#i had a thought that which could only be expressed through the sharing of images

[suzybishops]

kendall x stewy x true blue x boygenius

[verstappenverse]

Revved Up

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max grows jealous after your Instagram post attracts unwanted attention, including from an ex.

Authors Note: Do I actually believe Max posts on his own instagram these days... let alone would post with a 'scandalous' caption...no? but this is fiction so it's all good 😂

1.4k words / Masterlist

Max was sitting on the plush leather couch in your shared Monaco apartment, flipping through TV channels with all the enthusiasm of a man waiting for a commercial break. He glanced at the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the stunning Mediterranean view, but even that wasn’t enough to distract him. It wasn’t the usual race strategy or upcoming practice sessions that had him restless—it was something far more personal.

You.

More specifically the photo you had posted on Instagram earlier that day, a simple mirror selfie, a little scandalous but nothing crazy. You looked radiant, sure, but that was normal for you. You were always beautiful to him. What had caught his eye was the flood of comments, the notifications popping up every few seconds as he scrolled through your post.

He kept scrolling eyes narrowing as the likes kept ticking upwards. Then he saw it.

Your ex.

The guy who clearly hadn’t gotten the memo that you were Max Verstappen’s girlfriend, because clearly he didn't see an issue with leaving a flirty comment that set Max’s nerves on edge.

'Looking gorgeous as always' it read, with an obnoxious little winking emoji at the end.

Max’s fingers tightened around the remote as the thought of some guy—especially your ex—thinking he had any right to compliment you in that way made his blood boil. You were his. The world knew it, but apparently some people needed reminding.

He didn’t say anything when you had walked into the living room earlier, cheerfully oblivious to his growing annoyance. Instead he had kept quiet, but now it was simmering just under the surface. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Max was used to; on the track he was calm, confident, but when it came to you, his cool, collected exterior faltered. Especially when some idiot tried to act like he still had a chance.

You entered the room now wearing a loose sweatshirt and leggings, a casual look that contrasted with the glamorous image you had posted earlier. Max glanced at you his jaw tightening, you could sense something was off.

“Max, is everything okay?” you asked, tilting your head as you grabbed your phone from the counter. You didn’t even have to unlock it before he spoke.

“That picture,” he said abruptly, his Dutch accent thicker than usual, which tended to only happen when his emotions were running high. His fingers tapped on the arm of the couch in an impatient rhythm.

You furrowed your brow. “What about it?”

He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest and you could see the tension in his posture. “Your ex commented on it.”

“Oh,” you said, blinking in surprise. You hadn’t noticed.“I didn’t even see that.”

Max didn’t like the idea of you looking at that idiot’s comment again, but you opened the app and scrolled down anyway finding the offending message almost immediately.

You rolled your eyes and let out a light laugh. “Seriously? He’s such a loser. I haven’t talked to him in forever.”

Max didn’t seem to find it as amusing as you did. His frown deepened. “Yeah, well, he still thinks he can leave comments like that. Like I’m not here.”

You couldn’t help but smirk at his grumpy tone. “What, are you jealous?”

His reaction was immediate. “Jealous? Me? No...” He paused. “I mean... you know how many people liked that picture?”

You raised an eyebrow, amused by how serious he looked. “Max, it’s just Instagram, I think the point is to like pictures," you laughed, but his expression didn't change,"Max come on it’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, though he still sounded more irritated than actually angry. “Everyone’s drooling over you in the comments. And then there’s him.”

You couldn't help chuckling again and slid onto the couch next to him, pressing your hand against his knee. “Are you worried someone’s going to steal me away?”

He gave you a look, his lips twitching upwards at the edges, betraying the smallest hint of a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re being ridiculous.” You leaned closer, brushing your lips against his cheek.

Max sighed dramatically throwing his head back against the cushions. “Maybe I should just post a picture with you, remind people who you belong to.”

“Oh, who I belong to?” you teased, poking him playfully in the ribs. “That sounds a little possessive.”

There was a teasing glint in his eye now, but you could still feel the underlying jealousy. “Can you blame me?”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, enjoying how worked up he was getting over something so trivial. Seeing him this riled up over some stupid comment was kind of… adorable. You kind of loved when he got all possessive, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright.

“No, I guess I can’t blame you,” you sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “But you know I don’t care about those comments, right? Especially not from my ex. I didn’t even notice it.”

“Maybe you should block him,” Max muttered back to sounding grumpy.

You laughed again, unable to stop yourself. “Max it’s fine, if it’ll make you feel better of course I’ll block him. But I need you to know I never think about him.”

He softened a little at that, his arm instinctively wrapping around your shoulders. “You better not.”

You smiled, nuzzling into him the warmth of his body calming. “Besides, none of those guys commenting are Max Verstappen now are they?”

“Exactly,” Max said, and there was that cocky smile you loved so much. The mood lightened as his fingers brushed through your hair. “None of them stand a chance.”

You grinned up at him. “And neither does my ex, so you can relax.”

He seemed to settle after that, his hand lazily stroking your arm as the tension eased out of his shoulders. “Good. But still…”

“Still what?”

“I think I should post a picture with you. Just to make sure everyone knows.”

You snorted. “You just want an excuse to show off.”

“Can you blame me?” he repeated, his eyes glinting with mischief as he reached for his phone. “Come on, one picture. Let me remind everyone you’re mine.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Fine. Just one.”

Max scrolled through his phone finding the perfect shot of you two together arms wrapped around each other, he quickly typed out a caption and hit ‘post.’ Not long after, your phone buzzed with notifications. His fans were quick, already liking and commenting on the post.

You glanced at it over his shoulder, chuckling at the caption: Just a reminder—she’s mine.

“Oh my God Max,” you groaned playfully. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged, completely unbothered. “What? It’s true.”

You laughed and shook your head, leaning into him once more. “You really are something.”

“I know,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And don’t you forget it.”

The rest of the evening passed in a much lighter mood. The TV hummed in the background, but neither of you paid much attention to it. Instead, you spent the time teasing Max about his jealous streak, much to his dismay.

“You know I never thought I’d see the day when Max Verstappen got jealous over a social media comment,” you teased, curling up beside him on the couch.

He rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not jealous. I’m just… protective.”

“Sure, that’s what we’ll call it.”

“Okay, fine. Maybe I was a little jealous,” he admitted, pulling you closer. “You’re kind of amazing.”

You beamed up at him, feeling a rush of warmth at his words. “Well good thing I’m all yours, huh?”

“Good thing,” he agreed, leaning down to kiss you, slow and sweet. When he pulled away, he added kiddingly “What about, no more selfies without me in them.”

You laughed and nudged him playfully. “We’ll see about that.”

But deep down, you didn’t mind the way Max was with you. The way he got protective, a little possessive, and sometimes even a little jealous. Max was known as a fierce competitor on the track, but when it came to you, his heart felt just as fierce, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[ybklix]

hidden lovers

★ pairing: idol bf!lee know x fem!reader

✦summary: Minho and you have this little game of dating in secret, but keep a completely opposite image for the rest of your friends.

♡ genre - warnings: smut, mean and soft dom minho, established relationship, enemies to lovers briefly written; fingering, mutual masturbation, edging, oral sex (f. rec.), cunnilingus, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, creampie, pet names.

word count: 5k

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist - taglist forms

୧ ‧₊˚request by anon₊ ˚⊹♡ secretly dating minho w enemy plot yesyes<3

a/n: i hope u liked it 🍮 mwahmwah, i think lino has a puddin in the pic lmao so cute

divider by enchanthings

It was pouring rain outside, it was one of those rainy summer days when you really missed your boyfriend, you wanted to be in his arms watching a movie or spying through his cell phone whatever he was doing. But he was busy, he couldn’t visit you so often because he spent hours at the company, he arrived exhausted at his apartment which he shares with three other colleagues and friends; plus it was that season when coincidentally the rest of his seven co-workers and best friends were more glued to him since it was when they were hard at work on their new album, so being so close to them, they usually tend to be insistent and ask in detail what he does outside of work and Minho, your boyfriend, could not risk them finding out that there is something between you.

So, amidst the heavy rain, your perfect signal fell with it; Han Jisung, your brother and one of Minho’s closest friends sent you a message, asking you for help with household activities in his apartment, blackmailing you while reminding you that he was the one giving you money, since he’s rich and an extremely important pop star and claiming that it was one of those days when they didn’t go to the company and Chan took the opportunity to put the rest of them to clean their respective apartments. You honestly didn’t think much of it, going to your brother’s apartment would mean you would see Minho one way or another, despite living in different apartments, you were pretty sure you would be able to see him.

You thought it was strange that Minho didn’t tell you that he didn’t go to work today, you thought he must have been busy ordering Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin to clean their rooms like little kids since it was your boyfriend who was in charge of the place. So anyway, you decided not to tell him and see him as a surprise; you dressed up perfectly, you haven’t seen him for days except through facetime and you really missed the closeness and smell of your man nearby.

You left your apartment and headed to the building of your older brother and his other almost older brothers, Chan, Changbin and Hyunjin and sighed as you passed through the wide hallway, the famous hallway reserved for the eight of them, only two doors on each side of the hallway, the place where they lived, you sighed, because you knew that Minho was probably in his apartment.

You knocked on the door, where a very confused Chan opened it for you, wearing comfortable clothes, with his curls and his face totally free of any traces of makeup.

“Oh, hi, Y/N, I didn’t know you were coming.”

His confused countenance gradually softened into a smile. He was confused as Han had authorized your entrance all the way to his door without previously letting anyone know you were coming.

“Yeah, well neither did I...”

“Come on in, we’re just cleaning up a bit.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s just what Han calls me for, apparently.”

You walked in and even Chan couldn’t help but watch you as you walked by, smelling your perfume and getting slightly lost in your bare legs through your short dress; which you were wearing only for, who they consider, your enemy.

“Agh, my dear sister who’s going to help me do the laundry and dishes, how good you look, have you eaten yet?” said in a fake and dramatic tone your brother, greeting you with an exaggerated expression of excitement and hugging you, which he never does and was just overacting and being funny.

“Fuck you, Han” you answered him as a joke, you were really there just to see Minho and you were starting to get desperate, you wanted to run into his arms and kiss his nose exactly where he had his little freckle.

Han changed his expression to an annoyed one as soon as he pulled away from you after his brief hug, “Hey, watch your mouth, I’m older remember. Also, why are you wearing so much perfume, are you wearing makeup?”

“I can’t believe you brought your sister all the way here just to help you” Chan interjected.

“Hey, Y/N, nice to see you” interrupted Hyunjin as he came out of his room and walked around the apartment.

“Hi” you replied sweetly smiling at Hyunjin.

“She came to see me, it’s obvious” you heard Changbin suddenly say, who came out of the laundry room, approaching Han and you.

Changbin winked at you and gently grabbed your waist, flirting and teasing you, making Hyunjin laugh. But Han didn’t find it the least bit funny so he opened his big round eyes in shock, raising his eyebrows, ready to exclaim in his typical voice:

“Ya, are you out of your mind? Get your dirty hands off my sister or I’ll kill you.”

Chan laughed at Han’s reaction, who was also joking, since he fully trusted each of his friends and knew that they were just playing around, he knew that none of the men he lived with every day would touch you and Han had a strict rule of not trying anything with you, since you were the closest to them, all the time living with them, a rule which they all respected since at least four of them also had sisters and understood the seriousness of the situation... however it wasn’t quite like that, Minho was the one who dared to touch you and would fuck you every day if only you could be together all the time and, for the rest, Minho was really the last option in the list of people who would even have anything to do with you, since for them, you two are enemies and hate each other. Plus Han would never agree to you dating any of his friends, you were strictly forbidden and he reminded them of that every chance he got.

Changbin let out a guilty chuckle and walked away from you.

“Well, I was assigned to do the dishes and laundry, please help me, my room is a mess, I’ll clean that up. I’ll buy you five Chanel bags, I promise, please” spoke your brother, you rolled your eyes and walked towards the kitchen without answering him.

Hours later, the night came and you finished without a problem, you handed the freshly washed clothes to each of them, you left the boys’ kitchen spotless and went a little frustrated to your brother’s room to see what he was doing, he had finished cleaning too, tiredly you sat on his bed, each time losing hope of spontaneously seeing your boyfriend and surprising him, so you thought about going to the bathroom to send him a message, saying you were there and that if he had the rest of the night he should spend it with you, making a little drama by reproaching him for not telling you he would have the day off, supposedly, since you knew he might be cleaning.

“I’m thinking of buying another piece of furniture and putting it in...” started to tell you Han, pointing to a part of his room but you decided not to pay attention at all,

And suddenly a voice, a sound so familiar that it filled every part of your body with excitement, you heard in the distance the typical whine of your boyfriend, followed by his manly voice in a soft whine saying, “Agh, are you guys done already? I really didn’t want to clean up today, why did you guys finish so soon?”

Han opened his eyes in surprise and looked at you with a bit of fear, he also recognized perfectly well that it was Minho.

“Is that Minho?” you asked suddenly, hiding every excited particle of your body, your heart pounding as if you were a young girl about to see her crush.

“Oh no… if you want, I’ll get him out of here before he sees you” Han replied and before you even thought how to stop him he was already leaving his room.

You quickly stood up and went after him.

“Ah, Hannie, let’s go get some dinner and let’s all eat it in my apart...” spoke Minho cheerfully as he saw his friend coming out of the hallway but he didn’t finish the sentence as his world stopped as he saw you coming out behind him.

And there he was, Lee Minho, looking as handsome as ever, in comfortable clothes and a bare face, his hair looking soft and shiny black. You had to contain your joy, feeling him so far away but so close at the same time; as did Minho, who held back with all his might a smile from his lips at the sight of you, instead, his expression tightened completely, furrowing his thick eyebrows, his thin lips pursed a little, his big eyes sharpened if that was possible, looking at you contemptuously and an irremediable tension for the rest of the guys formed in the atmosphere, they all looked at each other complicitly, amused and slightly worried, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin and Han, moving their eyeballs quickly as they noticed you and Minho were looking at each other.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” spat Minho annoyed.

His tone and demeanor gave you goosebumps, just as it made your pussy throb, it really turned you on to see him upset, he looked so hot, you ran your eyes along his bare arms with your gaze, you wanted his veiny hands on your neck but you had to maintain your sanity and be tough, acting your best role, as Minho’s enemy.

“Minho be nice...” Chan said softly.

“With... that-her, never. Oh, and I see why you guys finished early. That’s unfair, you have a fucking maid” said Minho again in annoyance.

“Minho...” your brother replied in his sternest tone and giving him a dirty look.

“Actually, let’s all eat at Minho’s, that sounds good” you finally spoke, walking and teasing your enemy.

“You can’t come into my apartment” Minho answered you, his eyes dark with desire as he saw how pretty you looked and it made him feel so good to know you were doing it for him.

You knew that look so well, so intimidating and wetting you in seconds; while for the rest it was a look of hatred and spite.

“I’m hungry, let’s eat” Changbin added, approaching you two and gently squeezing your forearms as he saw that you seemed to have a staring contest, “Come on, maybe you’re just mad because you’re hungry.”

The story of you and Minho really was funny, you truly used to be enemies and hated each other; Minho met you when you were younger, for him, back in his trainee years, and instantly thought of you as a spoiled brat who was given absolutely everything, your voice irritated him, the way you acted, everything. You both had such similar personalities that you just couldn’t manage to match each other... until years later, the big revelation fell on Minho with the intensity of a crash, he liked you, you were so cute all of sudden and he also suddenly fantasized about beating your ass to stopping you from being so badly behaved. Your start of romance was so fiery, as you were suddenly confused by his strange behavior, flirting with you while still being rude to you and, since then, a year ago that you’ve been dating. And you decided to hide it for obvious reasons; although Minho had already told you that he had no problem claiming you as his own, that he loved to possess you and have you as his girlfriend, he loved the intensity in which you loved him.

And now acting like enemies in front of everyone and lovers in secret between just you two, became such an exciting game you couldn’t stop, you lived for the mystery and the adrenaline of never getting caught, and when the guys started joking that ‘those who hate each other end up falling in love’ —literally your situation—, Minho would be really mean to you again, but he rewarded you so fucking well that you even forgot why he apologized. Sex after fake hard fights was always the best for you.

Changbin led everyone to Minho’s apartment, everyone without truly thinking about why they followed him and the rest of the people who lived with Minho were surprised at the timely arrival of the rest of his friends and you.

“Woah, what is this? What are you guys doing here?” you watched Jeongin say in surprise as he slowly lowered the cell phone from his face.

The three of them were sitting on the couch in the living room, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin, watching you enter with astonishment reflected on their faces.

“It looked pretty serious the way they all came in” Felix added smiling, “Hello, Y/n.”

“Yongbok don’t say hello to her or I’ll kick you out of the apartment” replied Minho quickly.

“What do you guys want for dinner?” spoke Chan.

“You’re not even invited to this house, plus I’m still not done with my chores” replied Minho directly to you, serious and a bit irritated.

“What you guys haven’t done yet? Let us help you so you can finish soon” spoke Chan kindly again.

“Minho hasn’t done anything, he just kept bossing around” Seungmin exposed him with a smile and pointing at him, causing a soft chuckle among his other two roommates.

“Kim Seungmin, count your days” Minho hissed.

“A whole pile of clothes to be folded is waiting for him in his room” Seungmin joked again.

“Shut up, Seungmin!” exclaimed your boyfriend.

“Y/n should go help him, it would be fun to see them not fighting for five seconds” commented Jeongin amused with his cocky tone and raising his eyebrows.

“Never, I’d rather burn your clothes” replied Minho.

“Yes yes, put them both in punishment” exclaimed Seungmin with a huge smile on his face.

“For all the nights they had their little fights every time we went out” Changbin continued the joke.

Hyunjin and Felix laughed, Han and Chan watched you both with amusement.

“There’s not going to be any more nights together because I’m going to kill every single one of you” mumbled your boyfriend.

You watched the scene, trying to be the strongest and hiding the immense urge you had to indeed see your boyfriend's room.

��No way” Chan lifted his shoulders, “You have to fulfill your duties...”

“Okay, okay, but who said I would agree to help him?” you spoke suddenly.

“Oh, yeah, you both have to go while we order food” Changbin sentenced, waking over to you to gently push you.

“Do it” you heard Han order you.

“Just because I seriously don’t want to fold all those clothes by myself...” whispered Minho.

You looked at him surprised, and with a face of indignation you followed him. But deep down you were just waiting for all the drama to be over and you could be alone with him.

“Wow, he really accepted her help” Hyunjin commented in amazement as he watched you walk to Minho’s room.

“Shut the fuck up, Hyunjin, I’ll cut your tongue out!” shouted Minho to which Hyunjin made a quick funny grimace in response.

“Try not to kill each other in there!” yelled Changbin.

You and Minho stood for a few moments near his door, looking at each other complicit and with your breathing heavy, so eager to be near each other; you watched him through the darkness of his room, diverting your gaze from his big bright eyes to the rest of his room with huge windows overlooking the city, his room was beautiful, after all he was part of a very important group and maintained his reputation by having a luxurious place to live in... and almost at one end of his bed, a pile of clothes waiting to be folded. There were few times that you had entered Minho’s room as privacy was very limited.

You were both waiting for the boys’ attention to be diverted elsewhere and, Minho recognizing and hearing that they finally managed to get distracted, he locked the door. Minho knew them so well and recognized perfectly when their attention was diverted to something new; their loud voices ceased softly as they were heard lower with his door closed and he without wasting any time, grabbed you by the hips, pulling your body to him.

You smiled broadly, once again with every particle of you excited to finally have him near.

“I missed you so much, baby, you look so good today” he spoke to you sweetly, leaning into you and kissing you.

You couldn’t answer him, your whole body went warm as you felt his lips on yours, you both missed each other madly and wanted each other immensely, so quickly the kiss became desperate and lustful, his sharp nose rubbing against your face, your hands wrapping around his neck and stroking his hair; Minho hugged you, leaving his hands on your back and slowly leading you to his bed.

As you bumped against the edge of his bed with your legs, he slowly let his body drop, making you fall onto his bed gently, both of you breathless, lewd with the temperatures of your excited bodies, Minho wanted to make you his now and you needed your boyfriend’s affection so bad that your weak pussy was so soaked and needy for his touch. Minho moved away from you a little, only to pull up your dress and reveal that you were only wearing your panties underneath it, you noticed his disapproving look, still he said sweetly:

“Settle in, princess, make yourself comfortable, so I can touch you better.”

You stirred a little, getting comfortable with his pillows on your back and Minho kissed you again, positioning his body over yours, sticking to you to the point of feeling his swollen hard erection rubbing against your sensitive center, he was kissing you so passionately, getting even for all the nights he had to spend it alone, when he had you as his girlfriend and he was partly able to come and see you, you taking care of him so well. You moaned softly as you felt his cock grinding into your pussy and, Minho being himself, he began to gently ram into you, rubbing and squeezing his member into your needy area, rubbing against your clit, causing you to lubricate yourself more and every muscle in your pussy to throb hungrily for your boyfriend’s cock.

Your groans were held between his lips, but Minho was fucking you slowly and torturously, moving his nimble hips against your pussy, leaving you so wet.

You both caught your breath, Minho watched your face slightly illuminated by the night’s exterior reflected in the window. You gasped, still watching him lovingly, placing your hands on his cheeks.

“I missed you too, Minho.”

“I know, sweetheart, sorry I was busy” gasped Minho breathlessly, enjoying his cock being compressed against the friction of the fabric of your panties on your pussy.

He moved his hand down to your pussy finally, pushing the fabric of your panties aside, reaching down to your entrance and smiling smugly as he noticed how incredibly wet you were. Minho bit his lip and inserted two fingers deep into you, making you moan and the sound of his fingers immersing between your lubed cunt.

“I want to fuck you so bad, princess, c'mon, ask for it, kitten. I loove to hear you beg, you know that, don’t you?”

“Ahh, mmm, M-minho, p-please” you sighed excitedly, his fingers were tickling a sweet spot in you.

You wiggled your ass gently, aroused to have your boyfriend’s fingers working on your sensitive vagina and exploring your insides, as you reached for the hem of his shirt, gently lifting his simple white t-shirt, stroking his abs; Minho smirked again smugly and abruptly slid his fingers out of you.

“You want to touch me too, don’t you, kitten?”

Minho drew a half smile on his face to which you only nodded in a trance, completely lost in the incredibly hot and sexy atmosphere created between you and your boyfriend. He hurried, taking off his shirt and quickly pulling down his shorts and boxers, exposing his very well erect cock, you could appreciate how needy he was too, detonating his veins and his pink tip covered by shiny white precum. You almost sighed, wanting to have fun in so many ways with your boyfriend’s cock, so almost reflexively you directed your hands towards his member, stroking it to feel its stiffness, causing sweet gasps to escape from Minho’s lips, you looked at him, in his face captured pure pleasure, so you wanted to get up, change positions and suck his cock, but he stopped you instantly, also almost reflexively.

“Ah, ah” spoke your boyfriend in disapproval, pushing you off your shoulder, “Be a good girl and do whatever I say and want, okay?”

Minho darkened his gaze more and said it in a tone so intense and demanding but being gentle with you that it made your body tremble in excitement, you bit your lip and nodded.

“Now, stroke my cock and cum in my fingers like a good princess” he spoke again, his dirty words made you throb again, “But... let me see a little bit your pretty body...” Minho licked his lips and abruptly sought a way to pull the straps of your dress to expose your chest, “You always look so good, baby” Minho let his gaze linger on your bare breasts and then came closer and kissed you again.

You were so distracted, blinded by the incredible pleasure built up in your body, busy with your mouths joined, your hands in stroking up and down his cock and, as soon as you felt again the tickle of his fingers touching your pussy, your hairs stood on end; Minho without stopping kissing you, inserted in your entrance three of his fingers, making you gasp at the sensation of your entrance stretching. He moved his kisses down, down your neck, his hot breath hitting your sensitive skin, until his mouth reached your breasts, licking them, sucking them and biting your nipple, while his hand on your pussy fucked you and his thumb caressed your clit, getting his hand and the thin fabric of your panties you were still wearing wetter and wetter.

“We need to discuss later why you only came in that tiny dress, in panties and no bra, to an apartment full of men, you’re such a very bad kitty, you need a little punishment, but you feel so good right now, I wanna make you cum” Minho said, exasperated and excited in your ear.

He was so aroused too, desperate for an orgasm as he felt your hands skilfully but a little clumsily touching all over his length, stroking his glans, his testicles, feeling every inch of him, which dick you were internally screaming for by wanting such a member to be in you right now, but you couldn’t deny it, you loved the way your boyfriend liked to play and entertain your pussy, ramming it with his fingers and crushing and stroking your needy, throbbing clit. Minho gasped loudly, so close to his orgasm whose he took the decision of delaying it himself, he wanted every drop of his cum inside you, so runny and thick drops of his precum fell on your bare abdomen; his cock was so swollen and throbbing and you felt it in your hands that, in a whimper you practically begged him:

“M-minho please fuck me, I need you.”

Minho smiled.

“Then cum to your first orgasm in my hand, sweetie, you can do it.”

He, being pushed to the limit by your caresses on his cock, sped up his movements in your cunt, desperately fitting his fingers deep inside you, enjoying your walls in his digits, the softness of your throbbing clit on his fingertip. You whimpered loudly, staring into his eyes, arched your back, so ready for your orgasm, every muscle in you squeezed with intensity.

“Are you about to cum, kitten? Do it now, come on.”

“Oh, ffuck” you squealed with a shaky voice, catching one last glimpse of Minho’s handsome face with a smug little smile, before your vision blurred and you rolled your eyes slightly back.

Your legs tensed, you squeezed his cock slightly tighter, only to release yourself in orgasm, squirting into his hand, just as he desired.

“Good girl” Minho commented smiling.

He withdrew his fingers and in one swift movement, slipped your panties off and without warning of anything, brought his face up to your pussy, licking your sweet liquid sliding down your hole. You moaned at the sensation of his thick hot tongue, of his lips sticking to your pussy to slurp hard from your entrance to your labia, feeling his high bridge nose rubbing against your core, Minho left his hands on your thighs and began to eat your pussy, raising his piercing gaze, watching with joy your body struggle with your heavy breathing.

This time you enjoyed every movement of his mouth on your pussy, his kisses, his soft bites, the intense sucking and licking; you were in paradise, his pace was hot and slow, little by little speeding up the way he ate your pussy, Minho was enjoying it too, getting harder on his dick, causing a little pain to his erect cock hanging in the air, in need of attention, screaming to cum, but the slight pain was turning him on more, he loved pushing himself to the limit, making you enjoy only you as you deserve it, besides he had this idea or theory, that he didn’t deserve to cum as he wasn’t being the best boyfriend these last days, he missed you and felt guilty for not being able to come to see you, and that you had to be the one who was looking for him.

Minho again sensed your orgasm so close, your gasps rose, honestly the noise didn’t bother him, the walls were thick and his friends were being ten times louder in the living room of the apartment. So he suddenly stopped having his mouth on your pussy, roughly wiped his face with his dry hand and got closer to your face.

“Don’t cum yet, princess, I need to fuck you now” he whispered, giving you a sweet kiss on your cheek.

You saw him in confusion, you couldn’t even groan because you instantly realized that you were finally going to have his cock inside you.

Minho repositioned himself again, took his member and began to tease your wet and needy entrance, stroking his glans into it, sliding it in so gently and just enough to get your hole dilated, but he would pull it out again. You whimpered with excitement and desperation as you perfectly recognized the game your boyfriend was playing.

“You want it don’t you?” he said amused with his typical smug smile as he saw your needy body and countenance, your pussy made a beautiful mess, your length so shiny from your wetness and his licking, your entrance resenting his tip inside you, “So needy for my cock.”

You whimpered, his broad tip slipped out of you and this time he grind your labia with his erection, rubbing himself on them.

“Y-yes, Minho, please, please, please.”

“Only because I’m the best boyfriend” he replied haughtily.

Minho slowly slid his cock inside you, you gasped, he was big and wide, squeezing your walls hard and stretching your entrance. He sighed, almost feeling a relief as he felt his cock around your warm core, he pulled his body closer to yours, wanting to feel your body touching his; he was so deep inside you that he almost took your breath away, still, he began to thrust you slowly, never leaving his depth and intensity, moving his hips to take you to the limit, caressing your cervix, and his balls rubbing against your exposed pussy. You tightened your legs and encircled his body, while your hands rested on his strong back, you both began to pant, his slow deep thrusts heating your lower abdomen, torturing you but sending you to heaven itself at the same time. Minho kept a pace that only he knew how made you go crazy, slow, then he accelerated fast, pounding you hard. You dug your nails into his back, you were so close to your orgasm; Minho sped up the movements of his cock in you, but as he felt your walls squeezing his member hard, he couldn’t take it, he gasped loudly in your ear and ejaculated, milking him dry every drop of his cum in an intense orgasm. You felt his cum instantly, your legs also squeezed his body tighter and you whimpered loudly, cumming again and covering your boyfriend’s cock in your so intense orgasm.

Minho left his head on your neck for a few seconds, then distanced himself and watched your pussy image after the action.

“So sweet and all mine” Minho said, looking down at his cock sliding out of your core, dripping the glorious orgasm of both of you in a glistening liquid; he moved closer to you again, to give you a sweet kiss, your mouth was dry, from moaning and breathing by it, but quickly Minho’s soft lips ceased any sensation, “I love you” he whispered into your lips, bringing your foreheads together.

You smiled, about to answer him something cheesy, but Minho’s doorknob turning sharply and banging on his door alerted you a little.

“Dinner’s ready, why is the door locked?” you heard Seungmin’s voice shout from the other side.

“Linoo” you now heard Changbin’s voice shout, “Are you okay?! He must be dead already.”

Minho sighed in frustration, “These idiots...” he muttered, catching his breath near your face.

—————-

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89

[wildflowerhuggy]

Just a dream // OP81

| pairing: oscar piastri x reader

| summary: reader has a bad dream that oscar gets hurt and goes to him for comfort

| warnings: reader is implied female, use of y/n(i rlly tried not to i swear)

| authors note: wrote this instead of studying for a final :D

You're standing in the garage, your heart pounding in your chest as the roar of the engines reverberates through the air. Oscar's car zooms past in a blur of papaya and black. Everything is perfectly normal until it isn't. Taken over by an uncontrollable lockup, the car suddenly veers, tires squealing against the asphalt as it careens off track. Time suddenly moves in slow motion. You watch in horror, unable to move, as the car flips, the sound of metal crunching and the smell of burnt rubber filling the air. You're screaming his name, but no sound leaves your mouth. The world tilts on its axis as you hear them announce a red flag and medics storm the accident scene. You can't move, your body frozen in place. And worst of all, you know you can't reach him.

You wake up with a gasp, chest heaving as if you've just run a marathon, tears streaming down your face and hands trembling as you clutch the blankets around you. The guest room in Oscars Monaco apartment is dark, the faint glow of the moon streaming in through the curtains your only light source. But the feeling of the nightmare lingers, both vivid and suffocating.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing the images to fade, but they don't. All you can see is the mangled car and the unbearable thought of losing Oscar. Your heart aches, feeling as though it's just been ripped out and stomped on, panic still fresh and raw. You need to see him, reassure yourself he's okay, even if you know it was just a nightmare.

Before you can second guess your movements, you're throwing the duvet off yourself and padding quietly down the hall to his room. You've been best friends with Oscar since you could walk, since the days of sharing snacks and playing hopscotch, even his move to the UK couldn't sever your bond. Staying at his place in Monaco felt natural, as did staying at his place in London, it felt like slipping back into the comfortable rhythm of sleepovers from when your were just a couple of little kids, but after that dream comfort was the last thing you were feeling.

His bedroom door is slightly ajar (something he insists on doing in case you need him, to which you always laughed at until tonight) and you push it open gently, trying not to make a sound. The room is dim, lit only by the same moonlight that was filtering in through the curtains in the guest room. Oscar's sleeping form was a shadow under a pile of blankets, his steady breathing a stark contrast to your own racing heart. Just seeing him alive and at peace and, most of all, safe eases some of the tension you were feeling in your chest.

But as you take a step closer, the floor betrays you by creaking, the noise disrupting his steady breathing.

"y/n?" his voice is laced with sleep and groggy but it's more than enough to break the dam that was previously holding back your tears.

"I..." your voice cracks, and you quickly scrub at your faces trying to stop the tears but it's to no avail. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, this was stupid." you rapidly apologize.

He sits up at this, covers falling to lay across his hips, "Hey, hey, hey, no I promise it's not stupid." he coos, his concerned tone tugging at your heartstrings, "what's wrong?"

You hesitate, still feeling ridiculous, even more so with his attention directly on you. But the nightmares grip on you still hasn't loosened. "I had a nightmare," you admitted, voice quiet. "I just... I just needed to make sure you were okay."

Oscars expression softens, scooting over patting the empty space beside him, "Oh love, come here."

Trying to ignore how the name made your heart skip in the best of ways, you slowly make your way toward his bed. slipping under the covers hesitantly, but being encouraged by his soft gaze.

The warmth of his body and duvet surrounds you and the familiar scent of him fills you with a comforting warmth. Oscar shifts closer, his arm draping over your shoulders as you pulls you into his chest.

"It's okay," he murmurs into the crown of your head, "It was just a dream."

You nod against his chest, focusing on the steady rhythm of his heart. It's grounding, acting as a reminder that he's here and safe. "It felt so real," you whisper into his chest, "I saw you crash, and I couldn't do anything, I was stuck. I thought... I thought I lost you."

His hold on you tightens, and you hear him suck in a sharp breath while resting his chin atop your head, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he says firmly.

For a while, neither of you speaks. The soft sounds of the city outside and the rustle of sheets the only sounds filling the silence. The two of you just enjoying the warmth of each other. Slowly but surely, the pain in your chest ebbs, replaced with a new anxious feeling—one that you've been feeling for years but never brought up.

"Osc?" you say softly, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes.

"Yeah?" his eyes filled with warmth, focused on you and you only.

You take a shaky breath, heart pounding for a reason entirely different from when you first stepped in here. "I don't know what I would do without you," you admit softly, "You mean so much to me."

His gaze searches yours, and for a moment you begin to panic that you've said too much, but then his hand comes up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that was on your cheek. "You mean everything to me," he says, voice barely above a whisper.

Your breath catches as he leans in close, lips capturing yours in a kiss that begins as soft and gentle. as if he's testing the waters but deepens as he feels you respond, fingers threading through his soft hair, years of unspoken feelings between the two of you spilling out.

When you finally pull apart, you're both breathless, eyes sparkling. He presses his forehead against yours, a small, youthful and disbelieving smile on his lips. "You've got no idea how long I've wanted to do that." he admits.

"I think I do," you giggle, pulling him in for another quick kiss that becomes not so quick.

He finally pulls back again, shifting to pull you tight to his chest as you nuzzle into his neck, "We should get some sleep," he says, "I'm okay and I'm right here with you. I promise," he eases your lingering fears without you even having to ask.

And for the first time that night, you feel safe. Laying there with his arms tightly wrapped around you, the steady beat of his heart beneath you, and him pressing a soft kiss against your head, the nightmare feels like a distant memory. You close your eyes with a smile on your lips as you drift off, comforted by the fact that you know he's safe and that he's now yours.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Say Don't Go

Summary: You are given the opportunity of a lifetime, Spencer urges you to take it. Even if it means leaving him behind.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, typical BAU crime, mentions of drugging/kidnapping/robbery, brief alcohol consumption by reader and friends, clubs, break up(?), talks of marriage, forced choices/decisions, happy ending !

Word count: 15k

a/n: so what if this pulls inspiration from the train scene in glee... SO WHAT ... and so what if i named a character after kurt

main masterlist

December 2008 – Present

"You’ve been with so many women you don’t remember their names?" Spencer asked, laughing at Derek.

"Are you surprised?" Emily snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"This has never happened to me before," Derek defended, sounding genuinely incredulous.

"It’s never happened to me before either," Spencer chimed in, grinning as he started toward the conference room.

"It can’t happen to you—you have an eidetic memory," Emily teased, her smirk unmistakable.

"Plus, you only have one name to remember," Derek added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ha ha," Spencer replied, forcing a laugh, though the words cut deeper than he let on. Derek wasn’t wrong.  

He only had one name to remember. One that mattered above all the others.  

But Spencer had messed it up. He had let you get on that train. He had let you walk away.

Spencer's regrets weren't always loud or obvious; they often whispered to him in the quiet moments of his everyday life, weaving their way into his thoughts like unwelcome visitors he couldn’t shake.

It was in the mornings, when he brewed a pot of coffee in his lonely apartment, and his hand hovered over the second mug he used to pour for you. He’d catch himself mid-motion, the pang of realization that you weren’t there cutting through him like a knife. He’d take his coffee black, staring at the empty chair across from him, and wonder if you were having your morning cup too—if you still took it with two sugars and a splash of cream.

At work, it was the little things that brought you to mind. A joke Derek would make, or the way Emily tilted her head while teasing him, reminded Spencer of how you used to laugh with him, soft and genuine. He could still hear your voice in the back of his mind, offering your take on a case or pointing out something he’d missed. Those moments were the hardest—because they reminded him of how much better everything had been when you were there to share it with him.

And then there were the books. Spencer couldn’t walk into his favorite bookstore without being overwhelmed by the memory of browsing the aisles with you, debating over which novel to pick for your next "couples read." Now, those shelves felt empty, even when they were fully stocked. He’d run his fingers over the spines, pausing at titles he knew you would’ve loved, but he never brought himself to buy them. What was the point if you weren’t there to read them with him?

Evenings were the worst. After a long day at the BAU, when he returned to his dim apartment, the silence was deafening. He’d sit at his desk, pulling out old case files to distract himself, but his eyes would always drift to the small keepsake box he kept on the shelf. Inside were the remnants of your time together—a movie ticket stub, a pressed flower from a date, a Polaroid of you laughing at something he’d said. He’d told himself he’d put it away to move on, but instead, it became a shrine to his mistakes, one he visited more often than he’d like to admit.

And then there were the nights when the ache became unbearable, when he’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of you boarding that train. He could still hear the sound of the wheels on the tracks, still see the tear-streaked expression on your face when you looked at him through the window. Those nights, he’d wonder what he’d say to you if he had another chance—what he’d do differently if he could go back. 

The regret wasn’t just a feeling; it was a constant presence in his life. It was the realization that, in trying to give you what he thought you needed, he’d taken away the one thing he needed most: you.

—

June 2008

“Spencer?” you asked cautiously, looking over at your boyfriend as his car came to a stop in front of the train station.  

You could see him take a deep, trembling breath, the shakiness audible even as he tried to steady himself.  

When he turned to face you, his eyes were already brimming with tears, spilling over before he could even speak.  

“You said we were going to dinner,” you reminded him, your throat tightening as dread began to settle in your chest. You were trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, clinging to the hope that you were wrong.  

Spencer cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop his voice from breaking as he said, “No.” He shook his head, and the weight of his next words seemed to crush him as he continued, “You’re going to New York.”  

“What?” Your voice shot up as you stared at him in disbelief, as if he had grown another head. “What do you mean? I turned Aubrey down.”  

“I know,” Spencer sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I can’t let you throw your dreams away for me.”  

“My dreams?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger and heartbreak. “Spencer, you are my dream. I love you!”  

“I love you too,” he choked out through his tears, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”  

“But—” you tried, your hands reaching for his as if grounding him could change his mind.  

“No, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “I—I called Aubrey. She still wants you. I told her you accepted the position. That you’re coming.”  

“Why?” you cried, the single word breaking into a sob. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, desperate for an answer that would make this make sense.  

Spencer’s lips quivered, and he looked away, unable to face the devastation in your eyes. "Because you deserve to have everything you’ve ever wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat.  

"But I already have everything I want!" you shouted, your hands gripping the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "You’re all I need, Spencer. You’re it for me!"  

He let out a shuddering breath, his tears falling freely now as his hands reached up to cover yours. For a moment, you thought he might give in, that he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his expression resolute despite the anguish etched into every line of his face.  

"You’ll resent me one day," he said, his voice cracking. "You’ll look back and wonder what you could’ve done, what you could’ve been if you hadn’t stayed for me. I can’t live with that. I can’t live knowing I held you back."  

"That’s not fair!" you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of your sobs. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! I chose you, Spencer. I chose us!"  

"I know," he whispered, his hands tightening over yours as if trying to memorize the feeling. "And that’s why I have to do this. Because I love you too much to let you give up your future for me."  

"My future is with you!" you insisted, but he was already pulling your hands away from his face, gently but firmly.  

"I called Aubrey," he repeated, his voice hollow. "She’ll be waiting for you at the station in New York. Your ticket is already bought. Your bags… they’re in the trunk."  

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You… you packed my things?"  

Spencer nodded, his expression breaking entirely under the weight of your hurt. "I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t."  

"You had no right!" you shouted, shoving at his chest. "No right, Spencer!"  

He took it, letting you pound against him until your strength gave out, until your sobs consumed you, leaving you trembling and broken in his arms. "I’m sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’m so sorry."  

But he wasn’t sorry enough to stop you from going.  

As the train whistle sounded in the distance, Spencer gently pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You have to go," he said softly, his voice thick with tears. "The train won’t wait."  

"I hate you," you whispered, the words cutting him deeper than anything else ever could.  

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible as he let his hands drop to his lap. "But one day… I hope you’ll understand."  

He opened the car door for you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, staring at him with tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with the weight of everything unsaid.  

Finally, you whispered, "Goodbye, Spencer," your voice trembling as you stepped out of the car.  

He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything as he watched you walk away, each step feeling like a dagger to his heart.  

And when the train finally began to pull out of the station, Spencer felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him like a freight train. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the train. "No," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky and panicked. "What have I done?"  

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran alongside the train, desperate, tears streaming down his face. He called your name, his voice breaking, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him through the thick glass and the noise of the train.  

Inside the train car, you were curled into the seat, staring blankly out the window, your face streaked with tears. You weren’t expecting to see him. But then, there he was—running alongside the train, his expression frantic, his lips forming words you couldn’t quite hear.  

Your heart shattered all over again. The sight of him, so desperate, so raw, made it even harder to leave. Your hand instinctively pressed against the cold glass, a futile attempt to reach for him.  

Spencer’s legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running, the distance between him and the train growing with every passing second. His vision blurred from the tears, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.  

But you… you couldn’t bear to watch. Your tears fell harder as you pulled your hand away from the window and turned your head, unable to keep looking at him. You had to look away, even though it felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.  

Spencer stumbled, slowing as the train picked up speed, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, watching helplessly as the train—and you—disappeared into the horizon.  

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one, the words echoing into the empty night.  

You were gone. And Spencer knew, deep down, that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.  

—

September 2008

You loved your new life. How could you not? You had everything you had once dreamed of—your new position as second in command to the CEO of your favorite designer brand was everything you’d worked so hard for. The thrill of overseeing campaigns, approving designs, and brushing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry was exhilarating.  

You’d settled into your new routine as well as anyone could when starting fresh in a bustling city like New York. Moving in with Aubrey Wilkes, the CEO herself, was daunting at first, but she made it easier. Her mentorship was invaluable, and her sharp wit and genuine kindness turned her into a friend as much as a boss.  

Your days were filled with meetings in glass-walled boardrooms, late nights spent poring over designs and strategies, and the occasional glamorous event that kept your calendar full. You had the life you always said you wanted.  

And yet...  

Every single day, Spencer found his way into your thoughts.  

It wasn’t always obvious at first. Maybe it was a book you saw in a shop window that reminded you of one of his recommendations, or a classical piece playing softly in a café that you knew he loved. Sometimes it was the sound of someone’s laugh that carried the same rhythm as his, or the sight of a man at the train station holding a bouquet of daisies like the ones he used to bring you.  

Other times, it was the silence that brought him back. At the end of a long day, when you’d kick off your heels and collapse onto your couch, you’d find yourself wishing you could tell him about your wins and your struggles. You’d wonder how he’d react to the stories you had to tell, imagining his soft smile or the way his hands would flutter nervously when he was excited for you.  

There were nights when it hit harder—when the city lights felt too bright and the penthouse apartment too cold. On those nights, you’d curl up in bed and stare out at the skyline, wondering if Spencer ever thought about you, too. If he regretted what he’d done. If he missed you as much as you missed him.

Because no matter how perfect your new life seemed on paper, a part of you still felt like it was missing. And that part had a name. Spencer Reid.

—

February 2007

It was a crisp evening as the warm glow of the restaurant's candles reflected off the polished surfaces, casting a cozy light over the two of you. Spencer had chosen this place because it was where you first met, a sentimental touch to the holiday of love that made your heart swell. The quiet buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses provided a soothing backdrop as you both enjoyed your meal, the comfort of each other's presence making the night feel perfect.

You were mid-laugh at something Spencer had said when a woman approached your table, her eyes wide with admiration. "I’m so sorry to bother you," she began, her voice apologetic but earnest. "But that is the most fabulous dress I have ever seen. Can I ask where you got it?"  

Caught off guard, you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced down at the material that clung to your body in all the right places. You smoothed your hand over the fabric, feeling both flattered and shy under the woman’s praise.  

Spencer, noticing your blush, smirked proudly from across the table. His hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch grounded you, reminding you that he was there, always your biggest supporter.  

"I–um," you stammered, your voice soft as you tried to find the words. "I made it."  

The woman’s face lit up with genuine astonishment. "You made it?" she repeated, her tone filled with awe. "That’s incredible. You have such talent."  

Spencer’s smirk deepened into a full-blown grin as he interjected, his voice laced with pride. "She’s amazing, isn’t she? I keep telling her she could make a career out of this, but she’s too modest to listen."  

"Spencer," you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes at him as your blush deepened.  

The woman smiled warmly at the exchange, clearly charmed by the both of you. "Well, if you ever decide to give your talents to the world, give me a call." With a quick admiring glance at your dress one last time, she handed you a business card before turning to rejoin her party, leaving you and Spencer alone once again.  

You stared at the card in your hand, the golden lettering catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights. Your heart nearly stopped as you read the name printed at the top—Aubrey Wilkes.  

Your favorite designer.  

The logo you’d admired countless times on magazine covers and in shop windows felt surreal in your grasp. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the opportunity this might represent sinking in.  

Spencer noticed the stunned look on your face and tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone soft yet concerned.  

You slowly turned the card toward him, your hand trembling slightly. "It’s… her," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer leaned closer, his eyes scanning the card before widening in recognition. His lips curled into a delighted smile, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Aubrey Wilkes?" he exclaimed, excitement evident in his tone. "Y/N, do you know what this means?"  

"I…" you began, but words failed you. It felt too big, too unexpected to process.  

"It means you’re amazing," Spencer continued, his voice steady as he reached across the table to take your free hand. "And now someone else sees it too."  

You looked back at Spencer, who was still holding your hand, his thumb now tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "I told you people would notice," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "You’re incredible, and you should let the world see it."  

Your eyes softened as you gazed at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered.  

"Always," he replied, his expression filled with a quiet devotion that made your heart flutter.  

The moment lingered between you, the restaurant and its patrons fading into the background as the two of you shared a look that said more than words ever could.

—

April 2007

"Spencer, I’m not going," you sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your chest as you leaned back in your chair. His persistence, while well-meaning, was starting to wear on you.  

"Y/N," he began, his tone both patient and pleading, "this isn’t just some casual opportunity. This is Aubrey Wilkes. She gave you her card. She wants to see what you can do. Do you even know how rare that is?"  

You folded your arms across your chest, avoiding his gaze. "I know exactly how rare it is, Spencer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to New York."  

Spencer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if physically holding himself back from pressing harder. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration but also genuine concern. "Is it fear? Because I know you, Y/N. You can do this. You’re more than talented enough."  

"It’s not fear," you shot back, though your voice faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared at the floor, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair. "It’s… it’s everything else. I have a life here. I have a job. I have you."  

Spencer’s heart clenched at your words. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. "I know, and I love our life together," he said earnestly. "But I don’t want you to look back in ten years and wonder ‘what if.’ I don’t want you to resent me for holding you back from something you were meant to do."  

You flinched at his words, your head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think I’d ever resent you? Spencer, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the one who’s always supported me, encouraged me to believe in myself when no one else did."  

"And I’m still doing that," he countered gently. "That’s why I’m pushing this. I can’t stand the thought of you letting this slip away because you’re scared to leave me behind."  

"It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t want to lose us. What if I go, and everything falls apart?"  

Spencer reached for your hands, cradling them between his. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your knuckles as he looked at you with all the tenderness in the world. "You won’t lose me, Y/N," he promised, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I’ll be here, cheering you on, no matter where you are. I’d rather see you chasing your dreams, even if it’s from a distance, than staying here and giving up on them for me."  

Your tears spilled over, and you shook your head, torn between love for him and the fear of what leaving might mean. "I just don’t know, Spencer," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  

"I do," he said softly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "I know how much you’re capable of, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. And I love you too much to let that happen."  

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling between you like an immovable wall. You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill again. “I’m just—I’m not going. Leave it alone,” you said firmly, your voice quieter than you intended but laced with finality.  

Spencer hesitated, his hand still outstretched as if reaching for you might close the growing distance between you. “Y/N,” he murmured softly, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.  

“Can we be done with this, please?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but resolute. You didn’t want to cry again, didn’t want to feel like you were fighting with the one person who always understood you.  

Spencer stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue further. But then he closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

The word hung between you, filled with unspoken emotions—disappointment, worry, and love all tangled together. Spencer looked down at the table, fiddling with his napkin as if it held answers he couldn’t find in your eyes.  

You turned your gaze away, your chest tightening as silence settled over the room. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came with comfort—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of you was saying.  

And though you had put an end to the conversation, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a crack in something you weren’t sure how to fix.  

—

August 2007

"Who was that?" Spencer asked as you walked back inside from the patio, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. He had noticed the look on your face as you ended the call—something between apprehension and surprise.  

You glanced down at your phone, the screen still lit with the call log. "Aubrey," you said hesitantly, tucking the device into your pocket.  

Spencer tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Aubrey Wilkes?"  

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone cautious as you avoided his gaze. "She… uh, she got my number. I don’t know how, but she did." You let out a nervous laugh, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.  

Spencer’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and concern. "And?" he prompted, sensing there was more to the story.  

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "She asked me to consider coming. Said there’s a spot opening next year—her number two is supposed to leave for another job in Milan."  

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching your face as he processed the news. "That’s… huge," he said slowly, his voice laced with both excitement and hesitation.  

"I know," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s… it’s everything I dreamed about. She said she’d hold the spot for me if I wanted it."  

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze softening as he tried to read the emotions flickering across your face. "What did you say?"  

"I didn’t say anything," you admitted, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "I told her I needed time to think about it."  

He nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a moment to respond. "And… are you thinking about it?"  

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don’t know," you said quietly. "I told you I wasn’t going. But now… it’s like she’s dangling everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me, and I don’t know if I can ignore it anymore."  

Spencer’s heart ached at your words, but he forced a gentle smile as he said, “You shouldn’t ignore it.”  

You sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a storm cloud. "It’s just too much to think about right now," you murmured, walking over to where he sat. Without hesitation, you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm wrapped protectively around you. The warmth of his embrace was like a balm, soothing the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.  

"Will you read to me?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.  

“Of course, my love,” he replied without hesitation, his tone tender. He reached for the book he had been reading earlier, adjusting slightly so you could be more comfortable.  

As his calm, steady voice filled the room, weaving through the story’s narrative, you felt your nerves begin to settle. The cadence of his words acted like a lullaby, each one wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Spencer kept reading, even when he noticed your body growing heavier against his, your breathing slowing to a steady rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.  

He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you. You were wearing a sweater you had designed and crafted yourself, the intricate stitching a testament to your talent and creativity. In your peaceful state, with your lips slightly parted and your lashes resting against your cheeks, you looked serene.  

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched you, a flood of emotions washing over him. He felt an overwhelming admiration for you—for your strength, your brilliance, your passion. But beneath that admiration was a deep-seated fear.  

He didn’t want you to give up this massive opportunity, the one you had dreamed of for so long, the one that could change your life. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he was the reason you were hesitating.  

The thought that he might be holding you back, even unintentionally, was almost unbearable. He wanted to be the one who supported you, who cheered you on, who encouraged you to take risks and chase your dreams. But as he held you in his arms, he wondered if his love for you was making it harder for you to leave.  

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered into the quiet room, “I just want you to be happy.”  

He knew that when the time came, he would have to push you, no matter how much it hurt. Because loving you meant wanting the best for you—even if it meant letting you go.  

—

March 2008

You and Spencer were strolling through the mall, casually browsing the stores as you searched for the perfect gift for your grandmother’s upcoming birthday. The two of you laughed together as you passed by store windows, debating what she might like—a scarf, a brooch, maybe a fancy tea set.  

But then your steps slowed, your attention caught by something glinting behind a clear glass case. It was almost subconscious, your feet carrying you toward it before you even realized what had drawn you in.  

"Rings?" Spencer asked, his voice soft and amused as he came to stand beside you. His eyes flicked to the sparkling display before landing on your face, a tender smile curling on his lips.  

"Do you ever think about getting married?" you asked suddenly, your gaze still fixed on the rings, their polished surfaces reflecting the light.  

The question caught Spencer off guard. He blinked, his smile faltering for just a second before it returned, gentler this time. "Of course," he said softly, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable. "Do… do you?"  

You finally tore your eyes away from the display, turning to face him with a grin. Your heart swelled at the look on his face—so earnest, so full of quiet hope.  

"Yes," you admitted, your smile widening as you decided to tease him just a little. "Preferably to a tall, nerdy doctor. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers."  

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his lips pulling into a bashful smile as he looked down at you. "I think you might be in luck," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful humor.  

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head and feigning surprise.  

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes glimmering with affection. "I hear there’s one who’s absolutely crazy about you."  

Your laughter bubbled up, filling the air between you as you leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both stood there, the sparkling rings forgotten as you focused entirely on each other.  

In that moment, with his arm around you and the warmth of his love so evident, you couldn’t help but imagine a future where one of those rings might be yours—and that future felt a lot closer than you’d ever thought possible.  

—

May 2008  

“Aubrey,” you sighed into the phone, keeping your voice low as you closed the bedroom door behind you. Spencer had finally fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning, his fever making rest nearly impossible. The last thing you wanted was to wake him now. “I told you I can’t.”  

Unbeknownst to you, the sound of the door clicking shut had stirred Spencer. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he realized you weren’t lying beside him anymore. He sat up slightly, his head still heavy with fatigue, and strained to hear your voice coming from somewhere outside the room.  

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the moment he heard Aubrey’s name fall from your lips, his chest tightened, and his focus sharpened.  

“No… no… it’s not that…” Your voice wavered, and Spencer could picture you chewing your thumb nervously—something you always did when you were stressed. “I can’t leave. My whole life is in Virginia… well, no… he told me to go… yes, I know—”  

Spencer’s breath hitched, his heart clenching at your words.  

“I love him, I love my life with him,” you continued, and Spencer felt his chest ache in equal parts relief and guilt. “Obviously… I’m sure it would work, but—” You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “My answer is still no. I’m sorry.”  

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed what he’d just heard. He could feel the weight of your words pressing against his chest, a reminder of the sacrifice you were making. He knew he was the reason you were staying. You were giving up your dream for him, and as much as he loved you for it, he couldn’t let it happen.  

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Spencer quickly laid back down, shutting his eyes tight like a child pretending to sleep past their bedtime. He tried to even out his breathing, though his heart raced beneath the covers.  

You slipped back into the bedroom quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow as you moved toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, you nestled into his side, resting your head on his chest. Your lips pressed a tender kiss over his heart, and you whispered, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”  

Spencer’s chest swelled at your words, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as he fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him.  

As your breathing steadied and you drifted off to sleep, Spencer lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the echo of your words—“I love him… he told me to go.”  

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his mind was filled with plans. He had to get you to New York. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him, he had to make sure you followed your dreams—even if it meant losing you in the process.  

—

December 2008 – Present

"Reid, are you paying attention?" Hotch’s firm yet concerned tone cut through the fog in Spencer’s mind, snapping him out of his reverie.  

Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting Hotch’s piercing gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, his voice steady though his heart wasn’t.  

"Good. Let’s keep it that way," Hotch grumbled, clearly not in the mood for distractions.  

The team was seated around the conference table in the BAU’s jet, discussing the details of their latest case. They were headed to New York, where several women had been drugged and abducted from exclusive nightclubs in the Upper East Side. The unsub’s profile was slowly taking shape, but for Spencer, focusing on the details was harder than usual.  

Even hearing the name New York was like a dagger twisting in his side. It brought with it a flood of memories he had tried and failed to suppress—memories of you.  

He could picture the night you had finally told Aubrey no, the way your voice trembled with conviction when you said you were staying in Virginia. And yet, here he was, sitting on a jet bound for the very city where you were supposed to be building your dream.  

Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. This is my job. Focus on the case. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to look at the crime scene photos spread across the table.  

But as the jet began its descent into the city, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the window. The glittering skyline of New York City came into view, and his chest tightened. He wondered, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like now. Would you be walking those streets right now, thriving in a world that had always been meant for you?  

"Reid, thoughts?" JJ’s voice broke through his spiral, and Spencer quickly blinked, realizing the team was looking at him expectantly.  

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "The unsub likely uses a combination of charm and familiarity to gain the victims’ trust. Based on the timeline, he’s calculated and methodical, which suggests he’s not working impulsively. He might be using the same clubs regularly to scope out his targets."  

JJ nodded, taking notes as Morgan chimed in with his own observations. Hotch seemed satisfied that Spencer was back on track, but Spencer could still feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.  

As the jet landed and the team prepared to disembark, Spencer grabbed his bag and fell into step behind the others. He reminded himself that the job came first, that the women out there needed them to be focused and sharp.  

But as they exited the airport and the cold New York air hit his face, Spencer couldn’t help but feel the ghost of what could have been following close behind.  

As the team settled into the precinct, the familiar buzz of activity filled the air—phones ringing, officers shuffling papers, and the hum of conversation about the case. Spencer sat at a desk, his eyes scanning over a map as he worked on the geographical profile. On the surface, he looked focused, but internally, he was at war with himself.  

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The sharp lines on the map blurred as his thoughts drifted.  

Which building do you live in? The question looped through his mind like a broken record. He knew you had moved to the Upper East Side with Aubrey when you first came to New York. But that had been months ago—almost a year, actually. Maybe you didn’t live with her anymore. Maybe you had your own place now.  

And then, more troubling thoughts crept in. Are you being safe? His chest tightened at the idea of you walking these streets, the same streets where women were being drugged and taken.  

Spencer’s eyes darted back to the photos of the nightclubs spread across the desk. He knew it was unlikely you frequented places like these. You’d never been one for the nightlife, always shying away from loud music and crowded spaces. He remembered how you used to fidget at gatherings, instinctively seeking out quieter corners where you could breathe.  

But the thought of you even being near these places, of someone seeing you, targeting you—it made his stomach churn.  

God, I hope you’re safe, Spencer thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake the image of you from his mind.  

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present.  

Spencer blinked, his hands tightening around the edges of the map. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calmer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to piece together the unsub’s movements.”  

Morgan studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Alright, well, let me know if you need a second pair of eyes.”  

Spencer nodded, returning his gaze to the map. But even as he tried to refocus, his mind kept drifting back to you. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t even been able to convince himself to reach out.  

And yet, here he was, in your city, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you were thinking about him too.  

After spending the day checking out the crime scenes and canvasing the surrounding areas, the team returned to the precinct to deliver their initial profile to the local police. Spencer sat near the back of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to keep his focus on the case.  

Emily stood at the front, presenting the profile with her usual confidence. "We believe the unsub is targeting wealthy women," she explained, her tone even but firm. "Women who appear successful and independent—CEO’s, CFO’s, designers, singers, dancers, actors, chefs, etcetera. He sees them as trophies, not just victims. He uses their wealth and status to justify robbing them, taking their IDs, and eventually breaking into their homes after he’s done with them. This is about control and power, and his choice of victims reflects that."  

Spencer’s stomach churned as he listened, each word cutting deeper into his already frayed nerves. His mind was no longer on the women they were profiling; it was back on you.  

Every victim they described could have been you. Successful, talented, determined—everything about you fit the profile. You had climbed to the top of your field, a name that carried weight and admiration. You were exactly the kind of woman this unsub sought to dominate, to tear down.  

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the board where photos of the victims were pinned. Each face reminded him of you in some way—the confident smiles, the elegant postures, the undeniable strength that radiated from their pictures.  

He tried to push the thoughts away, to remind himself that you were likely far from this mess, probably tucked away in a luxurious apartment or a designer studio, far removed from the chaos he was immersed in.  

But the fear gnawed at him anyway. What if you weren’t safe? What if you were walking these streets late at night, lost in thought or distracted, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby?  

Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the moment, but Spencer barely registered what was being said. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts and the eerie similarities between you and the women they were trying to protect.  

The briefing ended, and the room began to clear out, officers heading back to their tasks. Spencer stayed seated, staring blankly at the photos on the board. His chest felt tight, his mind racing with all the possibilities he didn’t want to consider.  

"Reid?" JJ’s voice broke through the haze, her expression soft as she approached him. "What’s up with you? Is something wrong?”

He blinked, forcing himself to shake his head. "No," he lied, his voice flat. "Everything is fine."  

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close. Every instinct in him screamed to find you, to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that this case wasn’t just about catching an unsub—it was about protecting you from a danger he couldn’t control.  

—

You were getting ready with Aubrey and the rest of your group, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement. It was Blake’s 27th birthday, and they had chosen to celebrate with a night out at the clubs.  

The leopard-print dress you wore hugged your frame perfectly, its bold design a gift from Aubrey herself. As you zipped up your deep burgundy leather boots, the rich color catching the light, you couldn’t help but glance at your reflection. The outfit was striking—you felt sexy and confident.  

“Shots!” Kurt’s voice boomed from the living room, drawing laughter and cheers from the group. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as you finished adjusting your boots.  

“You ready to go, superstar?” Aubrey teased, leaning in the doorway with a knowing smile. She looked impeccable, as always, her outfit radiating confidence and style.  

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, standing and smoothing out your dress.  

“Good,” Aubrey said, linking her arm with yours. “Because tonight, we’re leaving all the stress and work drama behind. It’s Blake’s night, and you, my dear, are going to have fun.”  

You laughed, letting her guide you toward the rest of the group. As the music played loudly in the background and someone handed you a shot glass, you tried to push away the unease creeping in. This wasn’t your scene, but for Blake—and with your friends by your side—you’d make the best of it.  

What’s the harm of one night out on the town?

Aubrey, with her effortless charm and impressive connections, had managed to get your group into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. As you approached the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as you passed the long line of people waiting to get in.  

The bouncer gave your group a once-over before glancing at his clipboard, where your names were already on the list. He nodded to the hostess, who gestured for you to follow her inside. You exchanged amused glances with Aubrey, her confident smirk making it clear she was in her element.  

The energy of the club hit you immediately—a pulsing rhythm of music, vibrant lights reflecting off chandeliers and mirrored disco balls, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.  

You were quickly led to a private VIP lounge area, tucked away yet with a perfect view of the dance floor. The sleek leather seating, soft glow of ambient lighting, and low table with a bottle of premium alcohol chilling on ice made it clear this was luxury at its finest.  

As you settled in with the group, Aubrey leaned over with a grin. "Not bad, huh?"  

"Not bad at all," you admitted, finally starting to feel the buzz of excitement that the rest of the group had radiated all night.  

Kurt popped the cork on the bottle with a celebratory cheer, pouring out drinks as Blake laughed and raised their glass. "To the best birthday ever!" Blake called out, their joy infectious as everyone clinked their glasses together.  

You took a sip, letting the fizzy warmth spread through you, and glanced out at the dance floor, watching the kaleidoscope of lights play over the crowd. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax, leaning into the moment. Tonight wasn’t about anything else—it was about celebrating Blake, being with friends, and maybe, just maybe, finding some joy in the chaos.  

It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the excitement of the night wore on, that you noticed something was wrong. Analise hadn’t returned from the bathroom in a very long time. At first, you didn’t think much of it—maybe she’d gotten caught up chatting with someone or had taken a phone call. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, unease began to settle in.  

You mentioned it to Aubrey, and soon, the rest of your group was involved, searching the crowded club for her. You checked every possible place she could be—the bathroom, the dance floor, the bar. You even tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.  

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as you decided to check with door security. Maybe she’d decided to leave early and hadn’t told anyone. But when you explained the situation, the response you got made your heart drop.  

“She left about 40 minutes ago,” the bouncer informed you, his tone matter-of-fact. “She was with a man.”  

Your blood ran cold. Analise was a married lesbian woman with children. There was no way she would leave with a man.  

“That’s impossible,” you said, your voice shaking. “She wouldn’t… she would never do that.”  

The bouncer frowned, his expression darkening as he realized the weight of your words. Aubrey, ever composed, stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “We need to check the security footage. Now.”  

The staff moved quickly, pulling up the tapes as your group crowded around, watching with bated breath. And there it was—clear as day. Analise stumbling out of the bathroom, visibly dazed, as a man wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the exit. You could see her trying to resist, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, but she was no match for him.  

Your stomach churned as the man led her out of the club. It was clear she’d been drugged and coerced.  

“We’re calling the police,” one of the security staff said, already reaching for his radio.  

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. The authorities arrived swiftly, questioning the staff and reviewing the footage. Your group, shaken and worried sick, was told to wait outside. When the police finally addressed you, it was to inform you that they needed to take statements from everyone who had been with Analise that night.  

Before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of a police car, the flashing lights reflecting off the club’s exterior as it faded into the distance. Aubrey sat beside you, her normally composed demeanor fractured by worry. The rest of your group was being transported in other cars, but you all shared the same fear: What if it’s too late?  

As the car sped toward the station, you stared out the window, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Analise’s face, her laugh, her stories about her wife and kids—it all played in your mind like a reel you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was your fault, that somehow you should have noticed sooner, should have done something.  

Aubrey reached over, squeezing your hand tightly. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.  

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. All you could do now was hope the authorities could act quickly enough. Analise’s life could depend on it.  

Your group was led into a quiet room, far from the noise and chaos of the precinct. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and the tension in the air was palpable as you waited, all of you exchanging worried glances. One by one, your friends were called out by law enforcement to give their accounts of the night’s events.  

You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart sank when one of the officers mentioned that the Behavioral Analysis Unit was on the case. The BAU, you thought, your stomach twisting into knots. That could only mean one thing—Spencer.  

Your mind raced. Please, let him be out in the field. Let him be anywhere but here, you silently begged. The idea of seeing him again, especially under these circumstances, felt overwhelming.  

But then a petite, pretty blonde woman entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to your spiraling nerves. She scanned the list in her hands before looking up and saying your name with a polite smile.  

You hesitated but stood up, smoothing your dress as you followed her down the hallway. She led you to a small interrogation room, where the walls seemed to close in just a little too tightly.  

“Have a seat,” the woman said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. She handed you a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.  

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, clutching the cup between your hands as if it were a lifeline.  

The woman gave you a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warm and steady. “My name is Jennifer Jareau,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “I’m an agent with the BAU, and I just have a few questions for you. You’re not in any trouble; we’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.”  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her posture open and non-threatening. “I know tonight was difficult, but anything you can tell us might help us find your friend and bring her home safely.”  

You took a deep breath, letting her words settle over you. As much as you were afraid of what this moment represented, you knew you had to focus on Analise. You began recounting the evening, walking her through everything you could remember—how Analise had gone to the bathroom, how long she’d been gone, and how your group had discovered she had left the club with a man.  

JJ listened intently, taking notes but never breaking eye contact. Her steady presence made it easier to keep talking, even as your voice faltered at times.  

When you finished, she nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve been really helpful. Thank you for being so detailed—it makes a big difference.”  

You offered a small, shaky smile. “I just want her to be okay.”  

“We’re going to do everything we can,” JJ said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.  

You nodded again, but as she stood to leave, a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Spencer really is here? What if he walks through that door next? You weren’t sure you were ready for that moment. Not now. Not like this.  

—

When the call came in about a new abduction, Spencer held his breath, his stomach tightening as a familiar sense of dread crept in. For a brief, harrowing moment, he waited to hear your name. But it wasn’t.  

“Analise Bordeaux,” Penelope said over the phone, her tone efficient but tinged with urgency. “She’s a top-rated journalist for the New York Times. Married, with two kids. Her wife also reported her missing earlier tonight after she didn’t return home at a previously agreed time.”  

Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but the relief was fleeting. Another brilliant, accomplished woman was in danger, and the unsub’s pattern was becoming even clearer.  

“Morgan, Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the tense moment, bringing everyone back to focus. “I want the two of you to head to the club. Talk to the staff, review the footage, and see if anyone remembers anything unusual.”  

“Got it,” Morgan replied, already grabbing his jacket.  

Spencer nodded, silently falling into step with his partner. The ride to the club was quiet, the weight of the case settling heavily between them. Spencer’s mind wandered, as it often did in moments like this, and despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to you. Were you okay? Were you being safe in this massive, chaotic city? The idea of something happening to you gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake.  

When they arrived at the club, the music still pulsed faintly in the background as staff cleaned up after the night’s events. The bouncer and several employees were waiting for them, and Derek immediately took the lead, flashing his badge and asking for access to the security footage.  

Spencer scanned the room as they worked, his sharp eyes noting every detail. The club was upscale, the kind of place that catered to high-profile clients, which fit the unsub’s victimology perfectly. He and Derek pored over the footage, watching as Analise stumbled out of the bathroom, her movements sluggish and disoriented. The man who had escorted her out didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, but Spencer’s mind was already analyzing every subtle detail—the way he scanned the room, the calculated calmness in his movements.  

“This guy fits in with the crowd,” Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.  

Spencer nodded. “He knows exactly how to stay under the radar. He’s blending in, using the chaos of the club to his advantage.”  

After questioning staff and gathering everything they could from the scene, the two men left the club and headed back to the precinct. The weight of what they’d seen hung heavily in the air between them, but Spencer was unusually quiet.  

“You good, pretty boy?” Derek finally asked, glancing over at him.  

“Yeah,” Spencer lied, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… thinking.”  

Derek didn’t push, but Spencer could feel his partner’s eyes on him. 

When Derek and Spencer arrived back at the precinct, they headed straight to the makeshift conference area where the rest of the team was gathered. The atmosphere was tense but focused, with everyone comparing notes and piecing together the puzzle of Analise’s abduction.  

JJ was finishing up her report on the interviews she had conducted with Analise’s friends. She held a notepad in her hand, skimming through her findings as she updated the team.  

“We have a list of people Analise spent the evening with,” JJ said, holding up the notepad. “Her coworkers and a few close friends all confirmed she wasn’t acting like herself before she went to the bathroom. Said she was dazed, disoriented in the footage—classic signs of being drugged. One of them even mentioned they tried calling her, but her phone’s off now.”  

As JJ spoke, Spencer’s gaze landed on the notepad in her hand. Something about it nagged at him—a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.  

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing to the list of names.  

JJ didn’t hesitate, handing the notepad over with a slight frown of curiosity. “Sure,” she said. “What are you thinking?”  

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the list quickly, his brain processing each name at lightning speed. And then he saw it.  

Your name.  

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the notepad tightened as if he needed to steady himself.  

You’re here.  

“What is it, Reid?” JJ asked, her voice breaking through the sudden rush of emotions.  

Spencer forced himself to look up, his expression carefully neutral. “Um,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I just… wanted to see if anyone stood out.”  

He handed the notepad back to JJ, his hand trembling slightly. He hoped she didn’t notice, but Morgan, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes at him.  

Spencer’s mind raced. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t spoken to you since the night he let you go. And now, here you were, tangled up in a case involving dangerous predators and a missing woman. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest.  

“You recognize anyone?” JJ asked, her tone casual as she flipped back through the list.  

“No,” Spencer lied once more, his voice steadier this time.  

But inside, he felt like he was falling apart. Because no matter how much he tried to focus on the case, on the unsub, on finding Analise, one thought overpowered everything else: You were here.  

“What do you think, Hotch?” Rossi started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Should we let them go?” He gestured vaguely, referring to your group still waiting in the designated room.  

“No,” Spencer said quickly, speaking up out of turn. His voice was firmer than he’d intended, and everyone turned to look at him with raised brows.  

“They’re safer here,” Spencer continued, his tone more measured now. “The unsub might have seen them. If they were with Analise all night, they could’ve been noticed, even targeted.”  

“Reid’s right,” Hotch said, nodding as he turned back to Rossi. “We’ll keep them here until we have more information. JJ, did any of them mention recognizing the unsub from the footage? Or if Analise recently changed anything in her routine that might have drawn attention?”  

JJ gently took her notepad back from Spencer, giving him another curious glance before flipping through her notes. “Uh… yes,” she said, stopping on a specific page. “One of them—Y/N Y/L—mentioned that Analise had just gotten a promotion at work. They went out to celebrate at a new restaurant last Thursday.”  

Spencer stiffened at the mention of your name, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.  

“Alright,” Hotch said decisively. “Let’s bring Y/N back into the interrogation room. She might have seen this man at the restaurant and didn’t realize it.”  

“I’ll go get her,” JJ offered, already rising from her seat and heading toward the door.  

“I’ll come too,” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.  

Everyone turned to look at him again, surprise flashing across their faces.  

“May—maybe a second set of ears,” Spencer stammered, quickly trying to justify his outburst. “Um, a new perspective might help.”  

Hotch studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Spencer’s motives. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. Go with her.”  

JJ gave Spencer a questioning look but said nothing, motioning for him to follow her. As they walked down the hallway toward the room where you and your friends were waiting, Spencer felt his chest tighten with every step.  

He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. And now, he was seconds away from coming face-to-face with the person he’d never stopped thinking about.  

—

You were just starting to lose your patience, shifting in your seat and glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, when the door opened again. The same woman from before, Jennifer, stepped inside with her calm and professional demeanor.  

“Y/N?” she said with a polite smile. “Can we see you again?”  

Your friends exchanged questioning glances, murmuring words of encouragement as you stood. “Good luck,” one of them whispered as you followed JJ out of the room and down the hallway.  

You tried to steady yourself, reminding yourself this was all routine. Just more questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as you stepped into the cold interrogation room again, the air felt different—charged, heavy.  

And then you saw him.  

Sitting in the chair across from the table, Spencer.  

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room that had felt icy before now felt like it was a thousand degrees hotter. You froze for a moment, your mind racing to make sense of the sight in front of you. He looked the same, yet different. His hair was slightly longer, his face a little more tired, but those eyes—the same deep, thoughtful eyes you’d once adored—were unmistakable.  

Spencer’s head snapped up as you entered, and for a second, he looked just as startled as you felt. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.  

“Y/N,” JJ said gently, breaking the heavy silence. She gestured toward the chair across from Spencer. “Have a seat.”  

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move as you crossed the room and sat down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, shock, or something else entirely.  

Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You blinked, your throat dry as you nodded again. “Hello, agent,” you replied, equally quiet.  

JJ glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, but she quickly masked it. “Y/N, we just have a few follow-up questions,” she said, sitting down beside Spencer and pulling out her notepad.  

But it didn’t matter what she said. The only thing you could focus on was Spencer, sitting right there in front of you, as if the years between you had suddenly disappeared.  

The questions started simply enough—where had you and your group gone to dinner? How many people were there? Did anyone stand out or seem to take special interest in you?  

“There was one person,” you said after a moment of thought, tilting your head slightly as you tried to recall the details. “He was a busboy, I believe. But he kept coming by our table to check on us.”  

Spencer, who had been taking notes alongside JJ, immediately perked up at that. “He wasn’t your server?” he asked, his voice calm but focused.  

You shook your head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “No, our server was a woman. She was very attentive, but this guy—he kept showing up. At first, we thought he was just really good at his job, but it started to feel… I don’t know, a little strange.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. “Strange how? Did he say anything to you, or was it more about his behavior?”  

“It was mostly his behavior,” you replied, frowning as you tried to piece together the memory. “He’d clear away plates that didn’t really need to be cleared yet, or refill water glasses that were barely half-empty. And every time he came by, he’d linger for just a second too long. It was subtle, but… noticeable.”  

Spencer exchanged a quick glance with JJ before asking, “Can you describe him? Anything about his appearance that stood out?”  

You nodded, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focused on the image in your mind. “He was average height, maybe a little shorter than you,” you glanced at Spencer. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. He had this kind of… intense way of looking at people, like he was trying to figure them out.”  

Spencer scribbled furiously in his notebook, his pen moving so fast it almost blurred. “Do you remember if he wore anything unusual? Jewelry, a watch, anything like that?”  

You paused, biting your lip as you thought. “I… I think he had a tattoo on his wrist,” you said finally. “It was hard to see because of the uniform, but when he reached over to clear a plate, I noticed it. It looked like… a triangle, or something geometric.”  

“That’s good,” JJ said with a nod, giving you an encouraging smile. “That’s really helpful, Y/N.”  

But your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was still scribbling notes with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unsaid passed between you.  

“Anything else you remember, no matter how small?” he asked softly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something deeper—something that felt almost personal.  

You shook your head slightly. “No, I think that’s it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…” You trailed off, a shiver running down your spine at the realization of how close your group may have been to danger.  

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable as he set his pen down. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

JJ stood, glancing at her notes before giving you another reassuring smile. “We’ll follow up with the restaurant and see if anyone knows him. You’ve been really helpful, Y/N.”  

You nodded, rising from your chair, but your eyes lingered on Spencer for just a moment longer before you turned to leave the room. And as you walked back to your friends, you couldn’t help but feel like this encounter had stirred up more than just memories of the night—it had brought something long-buried between you and Spencer back to the surface.  

Before you could reach the room where your friends were waiting, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. The unexpected touch made you stop, turning instinctively.  

There he was—Spencer, standing just behind you, his face filled with an urgency that took your breath away. He looked like he was holding back a storm, his words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.  

“Can I see you before I leave?” he asked, his voice low but rushed, as if afraid you might say no.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind scrambling to process the request. And before you even realized it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips almost automatically.  

Relief flashed across Spencer’s face, but he didn’t linger. He simply gave you a small, grateful nod before turning back toward the team. You stood there for a second, trying to collect yourself, before heading back into the room with your friends.  

As soon as you sat down next to Aubrey, she leaned in, her sharp eyes scanning your face. “Was that Spencer?” she asked in a hushed whisper, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.  

You nodded again, unable to bring yourself to speak.  

“Are you okay?” Aubrey pressed, her hand resting lightly on your arm.  

This time, you shook your head. The motion was small, but it felt monumental, like admitting the weight of everything that had just happened. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, the sharp pressure a weak attempt to distract yourself from the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.  

Aubrey frowned, her expression softening as she studied you. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

You shook your head again, swallowing hard as you tried to push the overwhelming feelings down. “Not yet,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Aubrey nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But I’m here when you’re ready.”  

You gave her a faint smile, grateful for her understanding. But as you sat there, surrounded by your friends and the low hum of their conversations, your mind was elsewhere—focused on Spencer, and the inevitable conversation that now loomed on the horizon.  

—

Luckily, your information turned out to be exactly what the team needed. With Penelope’s tech skills and the restaurant staff’s confirmation, they were able to identify the unsub and locate Analise.  

The relief was almost overwhelming when the news came in: Analise was found unharmed, aside from the lingering effects of the drugs and the red marks on her wrists where she’d been bound. The man hadn’t had the chance to carry out his full plan—robbing her or doing worse—thanks to the swift intervention of the police and FBI.  

By the time everything was resolved, the authorities had cleared you and your friends to leave that same night. The long hours of tension melted away as you gathered your things, and your group began heading toward the precinct exit.  

You stuck close to Aubrey, practically glued to her side as you wrapped an arm around her waist. Her presence grounded you, the warmth and familiarity of her reassuring after everything you’d been through.  

“Finally,” Aubrey murmured as the two of you reached the doors, her tone light but laced with exhaustion.  

You nodded, tightening your hold on her as you pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air. But as you stepped outside, your eyes darted around instinctively, searching for a glimpse of Spencer.  

And there he was, standing just a short distance away, speaking with Morgan and Hotch. His back was to you, but even from where you stood, you could feel the weight of the moment.  

You immediately turned your head, your arm tightening around Aubrey as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk Spencer catching sight of you—or worse, calling out to you.  

Aubrey glanced down at you as the two of you walked quickly toward the car. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite her own obvious fatigue.  

“Yeah,” you whispered, though your grip on her waist betrayed your nerves.  

As you slid into the car, your heart still raced. The thought of seeing Spencer again—even after everything—left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a tiny, nagging part of you that wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let yourself stop.  

But for now, you were content to let an officer drive you home, the city lights blurring outside the window as you leaned against the seat, trying to process the night’s events—and the man who still had the power to shake you to your core.  

The incessant ringing of your phone jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the fog of your restless sleep. You groaned, squinting against the morning light as you reached for your phone on the nightstand.  

Your heart skipped a beat when you glanced at the screen. No name was displayed, just a number. But it was a number you could never forget, no matter how hard you’d tried.  

You had deleted Spencer’s contact months ago, telling yourself it was for the best, a necessary step in moving on. But his number was burned into your memory, a string of digits that you could recite as easily as your own name.  

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the answer button. The ringtone seemed louder, more insistent, as if demanding a decision.  

Your chest tightened, and a million thoughts ran through your mind. Why is he calling? What does he want? Can I even handle hearing his voice right now?  

But before you could overthink it any further, your thumb moved almost of its own accord, pressing the button and bringing the phone to your ear.  

“Hello?” you said softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your heart race, and then you heard it—a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.  

“Y/N,” Spencer said, his tone cautious, almost tentative. “I… I’m sorry to call so early. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”  

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “What’s going on, Spencer?” you asked, your tone carefully neutral.  

He hesitated, and you could practically hear him piecing his words together. “I just… I couldn’t leave New York without talking to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after last night. Not after seeing you again.”  

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.  

“I know this isn’t fair,” Spencer continued, his words tumbling out now, “but… can we talk? Just the two of us? Please?”  

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the headboard as you exhaled slowly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if you were ready to reopen wounds you’d worked so hard to heal. But the sound of his voice, the raw emotion in it, made it impossible to say no.  

“Okay,” you said quietly. “When?”  

“Now?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope and hesitation. “I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere—whatever you’re comfortable with.”  

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, your mind still racing. “There’s a café a couple of blocks from me,” you said finally, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”  

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I’ll see you soon.”  

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand. Part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the part that had never really let Spencer go—knew this was a conversation that was long overdue.  

—

November 2004

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice spoke from behind you, polite but a little unsure.  

You turned around, confused, to find a lanky man with slicked-back hair and glasses standing there, looking at you expectantly. He wore an awkward smile, his hands fidgeting slightly as he shifted on his feet.  

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to place him.  

“If it’s no bother, we would really appreciate the check. We were just called into work,” he explained sheepishly, gesturing to a man sitting at the table behind him, who was watching the interaction with an amused grin.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Um,” you started, your tone hesitant, “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”  

The man sitting across from him burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Nice going, Reid.”  

The one who had spoken—Reid, apparently—turned bright red, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I just—your outfit—it looks just like the uniforms the waitstaff are wearing!”  

You frowned, glancing down at your clothes—a crisp white blouse tucked into sleek black slacks. Then it clicked, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Oh, wow,” you said, grinning at him. “That’s… actually kind of funny. I designed the uniforms, so I guess I subconsciously dressed accordingly.”  

Reid blinked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “You designed them?” he asked, his embarrassment giving way to genuine curiosity.  

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, glancing around the restaurant. “I work for the owner—well, freelance. They hired me to design uniforms that were professional but stylish.”  

“That’s… really impressive,” Reid said, his tone sincere as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re—um, they’re very nice. Clearly convincing,” he added, his cheeks still pink.  

The man at his table laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she’s nice, kid. That could’ve gone way worse.”  

You smiled, brushing off the comment. “No harm done,” you said, waving a hand. Then, looking back at Reid, you added, “Just maybe double-check next time before you assume.”  

“Noted,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “And again, I’m really sorry.”  

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head at the interaction. Little did you know, it was the beginning of something much bigger than a misunderstanding over a uniform.  

—

December 2008 – Present  

You sat at the small table in the café, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth with one hand while biting your thumb with the other. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine creating a soothing background. Still, your nerves were anything but calm.  

You hadn’t seen Spencer yet, but you felt his presence looming, the anticipation making your chest feel tight. Your mind raced with a million thoughts—what he would say, what you should say, how this meeting would go after all the time that had passed.  

“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice interrupted, laced with a soft, teasing tone. “You don’t happen to work here, do you?”  

Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in surprise, only for the tension in your chest to loosen when you saw him. Spencer stood there, looking both nervous and amused, his hands tucked awkwardly into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly tousled from the cold, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the café lights.  

You couldn’t help it—amusement took over as you remembered the very first time he had said those words to you. “Seriously?” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re going to lead with that?”  

Spencer shrugged, his lips curving into a sheepish grin. “I figured it worked the first time,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes flickered to yours.  

Your heart stuttered at the look he gave you, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in 2005, standing in that restaurant, completely oblivious to what the future held.  

You shook your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Sit down, Reid,” you said, your tone light, though your voice still carried the weight of everything unsaid.  

Spencer moved carefully, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile moment between you. He slid into the chair, his hands resting on the table, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve.  

“You remembered,” you said after a beat, unable to stop yourself.  

“Of course I did,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember everything about you.”  

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”  

Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”  

And just like that, the conversation you’d both been avoiding for years finally began.  

Spencer folded his hands on the table, his long fingers twitching slightly as though unsure of where to begin. He glanced down at the tablecloth before looking back up at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out right away.  

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve never been one to struggle for words,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.  

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His voice was soft, almost tentative.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—weighted with years of unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and all the things neither of you had said when you had the chance.  

Spencer finally spoke, his voice low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go.”  

Your heart clenched at his words, the directness of them catching you off guard. You opened your mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for too long.  

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I thought I was giving you the chance to live the life you deserved, to follow your dreams without me holding you back. But all I did was hurt you. And…” He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. “I hurt myself too.”  

You blinked, stunned by the raw honesty in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to dive in so quickly, to say the things you’d spent so long wondering if he even felt.  

“Spencer,” you began, your voice wavering slightly, “you didn’t just hurt me. You made a decision for both of us without even asking how I felt. You thought you were protecting me, but you didn’t give me a choice.”  

He flinched slightly at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I know I handled it all wrong. I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head, and every time, I wish I’d done it differently. I wish I’d just… trusted you.”  

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his words stirring something deep within you. “You think I didn’t want to go? That I didn’t think about what it could’ve meant for my career? I stayed because I loved you, Spencer. You were my dream. Not New York. Not Aubrey. You.”  

Spencer’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “And I threw it away,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t throw it away. You made a choice. We both did. And we have to live with that.”  

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it—that he would drop it and let you both walk away again.  

But then he looked up, and his eyes were filled with something fierce, something determined. “I don’t want to live with it,” he said firmly. “Not anymore. Not if there’s even the smallest chance I can fix this—fix us.”  

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung between you. You wanted to say something, to respond, but you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak.  

So instead, you just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. And in that moment, Spencer Reid, the man who rarely hesitated to explain every detail, every fact, every statistic, did something unexpected.  

He waited too.  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope, for any clue as to how you might respond. You could see the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the desperation for you to believe him, to give him a chance.

“Spencer,” you began softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Fix us? There is no us anymore. You made that abundantly clear when you kicked me out of my home.”

Your words were sharp, cutting through the fragile hope that had been lingering in the air. Spencer flinched as if you’d physically struck him, his face falling with the weight of your statement. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words.

“I didn’t—” he started, but then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I thought—”  

“You thought you knew what was best for me,” you interrupted, your tone more firm now as the hurt you’d buried for so long began to surface. “You didn’t even ask me how I felt. You made a decision for both of us and expected me to just accept it. And when I didn’t? When I tried to fight for us? You pushed me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Spencer said quickly, his voice cracking. “You still matter. I—I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”  

“Protecting me?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You weren’t protecting me, Spencer. You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d resent you, so instead, you pushed me out of your life completely. And guess what? It hurt just as much—maybe even more.”  

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was afraid. I was terrified. Not just of you resenting me, but of… of failing you. Of not being enough. I convinced myself that letting you go was the selfless thing to do, but all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

You looked at him, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. Part of you wanted to lash out, to make him feel a fraction of the pain you’d carried for so long. But another part of you—a part you didn’t want to admit existed—still ached for him, still felt the pull of the man you’d once loved so deeply.  

“You can’t just come back now and expect to fix everything,” you said, your voice softer but no less firm. “It’s not that simple.”  

“I know,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading. “I know it’s not. But I had to try. I couldn’t leave New York without telling you how I feel, without letting you know that I’m sorry—for everything.”  

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “And what happens after this, Spencer? What are you expecting? That I’ll just forget everything and we’ll go back to how things were?”  

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking as he added, “I just needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”  

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes—it was all too much.  

But so was the weight of everything that had happened, the scars that hadn’t fully healed.  

“I never stopped loving you either,” you said finally, your voice trembling again. The admission felt heavy, like a weight you had been carrying for far too long, now released.  

“Really?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to believe it.  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Well, it’s only been half a year, Spencer. I thought I was going to marry you. That doesn’t just go away.”  

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, it doesn’t.”  

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the quiet of the café wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the raw, unspoken emotions lingering between you.  

Then, Spencer shifted in his seat, his hands fumbling around in his bag as if he were searching for something. You watched him curiously, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally pulled out a small box.  

“What is that?” you choked out, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer held the box in his hand, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at you. “I bought this the day we went to the mall,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “When you asked me if I ever thought about marriage.” He paused, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box as if grounding himself. “When you went into the lingerie store, I went back and bought the ring you were staring at.”  

Your breath hitched, your mind racing. “How did you know?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.  

“I’m a profiler,” he said with a small, almost shy smile. “I know—knew you so well. It wasn’t hard to see which one caught your eye.”  

“It’s—the ring is in there right now?” you asked, your voice trembling.  

Spencer nodded, his expression cautious but hopeful. “Do you want to see it?” he asked tentatively, his fingers tightening slightly around the box.  

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you nodded, unable to find the words to say anything else.  

Spencer opened the box, turning it toward you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.  

The ring was simple yet elegant—exactly the kind of style you’d always admired. A delicate band of platinum, with a perfectly cut diamond set in the center, surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled as if they held their own light.  

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your eyes never leaving the ring.  

Spencer’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he rushed out, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.  

“Yes,” you said again, louder this time, your gaze shifting from the ring to meet his wide, questioning eyes.  

“Yes… what?” Spencer asked, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.  

You took a shaky breath, your emotions swelling and threatening to overflow. “I’ll marry you,” you said firmly, the words filling the space between you like a beacon.  

Spencer froze, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. For a moment, he looked like he might cry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hand tightened around the small box.  

“You will?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of awe and disbelief.  

“Yes,” you said again, nodding for emphasis. “I love you, Spencer. I never stopped. And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like I don’t.”  

Spencer’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his grip warm and steady despite his obvious emotion. “I—I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping him.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your voice soft but certain. “Just… ask me.”  

Spencer blinked, his lips curving into the smallest, most genuine smile you’d seen in years. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slid out of his chair and knelt on one knee, still holding the box open.  

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”  

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes.”  

Spencer slid the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking as he did so, and when he stood, you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, holding you tightly as you both laughed and cried, the weight of years of pain and longing finally lifting.  

In that small café, with the world around you fading into the background, the two of you found your way back to each other—against all odds, against all fears. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.  

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[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 3 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader.

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The moment you stepped out of the Hanging Gardens, the city of Seoul came crashing into your senses. The bustling noise, the chatter of strangers, the blaring car horns—it was overwhelming. After so many years surrounded only by the whispering leaves and the sound of distant waterfalls in your domain, this city felt like a whole other world. Yet, you had no time to marvel at it.

Your first thought was him. The young hunter who, in the original story, would one day transform from the weakest E-rank hunter to the world’s most formidable force. You had seen his journey play out on the pages of a manhwa, and even though this was your reality now, you still thought of it as a story. Perhaps that was the only way you could cope.

Jinwoo. The name was a whisper in your mind, a mantra you repeated as you sent out your butterflies to search for him. They flitted into the sky, through alleyways, dodged bustling crowds, and skimmed across rooftops, invisible to everyone but you, its compound eyes transmitting a dizzying aerial view of the city straight to your mind. You kept your focus tight, pushing down the nerves that gnawed at your stomach.

But your search was interrupted by a sudden shift in the air around you. The city's mood had changed in an instant. People on the street stopped, their heads turning upwards, eyes glued to the enormous screens on the skyscrapers. As the images on the screen flickered into view, a chill you down your spine.

It was chaos. The screens showed devastation—images of buildings crumbling, fire and smoke engulfing the skyline, and a massive gate that loomed ominously above it all.

The first S-rank gate—the one from which Kamish, soon to be the most feared dragon in history, first emerged. You stood frozen, your eyes widening as the scenes played out in real-time.

“No…” You breathed out, barely a whisper, your hands shaking.

Even watching it on the screen was entirely different from reading about it on the pages of the manhwa. It was real now. Too real. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt as civilians screamed and hunters rushed into action. The casualties. Oh God, the casualties. The sight of corpses being pulled from rubble, the screams and cries of civilians and hunters alike echoed through your mind long after the broadcast ended. The dread spread through you like ice.

If I’d just managed to get out sooner, you thought, the guilt and horror churning in your stomach. If I’d escaped the Gardens just a year earlier, or even a few months…

Surely you couldn’t have stopped the gate from opening, but could you have evacuated more people? Shielded them with your powers? Reduced the casualties? Your mind raced with possibilities, spiraling in your inability to actively turn back time in a scale that large.

Could I have made a difference? Could I have saved even a single life?

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, heart pounding. The "what ifs" started to spiral, pulling you deeper into a pit of guilt and self-recrimination. Your fingers dug into your palms as you tried to regain control. Just as the world around you blurred from the tears stinging your eyes, there was a gentle nudge at the edge of your consciousness, yet the swirling visions just made you want to empty out your stomach.

Through your shared vision with the butterfly, there he was, younger than you expected— around sixteen or seventeen, a teenager, though he looked like he’d grown up too fast. His frame was slimmer, not yet the broad-shouldered man you knew he’d become. He was dressed in a faded school uniform, his eyes carrying the weariness of someone who had already seen too much. The lines of his face were taut with worry, a haunted look lurking in his gaze. An expression you’d often seen through the pages, etched into his older self.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling. If…If I had been here sooner, would things have been different for you?

Your mind wandered to another possibility—his father. Would you have been able to prevent the disappearance of Sung Il-Hwan if you’d arrived two years earlier? Could you have kept Jinwoo from bearing the weight of that loss, the look of pain he now wore like a permanent scar?

Though his mother was still with him now, you could see the faint shadow of the pain he carried even now. Could you have helped him avoid the countless sleepless nights, the burden he’d shouldered in silence for years?

But reality was harsh, and you couldn’t change the past. A hollow ache settled deep inside you, thoughts haunted you, sticking like thorns in your mind.

---

The following years were a blur of watching from the shadows, helping where you could without being noticed. You couldn’t save everyone, but you could lessen the burdens on the boy you had grown to care for. The butterflies you sent to heal his mother and alleviate her pain seemed to help, if only a little. But that look—that haunted, broken look in Jinwoo’s eyes whenever he thought no one was watching—it gnawed at your heart.

It was during one of those quiet nights, as Jinwoo and the rest of the world slept soundly, that you decided to take a more desperate measure. Jinwoo’s mother was showing signs of the dreaded Eternal Sleep disease, the same way she had in the manhwa. You had placed a protective spell around her to shield her from excessive mana exposure, but it hadn’t been enough.

No, not again... please, not again. You couldn't bear it. You refused to let Jinwoo suffer the same pain twice.

There has to be a way to save her, you thought, teeth clenched. The pages of the manhwa didn’t reveal much about Eternal Sleep, but you took a gamble. If exposure to mana was the cause, then maybe you could draw the mana out of her system.

The hospital was quiet that night, the corridors bathed in a cold, sterile glow. You slipped in under the cover of darkness, cloaking yourself and the room in an illusion. Her face was pale and serene, and she seemed to hover somewhere between sleep and consciousness, untouched by the turmoil around her.

You took a steadying breath, summoning the butterflies close and feeling their power surge within you. Your children hovered around her bed; their wings softly glowing as they began to absorb the excess mana from her frail body.

“Please… let this work,” you whispered.

Focusing on your intent, you reached out with your healing magic, channeling the butterflies to draw mana out of her body. It was delicate work, like trying to remove poison from a deep wound without disturbing the tissue around it. Sweat trickled down your temple as you focused, your hands trembling with the effort. You could feel it working; her breathing grew steadier, the tension in her muscles slowly unwinding.

“Yes, yes… this is working…” you whispered to yourself. Little by little, traces of mana were being drawn away from her, and with every second, your heart beat faster with hope for the first time in years.

But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, everything came crashing down.

[Warning! Trial Player is not permitted to alter this part of the storyline.]

The system’s notification blarred before your eyes in blinding red text. You shook your head, gritting your teeth.

“No, no! I can’t stop now! Just a little more and she’ll—” You breathed, ignoring it, pushing yourself harder. You could feel the system’s cold disapproval as it listed penalties— deductions in your stats, loss of your domain privileges, even the risk of a forced expulsion back to the Gardens, warnings, threats, each one harsher than the last. But you didn’t care. If there was a chance, even the slightest one, that Jinwoo could have his mother healthy and safe, you’d risk any penalty.

[Initiating first protocol: Trial Player is restricted from interfering with main events.]

“No! Please!” You screamed in your mind, pushing harder, trying to siphon the last remnants of mana from her body. An invisible force tightened around you, harsh and unyielding. It was like trying to wade through thick mud, each step harder than the last, until finally, the force slammed into you, and you were thrown back, the butterflies flung away from you as the spell shattered.

Your body hit the wall with a sickening thud. You let out a gasp, clutching your ribs as you tried to regain your balance. An invisible barrier had been erected between you and Jinwoo’s mother, solid and unyielding. Your butterflies fluttered helplessly against it, unable to pass through.

“No… No, no, no!” you screamed, cried, banging and clawing against the barrier until your hands were raw and bleeding. But it wouldn’t budge. The tears blurring your vision and cascaded down your cheeks in rivulets.

The system’s cold, unfeeling voice echoed in your mind. You couldn’t register the subtle unfamiliar desperation other than your own. [Trial Player, cease all attempts to alter key story events, or face permanent penalties.]

A sob tore from your throat as you slid to the ground, your shoulders shaking. “Please,” you sobbed, your forehead pressed against the barrier. “Please, let me help her...”

The silence a sledgehammer that you had failed. All your efforts, your desperate attempts to change the course of events, had been for nothing. The realization hit you like a knife to the gut.

No matter how much you tried, no matter how desperately you wished to change things for the better, the system wouldn’t allow it. It had let you toy with minor events, heal minor wounds, but when it came to the story’s crucial turning points, you were powerless.

The what-ifs that had haunted you since you’d first stepped into this world were answered in the cruelest way. Even if you had left the Hanging Gardens sooner, even if you had arrived in time to save Jinwoo’s father or cure his mother, you would have been stopped.

For the second time since you had been isekai’d, you felt utterly, hopelessly trapped. You were no longer a player with some semblance of control. For all your power, for all your knowledge of the future, you were nothing more than a helpless spectator to a story that would unfold exactly as it had always meant to. You were a mere observer, bound to the whims of a story you could never truly change.

All you could do was watch, from the shadows, as the boy you loved continued to suffer. As something inside you continued to crack.

You drew your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms, letting the sobs wrack your body. For once, you let yourself feel the weight of your powerlessness, the despair that had been building in your heart for years.

In the darkness of that hospital room, the weight settled over you like a suffocating blanket. And all you could do was cry. This was no longer the story you had loved. This was your reality. And you were utterly powerless to change it.

---

You stumbled out of the hospital, numb and hollow, the world blurring around you. The voices of passing strangers, the hum of distant traffic—it all faded, leaving only an aching silence in your heart. You wandered without aim, letting the sorrow settle, the bitter knowledge clawing at you. How many years had you spent dreaming of a way to help him, of a way to change his fate? And for what?

Back in the Hanging Gardens, you’d felt trapped and powerless, but there had always been hope. Now, that last ember was snuffed out, leaving only darkness in its place.

As you returned to your hidden space in the city, you couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness. It was like a familiar, cruel reminder of your first days in the Gardens, alone, struggling to survive in a world that hadn’t wanted you. And now, here you were again, unable to do anything but watch as the story unfolded as if you were still on the outside.

-----

The city had begun to grow familiar over the years, but the feeling of unease and disquiet never truly left. In this world of hunters, dungeons, and chaos, you weren’t exactly a normal citizen, though you’d tried your best to blend in. You made a life here, a life woven carefully to avoid standing out, hiding a fraction of your power and even more of your knowledge.

The first step to living a new life in this world was a matter of practicality: identity. You needed to establish yourself as a citizen of Seoul. But just as you were puzzling over how to manage something as complex as legal documents, the system—your ever-watchful, omnipotent shadow—seemed to have anticipated your needs.

You stared down at your supposedly birth certificate and identification card, your name printed clearly beneath a picture of a face that felt both like yours and... not. Relief was short-lived, turning to a sickening churn in your stomach. What happened to her? The question gnawed at you in quiet moments. This girl, this "you" of this world, had her life been erased to make room for your presence? Had she died before you arrived? Or, worse yet, had she been destined to die, and the system had simply taken advantage?

You tried to ask the system directly. “What happened to... the original?” you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice. But, predictably, the system remained silent, its screen blinking away without an answer.

It left you with grim speculations. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like a noose tightening around your conscience. On sleepless nights, the thought haunted you: somewhere, in some unmarked corner of this world, the original (Name) might be lying forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to the wind one night, your voice barely audible. You were sitting in the Hanging Gardens, surrounded by the flowers you’d nurtured into bloom with your magic. The air was filled with the scent of roses and jasmine, a comforting balm against your troubled mind. “I promise... I’ll make a place for you here.” A way to remember her in the only way you could.

When you had a rare moment of free time, you returned to the depths of the Gardens. Deep within its heart, you found a secluded spot, a quiet clearing where the sunlight filtered through leaves, casting gentle dappled shadows. It was here that you began to build a small tomb, using stones and flowers enchanted with your magic.

It took days to finish. You poured your heart into it, weaving protective wards and spells into every petal, every blade of grass. You carved her name—your name, really—and when it was done, you placed a simple plaque: For the one who came before me. May you find peace.

Your hands clasped together; you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. This was your way of making amends, a fragile attempt to honor a life you had never known.

You stood there for a long while, the only sound the gentle rustling of your butterfly summons as they hovered, curious yet respectful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not sure who you were even speaking to. Was it gratitude for the life you now had, or a farewell to the life you’d unknowingly taken?

---

After sorting out your papers and putting that grim thought to rest, you turned to the next task: becoming a hunter. You needed a way to sell the monster drops from your domain without drawing too much attention. Those materials were too valuable to ignore, and your stash from the Hanging Gardens had been growing, with enchanted trinkets and rare plants you’d carefully cultivated over the years.

With your identity settled, the next task was securing your place in this new world. You needed to establish yourself as a hunter, and quickly. The aftermath of the catastrophic gate and Kamish’s rampage had left the world desperate for capable hunters. S-rank hunters had fallen, and fear gripped the public. What if another gate like that one appeared? What then?

The Hunter Association was overrun with applications, both from hopefuls and seasoned hunters alike, eager to prove their worth. You knew your capabilities exceeded those of even high-rank hunters, but revealing your full power would draw unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was to be a target for the Hunter Bureau or one of the powerful guilds that dominated South Korea’s hunter landscape.

Suppressing your powers took everything you had. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with nothing but your bare hands. But you managed. After a few practice sessions cloaked in the safety of the Hanging Gardens, you learned how to cloak your true strength, masking it just enough to appear as a C-rank healer.

The evaluation day was chaotic, with hunters and administrators bustling around, trying to keep things moving. You stood in line, trying to ignore the stares from the other applicants. You kept your head down, focusing on the role you had to play.

“Next, please!” the examiner called, gesturing you forward.

You stepped up to the designated area. The sensation of being probed by the assessment device was unpleasant, like icy fingers brushing against your soul. But you kept your facade intact, holding your breath as the machine beeped.

“C-rank healer,” the examiner announced with a bored tone, scribbling notes on his clipboard.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, bowing politely before making a swift exit. You could feel the weight of curious eyes on your back, but no one suspected a thing.

Joining the South Korea Hunter Association was easy after that. You chose not to align yourself with any guild, instead opting to work freelance. It allowed you the freedom to pick your own missions and, more importantly, to avoid too much scrutiny. The Association didn’t question it, relieved to have another willing hunter, especially one with healing skills.

After a few raids, you gradually established a rhythm, selling a select number of drops at the hunters' markets. You kept the powerful materials for yourself, knowing the enchanted items might raise suspicions. The influx of funds was just what you needed.

----

The money you earned was enough to set up a modest business, a modest storefront on the quieter side of town, far from the bustling commercial districts. It was a charming space with large windows that let in ample sunlight. Perfect for what you had in mind.

A flower shop.

It was a simple concept—a quaint little greenhouse-inspired shop, cozy and serene, with butterflies fluttering gently around the blooms. Your years of cultivating exotic flowers to look like their normal counterparts in the Hanging Gardens paid off. Your magical influence made the flowers not only bloom faster but also granted them subtle enhancements, flowers that brought calm or clarity, leaves that eased headaches, petals that had slight rejuvenating properties, and much more.

The enchantments were soft, just enough to go unnoticed by hunters who occasionally stopped by, curious about the whispers of a shop with “enchanted” flowers. To manage the flow of clients, you eventually made the shop private, requiring customers to book appointments. Word of mouth spread quickly, though, and you found yourself busier than you’d anticipated.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a particularly finicky flower that required a touch of magic to bloom, a young girl entered the shop, holding her mother’s hand. Their wide eyes taking in the quiet, verdant space with wonder. The mother glanced at the butterflies resting on flower petals and the leaves that shimmered in soft hues.

“Mom, look! The flowers are glowing!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with childish excitement.

Her mother smiled and turned to you. “Hello,” she said with a nervous smile. “This place is… magical.”

You returned her smile, pleased with her reaction. “I’m glad you think so. What can I help you with today?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “I… I heard about your flowers and, well… I’ve been feeling exhausted lately. I thought maybe something here might help?”

You nodded and led her over to a section of delicate white blooms. “These are calming flowers,” you explained. “You can put them by your bed, and they’ll help ease your mind while you sleep. Their scent is soothing and works wonders for stress.”

Her face lit up as she reached out, fingertips brushing the soft petals. “They’re perfect. I never thought flowers could… do that.”

“They’re a little special,” you said with a soft chuckle. “But sometimes, a touch of nature is all we need.”

“And this is for you little one.” You make a grand gesture, like a magician, and a pink carnation bloom in your hands. The girl eyes sparkled, and you took the chance to slip the flower behind her ear.

She and her mother left with a small bundle, the flowers carefully wrapped, and you watched them go, a sense of satisfaction warming you. You were making a life here, slowly but surely, even if there was still a shadow of loneliness lingering at the edges.

Over time, your shop became something of an oasis. People came not just for the flowers, but for the atmosphere, the butterflies drifting lazily through the air, the subtle scent of earth and blossoms mingling together. You overheard customers remark on how they felt better after just a few minutes in the space, how even just watching the butterflies was calming.

“Ah, it’s so peaceful in here,” A couple walked in one day, the man sighed as his partner looked around. His eyes widened as a butterfly landed on her hand, its tiny wings shimmering like fragments of stained glass. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“This place... it’s like stepping into another world.”

If only they knew.

You smiled warmly, handing him a bouquet wrapped in elegant paper. “They’re drawn to the scent of the flowers,” you explained. “It’s said that they bring good luck.”

One regular visitor was an elderly woman who came once a week to buy flowers for her husband’s grave. She’d chat with you while you wrapped her order, sharing stories of her late husband and their time together. She once remarked, “There’s something… kind about you, dear. It’s like you have a healing presence.”

You only nodded, humbled and slightly unnerved by her words. You didn’t feel like you deserved the praise—after all, you were only borrowing this life, this identity. But every time she left with her bouquet, she’d smile back, and you’d return it with a quiet, grateful nod.

And so, you continued on, living a borrowed life.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Welcome

[mnnuni]

Callsign sviper

Jake "hangman" seresin x reader

Summary: Reader's on her period and Jake comes to the rescue

Words: 1956

Genre : fluff

Warnings: none, I just fear it's uneventful (?)

Author's note: disclaimer for the title : the original callsign her mates thought about was "sniper" because she is super cool -obviously- but that would be too cool, and so would have been their second choice "viper" -even if the reason was related to her tough persona- so they combined them together; also I'm trying some new things, so be patient with me, thank you.

* dividers of @strangergraphics

* gif and images from Pinterest

It was rather strange for the pilots of the house to notice that they had to leave for training in ten minutes and there wasn't a sign of (Y/N) yet.

Fanboy went in the kitchen to check it out while Payback got to the board (Y/N) made them hang in the living room with their printed schedules; she was a really organised girl, that's why they needed her -well that and the rent, the main reason she happened to share an apartment with those two was because they needed an extra roommate to minimise their expenses and she was in need of a place to live near work. They actually liked each other though, so after the first difficulty of sharing a house they all settled pretty well together

The duo of pilot and backseater reunited in the corridor whispering, as if they weren't the only ones there, "I don't think she left early, wherever she does she leaves a note"

Payback pondered his man's phrase a little before nodding and pointing it right, "could she have forgotten?"

"tsk. She never forgets"

"right."

They were still in the corridor for at least another two minutes : two grown ass men, pilots of the American navy, froze in place because they couldn't move without their lady.

"Arg fuck it, I'm knocking"

And then another two minutes of diatribes because they were scared she was still asleep and kill them for wake her up or she could have been in company and they didn't notice. When they finally convinced themselves of the "grown man" part they knocked together -like this they were both equally responsible-

They just got a weird verse in response so they opened the door and pocked their head inside. Fanboy swore he never saw her room like this : the only light was from the half open blinds and at least five scented candles, on her desk there was her open laptop left to die -which she never did- and two mugs from the day before filled with whatever, her bed was unmade with dozens of pillows on it and a strange mass...

That's when Payback got it "Oh shit".

(Y/N)'s head emerged from the covers with bags under her eyes and messy hair "hi".

They rushed to her side "what happened?" "You okay?" "Why are you in bed still?" "What's in the mugs" and so on

She closed her eyes and breathed in, they gave her space to elaborate -they learned the hard way she needed time to express herself-

"I got my period tonight, ence why I feel like shit : it was early. I already called Mav to call in sick, tomorrow I'm all yours"

It seemed it pained her just to talk and she, in fact, changed position on the bed.

"Can we do anything for you?"

Sweet, sweet fanboy.

Payback was rubbing his hand on her back and she smiled appreciatively.

"Go to work boys, don't worry, you need training"

"You sure?"

"Positive. And bring me something sweet when you come back" they smiled and got up, "oh and don't tell anyone about this" Payback nodded and Fanboy saluted her.

They knew she didn't want to be considered weak and even if no one would have called her that they still respected her decision... That didn't stop them from texting her constantly through the day to check on her though.

(Y/N) got out of bed around two hours after her roommates left, but just because she stained her pants and needed a warm shower; then she finally put her laptop in charge and pretended to tidy up her bed -it was just a way of rearrange her pillows more comfortably-

She proceeded to vegetate on her bed for the rest of the morning, only moving to eat some cookies before she got nauseous again.

(Y/N) was unaware of the fact that at the station there was a certain Lieutenant on edge since that morning because she wasn't there and her roommates just told everyone she had a "thing" and couldn't come.

Jake really tried to not overstep or, worse, threaten the two boys and squeeze something from them but he really was glued on their tails all morning in hope of gathering anything, really; so much that they had to sneak in the bathroom to call her during their break.

Hangman was just behind the door though, ear attached to the surface.

"How you doin' sweetie?" "Feeling any better?"

Hangman was glad she had them, they were really adoring to her. He didn't understand her answer though.

The roommates were catching her up with their training when she asked something, "oh no, we can't, we have to fly out in 10" said Fanboy

"Want me to order it from here?"

She must have said no, because then Payback said he would have taken her something when they'd come back home.

When the duo got out they were faced with Hangman, hand on his hip and a determinate look on his face. He only said "what does she need?" and ten minutes later he was off with a permit.

In the meantime (Y/N) had changed forty-five position in bed and was currently debating whether to getting up to cook, order take out or starve herself untill she became maniac.

Someone opened the door and she tried to yell "heere" but just came up with a muffled-by-the-sheets grunt. The person must've understood anyway 'cause she could hear footsteps.

Hangman found her with her legs up on the wall and one of her hands stuffed in her pants on her stomach, with the other she was holding her phone. He almost chuckled.

"You good?"

She recognised that voice immediately, (Y/N) arched her neck to have a confirmation of who was standing at her door and sighed when she saw him , "I'm gonna kill those two idiots"

He really chuckled now.

"They didn't say anything, I forced them to when I overheard your phone call", (Y/N) made to move to look at him better but he stopped her "no no, you looked comfortable" and he then proceeded to step in her room until the bed; he was waiting for permission to sit on it when she nodded yes.

Hangman lifted a full bag then "I got you something, if you get up I could cook it for you"

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes "you can cook?"

"You know I can"

She knew he could, but she was in a too vulnerable position to not tease him.

"Can i wait another five minutes to get up?" she almost pleaded while moving her fingers on her stomach

"Sure, I'm gonna start and set up".

When (Y/N) got up it actually passed almost ten minutes, but Jake didn't mind : he had time to discover where things were stored and to organise his space, he was a very finicky guy. She looked at his back and how his muscles moved when he stirred something in a pan, how he looked so comfortable in her kitchen.

"What are you making?" he was turning to face her and answer her but she stopped him "no wait, let it be another surprise. Tell me though, why are you cooking for me?"

(Y/N) got her hairs up in a bun when she sat at the table in front of him and looked a little less pale just from the smell of food. Jake was almost ready to tell her how blue he was at work without her and how much he needed to see for himself that she was actually okay, but he retreated.

"Can't I do something nice for you?"

They weren't exactly the best of friends, so this phrase unsettled her a little. Still, there was always some kind of tension between them, a spark every time they teased each other -and there wasn't one day without a snark comment from the both of them-

(Y/N) just shrugged her shoulders with a little grin on her face, one he copied before continuing to work.

She spent all the time admiring him cook while he recounted her his day at work. It felt so good to be like this with him that she almost forgot her pain.

In about half an hour Jake was turning to face her again, this time with two full plates.

"I heard spaghetti with red and yellow tomatoes is your favourite"

(Y/N) was speechless: the dish smelled delicious and Jake looked so good in an apron with an hot plate in hand that she could have just smile.

They ate in a comfortable silence, occasionally sharing smiling glances. Jake was taking everything in, hoping to do something like this again.

When it was time to clean Jake offered to tidy everything up while she could relax, but (Y/N) swore that she had to help him because she couldn't take advantage of his strange generosity.

"I am always generous" she wasn't sure if he was faking or not his offence but she scoffed either way, "sure Hangman".

While he washed the dishes, she dried them so they were "equally contributing".

Finally (Y/N) offered him her couch, she dreaded to sit on it from the moment she had to stand to help Jake -even thought she didn't mind one bit staying with him in the kitchen, the back pain was coming again-

She sat with her legs curled in front of her and a pillow on her lap; Jake sat next to her, relatively close but not too close to cause her discomfort.

"A movie or a show?" , he looked at her "be honest, how many movies have you already watched today?"

She made a fake thinking expression and then sighed "one and a half", he arched his brow "what? I got bored" Jake chuckled then, "show it is. What do you wanna watch?"

The next few minutes passed with (Y/N) explaining why law and order was one of the best franchise in the world and Jake almost drooling at her enthusiasm.

Halfway through one episode he noticed she was pressing the pillow on her stomach so he got closer and asked if she wanted him to make her a hot-water-bag, "oh no, the water movements make me nauseous, I prefer pillows or my hand usually. But thank you"

"Oh"

Another two minutes passed before he found the courage to ask her another question.

"Do you want to use my hand? I um tend to run hot"

(Y/N) looked at him with wide eyes and a weird feeling in them; she was so touched by his offer, it was such a sweet and caring thing to do for someone.

"Sure" she whispered and got closer to him.

Jake didn't expect his suggestion to be accepted, but after the initial confusion he slowly approached her. He opened his arm to make her settle in his side and after he circled her with his arm, he slightly lifted her shirt and positioned his hand on her stomach. (Y/N) was trying so hard to stay still and concentrate on the TV, but it was true that Jake's touch was so warm and soft.

After she finally accepted his presence on her, (Y/N) moved his hand to where she wanted it and snuggled up in his side.

Jake was feeling so ecstatic.

It didn't take long for (Y/N) to fall asleep on him after Jake started to move his thumbs in soothing circles. Eventually he slumbered too after he confirmed she was comfortable and sound asleep.

When Payback and Fanboy came back home they found the lieutenants still curled up on the couch, they looked so cozy and happy together like that.

"They are so cute"

"The cutest"

"Ohh Phoenix's gonna eat up these photos"

[bohemianblasphemy]

Never again.

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

A close call whilst on a hunt with the Winchesters causes a heated argument between you and the eldest brother, allowing for feelings that were squashed deep down to be bubbled up to the surface.

Contains: death mention, killing vampires, reader being choked out, canon violence, heated argument, smut, P in V sex, oral (F receiving), the knee thing, tiddy sucking, fluffy at the end ✨

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Requests are open as always xxx

It was supposed to be a simple hunt- a cluster of vampires, nothing that hadn’t been dealt with before. Hunting wasn’t something that was new or unusual for you - however you weren’t as experienced as the brothers.

Your inexperience posed as a risk in hunts, a slip up could cost you more than you bargained for and in this instance, that’s what happened.

The case blipped on Sam’s radar and thought it was a case worth solving, only being a couple of hours away from the motel you were staying at. You were called into the brother’s shared room from your seperate one, getting a run down of the creatures at hand.

“Get this- at least a dozen cows were drained of blood on this farm, but also the farmer was found in his barn with those same bite marks, drunk dry as well. Not the first time this has happened here too.” Dean grimaced at Sam’s words, audibly groaning as the images of cows invaded his brain.

You couldn’t help but giggle at his expense. “Can’t handle some dead cows now, Dean? After literally everything else you’ve ever seen?” You teased, earning a playful glare from him. “Shut up, it’s gross.” He chuckled, stealing a glance at you from across the room, admiring the way your eyes crinkled as you laughed.

Dean and yourself had this… something. Longing glances, casual brushes against each other- hugs that seemed to last a little longer than normal. Nothing was ever said or done, but there was always something there.

Sam continued, clearing his throat as he watched you two do… whatever it was that you were doing. “I think we should get in there and y’know, deal with the problem.”

In agreement, you all set out to investigate- piling into the impala for the few hour trip out west. In that time together; Sam and Dean in the passenger and drivers seat, you in the back.

Dean stole glances at you in the rear view mirror as he drove. He smiled to himself, your presence being a ray of light in his soul.

Sam smiled, eyeing his brother’s expression before clearing his throat, which he more than often did when Dean was distracted. Dean could see Sam’s mischievous smirk as he was caught staring, warranting a warning glance to not mention it to you.

Finding the hideout of these vampires was a little too easy- small town with abandoned buildings, it wasn’t hard to narrow down.

“Alright Lost Boys, cmon out.” You muttered, wondering around the secluded Cabin in the woods, the rotted floorboards creaking under you as you and the winchesters snuck around the space.

Dean smirked at your comment. “Yeah, Count Orlok better get his ass out here.” He whispered, earning snicker from you. “Guys, seriously? Not the time…” Sam was on edge, his sense heightened as your trio snuck through the building like the Scooby gang.

It wasn’t long before your presence was made known to the blood suckers; ambushing you as you descended into the dank cellar below the rotted building.

You were outnumbered- five vampires to your three. It wasn’t going to be easy, but you posed an even chance of eliminating them. Hatchets, vamponite- you name it. If it killed vampires, you had it on you.

Three were down, two more to go- you having killed Vamp number three. Sam had his hands on one, Dean was backed into a corner by the other. The being baring its ugly teeth as he attempted to bite into deans flesh- you could see a glint of fear in his eyes as he tried to hold the creature back with his bare hands.

The panic inside your body settled in, without hesitation you had lunged yourself at the vampire to throw it off balance, weapon at the ready- giving Dean enough time to move.

It was then as the creature turned around and dodged the swing of your machete, taking the opportunity of your moment of weakness as you recovered from the swing to grab you by the throat, pressing your body against the hard surface of the concrete flooring.

The deafening screech of the disgraceful creature rang in your ear. Its grip on your throat constricted your airways, watching you squirm and try to release yourself from its strength but it was no use.

Your breaths began to falter, vision becoming blurry - furthering your consciousness into the darkness of oblivion. The echoes of Dean yelling of your name and his frantic footsteps toward you were the last things you could hear, before everything faded to black.

Dean scrambled to inject the vampire with Vamponite, the creature perishing as the elixir spread through its body, throwing the corpse off of you.

“Sweetheart- fuck, can you hear me?” Dean mumbled shakily, his palms shaking as he stroke your face. Sam bent down at your side, shaking your shoulder gently and calling your name. Dean took a shallow breath as he pressed his fingers to the side of your neck, checking your pulse.

He felt that soft throb in your veins, a jagged sigh of relief fell from his lips.

“She’s still here.” he choked out softly, before he cleaned his throat and sniffled hard, reeling back those tears that threatened to fall.

He was relieved that you were alive, God knows what he’d do if you had slipped through his fingers like that- but he was livid.

He didn’t want you doing something like that, something he’d consider so idiotic- putting your damn life on the line for him.

It was a deafeningly quiet drive back to the motel, the brothers dragging you out of the damned den of vampire corpses. You were laid out in the back seat, Dean cradling your head in his lap and petting your hair as Sam drove the impala.

Deans eyes never left your face, the flurry of emotions that rattled his head never faltered, monitoring you on the journey back to the dingy motel.

It was a good few hours after arriving back that you awoke, your eyes adjusting to the soft orange glow of the side lamp that lit the bland room. A dull pain came over your body as you slowly sat up, a soft groan escaping your mouth.

That quiet sound alerted Dean awake, who was sitting at your bedside in an arm chair to monitor you- but his own exhaustion; a mixture of physical and emotional stress had taken over.

He looked over you, seeing the discolouration on your neck where the vampire had you made his heart tighten- but remembering the act of putting yourself on the line for him made his anger and frustration bubble up inside him again; his brows furrowed, those green eyes darkening and those perfect lips turned down in a scowl.

“Why the fuck did you do that?” His tone could’ve stopped time itself. Those words that came out of his mouth was a shock to your freshly awakened system, taking a minute to process them.

“I wasn’t going to let it kill you, Dean.” You replied quietly, looking at him as you swung your legs off the side of the bed slowly.

“how could you be so- so reckless?! I had it under control, I had Vamponite- I needed it to get close to me to kill the sonuvabitch.” His nostrils flared, his stare was on you as he watched you attempt to get up out of the squeaky bed, causing him to stand up as well.

“I-it- it got me at a weak moment and-” You argued back before he cut you off.

“No. That’s not the point, you made yourself bait for fucks sake- you put yourself in danger. That was stupid, so fucking reckless.” His voice raised in volume, standing up and facing you.

“I saved your ass Dean. hell it was a massive risk but I took that chance. I’m alive, Sam’s alive- you’re alive.” You rasped.

“Listen to me DAMMIT!” He growled. “God stop acting so feckless about this! You could have DIED.” He was fuming, if it was humanly possible, steam would be coming out of his ears.

Your face changed into a scowl of frustration at his tone, stepping closer to him. “I couldn’t stand and watch it happen, I couldn’t not do anything! I will not watch you die, Winchester.”

“You don’t get to decide to be some damn sacrificial lamb. You- you can’t just do that to me-“ his words got caught in throat like a lump, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath in through his nose. “I couldn’t live with that, not without- without you.”

As his eyes opened again, he saw the softened glance that you gave him- the look in your eyes that had a glimpse at the softer side that he tried so hard to keep locked away.

“Dean-“ He shushed you softly, bringing his palms to your jaw- the touch sending a shock down your spine, closing your eyes at the somewhat soothing touch as your lips parted to release a soft breath.

“No, no. Look at me. Please…” Deans voice was softer now, his tone almost… pleading, looking for your pupils.

His instruction was promptly followed as you opened your eyes, the tension between the two of you thickening in that very little space between you two.

“You can’t just throw away your life like that, not for me. Not for anyone.” He muttered, his voice was full of emotion, the hardened walls that preserved this side of him starting to crumble.

His thumbs that were on your cheeks started to stroke the soft skin, more so to comfort and ground himself than anything as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“You scared me, really scared me.” He breathed. “Please promise me, don’t do that again. I’ve lost too much already… it would be the end of me if you were gone.”

“I need you sweetheart, more than you know.”

Deans words struck in your soul, knocking the wind out of you. All you could muster was a longing gaze, a slight brush of the tip of your nose against his.

After a few moments, you piped up.

“I need you too Dean, so much…”

That sentence alone let dean release a breath, the hot air splaying against your lips.

“I-is this real?” You whispered, smiling softly at him.

“As real as it gets, sweetheart.” He grumbled, his thumb moving from your cheek to your bottom lip, lightly grazing across it- his green eyes looking between yours and your lips.

“Can I?” Dean purred, pulling your lip down playfully - making your body shiver once more under his touch.

“Please…”

No further hesitation was necessary, pressing his full lips to yours - savouring the warm and gentle sensation.

Deans arms snaked around you, one around the middle of your back and the other creeping up between your shoulders to cradle the back of your neck- backing you up to the bed cautiously before your legs hit the frame, slowly lowering you down amongst the worn in mattress as the springs squeaked underneath you both.

He made sure you lay back comfortably, gazing down at you from above. “So beautiful…” he whispered with his signature smile before leaning down to capture your lips again as he settled on top of you.

Deans knee crept up between your thighs, pressing up against your clothed core. A soft sigh vibrated off your lips to his as you began to move your hips against his knee, relieving some of the arousal that was pooling inside of you. “Yeah sweetheart… grind on it baby, take what you want from me.” Deans voice was low and gruff, laced thickly with want.

You moaned his name, it falling deliciously onto his ears. “God I could get used to hearing that.”

Fingers reached the hem of your t-shirt, slowly raising it to slip off your torso to expose your warm skin to him. Dean took a moment to admire you again, glowing with adoration for you. You suddenly sat up, reaching around to unhook your bra- struggling to undo it. “Dammit…” you had muttered before deans hands moved behind you, unhooking it for you. “I’ve got you…” he smirked.

His index fingers hooked under your straps, pulling the material away as your breasts fell. Dean couldn’t help the breathy moan erupting from his throat, slowly pushing you onto your back.

His lips attached to your neck, breathing in the faint smell of your perfume and natural scent- an addicting feeling that made his eyes roll into the back of his head. They trailed down your collarbone, toward your chest.

His face was level with your chest, hot breath fanning over one of your breasts as he pulled your nipple into his mouth. “O-oh- Dean…” you gasped, feeling his tongue swirl around the now hardened nub. “so good baby…” he struggled to say, his mouth occupied with your nipple.

Dean repeated the same along your other tit, relishing in the sounds of your moans as you continued to move your core along his jean cladded knee. “Wanna taste you… please baby.” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

God, he sounded so desperate… so needy- you couldnt help but whimper. “Y-yes, I want it…”

The kisses along your torso never ceased, his fingers moving lower to work on untying your sweatpants and tugging them down your thighs. He reluctantly removed his lips from your skin as he sat up to remove the last few garments on you, throwing your pants and underwear to the ground in the corner of the room.

Scooting down, Dean settled between your legs- his large hands gripping on the outside of your thighs. “So pretty baby… all f’me.” Soon his lips met your skin again as he left wet open mouthed kisses along your inner thighs- his eyes never once leaving yours as he reached the apex of your thigh.

There was no resisting some teasing, his tongue barely touch the skin around your pussy, making your hips buck and try to chase after it.

“Please, don’t tease me Dean, I want to feel your mouth on me…” you whined, his lips just a breath away from where you wanted him most.

“Since you asked so nicely…”

He never thought he would experience heaven, but the taste between your thighs would’ve been what he’d consider close to it. The tip of his tongue circled around the tender nub of your cunt, dragging it down to prod at your sopping entrance- manipulating your sinful sounds to fill the room.

Your hands reached to find his hair, tugging at his short brown locks. “you feel so fucking good…” you praised as you pulled at his hair, earning a moan of satisfaction from him. “Do that again, pull my fucking hair…” he groaned, his tongue continuing its assault on you.

It was overwhelming, the knot in your hips was beginning to unfurl as your orgasm started to wash over you- a final call of his name as your fingers tightened their grip on his hair as your pelvis rolled back into deans actions against you.

He groaned as he continued to lap at you, greedily taking every last bit of your wetness on his tongue. “So sweet…” he praised, placing one last kiss to your core.

“D-Dean, I want you- I need you to fuck me, please…” you whimpered. A wolfish smirk appeared on deans face as he stood up, whipping off his Led Zeppelin shirt in one swift motion before working on his belt buckle.

You sat back and enjoyed the view of his stripping off, seeing his soft tummy and broad shoulders, the anti possession tattoo on his collar… it was as if he was created by the gods himself. The time came where he stripped himself of his jeans and boxers, his cock springing free of all restraint.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” His voice laced with a cocky tone, crawling back onto the bed to resume his position on top of you.

“I’d be an idiot if I didn’t like it…” you replied, giggling softly as you pulled him in for a deep, slightly sloppy kiss.

Dean moved to position himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock sliding along you teasingly- the both of you letting out soft breathy moans into your mouths, before he couldn’t take it anymore- he had to feel you, to fuck you, make you his…

“Oh fuck- yes-“ Dean gasped, his cock pressing inside of you- the feel of your nails digging into his back making the sensation all the more euphoric. His hips started to move slowly against yours, coaxing more of those delicious moans he longed to hear from you.

“Dean!” You were loud, the sounds of your moans, deans grunts and the squeaking mattress springs filled the room- leaving no room for doubt of getting complaints from the neighbouring residents in the other motel rooms.

“God sweetheart, you’re so- so good, so good for me.” He groaned as he felt your thighs wrap around his hips, his cock pushing deeper inside you now, the pace of his thrusts becoming stronger.

He watched as you writhed below him, as your expressions contorted in its pleasured state- taking one of his thumbs to circle around your clit, heightening your pleasure as your back arched. “Fuck! Yes, don’t stop-“ you pleaded, your nails digging harder into his shoulder blades.

The way you looked and sounded to him brought him closer, the thrusts becoming sloppy as he near reached his peak, his fingers still working along your clit. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his head falling forward into your neck as he came, his thick hot cum coating your delicate walls.

Your breathing was sharp and fast as another orgasm fell over you, your thighs quivering in ecstasy and exhaustion.

Dean pulled his head from your neck, kissing you tenderly. “You have no idea… how long I’ve wanted to do that.” He whispered, rubbing his nose along yours. “Could say the same with you…” that comment made him smile widely, pecking your lips once more before pulling out of you, lying down to curl into your side.

It was silent for a good while, the jagged breathing between you both as you came down from your highs being the only sound breaking the silence. It was comfortable, blissful even- just being in each other’s arms after such intimacy.

“Promise me something?” Dean spoke quietly, placing a soft kiss on your neck as he buried his face into it.

“Yeah?” You ran your fingers through his hair, holding him close to you.

“Don’t ever put yourself in danger again… please.” His tone was soft but serious, his hand reaching out to hold your free palm.

“And not get railed like that again? Damn i might have to think about it.” you teased him, massaging his scalp as he gave a sleepy chuckle.

“No need to get hurt again for that, just gotta ask me and I’m at your beck and call. You’re mine now after all.”

“Oh I’m yours now huh?” You giggled, the laughing being cut off by Dean sucking on your neck, a low mewl escaping your lips.

He smirked against your neck, pulling away to admire the growing red love bite that formed against your skin.

“Yeah, you’re mine now sweetheart, can’t get away from me now.”

Tags <3: @bluemerakis

[radawaycunt]

okayy. so this is my request idea 😍

can i req for him pls, he still mourning his wife however you (acacius' daughter) willing to give him your love, sadly he did not want it or keep you away from him. until you realized that he still in love with his wife so you gave distance. at the end, he wanted you and saved you after your father's death

Thank you for requesting <33

(Note: reader is not Lucilla’s daughter, just Acacius’ from a previous marriage)

——————

It had been a while since you’d last seen him.

You remembered your last encounter painfully well, when he'd turned his face away, unable to bear seeing the earnestness in your eyes. You had poured your heart out to him, but he hadn't been able to accept it. He'd drawn that line firmly in the sand, having to accept the consequences that came with it.

He hadn’t meant to hurt you, not really, but his heart was still splintered in a thousand bleeding shards. He was constantly reminded of the one he had loved for years before his return to Rome; The one he had bitterly lost at your father's command back in Numidia.

He never said her name at first — Arishat — until the day you confronted him after the naval battle at the colosseum. He had vowed his revenge against your father for her death, and he could not see past his hatred and mourning to see you. One of the only people who had offered him your genuine friendship, who'd heard countless stories about him from his mother, weaving an image of the strong, good-hearted man that you would one day fall in love with.

That day, the image had been shattered and your heart didn't fare any better. And so, for both of your sakes, you decided to keep your distance.

But then, after your father was arrested and forced to fight Lucius in the arena as a gladiator, things took a drastic turn. At the last moment, when your father had surrendered to him, Lucius decided to spare him, even going so far as to defend his honor.

Still, the Praetorian guard riddled him with arrows, and loss like you had never known had you crying to the skies, cursing the will of the Gods.

After the funeral, you were secluded at home for a nine-day mourning period in which no one else could reach you. Even after that, you refused to see anyone for another two weeks, letting both your heart and the scratches on your face from lamentations heal a little more.

When you felt just strong enough, you decided to throw a small dinner party to honor his life. And once the sun had set, it was none other than Lucius who showed up last, his expression somber. His body language was hesitant, like he wasn't entirely sure he would be welcome.

But when you made eye contact with him from across the room, he felt a little more encouraged to approach you. He offered his condolences and silently stood next to you as you stared at the flickering flames dancing in one of the braziers.

"Your father was a good man," he said. "I've come to realize that a little too late."

"He did what he had to do for the glory of Rome," you said, accepting his words but not denying that he had committed acts of brutality in his time as a commander.

"I have made many mistakes when it comes to you, as well. Please, forgive me."

You looked up at him and realized that despite how hard you had tried not to, you still ached for him. Swallowing thickly, you looked away before any tears could form in your eyes.

"It's all in the past now, Lucius," you murmured. "I bear you no ill will, especially after you showed mercy to my father."

There was a long silence in which the two of you were lost in thought. The two of you had your own burdens to bear, but perhaps they wouldn't be so heavy if the weight was shared. He had realized he did not want to be separated from you, even if it would take some time for the two of you to fully open up again.

He was a patient man and was more than willing to work for it -- to see it through. In time, perhaps two broken hearts would meld each other, stronger than before.

"I should like to be the one to take care of you now," he said, looking at your profile. "If you'll let me."

You stiffened, feeling something akin to hope surge within you. A lump formed in your throat and you let a tear run down your cheek. Unable to find the right words to respond to him, though, you settled for taking his hand.

And it was then he knew that things would be alright.

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

[hxney-lemcn]

Late Night Chaos — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: you share your first kiss with Daisuke.

tw: idk, insecure reader?

a/n: this turned out kinda meh, starting to burn out, I'll start with the actual plot in the next one.

wc: 1.4k

Master List

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine

You hadn’t meant to peek. You honestly thought it was a book you forgot you brought. Well, that was until you noticed the leather book had no title, which you then assumed was a sketch book your parents gave you in a misguided attempt as a gift that somehow ended up in your book pile. But when you opened it you realized you were sorely mistaken, sketches of pokemon, digimon, and the crew littered the pages. This was Daisuke’s sketch book. Not only was it because no one else on board would draw pokemon (as far as you knew), but the farther into the book you went, the more the pages were just filled with images of you. Whether it be just little stick figures of you and Daisuke holding hands, or full on detailed sketches of your face, all the way to your name doodled on the corners with his last name (or vice versa). 

Oh gosh, you felt like a monster. You weren’t supposed to be seeing these. Daisuke must've left it in your room by accident and here you were paging through it without his permission. You were a terrible partner. Snapping the book close, you squeezed your eyes shut. Why the hell did you keep looking? Damn you and your curiosity, you broke a boundary that you only hoped could be mended. 

With determination to make this right, you marched out of your room, the small book clutched to your chest. Thankfully it wasn’t too late, you had just been getting ready for sleep when you stumbled upon it after all. Honestly, it was surprising Daisuke wasn’t with you already, the two of you shared a room more often than not these days. It wasn’t a far walk to his rooms, everyone's sleeping quarters were close to each other. Knocking on his door, you didn’t have to wait long, the open door revealing Daisuke with his gameboy in hand.  “Hey,” You greeted.

“Hey,” He replied back, glancing up at you before quickly looking back at his game. “Jus’ give me a sec. I’m almost done with this level.”

“Okay,” You murmured, shuffling over to sit on his bed. That made Daisuke paused for a second, glancing at you once again and noticed your nervous expression. Biting his lip, he let out a groan when the game let out the familiar sound of losing, you had unintentionally distracted him and he failed again. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed the handheld console to the side, plopping down next to you. He needed a break anyways, he had been trying to beat that level for thirty minutes straight.

“What’s up?” Diauke asked, tilting his head to get a better look at you.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized, holding his sketchbook out to him. “I didn’t realize it was yours and I looked through it. I should’ve stopped when I realized it wasn’t mine but I kept looking. I am so sorry.”

Taking the book from your hands, Daisuke put it to the side and instead gently grabbed your hands, a small smile tugged at his lips, “Hey, it’s alright. I don’t mind, not that big of a deal.”

You paused, staring at him, eyes wide and slightly confused, “You’re not angry? Aren’t those personal? I went through your stuff.” It was like you were trying to justify your guilt, not able to accept the fact that you had probably over thought the whole ordeal. Not able to accept the fact that you could be forgiven so easily. Why wasn’t he angry? Or annoyed? Sure, he always seemed laidback and carefree, but he was still human. You had seen him insecure, and bummed out, it wasn’t out of the wheelhouse to see him at least peeved as well. 

“It was an accident,” He shrugged, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand. “And it’s mostly just silly doodles, nothing to get upset about. I’d let you look at them if you asked…or even give you a few.”

“There seemed to be a few personal ones,” You murmured, hands tightening around his own, but your argument sounded weak even to you. 

Letting go of your hands, Daisuke opened his sketch book and flipped to an image of you with little hearts surrounding it, a mischievous grin on his face, “You mean the ones like this?”

You opened your mouth, face warming at how nonchalant he was about it. Glaring at him you huffed, “I can’t stand you.”

“Is it a crime to draw the one you love?” Daisuke asks dramatically, putting a hand over his heart. 

“Yes,” You responded in a deadpan tone. 

With a pout, he replied, “Well, you can’t blame me for wanting to draw something pretty.” 

Giving in to your impulses, you leaned forward and smooshed his cheeks in between your hands, “You can’t just say things like that and get away with it.”

Daisuke merely giggled, grin brightening under your palms. This was supposed to ease your cute aggression, not make it worse, but it seemed you still didn’t have a full understanding of your emotions. Perhaps you never will fully understand it, but what you did know was that you were going to make him pay for his crimes. 

Leaning forward, you place a short kiss on his forehead. Your heart jumped when you made eye contact, his brown eyes shining, watching you in awe. It pushed you to go further, moving your palms from squishing his cheeks to holding his jaw, assaulting his face with fluttering kisses. You made sure you didn’t miss an inch, stomach twisting in knots at how much affection you were sharing, but also feeling oddly content. When you finished, you pulled away enough to make eye contact once more. 

Daisuke felt his heart pound in his chest, his cheeks warm and eyes wide in awe. You had been pretty reserved in your relationship so far, not that he minded. You were clearly out of your depth, unsure how to accept and offer physical affection, but your kind actions and words showed how much you cared. Although he was also new to the whole dating thing, being affectionate with you had become second nature to him. Having you not only act first, but cross a boundary neither of you dared to cross took his breath away and made him feel all melty. 

Sure, you hadn’t kissed him on the lips, but neither of you had done more than hold the other. The feeling of your lips continued to warm his skin, and he couldn’t help but wish you just laid one on him, but he also respected your wishes. If you weren’t ready for that, he wouldn’t push. He wanted you to go at your own pace since you were clearly more uncertain in the relationship. 

“You missed,” Daisuke teased, watching you with a warm gaze.

Pouting Scowling, you smooshed his cheeks again, causing him to laugh. Your blood thrummed in your ears, your heart speeding up and you continued to feel more confident in your actions. You glanced down at his lips, should you…? Was that him giving you the okay? Were you even ready for that?

Apparently tonight was a night of acting instead of thinking for you. Relaxing your hold on his face, you placed the shortest peck on his lips in recorded human history. Daisuke barely felt it, but it still made his breath hitch. You had actually kissed him, lip to lip, the whole smoocharoo. You stared at each other, wide eyed and hearts beating in tandem. Such a simple moment for some was world changing for you both.

“Can…can we do that again?” Daisuke whispered, scared to break the atmosphere.

You nodded, a shaky okay spilling from your lips. It was Daisuke’s turn to act first, closing the gap between you and pressing your lips in a light kiss. You press your lips to his a bit firmer, but your inexperience shows as you're left unsure how to proceed. You felt a bit embarrassed, but it was hard to keep that thought as Daisuke smiled so much you ended up having to pull away. 

“We gotta work on that,” He muttered, his grin betraying his giddiness. 

“I think you just want more kisses,” You murmured back, feeling your heart skip a beat. 

“Can you blame me?” He laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Must be your lucky day then.”

“The luckiest.”

[mrsparrasblog]

MAKAROV X PRICE DAUGHTER Pt. 1

I know John Price would be the best Dad on earth but please let the Plot , ploting

Part 2

Your dad loved you; you were really sure he did, just not as much as he loved Tina, your younger sibling. You were the result of a one-night stand he had when he was 16, while Tina was a love child of your dad's new wife. You liked both of them; you really did. They treated you with respect; you stayed in their house while your dad was on deployment. So you couldn't really complain; they even let you stay while you did your apprenticeship, despite that you were over 20 now and full of age, but they made it clear: finish your apprenticeship and you're gone.

Your dad didn't say anything. Well, how could he, since he was always on some kind of mission, to save the planet or world? He was like a real-life Avenger. It just hurts sometimes when he misses certain events like your ballet performance, your appendix operation, your 18th birthday, and your graduation ceremony—the best of the whole year. But who cares about that when you have no one in the crowd to cheer for you?

The worst part? He did make time for Tina. He was at her elementary school graduation, at every birthday, and at her fencing competition, claiming it's not because he likes Tina more; it's just that fencing is more interesting than ballet. You would understand that, right? You were a good, smart girl. Of course, you would understand how important his job is, right? You're not a selfish little lady, he said.

For years, you thought he despised you, maybe because you were the spitting image of your dead mother or because you had the same interests as her but not like Tina. Tina was cool; she did fencing, wanted to join the military, and even got caught smoking weed. Your dad only laughed about this, telling her he did this too when he was young.

You and your dad didn't share the same interest; you liked everything that was hyper-feminine: ballet, pink, makeup, Taylor Swift. And you were becoming a midwife instead of a cool, badass soldier. His only expression was, "Are you sure, sweetie?" Of course, you were sure, and you thought your job was even more badass than his. You helped bring babies into the world; what could be better?

One day, you noticed he did love you. In fact, it was just harder to love someone at 17 than at 30, he said. He cried while saying this, begging you on his knees to forgive him for being such a crappy dad, and of course, you did. His affection and attention were almost like a drug to you; you didn't need weed when hearing "I'm proud of you, sweetie" did so much more to you.

It wasn't a surprise when you started to sleep with older men, craving the care and affection they could provide you with. The same affection you begged your whole life for. When your stepmother found out you got intimate with 40-year-old men every weekend, she told your dad, of course, that she did. And he was furious—more than furious. Giving you a lesson about safe sex—a bit too late for that, innit? And then he told you that he was disappointed in you, and it hurt even more than the neglect you needed to endure your whole life.

You were walking through the streets of Cardiff, enjoying the sight of your hometown; it was beautiful, especially at night. Suddenly, a man bumped into you—correct: the most handsome man you've ever seen in your life. He was tall with dark hair, mesmerizing eyes, tattoos and pale skin, and he was definitely old enough to be your type. Maybe that was the fairytale love story you ever dreamed of.

"I'm sorry, sir; my eyes aren't so strong in the dark."

He kissed your hand like you were some kind of royalty and smiled with the most charming smile. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't have to apologize," he said with a thick, beautiful Russian accent.

"Thank you, sir."

"Call me Vlad, princess," he said, and you told him your name, to which he replied that it was the most beautiful name he ever heard.

"Let me walk you home, princess. It's dangerous for a beautiful girl like you to walk on her own," he said with a cheeky grin.

"So you're from Russia? How is it there?"

"Beautiful; the nature is stunning. I live in Moscow, and you would love the architecture."

"I bet I would love it. If I have the opportunity to travel someday, I definitely will."

"Where would you go first, princess?"

"Hm, New York or maybe Sydney. No wait, the Alps. Ah, it's hard to decide, you?"

You mumbled while walking on the sidewalk; you didn't know why, but you felt safe like never before. Not even the dogs barked at him; he had this dark presence about him, but how he talked and behaved, letting you walk further away from the sidewalk, lending you his jacket, and caressing your finger with his thumb, made you feel safe and appreciated.

"I was almost everywhere in the world, but if I could decide, I'd say Moscow."

"Doesn't count; you live there." You pointed your tongue at him and threw a giggling fit.

"And who are you to decide this?"

"Like you said, a princess."

"And what does your Highness want?"

"Hm, ice cream."

You went to an ice cream place, both of you picking out an ice cream flavor; he insisted that he pay for your £2 ice like a gentleman, and you laughed.

"You're weird; chocolate-mint ice is a disgrace."

"It is good; taste it?"

"I won't."

You smeared the ice around your plump lips. "You sure don't want a taste now," you said, hinting at a kiss. He smirked and leaned in for a kiss. His lips were gentle, but there was so much passion behind the kiss and so much longing that you immediately moaned, making a fool of yourself. After what felt like hours, you split, trying to catch your breath.

"that was-"

"Intense"

You nodded before pulling into another kiss. The 10-minute walk home took 3 hours since you stopped every second, demanding his attention, and he gave it to you so willingly. You arrived at your door.

"So this is my door."

He kissed you one last time, "Sorry Princess," and then he pulled you into him, holding something against your nose, but before you could react, you were already far gone.

You brought him to your place, Price's house, with what he wanted; he wanted to kill every three of you, make a massacre, and then leave them for Price to see. But you were confusing him; he liked your presence; sure, he was just a man, and he knew you were the type of woman he watched when beating his meat, but normally attractiveness wouldn't affect him, especially not with Price's daughter. But you were nice to him even though you didn't know he was fucking Vladimir Makarov, so his plan changed; he needed to break you or have you and then rub it under Price's face that you were his now.

[realcube]

dilf december

day twenty-one ⭑ doppo kunikida ⭑ naughty list ?!

tw: nsfw minors dni, sexting, heavy implact play and degradation

everything is so boring when you are home alone.

workload at the ADA suprisingly seems to surge around the holiday season, meaning kunikida has to stick around at the office for longer, leaving you in the house all alone, with nothing to do. the place was spotless, since you had already done every chore conceivable. as for preparing dinner, it made more sense to begin once kunikida messaged you saying that he was on his way home, that way it will be nice and hot upon his arrival.

hence that left you with an hour, in which you had nothing to do but mope around. of course you had sources of entertainment in your home, like a tv and a console, but neither really called to you.

however, the messenger app on your phone did.

you rushed to your shared bedroom and spent the an hour throwing on different sets of lignerie and negligees you owned, posing for all sorts of seductive photos in the full length mirror. each position you took was even more raunchy and revealing than the prior. some were silly and light-hearted, while others were intense and could believably be found on the cover of a porn mag.

and you recklessly sent image after image after image, not thinking much of it. you assumed that his phone would be on silent during office hours, then he would be in for a little treat when he clocked out, but you couldn't have been more wrong.

you realise your mistake when your husband comes storming in to the house. while leaning against the bannister of the staircase in the foyer, you attempt to welcome him home in a seductive manner — dressed in a see-through gossamer negligee — but he is entirely dismissive of you; focussed on the removal of his jacket and neatly hanging it up on the coat rack, not paying your lewd antics any mind.

once he has completed all his routine duties upon entering the house — such as taking off his shoes and placing his work bag aside — the air in the room turns cold as his piercing stare finally lands upon your scantily clad form.

he storms towards you with an unwaveringly cruel glint in his eye, and before you have a moment to react, he scoops you up in his arm and hauls you upstairs to your shared bedroom.

"kunikida! what're you doing?" you yelp, not bothering to struggle against his strong grasp. he's quite strong so he is able to pick you up with a single arm, carrying you under his arm and hauling you to the bedroom in a similar fashion to the way a farmer would carry a chicken.

"what are you doing, is the better question." he corrects sternly, in the displeased and aggravated tone that you know all too well, "sending me all those lewd photographs while you knew i was at work."

clearly you have sent him on a tirade, so once you finally arrive at the bedroom and he carelessly throws you onto the bed, you know better than to argue and simply listen, innocently gazing up at him through your lashes to hopefully soften the blow.

"i see you are messaging me so i open my phone — thinking it was an emergency — but no, your entire nude body is now covering my screen! you're lucky i was in my office, what if i was in a meeting and other people saw that?" he huffs, pacing back and forth across the length of the bedroom, yelling out into the emptiness of the room opposed to directly at you. though he would shoot you the occassional pointed glare. "not only that, but know that i've seen the images, i have to conceal my, uh, feelings towards them. i couldn't get up out of my office chair for half an hour, (y/n)!"

you fail to quell a snicker at the thought of kunikida being chair-bound due to a boner, which causes him to halt in his tracks and stare at you with a dumbfounded expression. "is this funny to you?" he asks, deadpan.

before you can even open your mouth to croak out a response, kunikida hastily approaches you on the bed, harshly grabbing at your thigh, "because it's not. you should know better than to send me such depraved images during work hours, but you clearly you need a reminder." he tells you through gritted teeth. then, he uses his grip on your thigh to flip you over, so you are lay on your stomach, and pull you down so you are bent over the edge of bed; with your stomach flat against the sheets and your legs hanging off the side.

he runs his big hand over the flesh off your ass, which is stuck out all pretty for him and is partially veiled under the gossamer of your negligee, but mostly on display, especially once kunikida has pushed the fabric aside as he caressed your ass.

his fingers then begin to explore between your folds, barely inhibited by the embarrassingly thin string of your thong. the rough pads of his fingers rub lazy circles over your soaked labia and clit. "so wet already.." a precise balance of fast and slow to make you squirm yet desperate for more stimulation, which he would happily deny as he pull his hand away from your cunt, licking his fingers clean.

"when did you become such a slut?" he spits, his palm making firm with your ass he does so. the loud 'slap' noise resonating throughout the room, shortly followed by your incoherent whimpers and sobs that you feebly try to choke back.

"please.." you whine, knuckles paling as you grip the cotton covers, "i won't do it again."

"yes, you will." he says defnitively, "because you're just a little attention whore." his sentence is puntuated with another hard slap on the ass, provoking a guttural gasp from you as a reaction to the painful impact.

"you'll do anything for me to play with this needy pussy, huh?" he asks while using the heel of his hand to carelessly rub your folds for a moment, then immediately slap your cunt afterwards, sending electric jolts of pleasure and pain up your spine and through your stomach.

"so here is all the attention you so desperately need." another spank hits your ass; the sting causes you to wince and moan in response.

"that feel good, princess?" he asks, mostly sardonically, his relentless hand spanking your ass repeatedly, each time more brutual than the last, surely searing a burning handprint into your skin. it hurt more each time, hinted at by your quiet whimpers and mewls. but also your pussy would spit out more arousal with each intense impact, which gave mixed signals.

you had lost count of the amount of spanks before he eventually paused, stroking your aching cheeks as he idled, "i asked you a question."

previously you were unable to answer the question because you were preoccupied with choking out faint pleas and cries, but now that he has halted his ruthless attack on your ass, you are able to stutter, "it felt good, sweetie." your face is consumed by the heat of the covers which you bury yourself into.

"good.." he muses, continuing to gently caress your sore skin, "you know i only do this because i care. so much. i could never ignore a message that you send me; i worry far too much about you to do that, so i have to view it. and if i open it in front of my co-workers, i would hate it if they saw something meant for my eyes only. understand, sweetheart?"

"mhm.." you hum. pleased with the kind and relaxed way he was speaking to you, but his change in tone was so sudden that it could've gave you whiplash. not that you were complaining.

"i enjoyed the photos. you are so gorgeous, (y/n). don't stop taking them." he softly squeezes the fat of your thigh and asks, "does it hurt badly?"

"kinda." you reply timidly.

he bends over and plants a kiss your ass, peppering them over your warm skin before straightening himself. "i'll be gentler next time." his hand wanders from your ass, down between your thighs to carefully poke at your clit, "now, let's take care of my needy girl.."

[rroseselavyyy]

love me more - knj

pairing: namjoon x female reader

warnings: smut, face sitting, shitty ending

Namjoon knew he shouldn't be around you. Like any high school boy who seemed to grow into a man over the years, he knew he should have pushed you to the back of his mind. He should only have thought of you when he was flicking through his photo album, longing for the good old days.

But you were just so hard to forget.

All his thoughts were filled with you. Even dreaming of you wasn't enough to satisfy his desire when it came to you, for you were even more beautiful than a mere mental image.

Like every high school beauty queen, you have one fatal flaw, which is, you have terrible taste in men. Namjoon was there to change that forever, picking up the pieces of your heart by making you try on his glasses to wipe that sad expression out off your face, or cuddling with you while you casually watched dramas all day.

He was your most loyal servant, waiting for his cue to make you his, following every sign to reach your heart, to make you his own queen.

As Namjoon brushed the tangles out of your wet hair, you were sitting on his bed, mostly between his legs. All his attention was focused on your hair as you were looking at him through the mirror.

His toned arms and legs encaged you, making your comparatively small figure seem like nothing in his embrace. You watched in awe as his sharp features made him look beautiful with the seriousness of taking care of you.

You couldn't help but lean into his embrace as his knuckles brushed your scalp, looking at how beautiful he was as if you were witnessing the northern lights for the first time.

"Namjoon, do you think I am beautiful?" You saw him frown and it made you want to take back what you had said, but the damage had already been done. He let out a sigh and put the brush down on the bed before wrapping his tanned arms around your waist. You felt a shiver run down your spine as he rested his chin on your shoulder and met your eyes. "Why are you asking me this?"

The tone of his voice was far from irritated, but you felt the blood rush to your cheeks.

"Is it because the so-called man of your dreams is too dumb to make you feel less beautiful than you are?" He planted a kiss on your cheek, the calluses on his fingertips brushing your skin under his t-shirt. "Or is it that you're too oblivious to see that I'm desperately in love with you?"

Your mouth fell open at how casually he confessed his feelings as if he was telling you how his day was going. You blinked a few times to make sure it wasn't a dream, and he flashed a dimpled smile just inches from your face "Why? Am I not good enough for you?"

"No, I just never thought that you would have feelings for me." You grabbed his jaw in a gesture of affection. It was as if you were in the daze of the moment as he trailed his tongue over his lower lip in an eager way, making you fight with the urge to pull him in for a passionate kiss. "I would never deny you if I knew this."

"Yeah?" He whispered above your lips as his thumb caressed your cheek lovingly. "Do you want me to show you how much you mean to me?"

You turned around his embrace to face him and smashed your lips into his. He brought his hands to your waist to dig his fingers into the flesh, bringing you closer to his firm chest.

It was even more meaningful than your first kiss. Even though you were kissing your friend, it felt like the kiss that you shared belonged to lovers. Something akin to a blessing. Who would have known a beauty this immense?

"You are so cruel, princess. For making me wait all this time." He brushed a strand of sweaty hair that fell into your eyes as his eyes bore intently into yours. "So cruel, so beautiful." His lips moved over yours ever so subtly that you could feel he wanted you to feel how he felt about you.

He wasn't drunk at all, he was sure of that. But he felt as if the room was spinning as your scent filled his nostrils. It must have been something about the way you tasted on his tongue, the faint hint of strawberry from your gloss that lingered on his lips.

"Hold your arms up." He murmured under his breath as his heavy eyes drank in your expression and you did as he said like the good girl you are. He watched your tits bounce at the sudden movement of pulling his t-shirt off your head and never missed a moment to kiss the temple of your breasts. "You were made just for me to worship you, weren't you?"

The thrill of having him so close to you crawled up all over your skin like climbing ivy, and with every touch of his burning hands on your spine, flowers came to life.

You felt like your trembling body lay on his soft mattress as he towered over you.

"Isn't it ironic that you've finally been caught in my net, my little goldfish?" He slid your shorts and panties down your legs as you spread out on his bed, his knees digging into the bed on either side of you. "I think deep down we both knew you needed a man like me." He nuzzled your inner thighs and your back arched off the mattress to meet his wet kisses as they moved slowly down your leg, tracing a sinister path to your ankle. "A man who can bring heaven to your feet."

“I am the only one who can do that," He tangled your hair in his fist to kiss you, making you dive for another one as he pulled away. "Everyone else is just a waste of time.”

"Sit on my face-" You never knew a human being could be this beautiful when begging you like this. "Please, I've been dying to taste you."

He was almost sure that you were the perfect woman for him when you never questioned him and climbed over his face after you had seductively pushed him onto his mattress by his chest.

He was a man of sense, but when you slowly ground your hips against his hungry mouth, suffocating him with your thighs, he was about to lose it.

He sucked gently on your clit as if he wanted to make you cry in agony, and it turned out to be the sweetest melody to his ears when you threw your head back with your mouth hanging open.

He landed a harsh slap on your ass before digging his fingers into the flesh to spur you on, the erotic moans coming from your mouth were enough to make him feel tipsy.

He was so lost in the moment that he wasn't able to think straight at all. His cock was aching for release.

As tears of pleasure adorned your cheeks, alarming him that you were trying to reach your end, he inserted his thick fingers into your dripping pussy, opening the gates of his heaven to more of his tongue's access.

You came so hard that you made a mess on his beautiful face, your release was everywhere, decorating his cheeks in the most sensual way. He pressed his tongue flat against your pussy to get drunk on everything you gave him. The sight of you coming down from your orgasm was so irresistible to him that it made him erupt in his baggy shorts.

Even though it was not a sight he would be proud of, changing into new clothes could wait a bit longer.

He laid you on your back before taking his place beside you. He watched the exhaustion creep into your features as you yawned. You were so beautiful like this, in his bed like it was the only place you were meant to be.

He couldn't help but smile as you buried your face in his neck. "Don't you think we should take our relationship to the next level?" You giggled madly at the thought of Namjoon's flushed cheeks from saying something he hadn't expected. "I think you've seen my space level when I was on your face."

"You think this is funny, hmm?" He tickled your sides as you tried to wriggle out of his embrace. Unfortunately, he was way too strong for you. "You won't have the energy to laugh when I'm done with you."

[navybrat817]

The man spread. 🤤

(Also the face he's making....)

(Also, hi! ❤️)

Hi, lovely! You know I couldn't resist doing something for Titan and Starshine for you!

Photogenic

Pairing: College!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You love one of the photos Roxy took of Bucky, but he isn't having it.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, insecurities, kissing, established relationship, college love, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?)

A/N: Another small ficlet for Titan and Starshine.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the lovely @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

If there was one thing your roommate took seriously, it was her photography. It wasn’t just Roxy’s major, but her way of expressing herself. So when she asked for your opinion on the photos she took of Bucky and Steve, you answered as honestly and diplomatically as possible. You selected the ones you thought captured the project’s essence in the best possible way. You also reminded her that you weren’t a photographer, so your word shouldn’t hold a lot of weight.

She disagreed.

“I still don’t get why you asked for help. I don’t have a keen eye the way you do and I can barely take a photo on my phone,” you said, having to look away from one of the images of Bucky that seemed to stare right at you.

Though it was just a picture, it was like he knew you downplayed yourself and was trying to figure out why. He loved reminding you on your off days that you were one of the brightest students on campus. The compliments usually sent a wave of heat through your body, especially because he stated them unprompted and meant every word.

Roxy playfully rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to be a photographer to have a good eye. I not only value your opinion as my roommate, but also as Bucky’s girlfriend. You even managed to stay impartial, so give yourself a pat on the back.”

A laugh bubbled up as you nodded in agreement. While you did stare more at Bucky’s photos than Steve’s, your heart racing with each one that Roxy laid out, you choose an even amount between the two. It was only fair.

“Thank you for asking. I’m glad I could help,” you said. It meant a lot that she wanted your opinion on the finalized product,

“Me, too. And I can’t believe you didn’t tell me to throw Steve’s photos in the garbage,” she joked, carefully looking over one of the images of him hitting a punching bag. “I’m impressed.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you. Besides, Steve’s just as photogenic as Bucky,” you pointed out as her eyebrows shot up. “Okay, almost as photogenic.”

Steve was admittedly one of the most gorgeous men on campus. The blonde haired, blue eyed Adonis with the kind yet almost reserved smile turned many heads. So did Bucky. Two men who looked like a couple of heartbreakers from a glance, but were far from it.

“The camera really does love them,” Roxy stated, chewing her bottom lip as she scanned the images again with a careful eye. After a moment, she smiled from ear-to-ear. “I am so getting an A.”

“Yeah, you are,” you agreed. And the fact that she had such a tough time choosing which images to share when she normally had no problem doing so showed just how many good ones she had at her disposal.

There was one shot of Bucky, however, that she had no problem removing from the film hanger and handing to you to keep for yourself.

He had his powerful thighs spread and wasn’t quite biting his lip, but there was something irresistibly sexy about the pose.

What were you thinking about, Titan?

“Not that I don’t love me some manspreading, because I do, that wasn’t exactly the look that I was going for,” she joked, snapping you out of your thoughts and making you smile so wide your cheeks ached. “What exactly did you say to get him to pose like that?”

“Me? I didn’t say anything,” you smiled, ignoring Roxy’s knowing look as you glanced through the rest of the photos once more. At least, you didn’t think you said anything.

She didn’t believe that for a second. “You act so innocent, yet weren’t you warming his cock when he-”

“Hey, weren’t there supposed to be some photos of Bucky and I together?” You casually cut her off as you pressed your thighs together, wishing your boyfriend was there at that moment.

When Bucky pulled you into his lap during the shoot, you tried to keep your hands to yourself. It didn’t stop the two of you from kissing when Roxy instructed you to. Not that you needed any additional prompting. Bucky had the most kissable lips you ever had the pleasure of feeling against your own.

Your roommate smirked a little. “Oh, I have those tucked away so I can give them to you together,” she said, nudging you toward the door when your phone went off. She must’ve spotted that “Titan” popped up on the screen. “Go. Thanks again. Make good choices. Don’t let him impregnate you, but let him give you all the orgasms you deserve. We’ll allow those.”

“You’re ridiculous in the best way,” you giggled, making sure you had your keys and the photo. While neither you nor Bucky were ready for a family, it didn’t embarrass you in the least that Roxy encouraged the physical side of your relationship with him.

“Don’t forget to show him that photo!”

“I won’t forget!” you promised, smiling as you left and read Bucky’s message.

“Waiting downstairs, Starshine.”

“Be right there,” you messaged back, a skip in your step as you went to greet him outside of your building.

You found yourself staring into the depth of Bucky’s steel eyes as he stood a few feet in front of the door. Tall, athletic, and somehow yours, he managed to stand out in his jeans and t-shirt. Or maybe he stood out to you because he was your guy.

“There she is,” he warmly smiled as you walked toward him.

Suddenly, you felt self-conscious about your casual outfit before you remembered there was no need. Bucky had seen you in the mornings without makeup and still called you beautiful. “Here I am,” you smiled.

He nodded toward your right hand. “What’s that?”

“One of the photos Roxy took. She has others to share with us later,” you answered, holding it up to show him. His eyes narrowed as he stared at it, but gave nothing else away to show if he liked it or not. “But she said I can keep this.”

He pushed a hand back through his hair before he tried to take it from your hand. “Burn it,” he ordered.

That wasn’t the reaction you expected and it made you giggle. “Burn it? I will do no such thing,” you said, moving backward as he advanced on you. “Why should I get rid of this?”

“Because it’s a terrible picture of me,” he huffed.

He’s adorable.

“Not to stroke your ego since you’re acting a little vain, but you’re extremely photogenic. I don’t think you can take a bad photo,” you told him, taking another step back. “I’m keeping this forever because it’s very alluring.”

“There are plenty of other photos you can keep,” he argued as you held the picture out of reach again. His nostrils flared and it took everything in you not to giggle again before he frowned. “Did you say I look alluring?”

Wait, does he really think he looks bad? He’s James Buchanan Barnes. A god among men.

“Bucky Barnes, my Titan, yes. You’re sexy and enticing and I never thought I’d see you worked up over a picture that isn't bad to begin with,” you teased, almost jumping when your back hit the building door. It gave him the perfect opportunity to box you in with his hands, a rush of heat going through your body as he brought his face close to yours. “Do you honestly think you look bad? Because you don’t. Not to me.”

He brought his hand over to cradle your cheek and leaned in until his forehead touched yours. “I just wanna look good for you,” he admitted in a small voice.

It was almost embarrassing how wide your eyes got, so used to his confidence that you forgot that he sometimes had off days, too. Your heart ached to see his self-assurance shake for even a moment and you wondered if it was how he felt when you spoke negatively about yourself. It put things in perspective when you thought of it like that.

“You do. You always look good. I’m more attracted to you every day. To your looks, your brain, and your heart. You’re incredible,” you assured him, in no hurry to move away from the door. “And just like you remind me of how incredible you think I am, I’ll do the same for you.”

“You think my brain is attractive?” He asked, his usual smile back on his face as you nodded. You knew that was how happy you looked when he chased any of your insecurities away. “I sounded crazy, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn't," you said, putting a hand over his. "You sounded human."

“Thank you for making me feel better,” he whispered, brushing his lips against yours as your heart pounded. “But I still think you should burn it.”

“Not a chance,” you smiled before his mouth covered yours.

Swept up in Bucky’s kiss, you both missed the fact that your TA was mere feet away, watching and wishing that it was him that you were kissing instead.

And if he has his way, you will.

Hmm. I wonder who the TA is. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Can you write fuego with a pregnant wife?

Hi!

I thought that I had done quite a few of them, but... apparently not ^^' Admittedly I took some inspo from my own long fic (aka Embers -series) for this, and basically used a scene as a basis. Anyways, hopefully you like it ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader Genre: Romance/fluff Fanfic type: Oneshot Length: ~0.9k Contains: pregnant reader, marriage mention, Fue gets kicked by the baby in the face, a lot of fluffy feels

Fuegoleon had always deemed himself to be a family man. Granted that he has other aspirations as well, and hadn’t had a partner for such a long time, which was why such a status and aspect of his life had been placed on the backburner for the time being.

Not that it had particularly stopped thinking about the future, and the family he might like to have. A wife. Kids. Maybe a few. One was too few for his liking, but he wouldn’t push for more if his partner so wished.

It was a personal preference if nothing else.

But. It had existed in a daydream for a time longer than he could tell.

Until he had met you.

Not that the images had flashed through his mind clear as day from the very first moment he had laid his eyes upon you, but rather… it was like a gentle, comforting sensation. The knowledge that this… this would be it. With you he could go on to build something.

What he had felt, was a kind of familiarity. Like this was how it was supposed to be, and nothing less would suffice.

A part of him wanted to rush. To just move together. Get married. And have the titles of husband and wife. But another part of him held back. Because that seemed more courteous. Something that one does. Bids their time and takes slow, tentative steps to the ever after. Not marry the woman he met less than a year ago.

Though people did do that.

But people, aside of royalty, were more free to make such actions. And he didn’t wish to place such scrutiny onto the two of you. Because it would just be unwanted attention. Rumours of a bastard child possibly.

Senseless gossip.

Attempts to tarnish a reputation.

No matter how displeased even the mere idea of it made him, he chose to abide the customs. Little steps. One by one. And yet with each day he tried to show his devotion, even if with words, scattered here and there, a passing touch, lingering gaze. Some if which came without a thought, because it, too, was easy; as natural as breathing.

And now…

As you sat there, in the arm chair with rings in your ring finger, and a baby bump on your tummy, he couldn’t help but smile.

Because it was his whole world that existed in that chair. And he made a point to cherish the moments where he could know, with absolute certainty, where the two of you were; away from harm and trouble. In the sanctity of your shared living quarters.

“Come here,” you told him with a whisper while stroking your stomach.

He perked up, eyes opening just a little wider, as he made his way across the room and crouched by your chair.

“The baby is kicking,” your tone was hushed, delicate and tender, as if you were speaking out a secret that was only for the two of you to know.

His eyes shifted between your expression, gorgeous and loving like the first rays of dawn, to the little bump in which your precious child resided.

He placed his hand onto your stomach, and waited.

Waited for a moment longer, eyes attentive and curious.

“Come on,” you cooed. “No need to be shy, kick some for dad too.”

‘Dad’… he thought as the corners of his lips tugged further up.

One of the most esteemed titles he could be granted.

“Come on,” you encouraged again, as if your child could hear. But… somehow it didn’t seem to make a difference, if they could, or could not. After all, they didn’t have the language to comprehend for a good while still. So, you were speaking because… speaking to your own child was one of the most natural things to do.

Your precious miracle.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled and pressed his cheek against your tummy. “You are far better acquainted with your mother,” he mused while closing his eyes. “But I can’t wait to meet you to-“

*Bump*

A kick right to his nose.

He jolted back.

You raised your hand to cover your mouth.

“Feisty,” he said while holding onto his nose. “And packs a punch already.”

There was a laugh that flowed from your lungs; equally amused and concerned.

“Are you okay?” You asked while placing your hand onto his shoulder.

“I am,” he chuckled before placing his cheek against your stomach again. “It seems we’re having a true Vermillion here,” he mused to himself with a wide smile again. “But no kicking or punching your mother,” he told, sternly, to your bump and the child. “Understood?” He quirked an eyebrow.

And… almost as if to reply, there was another kick, but this time against his hand. A much softer one this time.

“Good,” he smiled while closing his eyes.

You placed your hand onto his head, and let your fingers stroke through his silken hair, as your eyelids closed half way at the tender sight before you.

Because this… this really was him, at his happiest. While holding you, and being held by you; when he was with his family.

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

say more

About Dad!Paul & Son!John? Gladly!

First and foremost, THE quote which I included in my recent Broad Street post (emphasis mine for this and every following quote):

“I always find myself wanting to excuse John's behaviour, just because I loved him. It's like a child, sure he's a naughty child, but don't you call my child naughty. Even if it's me he's shitting on, don't you call him naughty. That's how I felt about this and still do.” Paul McCartney in Many Years From Now (1997)

But I've seen the above quote around a lot, so I wanna share stuff I've not seen people talk about as much…

Let's warm up with the opening and closing paragraph of the The Lyrics entry for "Put It There" (1989), Paul's beloved fatherhood song (OR IS IT ?)

“PUT IT THERE’ IS AN EXPRESSION MY DAD JIM OFTEN USED. HE was loaded with colourful expressions, as so many Liverpool people still are today. He loved to play with words, juggle them in his head, and he had loads of little sayings that were sometimes nonsensical, sometimes functional, but always rather lyrical. When he was shaking your hand he would say, ‘Put it there if it weighs a ton.’”

And now, I give you the closing passage:

“I wonder whether I wanted to direct this song towards John – whether it’s not, in its own way, a peace offering to a man who died way too early. ‘If there’s a fight, I’d like to fix it / I hate to see things go so wrong’. But then I’m an eternal optimist: ‘The darkest night and all its mixed emotions / Is getting lighter, sing along’. The ending of ‘Put It There’ is particularly upbeat: ‘As long as you and I are here, put it there’. A little wordplay at the end.”

Discovering that Paul thinks a song which includes the line "That's what a father said to his young son"; a song he wrote around a phrase his dad used to say; a song he wrote when he had a young son, could be directed at John shifted something inside me fundamentally.

(I do actually think this might be indicative of the way muses are fuzzy and ambiguous to Paul in general, but also I'm having way too much fun here)

But wait! There's more!

We all know that classic ostensibly McLennon quote "John had beautiful hands" right? WELL, there's the whole context surrounding it that rarely gets talked about:

“A young boy's bedroom is such a comfortable place, like my son's bedroom is now; he's got all his stuff that he needs: a candle, guitar, a book. John's room was very like that. James reminds me very much of John in many ways: he's got beautiful hands. John had beautiful hands.” – Paul in Many Years From Now (1997)

Yes, he says John's hands are beautiful, but he's COMPARING HIM TO HIS SON?????????

And this isn't even the only quote that's often read as pseudo-romantic though it can be just as if not more easily read through the lens of Paul feeling paternalistic towards John:

"John was a baby, a lovely little baby John was." (1993)

"Delicious, delicious broth of a boy" (1995)

Lastly, for the less crazy crazy stuff, I just wanted to point to the general "carer" role Paul seemed to play sometimes. Like for instance this quote:

“After Epstein died there was nobody to comfort them or tell them how to handle things so Paul thought he was personally responsible. I constantly saw Lennon & McCartney together because Paul came along to see that I wasn’t rude to John — who I can’t say I got on with. Paul didn’t want me to upset John and thought he could handle me better than Lennon which of course he could.” — Sir Joseph Lockwood, former chairman of EMI, quoted in Northern Songs: The True Story of the Beatles’ Song Publishing Empire (quote originally posted by the lovely @thestarsarecool <3)

Also just the general way Paul could get fussy with John like a worried parent might. Norman actually points it out in his John bio, alongside a marriage comparison:

“In continuing rebellion against their new bespoke image, John habitually left his top shirt button undone and his tie crooked; often before they went onstage, in an almost wifely—or motherly—gesture, Paul would stand him still and do up the button for him.” – John Lennon: A Life (2008)

HAVE I SAID ENOUGH, ANON?