as a lonesome girl sitting by herself on trees day and night.

As usual, Senku hides his kindness and care by showing an evil ulterior motive, such as turning Homura to their side using the cotton candy, but Ruri points out that this is a facade. Similarly to Gen, a person with such an ego is unable to seem as if he is doing something good out of the kindness of his heart.

[Stove Acquired!]

As winter approaches, the elders in the village are worried about losing people to the cold. Senku hears about this and creates a stove which has a multi-purpose of cooking and also radiating heat for the people to stave off the coldness of winter. And speaking of winter...

[Christmas Acquired!]

Senku hangs up lights in the tree for the "light bulb test" on a random night. Except the date isn't random at all and he drops enough hints for Gen to catch on that it is the night of Christmas. The significance of the day is only appreciated by Gen and himself, as they are the only modern timers in the village. It is for the sake of nostalgia, but Senku would rather be caught dead than admit that he is a sentimental guy with such irrational feelings.

And well, it all comes back to that scene with Byakuya, doesn't it? If you recall, Byakuya calls himself "Santa" while giving the scientific presents to the young Senku. This indicates Senku received them during Christmas. Which means... Christmas is a sentimental day to Senku and his father. An anniversary of Senku receiving his Christmas presents from Byakuya, which led to his deeper dive into his science obsession. The beginning of it all, one would say.

And even though he's dead and buried, Byakuya never stops giving. He gives Senku the Ishigami village to provide Senku with allies. He gives Senku Lillian's music, because he believes in the light of music and understands the importance of media to society. He collects platinum till his last breath, because he believes that Senku will need it someday. Byakuya keeps on giving to Senku, because his love for his son is so huge and unconditional. And because he promised.

Surely, there is no greater love in the manga than Byakuya's love for his son and Senku's love for his father. Byakuya could easily win ten billion best father awards... well, not like there's much competition for that in shounen mangas.

[bumblebriez]

Love Stricken (PT.1)

(Gojo Satoru x Chubby!Fem!Reader)

(PT.2) (P.T.3) (P.T.4) (P.T.5)

⚠️⚠️⚠️: Smutty smutty smut, Swearing. Drinking. Gojo in loooove

Never in a million years would you think, you'd catch the eyes of a certain jujutsu sorcerer but you did and with that came alot of consequences. That you would eventually find out the hard way.

Your parents vanished a good couple of years ago with no knowledge of why and where, leaving you; the eldest, to care and provide for your younger siblings. Being responsible and forgetting about the life you used to live, you felt lost. Struggling a lot with your self worth.

Your best friend took it upon herself to finally get you to live your life a little more by taking you out on the town for a night.

But you found that night was the start of your downfall.

I plan to turn this into a series eventually and this is also the first time I'm writing in a third person, so there could be a few mistakes not to mention the spelling and grammar might be a little baaad. I'll try to fix them when I can. I'm also not the greatest at writing descriptions.

********

********

"See? Didn't I tell you, you would have fun." Your best friend shouted over the loud booming club music and the noises of the on going clubbers.

You rolled your eyes slightly, head lightly bobbing to the music as you took a sip from the straw in your drink, vodka and cranberry was your drink of choice. It definitely wasn't your first but after the persistent nagging from your bestie to actually drink something alcoholic, you went with the safe one.

"Yeah I loved the fact that I already have a migraine!" You shouted back, eyes squinting from the bright strobe lights.

From the moment you walked in on the party scene, you felt like you were being watched, as soon as your foot hit the concrete floor. You couldn't pinpoint where or who but you could feel their glaze burn holes into you, perhaps it was just the swarm that surrounded you, you couldn't tell.

"You are so dull now! You use to love going out!" You watched as Zariah downed the two shots she had ordered for herself, deciding it'll be better to not delay the inevitable.

"That was before I had kids to look after." She pouted slightly, her hand gripping your shoulder, moving closer to your ear.

"That's why you need to enjoy yourself tonight! Get fucked up, maybe even get fucked? Hmmm~" you shake your head, giggling nervously slightly at the continuous pressure. It was her plan all along. Getting you out there, finding a short distraction from what you were dealing with currently.

You twirled your straw around in your drink, pushing the Ice to the different sides of the glass.

"Stop thinking about them. They will be fine! Rast will be taking great care of them! He wants you to enjoy your night too."

Truth is.. Ever since your parents disappeared, leaving no trace behind except other children they forgot about for you to look after; to become their legal guardian. You have not had much time to yourself.

The years started to flicker by and the realisation started to set in that this was your life now. Your parents were not coming back. They were your kids now. It's a hard pill to swallow and frankly not one you were interested in but what else could you do? You felt obligated to care and provide for your siblings.

The more you worried about your siblings, the more you lost yourself. Your confidence had plummeted and your self image was shattered. Though you wouldn't let anyone know. The looks those skinny tan gorgeous girls would give you as you passed them on the street, did not go unnoticed.

The small remarks guys would leave you to ponder over, never far from your mind.

The comments you received from a previous ex, picking at your self esteem, your self confidence; resided in your core constantly.

You'd never show them that it affected you. You held your head high, trying to fake the confidence you once had.

But when you get home, it was a different story. In the privacy of your own bedroom was when the waterworks started. The constant peering in the mirror, pointing out all the differences between you and other girls. Comparing yourself and wishing for things that were in your eyes imperfections, just to go away.

You were happy alone. At least that's what you told yourself. You didn't need a guy. Especially when you looked like you.

Maybe sometimes you're too hard on yourself. Maybe.

"I don't mean to weird you out but that gooorgeous man has been eyeing you for ages." Zariah broke you out of your zoning, pointing slightly in the direction behind you.

"Consider me weirded out. Don't be silly. You mean eyeing you?" You didn't even bothered turning around to follow, he clearly wasn't looking at you. Maybe at someone who was further down the bar. If not your gorgeous best friend.

You can't seem to help yourself though, your eyes peek around before you could even react, a quick subtle peek.

You flick over the crowd of different people, trying to find the guy your best friend was talking about, until your eyes finally land on who you were looking for.

She wasn't lying.

He was *chefs kiss*

And he was already looking at you.

You couldn't see his eyes since they were hiding behind a pair of low sunglasses. His hair was almost pure white, reflecting off the neon lights that scattered around the room.

A white button up shirt with the a few of the buttons undone, sleeves pushed up to his elbows; drink resting in his longer slender fingers.

Your eyes widen as he tipped his glass at you, a devilish grin resting on his lips.

You quickly faced your best friend returning to raised eyebrows and a cheeky smirk.

"Don't even say anything." You growled, feeling almost foolish that a man of that pristine stature could be even interested in something like you.

Zariah held her hands up in defence "I wasn't gonna but he is fine." She took a slow gulp from her drink, eyes avoiding my glaze.

"You have a boyfriend." You watched her roll her eyes at you, placing her cup back down on the harden wood. "I can still appreciate a good looking guy or a girl for that matter." Her eyebrows wiggled aggressively causing you to sigh dramatically, resting your elbow on the bar; chin resting in the palm of your hand.

Just as you were about to take another sip of your drink, Zariah's eyes widen slightly before spinning around in her chair facing away from you; back in full view.

Before you could even ask what her problem was, you felt a presence appear behind you; them looming over you.

"What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?" You stifled a chuckle that tried to escape your throat as you turned to face the new comer, realising it was the guy you were previously checking out. Allegedly.

He leant against the bar, resting on his elbow, his full attention and glaze set on your form. That devilish grin still resting on his lips. Making you feel almost uneasy. Under pressure almost.

"Wow. How many girls have you used that one liner on?"

He tilted his head slightly, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, his eyes peering from behind them. They were stunning. The brightest blue you had ever seen. It was reflecting an ocean. Unnaturally glistening, the specks of colour flowing like a river. Maybe it was just the lightning or maybe you are already tipsy from one drink.

"Was waiting to use it on the right girl." You hummed before taking a sip from your straw, fingers pressed tightly at the tip, your eyes never leaving his as you look at him with doe eyes.

"How charming of you." You smirked moving the empty glass away from you.

"I'm Satoru Gojo but you can call me Satoru. What about you gorgeous?" He pressed with a light flick of his head, his tongue wetting his lips.

"Just Y/n." You felt a slight heat starting to form within your face, this Satoru was clearly flirting with you and you had no idea how to take it. This felt a little be overwhelming for you. He was drop dead handsome and he was showing some sort of interest in you.

"Well 'Just Y/n' can I buy you another drink?" You don't say anything as you look down at your empty glass before giving a nod.

You both sit there for a couple moments more, just small talking as you take your time sipping away at your drink. A laugh here and a giggle there as Satoru throws a joke your way; slowly opening you up, allowing you to get comfortable in his presence. Completely forgetting you did not come here by yourself.

Gojo quickly downs the rest of his drink before his eyes fall on you once more "Do you wanna dance?"

Your breathing hitched slightly at the invitation, Satoru was already moving before you could even respond, pulling you by your hand through the crowds and on to the dance floor.

He placed your hand on his shoulder, placing his own large hands on your hips, guiding them to the rhythm of the music. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, chest pressing against chest.

A small sweet smile made its way to your lips as you stare up at the much taller man through your eyelashes.

You started to feel a bit exposed, your eyes moved around the room, briefly looking at all the different couples that surrounded the two of you. You caught a few glimpses of a cluster of girls that weren't that far from you, noises scrunched up at you, giggling as they spoke to each other, watching you with envy. It was frankly very uncomfortable.

Fed up with the looks, you pulled back from Satoru abruptly "I'm sorry, I can't-." You muttered more to yourself than him.

But just as turned around, back facing the towering man, he grabs you by your wrist, pulling you back kind of aggressively into his chest.

Your ass press up against him, his hands resting on your hips, digging in slightly to hold you there.

"Don't think about them. Think about me." He whispered in your ear, sending cold shivers down your spine causing goosebumps all over your skin. A quiet gasp leaves your lips at the suggesting tone.

"Think about the way I'm pressed up against you." Our hips moved in a slow dance, his hands guiding me to grind against him.

"Think about the way my hands feel." Your eyes fluttered closed as one of his hands traced your prominent curves over the fabric of your dress, pulling it up slightly when he gets to your thighs, exposing some hidden skin.

"The way my lips feeling on your skin." His teeth grazed your ear lobe, moving to your neck to leave soft burning pecks on your skin, a very small whimper comes from you from the actions.

Your head lobbed back against his shoulder, allowing more access for him. Your skin was burning from the kisses. the touches.

You continue to grind against him, feeling more turned on by the minute. Especially hearing the shutters from his throat when you rub him the right way, making you uncontrollably wet.

"My god. You're intoxicating." He breathed out as he held you against him, tighter. His hand moving up your body, painfully slowly before gripping gently on to your neck, using a ringed finger to push your chin in his direction.

You let out a soft noise as your lips were in proximity of each other, you could feel the essence of where his lips need to be; hovering.

"Think about how our lips feel..." he press a soft peck on your lips before capturing your bottom lip in between his teeth. You couldn't help the noise that flowed out of you. This was so.. hot. He was hot. He was making you hot.

You leaned up to press your lips to his, nearly almost fed up with the teasing. Both of you move in sync with each other, Satoru's hand still holding your neck with no pressure. Keeping you aligned with him as your mouths explore each others; His rings leaving a cold sensation as they graze your skin.

"Wanna get out of here?" He mumbled against your lips, kissing you after each word. You smiled slightly as much as you could.

"Yes please Satoru." A slight groan came from the milky skinned man, pulling you even harder against him. "I'm loving hearing you say my name baby." A little giggle escaped your lips as he nuzzled his nose with yours.

As you both rushed through the bodies on bodies, you leave Satoru alone for just a minute while he ordered an Uber, leaving you to remember why you were here and who you were with.

"Damn. I mean damn. You better be coming over to tell me, you're going home with him." Zariah exclaimed already holding out your belongings as you made your way over to her with a bright smile on your face.

Without saying too much, you quickly lay a fresh kiss on her cheek "I'll see you tomorrow." Your best friend let out a squeal of excitement, watching your retreating form.

"Fucking finally. He better fuck her good." Zariah mumbled to herself before downing the rest of her drink. Accomplished her mission and ready to go home.

You and Satoru walk out of the club, fingers intertwined. Immediately spotting our ride. He leads you towards the SUV, opening the door open for you. Like a gentleman.

You express your appreciation before hoping in and moving over to the other side, mumbling a quick greeting to the driver.

Gojo closes the door behind him once he jumps in, scooting closer to you, not even bothering to put a seatbelt on; which the driver doesn't enforce either.

Frankly he wasn't all too bothered with keeping a conversation but that didn't seem to stop the man who was inviting you back to his.

"Had a busy night so far?" Gojo asked the driver as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him, his other hand resting on your thigh.

You couldn't focus on both of the men conversing when Satoru hands was rubbing patterns into your skin, starting to go high and closer to where was needed to be touched. Teasing you.

You tried to control your breath, ignoring the neediness you were currently experiencing. You pressed a hand on his chest, coming to rest your head. Your eyes still stuck on his dangerous hand.

Your jaw clenched as his hand did in fact go higher, biting your lip as you feel his index finger press against the fabric of your panties; causing you to seize up.

Your eyes look to Satoru, witnessing a cheeky smirk resting on his lips as he continues to chat with the Uber driver. Feigning innocence.

Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head when he continued to rub at your clothed cunt. Your panties becoming wetter and wetter the more he pushed. You started to bite your finger knuckle to hold in any noises that might try to escape you.

You couldn't believe he would even try to do this right in the middle of this car ride, thankfully you were out of view. At least you hoped..

You started to bite harder when his finger pushed aside your panties and swiped at your slick folds, subconsciously you opened your legs wider for him. Scooting down so you were hanging off the seat.

The biting got harder when he plunged a finger past your walls, pumping in and out slowly. Curling in the right spot. His other hand was ghosting over the skin on your shoulders, causing you to shiver while being fingered in the backseat of this strangers truck.

"Ahh shit. Sorry guys. Just gotta make a quick stop. Didn't realise I was low on gas."

"No worries man. You do you." Gojo spoke up still pumping his finger into you, slightly picking up the pace but still managing to conceal you.

The very moment the man jumped out of the car, letting you guys know he'll only be a few minutes, Satoru turned to you, pushing your legs apart further "Two minutes, That's all I need."

You let out the moans you had been holding in, gripping on to his forearm as his pace became aggressive. Nothing you have felt with any man. He was hitting the right spot over and over again with his long fingers. One you honestly didn't think you had. If he kept at this, you were definitely going to cum. Which shocked you to your core.

"Who knew you were so dirty. Letting me do this to you at the chance of getting caught." He moan slightly, adding another finger to the mix. Curling up wards, pulling a quiet cry from you.

"Holy shit-" you whimpered as you felt electricity spreading throughout your body, his fingers felt so nice inside you. Gliding in and out of your wet pussy, the squelching noises were more prominent now.

"You're already so wet.. probably making a mess on these leather seats. I turn you on that much huh? God you're fucking hot." A deep growl erupted from his throat as his fingers continued to plunge deeper. Faster.

"You gonna cum? You gonna cum on these fingers? I want you too. Cum for me baby." Not only was the pleasure on a whole another level, the shock was too. How was it possible that this guy could very much bring you to the edge in five minutes? This was nothing you had ever experienced before and you are only just getting started.

You couldn't even form words, that's how bad the effect was, they only came out in moans and whines. You were nearly over the edge, stars were appearing in your vision. You squeezed harder on his forearm, nails digging deeper as you started your ascent.

"Oh fuck- I'm gonna- shit." You babbled out, your legs started to quiver as you felt yourself approaching the high, Satoru had brought you too only using his fingers.

"That's it baby. Cum all over these fingers, all over the seats." His words quite literally brought you to the edge, you felt your walls clenched around his fingers, starting to flail against him. He let out a low groan feeling you tighten around his fingers, his cock was becoming uncomfortable hard through his pants; just at the sight of you alone. The thought of you cumming on his cock. Squeezing him so nicely. Gojo was excited.

Excited to fuck the shit out of you.

Your mouth formed an O as you felt the orgasm wash over, leaving you a panting mess. You were left with no words. Completely and utterly stunned. You've never came so fast or so hard  in your life, not even by your fingers and certainly not by a man.

Satoru pressed a sweet kiss on your temple before pulling his fingers out, a small sob leaving your mouth at the bareness. He lifted his fingers to his mouth before eagerly sucking your juices off.

"Mmm. So sweet." You honestly thought you would cum again. This was so embarrassing to you. You were so hot and turned on. You honestly just wanted to fuck him right here and now, not even caring if the driver came back or not. You were becoming inpatient.

It seemed Satoru felt the same way, once he caught a glimpse of your dilated pupils, your face covered in need, he knew he was in for a long night. Satoru smirked dangerous before pressing his fingers up to your lips, not needing to wait too long when you didn't even hesitate to open, sucking contentedly on his fingers. Loving the feeling as your tongue twirled around them.

"Oh fuck-" Satoru shuttered with a slight roll of his eyes, you were something else.

Thank goodness for blacked out windows..

The driver came back, finally for what felt like hours to you, returning on the path to the destination in question.

You sat there completely dazed, thinking of what had just transpired. Trying to ignore your juices that were oozing out of you. While Satoru was whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his hand was lying in your lap and you were just playing with his fingers, his rings. The fingers that just made you have possibly the best orgasm of your life but you definitely knew that was going to change. Real quick.

But a thought couldn't help but sneak in and ruin your buzzed feeling.

How many girls has he made cum with these hands. Said the same shit too. You weren't special. You were just that, another girl to get his dick wet.

But you shouldn't care, this was only fun. This is only suppose to be a hook up. No matter if he made you feel like the only girl in the world for the night. He was good at was he does. He was good at making you feel good in more ways than physical.

The drive felt like hours, you felt like you were losing your mind as Satoru's hands were exploring your body. Trying to push aside the unsettling feeling when he brushed over your extra layers.

From the outside it seemed he didn't even care that you were a larger woman but what worried you was what he was thinking. Your head was full of intrusive thoughts.

Did he really find you attractive?

When he looked at you did he see something more?

Was he disgusted?

Was he regretting this and just being nice?

Far far out of your league.

Little did you know, Gojo Satoru found you absolutely beautiful. All six of his eyes spotted you as soon as you stepped foot in the establishment.

You were positively delicious.

He just had to have you.

And now he does. He couldn't be more happy.

"I can hear those cogs turning in that pretty head of yours." You looked towards Satoru, forcing a smile as he gently brushed his knuckle across your jaw. A small sweet smile resting on his lips; his face close to yours.

"You're really attractive." You simply said, taking in his features properly, getting a clearer picture. Away from all of bright and flashing lights.

His eyes were more sparkling than before, you found yourself looking away every now again, afraid you'd be put under a spell. Not that you'd would mind anyway..

His bone structure was out of this world, it's like he was sculpted by a god or maybe he was just a god.

He was uncomfortably ravishing.

"Mmm I get that a lot. I'm pretty hot. But you." Your eyes widen a little at his comment, not sure how to take it. His hand cupped your cheek, his eyes peering into yours.

"You are crazy fucking hot. That curvy body is going to be the death of me. I mean.. I'd die a happy man in between those thighs." You bite your bottom lip, completely speechless. This man was turning you to putty and no matter how much your body was trying to tell you he was lying. You knew deep down he meant every word.

You were shell shocked.

And unbelievably horny.

The wait was over, you had arrived at the destination. Your eyes glazed over the very large and lavish apartment complex. A completely different place to where you resided. A decently ran down 4 bedroom home that you were pretty positive was still full of mold, no matter how hard you cleaned.

Your mind immediately went into autopilot, as Satoru lead you out of the truck, muttering a quick 'thank you' to the Uber.

Satoru pulled you with him as you both stride towards the entrance, your fingers intertwined. He lead you into the lobby, towards one of the many elevators and as soon as those doors closed. As soon as he had pressed the button, you were pressed up against the glass wall. Your leg hanging loosely over his hip, hand placed securely behind your knee.

"Satoru.. they have cameras.." you whispered as he placed sloppy kisses along your neck.

"Mmm say my name again." He grumbled against your skin, having no care in the world for your protests. The only care was to hear you scream his name, no matter where you both are.

"Satoru stooop, we can't. Not here." You giggled a little as he ran his nose over your jugular. A smirk appeared on Satoru lips as he listened to your laugh.

He was compelled to hear it again and obviously since he was like the funniest person HE knew, it wouldn't be hard.

"But whyyy. You're too sweet. You taste like candy." He whined slightly pulling away to stare into your eyes, quite like staring into your soul. If it was anyone else, you probably would recoil, cringing.

Buuuut he was also kinda adorable. You thought.

You leaned forward pressing a sweet peck on his lips, Satoru dropping your leg, allowing you to correct your posture.

"I do not." You giggled yet again, pressing your hands against his chest, moving them up and down his torso.

"Do too. I can't wait to gobble you up." He pressed, your giggle pierced his ears again, causing his smile to brighten as he stared down at you, basically inhaling your beauty.

"You've got such a way with words." You sarcastically say as you give him a playful eye roll, trying to push him back slightly but to no avail, he stood strong.

"That's not the only thing, Baby." And god did you believe him.

You jump once you hear the ding of the elevator, realising you are so close to getting the life fucked out of you and that put a bounce in your step. You were nearly stepping on the backs of Satoru heels as the both of you wonder down the halls.

Your breathing started to pick up, feeling almost inpatient. You couldn't even blame it on the alcohol because realistically you only had two, you were definitely drunk on something else and you'd only experienced it briefly.

You watched as Satoru's long slender fingers, played with his keys; trying to find the right one.

And as soon as that door was opened, you couldn't even process how fast you were inside, immediately locking lips.

Satoru kicked the door shut with his foot, his hands never leaving you as he pushed his tongue past your lips. You let out a low moan as your tongues started to dance with each other.

The kiss was sloppy and ferocious. You didn't believe when people talked about sparks but in that moment, you started to believe. He left your lips tingling, nothing you've felt before. It sent waves of pleasure throughout your body. Your pussy aching, needing for this man.

You were nearly tripping over each other, bumping into things, lips never leaving each others as you both made your way through the apartment. Letting out a low whimper when your back hit the soft mattress, spreading your legs to allow Satoru to press himself against you.

"I'm fucking you. No more playing. I need to feel you around me." Satoru growled against your lips, before resuming sticking his tongue down your throat.

His hands left you, reaching down to work at his belt, he was quick and efficient, pushing his pants down his legs with one hand.

He broke from you, pushing up your dress past your hips and literally ripping off your panties, exposing your wet and dripping cunt. You'd worry about your panties later.

Satoru let out a low groan seeing you now bare beneath him, your pussy glistening for him. And only him.

You were his for tonight and he was going to rock you until you were cumming for him.

He didn't dare waste anymore time, aligning himself up at your entrance, his head bowed to watched himself push against your pussy, a moan leaving him when he felt how wet you really were, he could just slide in and you'd take him perfectly.

But he knew better, you'd need to adjust.

You were a moaning mess already, grabbing at him, bucking your hips against the ghosting tip of his cock, it was too dark to see have big he was but you soon found out as he pushed himself in.

"Fuck." He let out a staggering breath as he felt the beginning of your tight walls, you let out a sharp gasp as you take him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. The pain was real. He was huge.

You felt the pop as he finally pushed past your boundaries, a synced moan coming from both parties. Satoru moved his hips slowly, his fingers digging into his expensive sheets; restraining himself.

You were mewing lowly as he pumped into you, grateful he was allowing you to adjust to his size.

The more he felt himself able to go further without any resistance, the more he sped up.

"You feel amazing." He huffed out, rocking his hips in a steady pace. Your eyes fluttered as moans flowed effortlessly from your mouth. His cock was rubbing against your walls in just the right way. Tickling that itch you never knew you truly needed.

But you were becoming even more impatient, you wanted him to use you. You knew he was holding back and you wanted him to show you just how much.

Your hand moved up into his hair, gripping at the roots "I want you all. Don't hold back. Please Satoru."

At just the moan of his name, sent him. Before you knew it, both of his hands gripped your hips aggressively, slamming into yours.

You cried out loudly as he repeatedly did it again and again. Fucking his cock into you, hitting right into your cervix. You gripped desperately onto his forearms as he continued to plow into you; bouncing at every thrust.

You squeezed Satoru better than he imagined, you would. He stared down at your form with hunger, watching you arch your back, your beautiful mouth letting out cries of pleasures from his cock. You were taking him so well. He wanted you to scream for him.

"God. You look so good taking my cock. Taking me so well." He purred, placing a hand on the pudge of your stomach, pressing down firmly. He wished he had taken off your dress so he could see your beautiful tits bouncing from every time he fucked his cock into you.

"Satoru! Fuck. Holy shit-" You cried out, throwing your head back against the mattress, arching your back even more.

"Keep saying my name baby. Just like that." He leaned down, resting on his forearm just above your head, not before using his other hand to push one of your legs up, allowing him more access to your addicting cunt.

"AAHH fuck! Satoru!" You screamed out, feeling your body start to shake from the continuous pounding. His cock deeper inside from the new position.

"Fuck yeah. Holy fuck. You're so beautifult." He groaned, your little noises were music to his ears, his fingers digging deeper into your supple skin and you knew it would definitely leave marks.

Your lips crashed against his, teeth clashing together. Satoru swallowing each cry and moan that would try to escape.

"You gonna cum for me? You gonna cum on my cock?" He moaned in your ear, followed by hallowed panting as he pounded into you. You couldn't rely on forming any words, they were just coming out as sobs and cries. You were putty underneath him, no one has EVER fucked you this good before. You were on cloud nine.

And just as you thought it couldn't get any better, you started to feel the familiar build up. You were close. You felt like you were going to explode from the pleasure as it flowed through your body, you couldn't even warn Satoru before you released around his cock, screaming out in pure bliss as you felt yourself gush over him.

Satoru quickly pulled out and watched as you released a great quantity of liquid. Your legs shaking from the overbearing orgasm that shook your core.

He let out a breathless chuckle, realising you. HE had just made you squirt, all over him.

Your hands trembled as you brought them to your mouth, trying to control your breathing.

"Oh god. I'm sorry." You were shocked that you could even squirt and this man had not only brought you to a full penetration orgasm but he made you squirt.

"Hah Sorry? No. That was fucking hot. So hot. fuck." Satoru's breathing became heavier, his pupils dilated as he watched your trembling form, without anymore words, he slammed back into you, pulling a louder cry from you. Having seen you squirt on his cock, brought him closer to his own climax.

His thrusts were becoming sloppier and more desperate as he chased his own high. You were completely dazed, stars in your vision. Being fucked harder into the mattress. An uncontrollable moaning mess.

You tugged at his hair, yanking his head back slightly "Cum in me. I want it."

He couldn't believe his ears, as if you could get anymore sexier.

"You want it. You want my hot load inside your juicy pussy?" Your hands travelled down his back, leaving long and deep scratches, marking him red.

"Satoru- please. Cum. Please. I want it. I want you." He growled from the stinging sensation and from your voice. He was so close. So close.

"Anything for you, baby." He angled his hips and thrusted harder, until he felt it. He shoved his face into the crook of your neck as he felt his own orgasm approaching, his cum shot straight into you, causing a guttural cry from your throat as you feel it coat your walls. Satoru pumped into you until he was dry, slowing to a stop. A complete panting mess above you.

You were trying hard to catch your own breath as he lowered himself onto you, carefully trying not to crush you.

Your hand brushed through his pure white strands, as you both laid there together, in pure bliss. Panting excessively.

Satoru sat up slightly to place a sweet kiss on your lips, you of course accepted happily. He hummed softly before resting his face on your tits.

"I've never squirted before." You panted out, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You felt embarrassed, more so for the fact you had made a mess but you also felt bewildered. You didn't think you could and you didn't think that any man could pull an orgasm out of you, let alone two, It started you thinking. How many could he make you have?

Every boyfriend you've had, NEVER made you feel like how this man did here. They were all so more selfish for their own desire than satisfying you. Even getting to the point where you would just roll over and let them have their way, sucking the enjoyment out of sex completely. Making it feel like a chore, so you wouldn't have to constantly hear their whines and moans about 'why you didn't want to fuck?'

Tsk.

"Never?" You shook your head lazily, feeling an overwhelming sense of drowsiness.

You felt him vibrate from the low chuckle he let out, his head lifting up to look you in the eyes "Well. I can't wait to make you do it again and again.." his voice was mumbled against your skin as he peppered you with wet kisses.

"And again." You felt Satoru cradle your ass cheeks, his fingers massaging intensely. Hoisting you up, angling himself up with your overstimulated cunt.

And here you thought you could sleep.

Nah. You're in for a long night.

[jetkast]

Listen I know there have been approximately a billion posts about the Divorce but I had to add to the noise.

This conversation really is such a succinct breakup with so much to it. Jayce finally has his moment to say something to Viktor after not knowing if he may ever get the chance at all, only for it all to come out scrambled. I just know he was punching the air at 3am redoing this conversation over and over.

Meanwhile Viktor was acclimating to the sheer body horror of being alive after dying, his own form nearly completely unknown to him, with this "recursive charge" thrumming in his skull that drives him to the most destitute part of the city.

Jayce (ready to beg like his life depends on it): I have royally fucked up and I will be seeking atonement forever for it, please please please love me, don't leave, guilt guilt guilt I'll die from guilt and failure right here on the floor

And my favorite part: 👹 where are you going 👹

I have been obsessed with the delivery of this line because it is exactly the phrase and tone used towards someone you are painfully intimate with and experiencing a rupture (aka divorcing). The panic of 'I cannot let you leave' with 'I'll die' and 'you're not allowed' while also so emotional that all that comes out is a sad anger. Like I can't even capture it. It's about the ownership or entitlement. It's not just "why are you exiting this conversation, that's rude and this is important" but something darker and more pathetic. I DON'T KNOW I JUST RECOGNIZE IT and wanted to ramble about it. Perhaps oddly, it is actually this line (juxtaposed with "it was affection", I'm suffering so much) that locked in them as already being intimately involved for me, beyond friends or lab mates.

These two are just on two entirely different planes of existence in this scene and it's so LAYERED AND UUHHGGFJH this show is going to drive me into my own recursive whateverthefuck.

Jayce is flooding with too much everything, love, fear, desperation, anger, hope, dread, etc, and looking for someone to hold it with him. And Viktor is a husk. And yet, they miss each other, not balancing one another, because they might as well be talking to each other through the looking glass. IT'S JUUUUST AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH lmao

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! I have a Black butler request if you don’t mind! (It can be yandere but If you can make it not to noticeable??? If that makes sense.)

If I may could I request a Ciel Phantomhive x Cruella De Vill reader? I mean not exactly like Cruella but the fact she was born with hair spilt between black and white, she owns multiple Dalmatians which are really aggressive guard dogs for her. And she has a wonderful sense of fashion, even though most her clothes are only black, white or red. She even has a nickname that combines her name and Cruel together (like “Cruel-(/N)”) because she can be really honest and it comes off as rude. She is short temper but unlike Cruella she is only occasionally sassy but most of the time she is quiet because she used to get made fun of for her hair.

Also I was hoping it would be a oneshot, with a few hc. But if that’s to much it can just be hc! Thank you and have a nice day!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: I hope I did this rq justice because I absolutely loved it. Detailed rqs my beloveds. As you ask, I did some hcs and then wrote a little drabble, though I do apologize for such delay in answer it. Hope you like darling <33

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Platonic content. Maybe typos too.

☆*: In Ciel's ears, the news of a figure with two-tone hair who only dresses in black and red reaches him through gossip that Lau felt the need to share. The rumors, however, were not enough to capture the earl's attention at first. Who cares if Londoners are talking about this girl because she acts different and has a sharp tongue? Who cares if she has some protective dogs who can attack on command?

☆*: Certainly not Ciel. He has better things to worry about being the Queen's Watchdog besides running his own company. Gossip and rumors are not something that holds his attention unless they are related to the murderers who killed his parents.

☆*: So it takes a while before you finally get to know each other and he can get a glimpse of your strong genius. And heavens, he's enchanted, even if he doesn't know it, feelings aren't Ciel's thing. One thing he knows, this night will be one he would never forget.

...

Reluctantly, Ciel was participating in the celebration. A glass of juice in his hand as he watched each of the nobles approach the throne, kneel and say their rehearsed congratulations. So typical of nobles, so insincere. He hated it here, he could be doing so many things right in the comfort of his office. Still, he smiled and played his part when all adults around him looked down on him just because he was the only child here.

The starry night became filled with light and laughter; The Queen was throwing a party to celebrate another birthday well spent. Her age-kissed skin was still glowing, her eyes carrying a tinge of unforgettable joy, and her voice a jovial tone. As usual, she sat on her throne and waited for one by one the nobles to greet and boast about the gifts that were certainly better than the others.

It was funny to watch though. They all just seemed like jealous peacocks, huffing and puffing their feathers, wanting the queen attention on them.

Sebastian when can we leave? was what he wanted to ask to the butler at his side. What he almost asked. But right at that moment he heard a commotion.

A few meters ahead stood the notorious Cru-y/n DeVil, your presence commanding attention. Ciel couldn't help but be drawn to you, his gaze fixating on you with a mixture of intrigue and caution. Despite your reputation, he couldn't deny your beauty, a striking contrast to the darkness that surrounded your name. You were young, much like himself, yet exuded a confidence that belied your age, almost as if you too had to grown fast to protect yourself.

You seemed to be fighting a much older and powerful woman. The duchess who was always looking to fight someone and today had just found her new victim. But you aren't having any of that, making exaggerated gestures and smiling mockingly at the duchess.

Ciel observed the scene with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, at least the party turned out to be entertaining with this little fight happening and the queen was also watching you two too intently, curious, not at all bothered by it. Ciel couldn't help but roll his eyes when the duchess continued to argue and pointed her finger at you.

"Your hat is adorable" You say in a loud and clear tone, with the sweetest smile you can produce. "I'm sure it was worth sacrificing Big Bird, its poor beautiful yellow feathers wasted on this hat that perfectly fit your head."

A murmur starts around the two of you, some are laughing loudly, others are whispering among themselves, repeating what you said. The duchess, wanting to appear strong and resilient, fixes her khaki yellow hat - that barely fits in her head, lifts her chin an extra millimeter and leaves. However, Ciel knew that your comment would still haunt her for months to come. Today she had lost a fight and was insulted.

Undeniable was that the hat was horrendous.

Holding back a laugh that seems to want to escape him anyway, Ciel takes off his hat in greeting to you as soon as your eyes meet. He understood now why everyone was talking about you so much. To the court you were like a fresh breath of air, devastating if you hate it, great if you like it. And he absolutely like it. Not a lot of younger aristocrats behave this way and he really needs someone different to spend time, as Elizabeth is quite overwhelming with her affection and Sullivan is busy.

He approach you and with this gesture, plans to know more about you. He is now curious and his curiosity must be satisfied.

[boybandbaby]

Fallen (Ravi x gn!118!Reader)

word count: 2198

warnings/tags: gn!reader, shy!reader, mention of alcohol/drinking (doesn’t take place), teasing from the team, as always if I missed anything please lmk

note: tried to make this gender neutral (please let me know if I left a “she” anywhere, it’s a habit I’m sorry), had this in my drafts for a long time - currently trying to clear my WIPS

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

You’re a new firefighter on the B shift. You’ve only been with the team for less than 3 months. Ravi has been your trainer, showing you how everything is done and making sure you’re comfortable.

Over the last few weeks, you’ve realized just how much you’re starting to like him. He’s patient and sweet and makes you laugh.

You spent hours building up the courage to ask to see him outside of work hours. You knew he’d be working a different shift today and you’d hopefully see him as you were leaving.

Of course you loved the moments when you worked together but you also loved those passing moments when he’d flash a smile at you or ask how your day was.

You’d finished getting dressed into something comfortable for your drive home when you see him. He quickly waves to you and your smile grows.

“Hi, y/n.” He greets almost immediately.

“Hi, Ravi.” You pull at your fingers, looking at your shoes.

“How was your shift?” He stands in front of you, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other holding his bag.

“Pretty good. Not too many crazy calls.” You breathe, shifting from foot to foot.

“That’s good.” He laughs. “Let’s hope my shift goes the same.”

“I’ll try to manifest it.” You laugh with him.

Through the glass walls of the locker room, Buck and Eddie exchange curious glances, eyebrows raised as they attempt to listen to your conversation.

There’s an uncomfortable, no, awkward, maybe, silence that settles between you two. “Well, I should get dressed.” Ravi rocks on his feet, pointing behind you at the lockers.

“Right, no, yeah.” You jump away from the locker room, not that you were blocking the doorway at all. “Have a good shift.”

“Thank you.” He gives one last smile. Just as he passes you, your hand shoots out to stop him, landing on his bag strap.

“I was wondering actually, if maybe you’d like to hangout sometime? Like outside of work?”

“Just us two?” He furrows his brows.

“If that’s something you’re comfortable with, of course. If not, it’s totally cool. We can just forget-“

You’re ramble is thankfully interrupted by the sounds of bells, flashing lights and voice dispatching them to a call.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to-“

“Yeah, go. Of course.” You usher him, quickly turning to leave the station.

“So, you and Y/n huh? How long has that been going on?” Buck inquires when the team is on their way to the scene.

“What do you mean?” Ravi turns to look at him.

“You guys were making goo goo eyes at each other.” Eddie teases, looking out of the window.

“We were just talking.” Ravi states, confused.

“Ohhhhh, so you don’t know then?” Buck laughs.

“Know what?” Ravi presses.

“Y/n likes you.” Buck states matter of factly.

“No, we’re friends.” Ravi clarifies.

“You guys were literally flirting.” Eddie sasses.

“We were talking about work.” Ravi defends.

“Right…” Eddie drags out. “By talking you mean flirting?”

“Alright, leave him alone.” Bobby rolls his eyes, amused.

The ride is silent as Ravi’s brain processes his coworkers words. Do you like him? And does he like you?

He did start getting a funny kind of feeling two weeks ago when you offered him a napkin during dinner without him asking. You just noticed he needed it and handed him one without question. He’s not even entirely sure why he got flustered when you passed the piece of disposable cloth to him. Then there was that tough call during the same shift. A young boy had gotten hurt badly while at the mall. Ravi was a bit shaken up at the severity of the injury. You offered him a bottle of water and sat with him in silence until you had to leave.

Then just a few days ago, you’d walked in at the start of shift and he’d thought you looked and smelled really nice. You appeared to look freshly showered and the glow from the large open door behind you, created an ethereal halo that had his heart skipping a beat.

The call goes smoothly and not much is needed from him. He has to ask, everyone in engine has more dating experience than him, he needs answers.

“Do you really think y/n likes me?” Ravi blurts, cutting all conversations in the truck.

“It seems like you’re got a crush on the probie.” Buck singsongs.

“Don’t say probie.” Ravi groans.

“So, you like them and they like you. Now, you just ask them on a date.”

“Date? Already? Shouldn’t we get to know each other first?”

“That’s what first dates are for.” Buck winks.

“Before the call, y/n asked to hangout outside of work. Does that count?”

“Wait! What? Why didn’t you start with that?” Chim looks around to the group.

“We didn’t get to finish our conversation.” Ravi shrugs.

“So, you didn’t give them an answer?” Hen raises a brow.

“No, I didn’t have the chance.” Ravi sighs.

“Well, send a text right now.” Buck encourages.

“What would I even say?”

“Just say, hey. Sorry about earlier, I would love to hang out with you. Maybe we can go out for drinks.” Buck offers.

“No, maybe just go out to eat. Do you even know if they like to drink?” Hen shakes her head. “Start with something simple.”

“Drinks help people loosen up, it’s the perfect way to not have an awkward date. Also, you’ve got to be confident and suave. Liquid courage.”

“If they asked to hangout with you, then they like you for you. Just be yourself.” Bobby turns in his seat to face the group. “And don’t take dating advice from Buck.”

“Hey, I’m just saying! The first date is always the most important. He has to take her somewhere nice, show off a little bit. You have to act like you know what you’re doing.”

“It’s not a date, we’re just hanging out.” Ravi clarifies.

“Another name for a date.” Eddie states.

“Wait, really?” Ravi whips his head towards Eddie.

“Not always. How did they word it when they asked you?” Hen sits forward.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to hangout sometime, outside of work?” Ravi repeats your earlier question.

“Hmmm, could just be a friendly hang out.” She shrugs.

“So, you don’t think y/n likes me?” Ravi cringes at how it comes out.

“No way, y/n definitely likes you. I mean they did go out of their way to say bye to you and wish you a good shift.” Buck nudges his shoulder.

“I’ve done that with Chimney before, doesn’t mean I like him.” Hen points out.

“You’re married to a woman and he’s your best friend. That’s completely different.” Eddie says. “But to Buck’s point, y/n likes you. We saw it in their behavior.”

“Look, just text them that you’d love to hangout and when are they free. It’s that simple.” Hen tells Ravi. “You have your phone with you?”

“Yeah…” Ravi shifts in his seat to pull his phone out of his pocket.

Ravi types out a text message and shows it to Hen before sending it.

Ravi: hey y/n, just finished the call. I would love to hang out sometime. When are you free?

Several days later, you and Ravi meet at a local pizza shop. You’re nervous as you walk up to the restaurant, hands clammy and legs shaking like a baby deer. The gust of air almost knocks you back as you open the door.

You take a look around a see Ravi sitting at a small table in the corner. He looks up at the sound of the cashier welcoming you in. He jumps up immediately and smooths his shirt down.

“Hey.” You wave, approaching the table.

“Hi, how are you? You look nice.”

“Thank you. I’m good, how are you? It’s so weird seeing you not in uniform.” You laugh.

“I’m great.” He smiles. “It does feel weird, right?”

“Yeah…” You take the seat that Ravi has pulled out for you. “How are you feeling? Our last call yesterday was pretty rough.”

“My arms are a little sore but it could be worse.” He shrugs. “What about you?”

“I was so exhausted. I slept for like 10 hours today.” Ravi laughs at that. “I’m starving too.”

“Me too. What kind of pizza do you like? Maybe we can share or get two to try?”

“Yeah, I like that idea.” You smile. Ravi smiles back at you. You talk briefly about the pizzas you want to order.

“I’ll go order, what do you want to drink?” He stands, peering down at you. You pull out your wallet to give him money to pay but he shakes his head. “I’ve got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, my treat.” He grins before running off to order.

You’re fiddling with your thumbs under the table as Ravi comes back and hands you your drink. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” The smile he’s wearing has your heart racing and you can feel a sheen of sweat on your brow bone.

You go to speak to fill the quiet space but Ravi seems to have the same idea as he speaks at the same time.

“Sorry…”

“I’m sorry, what were you going to say?”

“No, please. You go ahead.”

You’re both stumbling over each other to speak. Ravi’s the first to laugh, taking a sip of his soda.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you but I told Buck to stop calling you probie. Trust me, I know how annoying it gets.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I know he’s joking. It doesn’t bother me too much anymore.”

“Well, you deserve to be called by your name and not by your skills or experience.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as you find the straw wrapper interesting. It’s the bare minimum but you can’t get over how kind he is to you. Really, it’s not just you. You’ve seen the way he interacts with victims or community members.

Ravi has a way of making people feel welcome and supported and he’s very easy on the eyes. You can’t imagine how he’s single. You only know because he’s mentioned it in passing. Some part of you was hoping that was his way of hinting feelings toward you.

You’re not even sure if he has feelings for you, that’s why you’ve disguised your feelings as simply being friends. That’s why you asked to hangout instead of asking him on a date.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by the smell of cheese being passed across your face. Both pizzas are placed on top of the stands as you’re given two plates.

Ravi kindly thanks the waiter. “Looks good.”

“Smells good too.” You point out as you both dig in. “This one has a good cheese pull.”

“I love the crust. It’s not too soft or too hard.” He meets your eyes. “It’s been really nice having you on the team.”

“Really? It’s been nice having you as my trainer. You’re really good at it. Thank you for being so patient with me.”

“You pick up on things quickly.” He assures. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thanks Ravi.”

After pizza, you don’t want to stop spending time with Ravi. You’ve both been asking questions about why you became a firefighter and learning more about each others’ personal lives.

You ask if he’d like to walk at a nearby park to walk off the big meal you’d just finished.

You’re both too full and a little bit too shy to make any conversation as you walk along a path. Families and couples are still out, enjoying the cool summer night air.

“Y/n?” Ravi stops abruptly. “Is this a date? He blurts out.

“Oh? Um, I-“

“It’s okay! I was just wondering because usually dates imply people like each other.”He shoves his hands in his pocket. “Not that I don’t like you! I-“

“I like you too.” You bite your lip.

“You do?”

“Yes, wait, did you mean like like or just friend like? Oh my god, this is so embarrassing. I’m really sorry, I-“

Ravi steps forward and kisses your cheek. His lips, cold from the soda he took to go, press against your flushed cheeks.

“I like you too.” He whispers against your cheek. His hands find yours as he pulls back.

“Oh… that’s good.” You whisper back, squeezing his hands.

“Can I drive you home?” All you can do is nod as you walk along side him back to the restaurant, hand in hand.

The next day, you’re already at work when Ravi makes his way in. The A-shift is just leaving when he’s stopped by Buck.

“How was the date?”

“Good.” Ravi smiles, face turned to the ground.

“So, it was a date?” Buck wiggles his brows.

“Yeah, it was.” Ravi smiles, his eyes drifting past Buck as he sees you button up your shirt, listening to something Hen is saying.

“We’re glad it went well.” Eddie nudges his shoulder as he walks by.

“We knew it would.” Chim smiles.

“Have a good shift, loverboy.” Buck teases as he catches you and Ravi smiling at each other.

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