#i mean that i started this on the night before i had to send things to get printed

[darkmatilda]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐞 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it's time to return the second favor. and for that reason, spencer finds himself invited by you...on a date?

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist!female reader, fake date at the bar, reader's ex makes an appearance, kinda inspired by blank space taylor swift

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.5 k

𝐚/𝐧: anon's request

[unknown number] wake up pretty boy

[unknown number] time to pay your debt

Spencer, sitting on his bed with a book resting on his lap, stared at the message for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed. Evening, the warm glow of his lamp making it easy to read. He had the next day off, no real plans, just a quiet night ahead. The sudden chime of his phone had caught him off guard.

For a split second, he was surprised—but he didn’t have to think too hard to guess who the sender was.

He typed out how did you get my number, then deleted it before hitting send. Something else was far more interesting. And a little concerning. That second message. Pay your debt. She remembered about that now, at this hour?

Before he could ask, another text came in.

[unknown number] taking you on a date

[unknown number] dress nice

For a moment, deeply confused, he just stared at his phone, already sensing somewhere deep inside that this was going to be a really weird night.

[spencer] What do you mean by ‘date’?

A minute or two passed. He didn’t put his phone down. Didn’t even look away from the screen.

[unknown number] the one who asks questions loses his way

His fingers moved automatically.

[spencer] That’s not how the saying goes

✓ Seen 10:12 pm

Reid sighed. He had absolutely no plans to go out that evening, and he wasn’t thrilled about the fact that he hadn’t been given any details about this so-called date. Unless she was joking? There was something off about this—some kind of trick, a twist he hadn’t figured out yet.

The only thing stopping him from ignoring her messages—something he very much wanted to do—was the simple fact that he did owe her. Technically, twice. Though he had managed to repay one of those debts in an easy way, requiring almost no effort on his part.

He had a feeling this second one wouldn’t be nearly as simple.

And now he found himself wondering what exactly she meant by dress nicely.

*

"Wait, one more time. We’re going there as her… what?"

"Mental support," she said, moving forward with that usual quick stride of hers, the sharp tapping of her heels almost aggressive. Whether unconsciously or fully aware but not caring, she got a few steps ahead of him, speaking without turning back. Her voice hung in the night, street air.

Spencer hated when she did that. It made him feel like a dog on a leash. He sped up to match her pace.

"Well, I heard you," he scoffed. "Doesn’t mean I get what you mean. And maybe you should clue me in if I’m supposed to be part of…whatever this is” 

She stopped with a sigh so heavy it was as if giving him any details about something he was supposed to be part of was beyond her patience and strength. Hands tucked into the pockets of his blazer, he gave her a questioning look as she finally turned to face him.

His gaze dropped—quick, casual. Or at least, that’s how he thought it looked. Even at night, under the less-than-ideal glow of the streetlights, he could register how her outfit hugged her figure, emphasizing every curve.

At work, she dressed more formally. With her looks, that face, and the unshakable confidence she carried, she could probably make a burlap sack look like a designer gown. But Spencer had noticed something about the way she dressed for nights like this. Or rather, the way she became something else entirely. Like she belonged to the night, completely in her element.

Quick, casual glance—yeah, right.

To make the situation even more embarrassing, she snapped her fingers in front of his face, demanding his attention.

"Alright, listen up," she started, shifting her weight onto one hip. "I’m explaining this one last time. My friend, Liv—you might know her from my team…"

"Olivia, you mean," He said her full name in confirmation, recognizing the woman he had indeed seen before.

"Do you really have to correct me on how I call my own friends? Anyway, fine. Olivia has a date tonight with some guy she met online. The thing is, Olivia is a hopeless romantic who’s waiting for the love of her life to magically show up at her door, but she’s also buried in work and can’t even remember the last time she went on a date. Plus, she’s a little worried about ending up with some psycho. You know what I mean."

"All too well," he nodded, recalling all the missing persons cases that had started exactly like this—an online match gone wrong.

“Exactly. So Olivia asked me to come along. You know, for physical backup if anything goes sideways. And mental backup. Just to make her feel safer."

Well, he didn’t want to praise her out loud, but it was…nice of her. Okay, nice wasn’t the perfect word—honestly, the fact that she even had to do something like this was a little bitter at its core—but it didn’t change the fact that she was being a good friend.

He watched her for a moment, not even realizing he had gone quiet. He realized he’d never actually seen her interact with her people, her team, but he had somehow assumed their dynamic was more… detached. Not that she genuinely considered them her friends and actually cared.

"Finally caught up, genius?" she asked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

Spencer snapped out of it. Okay, so maybe she cared about her friends—but she was still seriously unbearable.

"I get it. Except for one thing," he replied, matching her slightly rude tone, one that made him sound almost offended. She raised a brow, nodded as if giving him permission to continue, and started walking again—this time at a slower pace.

Actually, they were moving at almost the same rhythm now, nearly side by side.

"Why do you need me for this?"

Their eyes met, but this time, she didn’t look like she was about to mock him. In fact, the corners of her lips lifted slightly, as if she thought that was a very good question.

"Because tonight, pretty boy, I plan to stay completely on the sidelines," she explained. "Not interfering with my friend or her date in any way. Being completely invisible."

"Invisible?" he repeated, raising his eyebrows.

It wasn’t even just about what she was wearing. Drawing attention was simply an unavoidable part of her presence. She nodded in confirmation.

"Exactly. But I figured that to keep away all the desperate guys trying to get my number, all I need to do is bring one with me," she looked like she was trying not to laugh. "You’re gonna be my scarecrow."

Spencer's mouth fell slightly open, completely at a loss for words.

"You…you are just… just…"

"Amazing, smart, beautiful, wonderful…"

"Shameless. That’s the word"

For a moment, she didn’t respond, her expression filled with a strange kind of complacency.

"Love when you compliment me," she said in an overly sweet tone.

"That wasn’t—" he started, but then cut himself off, realizing there was probably no point in arguing with her. He sighed.

"You’re welcome."

*

Despite the late hour, the bar wasn’t overcrowded. Sure, there were plenty of people inside, but most were engaged in quiet conversations over their drinks. Spencer noticed quite a few couples. As if they were one of them, they found a secluded spot in the corner, right next to a small pool table made of dark wood with a striking green surface.

"That’s them," the woman discreetly motioned with her head toward the pair at the bar— a cascade of blonde curls and the man accompanying her. She fixed them with an assessing gaze, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Hm. He looks like his pictures. I’ll take that as the first good sign."

"She shows you pictures of her dates?"

"Every single time. We rate them on a scale from one to ten."

Spencer wasn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze briefly shifted in their direction, though he made sure not to stare, not wanting to make them look weird. The pair seemed to be talking a little shyly—it was obvious this was their first meeting.

“So,” he started. “Is this what we’re going to do all night? Just stand here?”

“Basically, yeah. I mean, we don’t have to just stand around like a couple of creeps, staring at them. We can enjoy our date. Just because it’s fake doesn’t mean it can’t be fun,” she said, slowly circling the pool table until they were on opposite sides.

She slipped off her outer layer, and Spencer couldn’t help but notice that her outfit underneath did anything but help her stay invisible. Reaching for a pool cue, she nodded at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“You want to play?”

“No, I want to duel you with the cues,” she scoffed. “I’m a professional, you know.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow slightly as he grabbed a cue of his own.

"Professional?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mhm. World championships and all that. But that was a while ago. Then came the injury, and I had to say goodbye to my career. After that, I had no idea what to do with myself, so I became a chemist," she said, with a casual shrug.

He chuckled at the made-up story, setting the pool balls up into a perfect triangle at the center of the table. Once they were ready, he gestured for her to go ahead.

She refused with an exaggerated, almost overly generous smile. "Oh, no. Amateurs go first."

He held back a roll of his eyes, leaning over the table. The balls scattered across the surface, and from that point on, he'd play with the cue ball. It was her turn now, and Spencer watched her movements closely.

"I didn't know your story before the FBI job was so fascinating," he remarked, trying to throw her off a little.

They hadn't made any bet, but there was a subtle competitiveness in him now.

She shrugged.

"I don't think it's fascinating. More tragic. Lost dreams."

"Right, sorry for my disregard. What kind of injury was it?"

She paused for a moment, focusing on her next shot. One of the balls sank smoothly into a pocket, and a small smile played on her lips.

"Shoulder," she replied casually. "Sometimes it still acts up. I have to go for regular massages."

"Poor thing," he said, his tone teasing.

Her gaze briefly scanned the entire bar, landing once again on her friend. Nothing seemed to bother her, so she returned to the game.

"We're playing just for fun? Don't you think that's a bit boring?"

"Sorry, I don’t want to bet with you again. Paying off debts with you is never easy."

"Come on. You’re having fun with me” 

"You think so?"

“No. I know it."

She potted another ball, gaining the upper hand. Spencer puffed his lips, deciding to focus more on the game. They both did, though it didn't stop them from continuously exchanging similar comments, remarks, and jabs. And despite the countless huffs and eye rolls, he had to admit, he was really having fun. With her.

And even more fun when he realized he was close to winning.

With a certain satisfaction, he noticed she was watching his moves with more attention, her eyes slightly narrowed with cool competition. As he leaned over the table again, she moved toward him lightly, almost as if tiptoeing. She passed by almost unnoticed. In fact, he only realized how close she was when her breath softly grazed the inside of his ear as she spoke in the voice of a social commentator.

"Ladies and gentlemen, to the surprise of the entire audience, amateur Spencer Reid has managed to take the lead," her whisper was laced with feigned suspense. Of course, he refrained from moving, making sure not to make a mistake from distraction. "Will he manage to win today's tournament?"

He straightened up with a sigh, which made her step back slightly. He gave her a look full of mock pity, and she responded by slowly blinking her eyes, imitating the gaze of an innocent angel.

"I'm pretty sure this counts as sabotage," he remarked.

She raised both hands in the air, as if defending herself against the accusation.

"Hey, I'm not doing anything," she denied, a subtle spark in her eye. She gave a quick nod toward the table. "Come on, finish it."

Spencer, uncertain and sensing she was up to something, tried to refocus. When he found the perfect angle and was about to hit the white ball, something nudged his elbow, causing it to roll in the completely wrong direction.

He directed a look at her, mouth open in indignation.

"This is... this is cheating, pure cheating..."

"No idea what you're talking about!" she shot back. She pretended to be serious, though in an incredibly clumsy way. Her lips kept trembling, trying to form a smile, and she struggled to suppress it. "I didn't do anything. Your hand must have slipped..."

At the sight of the expression on his face, she couldn't hold back anymore and burst into laughter. It mixed with the sound of his incessantly muttered, mildly irritated comments under his breath, which absolutely didn't reach her conscience. In fact, it seemed to only make her feel more smug. Spencer finally gave in, letting out a sigh.

"I demand a fair rematch."

With her arms crossed over her chest, she raised an eyebrow.

"Go ahead, then," she said, grabbing the cue stick again.

Her friend and her date were still deep in conversation, sitting much closer than before, with small smiles on their faces. They didn't seem like they were in any hurry to end the evening. A few new people had arrived at the bar, making it louder, but Spencer didn't even notice. He was completely focused on this small, occupied space between them where they were slowly giving in to the growing rivalry, even though nothing had been wagered. It was probably just about pride.

His opponent was doing everything in her power to make his game harder. He'd abandoned all pretenses of fairness and stood right beside her whenever she leaned over the pool table. He didn't even intend to nudge her—but when he was close, she assumed he would and became incredibly cautious, often elbowing him in the ribs to make space for herself to focus. Despite all of this, they were laughing. He even forgot for a moment that he had planned to spend the evening entirely differently.

They played a few more rounds, each of them winning the same number of games. He announced the next one, but before starting, he briefly disappeared into the bathroom. Simply because, well, he needed to use it.

As he washed his hands, he could hear the hum of conversations, laughter, and music, all muffled by the door. It felt a bit warm, despite the fact that he'd taken off his jacket a while ago. For some reason, he suddenly became self-conscious about how he looked, though he hadn't thought about it at all before. After all, it wasn’t like he was on a date with some woman he was trying to impress. Still, driven by some inner impulse, he fixed his hair and smoothed the fabric of his shirt with his hands, rolling up the sleeves so they wouldn’t get wet while washing. He hesitated for a moment before lowering them again, surprised to sense someone's gaze on him.

The tall man with black hair, a rather sturdy build, and narrow glasses on his nose didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at him. Spencer wasn’t sure if he should just walk away, but something made him raise an eyebrow skeptically. He had no idea what was going on.

“Do we know each other?” he asked, genuinely considering the possibility.

He couldn’t recall this man from anywhere, which, given his memory, pretty much ruled out the idea.

“No,” the man replied briefly but confidently, still not breaking eye contact. After a moment, he added, “But I know your friend. I know her well.”

Reid stood still for a moment, embarrassingly slow to realize which friend the man was referring to. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that it struck him—this guy had likely been watching their game for a while and was talking about her. Before Spencer could say anything, the man continued.

“Actually, I used to date her. And listen, I’ve got some advice for you. Just give up on her.”

Spencer blinked, trying to process if he’d misheard.

“Beg your pardon...”

“I’m serious, man. Not because I’m jealous or anything like that,” he quickly clarified, raising both hands as if to declare his sincerity. “It’s just simple, you know, guy solidarity. Don’t waste your time.”

He was struck by a strange feeling that his conversation partner had some mistaken idea about their relationship. Besides, even though the man had clarified that he wasn’t jealous, he sure sounded like a jealous ex. Spencer knew he should just laugh it off and walk away. After all, he wasn’t dating her, didn’t intend to, and whatever the guy had to say about her shouldn’t matter. Yet, his legs refused to simply walk away.

Some curiosity, one he couldn’t shake off, took hold of him.

“What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

A slight smirk appeared on the man’s face as he noticed he had Spencer’s attention.

“I get that you might see something in her. She’s pretty, you have to give her that. At first, even...kind of charming in her arrogance. But once you get to know her...it’s a strong word, but you need to know, she’s fucking insane.”

The language seemed to twist strangely in his mouth.

“That doesn’t tell me much,” he replied dryly. “I mean, anyone could mean something different by saying fucking insane.”

The man scoffed with a bit of contempt. Spencer was beginning to feel increasingly uncomfortable with the whole conversation.

“Okay, you’re probably going to deny it and defend her because you like her, I’ve been there, I get it.”

Because I like her? He almost denied it but stopped himself, letting the man continue.

“She’s just insufferable in the long run. She acts like she knows everything, gives orders, always has to have the last damn word. And you know, at first, you think she’s just playing that part. And then she’ll start acting, well, you know…”

Spencer felt the urge to laugh.

“Submissive?” he suggested, the missing word that seemed to want to spill from the man’s mouth.

“Normally. Just normally.”

Something started to smell between them. A distinctive scent. Wounded male ego.

That alone was enough for Spencer to know not to take this conversation seriously. That alone was enough for him to know he could end this conversation whenever he wanted. But before he could take a single step away, he thought about the entire evening he'd spent with her. Everything, from the first message he’d received while still at his apartment.

He counted how many times during their meeting he’d just laughed, having more fun than he’d had in a while. In some unclear way, he felt he owed her that.

“Let me sum this up,” Spencer began, gesturing with his hand and never breaking eye contact with the man. “Because this, in its way, is strange to me. Funny, even, when you think about it.”

The man furrowed his brow, listening. Spencer remained unfazed as he continued.

“First, you met a commanding, confident, and, okay, a little cheeky woman. That didn’t scare you off, though, and you decided you wanted to start a relationship with her. And when it happened, you were surprised she was commanding and cheeky? You know, she doesn’t pretend she’s not like that. You knew what you were getting into.”

"Fine, you know what, this doesn’t make sense," the man sighed. "Do whatever you want. Just remember, I warned you. One day, you’ll be grateful for this."

"Maybe you're right," Spencer admitted, nodding slowly. "It doesn’t make sense."

The man gave him one last look before scoffing and walking away. Reid was left in the bathroom alone, actually reflecting for a moment on the entire conversation. He didn’t think he should have been a part of it at all. The guy must’ve assumed he was interested, or that they were dating. He didn’t have any insight into what their relationship really looked like. In any case, Spencer imagined what it would be like if another guy were in his place. Her actual date. I wonder if a conversation like that would make him turn away, push him away entirely.

After a moment, he concluded that no, it probably wouldn't have. Assuming, of course, that the other guy wasn’t a complete idiot, blindly believing the words of a hurt, maybe even a little jealous ex.

Though, maybe he couldn’t really judge from his position. The position of someone who wasn’t planning on dating her, and who wasn’t interested in her in that way.

He thought for a moment about whether he should tell her about the conversation. He decided against it, not wanting to spoil or ruin the good mood of their evening. Instead, he straightened his hair and, completely unfazed by what he'd just heard, returned to the pool table where she was leaning, clearly growing impatient with his prolonged absence.

"Finally," she hissed at the sight of him. She almost shoved the cue stick into his hand, a small smirk tugging at her lips. "I thought you were trying to escape me. The thought of another loss scared you, huh?"

He paused for a moment, staring at her face—the slightly parted lips, the warm bar light reflecting in her eyes, and the familiar, confident gleam. For a brief moment, a fleeting thought crossed his mind—what did she even see in that guy?

But almost immediately, he dismissed it, considering it none of his business, and took the cue stick from her, ready to start the next game.

[fireinmoonshot]

home safe | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín's friends call you to come and pick him up after a night out at the bar where he can't stop talking about you. Warnings: Mentions of drinking, being drunk and alcohol. Word Count: 1.5k A/N: I saw a TikTok where a golden retriever boyfriend got so excited when he saw his girlfriend turn up at the bar and my first thought was 'That's so Joaquín' so here this is 😂 Enjoy 💗

Making the most of a rare Friday night alone, you’re about to crack open a new tub of ice cream when your phone buzzes on the counter beside you. With a sigh, you set down the spoon you’d been planning on digging into the ice cream with, and pick up your phone to read the message.

You assume that it’s going to be from Joaquin. He’d gone out to attend the Bachelor Party of one of his best friends, leaving you home alone. He hated to go – he’d said at least twenty times that he wished you could come with him, but he understood that you needed time apart and that it was crucial to a healthy relationship to do things alone. But regardless, he always felt like something was missing when you weren’t there.

He’d also assured you that when he was ready to come home, he’d send you a text so that you could come and pick him up. He’d promised he wouldn’t stay too late, knowing that you would want to try and get a good night sleep as usual and he didn’t want you to have to go to bed without him. With Joaquin, you knew you could trust his word on that.

As you look at your phone, though, you’re surprised to see that the message isn’t from Joaquin, but from Eddie, one of his friends who was also attending the Bachelor Party.

Joaquin is ready when you are… seriously… save us…

You laugh a little as you read his message and quickly type out a reply. I’m almost tempted to leave you guys to deal with him for even longer. But I’ll head out shortly :) 

A little disappointed, you move to put the ice cream back in the freezer. It was going to have to wait until another night now. There’s only one reason why Eddie would be texting you – Joaquin had had too many drinks and was being his usual drunken self, somehow more extroverted than he already was. If anyone thought Joaquin couldn’t shut up when he was sober, then they’d never seen him drunk.

It doesn’t take you too long to get your things together and leave the house. You’ve changed out of your comfy clothes and put on something semi-presentable, knowing you’ll likely have to go inside the bar to bring your boyfriend out, and are in the car on your way towards the bar not long after. 

You send Eddie a text as you walk towards the bar. Whereabouts are you guys?

He surprisingly doesn’t take too long to reply. I’ll come to the front door and get you so you don’t get lost. It’s pretty packed in here. You’d probably hear us before you saw us.

You snort at his message, knowing it’s true, and head into the bar. Eddie is right – the bar is bustling, as expected for a Friday night. There are people everywhere, music pumping through the speakers and you wonder how anyone could have an enjoyable time here without wearing some pretty serious earplugs.

Someone calls out your name and you turn to see Eddie, standing not too far away from you. He beckons you over with a smile and then greets you with a quick hug. All of Joaquin’s friends love you and consider you as much of a friend to them as he is.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” Eddie says as the two of you start to walk back to where he’d come from. “Joaquin… he seriously has not shut up about you since we got here. You’d think that he was the one getting married instead of Mateo.”

You smile to yourself at the thought. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, we’re not,” you say, amused. “I’m sure that it’s just the alcohol though. You and I both know how he gets.”

Eddie laughs. “He hasn’t even had that much to drink compared to some of us.”

As you get closer towards the table where the rest of the group are, you can hear their laughter and loud voices just as Eddie had said. You hear Joaquin’s laugh and instantly smile as you finally lay eyes on him. His cheeks are a little flushed from the alcohol and the smile on his face sets butterflies off in your stomach. 

You can see when he spots you in the crowd just from the way his eyes light up. His jaw drops and then morphs into a grin that takes over his entire face. “Angel!” Joaquin’s voice is loud, impressively so. Despite the loud music, several people turn their heads to look at him.

Before you can even take one more step closer to him, Joaquin is up and away from the booth, running towards you and barrelling straight into you. He picks you up, spinning you around in a circle as you laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s never been happier to see you.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” He exclaims, setting you down on the ground again. 

You laugh, resting your arms over his shoulders. “I was requested to come and pick you up,” you say, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Apparently my boyfriend couldn’t stop talking about me? And I’m pretty sure Mateo is the one who’s meant to be talking about his girlfriend all night instead of you, baby.”

Joaquin looks over his shoulder at his friends. “You guys called in reinforcement?” He says, pretending to be shocked as if he’s not extremely happy to see you. “Listen, Mateo has been talking plenty about his soon to be wife so I figured it was only fair I add in my share.”

Over at the booth, you hear Mateo snort. “I’ve heard you say your girl’s name so many more times than I’ve said mine, Joaquin,” he calls. “Thanks for coming to save us, by the way. We love spending time with your man but I think he loves you more.” His voice is amused.

“You’re so welcome,” you call back. 

Joaquin moves to stand beside you, but he still wraps an arm around your waist, becoming his touchy self again now that you’re here. You’re surprised to see that he isn’t actually as drunk as you had been expecting. Clearly, though, the few drinks he had consumed had made him insufferable enough to his friends.

“Are you guys kicking me out or something?” Joaquin says beside you, pouting a little as he looks over at his friends. “Man, I thought we were having a good night. It’s not even midnight yet!” 

Not that he’s disappointed at the fact that this means he can go home and spend the rest of the night curled up in bed with you… in fact, out of the two scenarios that one is definitely the better sounding one.

“Nah, bro,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m heading out too, so are a few of us. I just got a text from my girl and she’s waiting for me in the car outside. I promised her I wouldn’t stay out too late. She finds it harder to sleep without me now that she’s pregnant, apparently.”

The simple confirmation that Joaquin isn’t the only one leaving is enough to perk his mood right back up. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m just gonna go say bye to the guys and then we can go.” 

You nod, watching him as he heads over to say his goodbyes to everyone and send his well wishes to Mateo, since it’s the last time he’s going to see him before the wedding. It doesn’t take long, though, and soon enough he’s walking back over to you and taking your hand in his. All the boys yell their goodbyes to you as Joaquin leads you out of the bar.

Joaquin keeps hold of your hand while you leave the packed bar. He doesn’t let go even when you’re safely outside, happily trailing along behind you as you lead him over to where your car is parked.

“You know, when I saw you walk in tonight I was a little distracted,” Joaquin says as you stop beside the car and reach into your bag to get your keys out. “Mateo had just said somethin’ real funny and then I looked over and saw you and at first, I thought it couldn’t be you cause I knew you were at home. I just saw you and thought ‘Damn, that girl looks so much like my beautiful girlfriend.’”

“And then you realised it was me and basically jumped on me,” You chuckle, amused as you find the keys and unlock the car.

Joaquin places a hand on your hip. “Can you blame me for that, angel?”

You turn around and lean in to gently peck him on the lips. “I can’t,” you hum. “Now come on, it’s time to get you home and sober you up a bit.”

He smiles and leans in to open the car door for you. He might be a little drunk but he’s still a gentleman who can open the car door for his girlfriend. Once he’s inside, he rests a hand on your thigh as you pull away from the curb and head for home.

“Thanks for coming to get me, angel. Even if it kinda ruined your night alone.”

You glance over at him briefly to give him a reassuring smile. “Knowing that you’re coming home safe matters more to me than spending the rest of my night alone, baby.” 

[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 8/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile.

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 9482

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The door creaked open, and there you were, standing in the doorway in tiny shorts that left little to the imagination and a snug little top that clung to your figure. True to form, you weren’t wearing a bra, and the sight of you standing there, looking so effortlessly gorgeous, sent a bolt of heat through Dean’s already frayed nerves.

You crossed your arms over your chest, an unintentional motion that only emphasized the curves beneath your snug top. Dean’s resolve to keep his eyes on your face faltered, and for a brief moment, his gaze dropped before snapping back up. But the damage was done. His cheeks flushed faintly, and the confident words he’d rehearsed in the Impala dissolved like smoke.

His mouth opened, then closed, his usual charm and swagger completely failing him. For a man who faced monsters without flinching, standing in front of you, looking as effortlessly stunning as you did, left him utterly speechless.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in your eyes despite the uncertainty still lingering there. “Dean?”, you prompted, your voice tinged with curiosity and a touch of impatience. “You planning on saying something, or are you just going to stare all night?”.

Dean blinked, snapping out of his daze, though his tongue felt tied in knots. “Uh—yeah, I…”. He rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a shaky breath. “I had this whole speech planned. You know, something smooth. But now…”.

“Now?”, you pressed, your tone softening just slightly.

Dean sighed, his green eyes locking onto yours, and for once, there was no smirk, no teasing grin. Just raw honesty. “Now I’m standing here like an idiot because everything I wanted to say feels like it’s not enough”.

"You’re balls grew too heavy, huh?”, you grumbled, your voice sharp with hurt as you crossed your arms even tighter over your chest. “I mean, you ghosted me for what? A week? After leaving right after you fucked me, not responding to my text? Even if it’s just something casual, Dean, a little heads up wouldn’t have killed you”.

Dean flinched at your words, his green eyes darting away briefly as guilt washed over his face. He shifted his weight, looking like he’d rather be facing down a pack of vampires than having this conversation. “I didn’t mean to—”, he started, but his voice faltered when he saw the look on your face.

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to try to explain himself. He sighed heavily, awkwardly gesturing with his broken arm with a slight wince. “I had a case”, he mumbled, his voice strained. “Things… got messy”.

“Oh, really?”, you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm as you gestured at his arm. “And I guess the case also broke your ability to send a single text, huh? Something like, ‘Hey, I’m alive, but busy?’ Would that have been so hard?”.

Dean winced again, this time not just from the pain in his arm. He opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I screwed up”, he admitted finally, his voice low and rough. “I thought I was doing the right thing, giving you space”.

“Space?”, you repeated, incredulous. “Dean, I didn’t ask for space. I asked for some goddamn respect. You don’t just vanish on someone you’re… whatever this is with”.

“I know”, he said, his voice softening as he took a tentative step closer to you. “You’re right. I screwed up. And I’m sorry”.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as you looked away from him. “You can’t just waltz in here, say sorry, and expect everything to be okay”.

Dean sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as he looked at you, clearly at a loss for words. His hand moved instinctively, gently sliding around your waist. His touch was tentative, almost hesitant, but the size of his hand against you made you feel smaller, softer, despite the fire still burning in your chest.

“C´mon, sweetheart”, he mumbled, his voice low and coaxing as his thumb brushed against your side. “Don’t be like this”.

You glared up at him, your lips parting to snap back, but the vulnerability in his green eyes gave you pause. He wasn’t just trying to smooth things over—he was trying to save something he thought he’d already lost.

Dean pulled you a little closer, his grip still gentle, as if giving you the chance to pull away if you wanted to. His face was inches from yours now, and the warmth of him, the familiar scent of leather and aftershave, was intoxicating. “I missed you”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, but the sincerity in it hit you like a punch to the chest.

Your breath hitched, your resolve wavering as his words lingered in the air. You wanted to hold onto your anger, to make him understand how much he’d hurt you, but the way he looked at you—with a mix of guilt, longing, and something deeper—made it so damn hard.

“Dean…”, you started, your voice trembling, but he cut you off, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

“I mean it”, he said, his tone firm but soft. His thumb brushed against your skin, his green eyes locking onto yours. “I screwed up. I know I did. But don’t think for a second that I didn’t miss you. Every damn day”.

Your chest tightened, your anger melting under the weight of his confession. You searched his face, looking for any hint of dishonesty, but all you saw was raw, unfiltered emotion. It made your heart ache, even as a small part of you tried to resist.

“Then why didn’t you just say something?”, you whispered, your voice breaking slightly.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, his forehead leaning closer to yours, as if the weight of his own thoughts was too much to bear. He took a shaky breath, his hand still cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin. “I’m just an idiot”, he whispered, his voice low and rough. “An idiot that can’t get you out of his head".

The rawness in his words struck something deep inside you, unraveling the anger you’d held onto like a shield. You could see the conflict in his green eyes when they finally opened again—the struggle between wanting to tell you everything and the fear that it wouldn’t be enough.

You sighed deeply, the weight of his words settling over you like a heavy blanket. The vulnerability in his voice, the way his green eyes searched yours for any sign of forgiveness—it all made your chest ache. But you couldn’t keep standing there, tangled in emotions without an outlet.

You took a small step back, gently pulling away from his touch. His hand lingered in the air for a moment before dropping to his side, his expression shifting to something unreadable. Without saying a word, you turned and pulled the door open wide, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“You’re paying for pizza”, you grumbled, your tone half-annoyed, half-teasing.

Dean blinked, his brows furrowing in confusion before a small, relieved smile crept onto his lips. He let out a soft chuckle, scratching the back of his neck as he stepped inside. “Yeah, alright”, he said, his voice lighter than it had been all night. “Fair enough”.

You closed the door behind him, shaking your head as you tried to ignore the flutter in your chest. It wasn’t forgiveness—not entirely—but it was something. A start. And right now, that was enough.

Dean glanced around your apartment, his hands in his pockets as he tried to act casual, though the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. “You want the usual?”, he asked, shooting you a sideways look.

“Extra cheese”, you replied, heading toward the kitchen to grab a couple of beers. You didn’t look back at him, but you could feel his gaze on you, warm and steady.

When you returned with the beers, Dean had already grabbed his phone, dialing the number for your favorite pizza place. As he placed the order, you sat down on the couch, pulling your legs up and wrapping your arms around your knees. You weren’t sure what the rest of the night would bring, but for now, you’d take this small, fragile peace.

The pizza barely had time to cool down before the inevitable happened.

What started as a playful exchange—a teasing comment here, a sly look there—quickly spiraled into something far more intense. Dean’s hands, calloused but oh-so-gentle, found their way to your waist as you passed him a beer. A smirk tugged at his lips, his green eyes darkening as he leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. That was all it took.

Moments later, you found yourself pressed against the wall, Dean’s lips devouring yours with a hunger that sent a thrill racing down your spine. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch as if memorizing the way you felt beneath him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as a soft moan escaped your lips, spurring him on.

The next thing you knew, he had you on the couch, your back arching as he kissed his way down your neck, his name tumbling from your lips. Every touch, every kiss, every rough and whispered "Fuck, I missed you", set your skin on fire.

When he flipped you onto your stomach, his body pressing into yours as he trailed kisses along your shoulder, you felt yourself trembling beneath him. "You drive me crazy," he muttered against your skin, his voice thick with need. And as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back against him, you gasped his name again, breathless.

But Dean wasn’t done. The living room was just the beginning.

By the time you made it to the bedroom, your body was spent, yet every touch reignited that burning desire. He had you on top of him, his hands guiding your movements, his low groans of pleasure mixing with your breathless cries. "That’s it, sweetheart", he rasped, his voice strained but full of praise. "Just like that".

Every position, every moment, was a dance of passion and desperation, neither of you able to get enough. By the time you were lying in front of him on your knees, his hands on your waist as he pulled you back into him with each thrust, your legs were trembling, and your voice was hoarse from crying out his name.

"Dean", you moaned, your head falling back as you gave yourself completely to him, every nerve alight and every ounce of tension replaced by pure, unfiltered pleasure. He groaned in response, his grip tightening as his pace quickened, chasing both of you toward the edge.

When you finally collapsed onto the bed, your chest heaving and your body trembling in the aftermath, Dean fell beside you, his own breathing ragged. His hand reached for yours, lacing your fingers together as the quiet settled around you.

"Still mad at me?", he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You laughed softly, too spent to argue. "Ask me tomorrow".

Dean smirked at your breathless response, his green eyes glinting with mischief as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your ear. “Well”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, “that means I didn’t do my job good enough”.

Before you could process his words, Dean was already shifting, trailing kisses down your stomach as he moved lower. His strong hands gently nudged your thighs apart, spreading them wide despite your soft whine of protest.

“Dean”, you whimpered, your voice tinged with exhaustion and the dull ache of overstimulation. “I’m so—”.

“Shh”, he cut you off, his hands gripping your thighs firmly but tenderly. “I’ll be gentle. Promise”. His voice was a soothing rasp, but the hungry look in his eyes betrayed his restraint. “Just let me take care of you, sweetheart”.

His lips pressed soft kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, making you shiver despite the soreness radiating through your body. He didn’t rush, didn’t push you too far, instead letting his tongue and lips work their magic with slow, deliberate care. The heat of his mouth, combined with the pressure of his hands keeping you steady, made your head spin.

“Dean…”, you gasped, your fingers tangling in the sheets as he pressed a kiss right where you were most sensitive. The tenderness in his movements made you ache in a different way—not just physically but emotionally, as if he were pouring everything he couldn’t say into every touch.

“You’re so damn perfect”, he muttered against your skin, his voice reverent as he buried his face between your thighs. His tongue moved languidly, teasing you with soft, featherlight strokes before he pressed a little harder, making you whimper as the tension built again, slow and steady.

Despite your soreness, your body responded to him almost instantly, your hips twitching involuntarily as his mouth worked wonders. He hummed softly, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through you. “Let me hear you, sweetheart”, he murmured, his words muffled against you.

You couldn’t stop the moans slipping from your lips, your hands gripping the sheets tighter as he coaxed you closer and closer to the edge, his pace never faltering. Every stroke of his tongue, every gentle squeeze of his hands, was designed to drive you wild, to show you just how much he cared without needing words.

When your body finally gave in, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave, Dean didn’t stop. He stayed with you, his lips and tongue working you through every last tremor, his hands holding you steady as you fell apart beneath him.

As your breathing slowed and the haze of pleasure began to clear, Dean pulled back just enough to look up at you, his lips glistening and his green eyes full of satisfaction. “Better?”, he asked, his smirk softening into a tender smile.

You could only nod, too spent to speak, but the look in your eyes said it all. Dean leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before collapsing beside you on the bed.

Dean pulled you close, his arm wrapping securely around you while you instinctively shifted, careful not to press against his broken arm. He winced slightly as he adjusted, but his grip on you didn’t falter. His chin rested lightly on the top of your head, and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the storm of emotions he’d been holding back all week.

You nestled against him, your fingers brushing lightly over the uninjured side of his chest, the quiet between you soothing. But as you tilted your head up to look at him, your eyes flicked to his bruised and bandaged arm. Concern clouded your expression, and you whispered softly, “You should go to the hospital with that, Dean”.

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on you slightly. “I’ll be fine”, he muttered, his voice warm but dismissive. “Just need a little time, that’s all”.

You frowned, your hand resting gently on his chest. “Dean, a broken arm isn’t something you just shake off”.

He tilted his head down to meet your gaze, his green eyes filled with affection and a hint of amusement. “You worried about me, sweetheart?”, he teased, though his voice carried more tenderness than usual.

You rolled your eyes, giving him a pointed look as your fingers traced lightly over his uninjured chest. “Of course I’m worried about you”, you said, your tone a mix of exasperation and genuine concern. “Do you have any idea how stubborn you are?”.

Dean smirked, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’ve heard rumors”, he quipped, though the slight wince that followed gave away the pain he was trying to downplay.

You huffed, shaking your head as you pushed yourself up slightly, your gaze flicking back to his bandaged arm. “This isn’t funny, Dean. You need to take care of yourself. What happens if it gets worse?”.

Dean reached up with his good hand, brushing his thumb lightly across your cheek as his smirk softened into something more affectionate. “Then I’ll have you to yell at me some more”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “Pretty good deal, if you ask me”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, though you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”.

“And yet, here you are”, Dean shot back, his grin widening as he tugged you back down against his chest. “Guess I’m doing something right”.

You sighed, resting your head against him again, though the worry in your chest didn’t ease. “Fine”, you muttered, your voice muffled against his skin. “But if I have to drag your ass to the hospital myself, I will”.

Dean chuckled, the sound rumbling beneath your ear. “Noted”, he murmured, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “But for now, can we just stay like this? Just for a little while?”.

You smiled softly, letting yourself relax into his warmth despite the lingering worry. “Alright”, you whispered. “Just for a little while”.

And as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you felt the weight of the world slip away, if only for a moment.

For the next two weeks, Dean stayed every night, a constant presence that both surprised and comforted you. He didn’t vanish in the morning anymore, didn’t leave you guessing or questioning what you were to him. Instead, he was there when you woke up, holding you close, his warmth and touch a quiet reassurance of something unspoken between you.

This morning was no different—except it was Dean who woke first.

It was just after eight, though you were still deeply asleep after he’d worn you out completely until four in the morning. Dean, however, was wide awake, his green eyes watching you with a mixture of affection and desire. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned in, his lips finding the soft skin of your neck, pressing open-mouthed, lingering kisses along the curve. His tongue flicked out gently, tasting your skin, his stubble adding a delicious roughness that had you stirring beneath him.

He didn’t stop there. His kisses trailed lower, down to your shoulder, his hands already moving to cup your bare breasts. His palms were warm and firm, his thumbs brushing over your nipples with just enough pressure to draw a soft, sleepy moan from your lips.

You stirred, your breath hitching as you slowly woke to the heat of his mouth and the teasing movements of his hands. “Dean…”, you murmured, your voice still thick with sleep, your body instinctively arching toward his touch.

“Morning, sweetheart”, he rumbled against your skin, his voice low and gravelly, sending a shiver through you. His lips continued their journey, trailing lower as his hands kneaded gently, coaxing you further out of your sleepy haze.

You let out a breathy laugh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you shifted beneath him. “Didn’t we just…?”, you whispered, your words trailing off into a soft gasp as his mouth found a particularly sensitive spot on your collarbone.

Dean chuckled, his breath warm against your skin. “Guess I didn’t wear you out enough”, he teased, his hands sliding lower, over the curve of your waist and hips. “But don’t worry—I plan on fixing that”.

Before you could respond, he shifted, his body pressing closer to yours as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss. His touch was unrelenting, his movements deliberate, and any lingering traces of sleep quickly dissolved under the intensity of his attention.

“Dean”, you breathed again, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and surrender as his hand slid between your thighs, already coaxing you back to the edge of bliss.

“Yeah, sweetheart”, he murmured against your lips, his green eyes dark with desire as he grinned down at you. “I’m not done with you yet”.

After the shower, you sat cross-legged on your bed, a towel wrapped around you as you texted your best friend. She’d been your confidant through everything, from the day you met Dean to the rollercoaster of emotions that followed. You blushed softly as you typed, recounting the past two weeks—the way Dean had been staying, holding you, and how different it felt compared to anything you’d experienced before.

A soft smirk crossed your lips as you sent the message, but you quickly dropped your phone when Dean emerged from the bathroom. His towel hung low on his hips, the droplets of water trailing down his chest making your blush deepen.

“Who you texting that’s got you all flustered like that?”, Dean asked, his voice low and teasing as he ran a hand through his damp hair. His green eyes sparkled with curiosity, and his smirk hinted at just how much he enjoyed catching you off guard.

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly flipped your phone face-down on the bed. “No one”, you mumbled, your voice a little too quick, betraying your attempt to sound casual. Before he could press further, you stood and stepped closer, pressing a kiss to his lips to distract him. “I’m making coffee”, you whispered against his mouth before slipping out of his grasp and heading toward the door.

Dean stayed back, shaking his head slightly as he watched you go, a grin playing on his lips. He moved to grab his clothes, pulling on his boxers and jeans. As he reached for his shirt, though, the soft ping of your phone caught his attention.

He hesitated, glancing at the door to make sure you weren’t about to walk back in. Curiosity got the better of him, and he picked up your phone, the screen lighting up to show the notification.

A text from your best friend: “Yeah, the dumb ones always fucking you raw“.

Dean stared at your phone, the words on the screen glaring back at him like a slap to the face. The phrase “the dumb ones always fucking you raw” played over and over in his mind, and for a moment, he just stood there, his jaw tightening as he processed it.

Dumb.

Was that really how you saw him? The word felt heavier than it should, loaded with every insecurity he’d buried deep down for weeks now. Sure, you’d said it before…Sam being the smarter one, and yeah, he wasn’t exactly a walking encyclopedia like his brother, but dumb? That stung. Badly.

Dean set the phone back on the bed with an almost deliberate care, his mind spinning. He wasn’t a genius, sure. But he wasn’t stupid either. He could piece together cases, track supernatural threats, keep himself and Sam alive through sheer grit and experience. Hell, he’d practically raised his brother while hunting monsters. But this? This made him feel like all of that didn’t matter.

He ran a hand down his face, muttering under his breath as he tried to shake off the feeling. “It’s just a joke”, he said to himself, though the words felt hollow. But no matter how much he tried to brush it off, the weight of the word lingered.

When you came back into the room with two steaming mugs of coffee, your smile faltered slightly as you saw the tightness in his jaw and the way his shoulders were squared, like he was bracing himself for something.

“You okay?”, you asked, setting the mugs down on the nightstand and moving closer to him.

Dean glanced at you, his green eyes dark and unreadable, before forcing a faint smirk onto his lips. “Yeah, peachy”, he said, though his tone didn’t carry its usual charm.

You frowned, stepping closer to him and placing a hand on his arm. “What’s wrong?”, you pressed, your voice soft. "Something happend?".

Dean watched you for a long second, his green eyes searching your face as if trying to decide whether to say something or let it go. Finally, he shook his head, forcing a faint smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Nah”, he mumbled, his voice gruff. “Everything’s fine”.

Before you could press him further, he leaned down and kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for just a moment too long. Then he straightened up, grabbing his shirt from the back of the chair and tugging it over his head. He reached for one of the mugs of coffee you’d set down, wrapping his hands around it like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You frowned, watching him carefully. Something was off—you could feel it in the tension radiating from him—but Dean had always been good at deflecting, at hiding what was really going on beneath the surface. You wanted to push, but you also didn’t want to risk making things worse.

“I’ll see you tonight?”, you asked softly, searching his face for any sign of what was bothering him.

Dean nodded, his smirk softening just slightly. “Yeah”, he said, his voice quieter now. “I’ll be around”.

You hesitated, but eventually nodded, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before grabbing your bag and heading out the door for work. The sound of the door closing echoed through the quiet apartment, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

He sat there for a moment, staring into the black surface of the coffee in his mug. The words from your phone flashed in his mind again, and the knot in his chest tightened. Letting out a sharp breath, he set the mug down on the counter and grabbed his jacket.

Dean didn’t waste any time as he left your apartment, heading straight for the Impala. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he gripped the steering wheel tightly, the leather creaking under his fingers. He didn’t know exactly what he was feeling—hurt, anger, frustration.

With a quick glance in the rearview mirror, he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, heading back to the bunker. The drive was quiet, the rumble of Baby’s engine the only sound as Dean tried to push the thoughts out of his head.

But they wouldn’t go away. Not this time. Not when it felt like all those old insecurities he’d buried over the last few weeks were bubbling back to the surface.

By the time he reached the bunker, his jaw was tight and his hands ached from gripping the wheel. He parked Baby in the garage and sat there for a moment, his heart pounding as he tried to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next.

He didn’t have an answer. But he knew he couldn’t face you until he did.

As the evening settled in, you found yourself in the kitchen, carefully stirring the pot of pasta sauce you’d decided to make. Cooking wasn’t usually your thing, but tonight, you wanted to do something special—something Dean might appreciate. The idea of him walking through your door, teasing you about your newfound domestic streak before digging into a meal you’d actually made, brought a small smile to your face.

But as the minutes ticked by, your smile faded. The clock on the wall showed that Dean was already running late. He’d never been the punctual type, but he was consistent—always showing up within a certain window. You tried not to let the unease creeping into your chest take hold. Maybe he was just stuck on something or running errands.

Finally, you grabbed your phone and sent a quick text: “Hey, when are you coming over? Food’s ready”.

You set the phone down on the counter, your heart sinking as the seconds stretched into minutes with no reply. You busied yourself with the finishing touches on the meal, checking your phone every few moments until, finally, it pinged with a response.

Dean’s message was short and to the point: “Can’t make it tonight. Got an important case in Texas”.

Your stomach sank as you stared at the screen, reading and rereading the message. It was so unlike him, so abrupt. He hadn’t even mentioned he was leaving town, let alone for a case.

You typed back, trying to keep your tone light despite the growing weight in your chest: “Texas? Since when? Thought you’d give me a heads-up”.

A few minutes passed before his reply came in: “Sorry. Came up last minute. I’ll call you when I can”.

The disappointment hit you hard, though you told yourself it shouldn’t. You weren’t his girlfriend, not officially. Dean wasn’t the kind of guy who made promises or stuck to plans. But after the last two weeks, after how he’d been showing up for you—staying the night, holding you close—it felt like you’d turned a corner. Like maybe this was something more.

You set your phone down and sighed, staring at the meal you’d prepared with care. The table was set, candles lit, everything perfect. But now, the apartment felt achingly empty.

“It’s fine”, you muttered to yourself, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “It’s not like you had expectations”.

Still, the sting of his absence lingered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the unsettling ache of being alone.

The evening dragged on as you sat in your quiet kitchen, the food on the table growing cold. You picked at your plate, but every bite felt heavy, tasteless. The glow of the candles, which had once seemed warm and inviting, now felt hollow and out of place.

Your phone sat beside you, screen dark and unyielding. Dean hadn’t texted again, and the last message—“I’ll call you when I can”—played in your mind like a cruel echo. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t a big deal. He’d been clear from the beginning that this thing between you was casual, undefined. But the way he’d held you, kissed you, whispered how much he missed you—it felt like so much more. And now? Now it felt like he’d pulled back again, retreating into the walls he’d always kept so tightly around himself.

After an hour of sitting in silence, you blew out the candles and cleared the table, shoving the untouched leftovers into the fridge. The apartment felt stifling, so you grabbed your jacket and went for a walk, hoping the cool night air would clear your head. But even as you wandered the quiet streets, your thoughts kept circling back to Dean.

Why had he been so short, so abrupt? Something didn’t sit right, but you didn’t know if it was your insecurities talking or if there really was something he wasn’t telling you.

By the time you got home, the ache in your chest had dulled into a numb kind of sadness. You showered, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, replaying every moment of the past two weeks in your mind.

Meanwhile, Dean sat in the bunker’s library, nursing a glass of whiskey as he stared at his phone. The screen was dark, but your name sat at the top of his messages, the text you’d sent still unanswered. He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting as the silence stretched on.

“Texas”, he muttered to himself, the lie tasting bitter even now. He wasn’t in Texas. There was no case. But what was he supposed to do? Tell you the truth? That he’d read the text from your friend, let his insecurities spiral, and now didn’t know how to face you without feeling like an idiot?

He took another sip of whiskey, the burn doing little to chase away the hollow feeling in his chest. He wanted to see you, wanted to tell you that he missed you more than he could put into words, but the fear of not being enough—of screwing this up—kept him rooted to the spot.

Sam walked into the room, glancing at Dean with a raised eyebrow. “Still drinking?”, he asked, his tone light but curious. “Thought you’d be halfway to her place by now”.

Dean shot him a look, his green eyes sharp. “Not in the mood, Sammy”.

Sam didn’t press, but the knowing glance he gave Dean said enough. “Whatever you’re running from, you’re only making it worse… Again”, he said before walking off, leaving Dean alone with his thoughts.

Dean sighed, setting the glass down and rubbing a hand over his face. He hated this—hated the distance he was putting between you, hated the way his own doubts were winning. But for now, he couldn’t seem to find a way out of his own head.

And so the night passed, both of you lying in your separate beds, each feeling the absence of the other in a way that was impossible to ignore.

The fifth night of silence was the breaking point.

You sat on your couch, staring at your phone, the cursor blinking at the edge of the text you’d typed and erased a dozen times. The past few days had been unbearable—Dean’s responses had been short, almost dismissive, and he hadn’t shown up once. Whatever spark had been keeping the two of you connected now felt like a dying ember, and you couldn’t take the uncertainty anymore.

You took a deep breath, your fingers trembling as you typed the words you’d been too afraid to admit, even to yourself, until now.

I think I fell in love with you.

You stared at the message, your heart pounding in your chest as you hovered over the send button.

What was the worst that could happen? He didn’t feel the same? He was already pulling away, so what did you really have to lose?

Before you could second-guess yourself, you hit send, the message disappearing into the ether. The instant it was gone, panic set in. You stared at your phone, the silence in the room amplifying your racing thoughts.

Seconds passed. Then a minute. Then five. No reply.

The knot in your stomach tightened, and you set your phone down, trying to convince yourself you’d done the right thing. At least now, you knew you’d said what you needed to. The ball was in his court.

Dean’s phone buzzed on the workbench in the bunker’s garage, where he’d been elbow-deep in tinkering with the Impala’s engine. He wiped his hands on a rag, grabbing the phone with a sigh. Another text, probably from Sam reminding him about some supply run, or maybe Jodie—

The message stopped him cold.

I think I fell in love with you.

Dean stared at the words, his heart slamming against his ribs as if the engine in front of him had roared to life. His hand tightened around the phone, and for a moment, he just stood there, the world narrowing to that single line of text.

You’d fallen for him. Him. Dean Winchester.

His first instinct was disbelief—how could you, of all people, feel that way about him?

Dean stared at the message, his mind racing in a million different directions, each one darker than the last. For a moment, the sheer disbelief was almost comforting—how could someone like you, with your spark, your kindness, fall for someone like him? But as the seconds ticked by, a gnawing doubt crept in, whispering insidious thoughts he couldn’t shake.

What if this wasn’t real?

His second guess was like a punch to the gut. What if you were messing with him? Hell, what if this was just a game, something to laugh about later with your friend? He could practically hear it now: “Guess what I told Dean Winchester? Yeah, that dumb guy”.

The thought twisted in his chest, sharp and painful, leaving him paralyzed. It was stupid, he knew that. You weren’t cruel. You weren’t that kind of person. But the voice in his head didn’t care about logic—it was the same voice that told him he wasn’t enough, that he never would be.

Dean leaned against the Impala, the cool metal grounding him as he clenched his phone in his hand. The words on the screen felt heavier now, suffocating. He wanted to believe you meant it, wanted it more than he’d let himself admit. But trusting that—trusting anyone—had never come easy to him.

He typed out a response, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard before deleting it. Then he tried again, this time settling on something simple, something that wouldn’t give too much away.

"Why?".

It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t clever. But it was the only thing he could manage without letting his doubts spill out completely. He hit send, his heart pounding as the message disappeared, and he tossed the phone onto the bench like it had burned him.

Now all he could do was wait.

You stared at Dean’s reply on your phone: “Why?”.

Your brow furrowed, a mix of confusion and anxiety tightening your chest. Why? What was that supposed to mean? Why did you feel this way? Why were you telling him? Why… what?

Fingers trembling, you typed back quickly, the raw emotion behind your words bleeding through: “Why? What do you mean why?”.

You hit send, staring at the screen as your heart raced, every second feeling like an eternity.

Meanwhile, Dean sat on the bench in the garage, your message lighting up his screen. He stared at it, his jaw tightening as the doubts that had consumed him for days came roaring back to life. It wasn’t just the distance he’d put between the two of you—it was the text. That damn text from your friend: “Yeah, the dumb ones always fucking you raw”.

The words had seared themselves into his brain, gnawing at every insecurity he’d ever had. He could almost hear the implied laughter behind it, like he was some sort of joke. Like all he was good for was the physical—like he wasn’t worth anything more.

Dean leaned forward, rubbing his hand over his face as he tried to push the thoughts away. He didn’t want to believe you saw him that way. Hell, he knew you weren’t the type to mock someone behind their back. But the fear lingered. Maybe it wasn’t about you being cruel—maybe it was just the truth. Maybe he really was the dumb one in your eyes, good enough for a roll in the sheets but not enough to be the kind of man you’d fall for.

The buzzing of his phone jolted him from his thoughts. He picked it up reluctantly, your message staring back at him: “Why? What do you mean why?”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his fingers tightening around the phone. He could imagine you, sitting there, confused and probably hurt, wondering why the hell he couldn’t just give you a straight answer. He hated this. Hated himself for dragging it out instead of facing it head-on.

Dean hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard as a thousand thoughts warred in his mind. He wanted to be honest, but the weight of his insecurities pressed down on him, making it nearly impossible to put what he felt into words.

Finally, he started typing, his thumbs moving slowly, each word feeling like a gamble:

“I mean, why would you fall for someone like me?”.

He stared at the message for a long moment before hitting send, the knot in his stomach tightening even further. Dean knew he sounded pathetic, but the words felt real—raw and unfiltered. It was the best he could manage, even if it left him exposed.

Back at your apartment, your phone buzzed, and your breath hitched as you read his response. Your brow furrowed in confusion and disbelief. Why would you fall for him? What kind of question was that? Did he really not see how much he meant to you?

You typed back almost immediately, your heart pounding as the words spilled out:

“Dean, are you seriously asking that?”.

Dean leaned back against the Impala, his broken arm resting gingerly in his lap as his phone buzzed with your response. He stared at it for a moment, then sighed heavily, his thumbs moving across the keyboard with the weight of every doubt and insecurity that had been eating at him for days.

“Sure do”, he typed back, the words bitter even in text. “Since when are you falling for the dumb ones? Thought I´m only good for a nice fuck”.

He hit send before he could overthink it, his heart sinking as he stared at the screen. He hated himself for saying it, but the words reflected every fear he couldn’t shake.

Back at your apartment, you read his reply, and the meaning behind it hit you like a bolt of lightning. It clicked. The text from your friend—the one Dean must’ve seen. Your heart sank, your fingers trembling as you thought about how that stupid comment might have twisted everything.

You quickly opened the chat with your friend, scrolling back to the message that started it all. You’d replied to her then, hadn’t you? Something about how wrong she was, about how Dean wasn’t dumb, not even close. You found your response, your words glaring back at you:

“Dean’s not dumb. Sure, he’s not into books like I am, but he’s life smart. He’s caring, passionate, funny, and real. He makes me laugh when I need it, makes me feel safe, makes me feel… loved. Even without saying it. He makes me happy. And I think I´m in love with him”.

The memory of typing those words made your chest ache, and now, you realized just how much they still rang true. You’d seen the best of Dean Winchester, the man who could brighten your darkest days and make you feel like you were the only person in the world who mattered. He wasn’t dumb—he was everything.

Without wasting another second, you grabbed your keys and slipped on your shoes, your mind racing as you headed to your car.

The drive to the bunker felt like an eternity, every second weighed down by the things you needed to say, the things you hoped Dean would finally hear.

When you pulled into the familiar driveway, you barely registered the rumble of your engine shutting off. You hurried to the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked with more urgency than you intended.

A few moments later, the door swung open, and it wasn’t Dean who stood there—it was Sam. His expression shifted from mild curiosity to surprise when he saw you, his brows raising slightly. “Y/N”, he said, stepping aside to let you in. “Wasn’t expecting you”.

“Is Dean here?”, you asked, your voice breathless but determined.

Sam studied you for a moment, his sharp eyes catching the tension in your posture, the flush in your cheeks. He nodded, tilting his head toward the garage. “Yeah, he’s working on Baby. Again”.

You murmured a quick thanks, brushing past him as you made your way through the bunker, your footsteps echoing against the walls. The sound of tools clinking and the low hum of music reached you as you approached the garage, your heart racing faster with every step.

When you reached the doorway, you saw him. Dean was bent over the Impala, his focus on whatever part of her he was tinkering with. His bandaged arm rested at his side, a clear sign he wasn’t pushing it too hard, though the tension in his shoulders was impossible to miss.

“Dean”, you said softly, your voice cutting through the quiet like a knife.

He froze, his hand tightening on the wrench before he slowly straightened up and turned to face you. His green eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The weight of everything unspoken between you hung heavy in the air.

“You shouldn’t be here”, he said finally, his voice rough and guarded. “I thought I made that clear”.

You took a deep breath, stepping closer, your voice soft but steady. “So that’s what you’ve been doing?”, you asked quietly, meeting his green eyes. “Being all distant and cold to… what? End things?”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he set the wrench down with more force than necessary. “There’s nothing to end”, he grumbled, his voice low and defensive, but the flicker of hurt in his eyes betrayed him. “Not if there wasn’t anything there to begin with”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you refused to back down. “Don’t do that”, you said, your tone firmer now. “Don’t stand there and act like none of this mattered. Like I didn’t matter”.

Dean let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair as he turned away, his back to you. “You don’t get it”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You think you know me, but you don’t”.

“Then tell me”, you pressed, stepping closer to him. “Tell me what I don’t know, Dean”.

He turned back to you abruptly, his green eyes blazing with frustration and something deeper—something raw. “You think you fell for me, huh?”, he snapped, his voice laced with bitterness. “What happens when the shiny, exciting part of this wears off? When you wake up one day and realize I’m not the guy you want?”.

You stared at him, taken aback by the vulnerability bleeding through his words. “Dean…”.

“No, let me finish”, he interrupted, his voice rough. “You think I don’t know how this ends? I’m the dumb one, remember? I’m good for a good time, maybe a distraction, but that’s it. That’s all I’ve ever been to anyone”.

You hesitated, your chest tightening at the pain behind Dean’s words. His self-doubt was laid bare, raw and vulnerable, and you couldn’t let him believe that about himself—not when you’d seen the truth. You stepped closer, your voice soft but steady as you spoke.

“Dean”, you said, your hands reaching out to gently touch his arms, “I won’t lie. I had my reservations at first. I mean, you came across like… like someone who’d promise a good time and then leave before sunrise”.

He flinched slightly, the truth of your words cutting deeper than you intended. But before he could pull away, you tightened your grip, grounding him.

“But you’re not just that”, you continued, your voice firmer now. “You’re so much more. You care so deeply about the people around you—even when you try to hide it. You’re the guy who fights for people, who carries more weight on his shoulders than anyone should have to. You make me feel safe. You make me laugh when I need it the most. And you… you make me feel seen, Dean. Like I’m not just someone passing through your life”.

Dean kept looking away, his jaw tightening and loosening as if he was trying to process what you were saying but didn’t quite believe it. The tension in his shoulders was palpable, and you could see the war in his mind playing out in the way his hands flexed at his sides.

You sighed softly, stepping closer, your voice quieter but firm. “And you’re absolutely not dumb, Dean”, you said, the words carrying a weight you hoped he’d feel. “Yeah, you’re a fucking dork sometimes. You say ridiculous stuff, make more jokes than anything, but that doesn’t make you dumb”.

He flinched again, his eyes still not meeting yours. You hesitated for a moment, then reached up, your hand brushing against his scruffy jaw. It took effort, especially given how much taller he was, but you gently guided his face to look at you, searching his eyes for some sign that he was listening.

“Look at you”, you murmured, your thumb grazing his cheek, the rough texture grounding you. “You’re the guy who figures out how to save people when no one else can. You can walk into a room and know exactly what’s wrong, who’s hiding what, and how to fix it. You think that’s not smart?”.

Dean’s green eyes flicked to yours, uncertain and guarded, but you could tell he was listening now. You smiled softly, your heart aching as you continued. “I don’t care if you don’t know useless stuff like advanced math or politics or whatever other crap people think makes someone smart. That stuff doesn’t matter to me”.

You stepped even closer, your other hand resting lightly on his chest. “What matters to me is that you know how to keep people safe. That you know how to make me laugh when I feel like the world’s falling apart. That you care more than you let anyone see, even when it’s eating you alive. That’s where you’re smart, Dean. And that’s what makes you… you”.

Dean’s gaze softened, the hard lines of his face easing as your words reached him. His hands, which had been hanging tensely at his sides, slowly moved, one brushing against your waist as though he needed to anchor himself. You stepped even closer, your voice dropping to a whisper, your heart pounding as you laid everything bare.

“You’re passionate”, you murmured, your fingers gently brushing his cheek. “About everything you love. Baby, the job, the people you care about—you throw yourself into all of it, even when it costs you”.

Dean swallowed hard, his green eyes locked onto yours, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as you continued.

“And that’s why I fell for you”, you admitted, the words trembling slightly as they left your lips. “You’re not like everyone else, Dean. You’re not just some guy who passes through someone’s life. You make people feel safe, feel seen. You make me feel seen”.

His hand tightened slightly on your waist, his jaw working as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

You smiled faintly, your cheeks flushing as you added, “And yeah, sure, you’ve given me the most and best orgasms I’ve ever had in my life”. That earned a faint, shaky laugh from him, his lips twitching upward despite the storm in his eyes.

“But that’s not why I fell for you”, you said, your tone softening again. “It’s the quiet moments, Dean. The way you handle me when it’s just us. The way you hold me like I’m the only thing keeping you grounded. The way you look at me like I matter”.

His breath hitched, and he looked away for a moment, his fingers flexing on your waist before his green eyes flicked back to yours. “You do matter”, he said, his voice low and rough, thick with emotion he could barely contain. “More than I can even—”.

He cut himself off, his free hand coming up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world. “You deserve better than me”, he whispered, but his voice wavered, and you could see the fear and doubt warring with the undeniable truth of his feelings.

“Let me decide that”, you whispered back, leaning into his touch. “You’ve already shown me everything I need to know”.

Dean stared at you for a long moment, his emotions laid bare in a way you’d never seen before. Then, without another word, he leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filled with all the things he couldn’t bring himself to say. It wasn’t about passion or heat—it was about connection, about finally letting himself believe he was worthy of what you were offering.

And in that moment, you knew he was.

Dean’s hands slid to your hips, his grip firm but gentle as he lifted you effortlessly onto the workbench. You let out a small gasp, your hands instinctively grabbing his shoulders as he stepped between your legs.

The move wasn’t rushed or hungry—it was deliberate, practical. You tilted your head, confusion flashing in your eyes, and he smirked faintly, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Relax”, he murmured, his green eyes warm as they met yours. “I’m not trying to jump you right now”.

Your brow furrowed, a blush creeping up your neck. “Then… what are you doing?”.

Dean let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand. “You’re so damn small, sweetheart”, he muttered, his voice filled with a mix of exasperation and affection. “My back’s been killing me for weeks ‘cause I’m always leaning down to talk to you, kiss you, or just—”. He paused, giving you a meaningful look, “—exist in your general vicinity”.

You blinked, and then a laugh bubbled up, soft and genuine. “Seriously?”.

“Dead serious”, he said with a playful scoff. “You’re tiny. Adorable, but tiny. You should come with a warning label: May cause chronic back pain”.

Your laughter softened into a smile, and you reached up, your fingers tracing the edges of his stubbled jaw. “You could’ve just said something, you know”.

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your thighs, the warmth of his touch grounding you. “Yeah, well”, he said, leaning in slightly so his forehead brushed yours, “figured it was worth the pain. Still is”.

Your heart swelled at his words, and you tilted your head, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”.

Dean’s hands tightened on your thighs as he pulled you closer, the movement effortless yet deliberate. The warmth of his body pressed against yours, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. This kiss was different—not rushed or rough, but deep and unhurried, his passion tempered by a surprising tenderness.

His stubble brushed against your skin, grounding you as your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. His lips moved against yours, pouring everything he couldn’t say out loud into the kiss. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a confession, an apology, a promise.

Dean’s hands slid from your thighs to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your sides in slow, soothing circles as if he couldn’t get enough of feeling you beneath his hands. You melted into him, the soft pressure of his lips and the way he tilted his head to deepen the kiss making your heart race.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his green eyes meeting yours with a mixture of vulnerability and determination. “I’m impossible, huh?”, he murmured, his voice low and warm, his breath mingling with yours.

You smiled, your hands sliding up to rest against his chest. “Completely”, you teased softly, though your tone was laced with affection. “But I guess I can live with it”.

Dean chuckled, his grip on you tightening just slightly. “You’d better”, he said, brushing his nose against yours. “’Cause I don’t think I’m letting you go anytime soon”.

-The End-

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

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[imreidswifey]

hii ! I was wondering if I could request one where reader has to go undercover on a mission to catch a very complicated unsub and she ends up getting hurt (she twists her ankle or something like that but nothing too serious) and Spencer freaks out and starts to request the doctor a lot of tests to see if she's really okay? I think it would be very cute to see him taking care of her after too.

𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐞𝐬𝐭٫𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭

Spencer Reid x wife!reader fanfiction

a/n: talk about a cute prompt💕This one was so awesome to write and an absolute joy to admire, sorry it took so long I've been sick for the last couple of days.

w/c: 5k

Going undercover wasn’t something you did often. It wasn’t your specialty—that was usually left to Emily or JJ—but when the case required someone who fit a very specific profile, and you just so happened to match it, you stepped up.

Spencer hadn’t been thrilled about it.

“You know I trust you,” he had said the night before, as the two of you lay in bed, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your back. “And I trust the team. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

You’d kissed him, soft and reassuring, and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

And you had meant it.

The case had been a tough one—a series of disappearances linked to a high-profile underground club that catered to the elite. The unsub, a methodical predator, had been luring women in with promises of exclusivity, only for them to vanish without a trace. The BAU had finally tracked his pattern to a single venue, and the best way to catch him was to send someone in.

That someone was you.

You could still hear Spencer’s voice in your ear from the comms as you entered the club. He wasn’t in the field—Hotch had assigned him to surveillance, a decision you suspected was as much for your safety as it was for Spencer’s own nerves. Even though he wasn’t physically with you, he was monitoring your every move.

“Be careful,” he had said for the third time before you stepped inside.

You had smiled to yourself. Even in the midst of a mission, he was still your Spencer—always worrying, always thinking three steps ahead, always ready to catch you if you fell.

Unfortunately, falling was exactly what ended up happening.

The plan had been going smoothly—too smoothly. You’d made contact with the unsub, engaging in casual conversation, playing your role effortlessly. But just as the team was preparing to move in, things took a turn.

The unsub had led you towards a secluded VIP section, his demeanor shifting ever so slightly. You knew it was a risk to follow, but you had to keep him engaged long enough for the takedown.

Then, chaos erupted.

Morgan and Rossi breached the room, guns raised, shouting commands. In the split second that followed, the unsub lunged for you, and in the struggle, your ankle twisted sharply beneath you. Pain shot up your leg, sending you crashing to the ground.

The next few moments were a blur. The unsub was restrained, Miranda rights recited, backup flooding the room—but all you could focus on was the sharp, burning ache in your ankle.

And then there was Spencer.

He must have sprinted from surveillance the second he heard the commotion, because before you even processed what had happened, he was kneeling beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over you like he was afraid to touch you in case it made things worse.

“Are you okay?” His voice was tight, frantic. His eyes were wide with fear. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

You managed a small, reassuring smile despite the pain. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

Spencer’s relief was visible but short-lived. His panic quickly shifted to overdrive. “We need to get you to a hospital,” he said, already turning to call for a medic. l

“Spence,” you interrupted gently, reaching for his hand. “It’s just a sprain."

But he wasn’t convinced.

By the time you were loaded into an ambulance, Spencer had rattled off every possible test they could run, citing medical studies and statistics at a rapid-fire pace. The poor paramedic could barely keep up.

And as much as you wanted to roll your eyes at his overprotectiveness, you also couldn’t help but love him for it.

Because Spencer Reid wasn’t just concerned. He was terrified of losing you.

And that meant he wasn’t going to take any chances.

——

The hospital was a blur of sterile white walls and the steady hum of medical equipment. You sat on the exam table, your ankle elevated, while Spencer paced the small space like a caged animal.

“Spencer, sit down,” you tried for what felt like the tenth time.

“I’m fine,” he said automatically, not slowing his frantic movements. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, but you could still see the way his fingers twitched, his anxious energy barely contained.

You sighed, adjusting slightly in your seat as the dull ache in your ankle throbbed. The nurse had already wrapped it in an ice pack, and the doctor had confirmed it was just a bad sprain—nothing fractured, nothing broken. But Spencer? He wasn’t satisfied with that answer.

The moment you arrived, he had insisted on a full examination, rattling off every possible injury you could have sustained, from torn ligaments to nerve damage.

“She needs an MRI,” he had told the doctor, urgency laced in his voice. “And an X-ray. Maybe a CT scan—”

“Dr. Reid,” the doctor had interrupted patiently, clearly used to dealing with overprotective loved ones. “I assure you, we will run the necessary tests. But from what I can see, this is just a mild sprain.”

Spencer hadn’t looked convinced.

Now, as you sat in the quiet hospital room waiting for the official results, he was still on edge.

You reached out, catching his hand as he passed by. He stilled immediately, his eyes flicking to yours. “Come here,” you murmured, giving his hand a gentle tug.

For a moment, it seemed like he would resist, but then his shoulders sagged, and he let out a breath before finally sitting beside you. His knee bumped against yours, his touch grounding, familiar.

“I’m okay, Spence,” you whispered, rubbing circles against the back of his hand.

His jaw clenched. “You could have been worse than ‘okay.’” His voice was quiet, raw. “You could have—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as if he couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

You softened. “But I wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it.”

You exhaled, squeezing his hand. This was more than just a moment of concern for Spencer. You knew how his mind worked—how it never stopped, how it ran through every worst-case scenario like an endless film reel.

He had seen too much loss. Too much pain. And even though you were safe, his mind wasn’t ready to let go of the fear.

The door creaked open before you could respond. The doctor walked in, flipping through the results of your X-ray. Spencer stiffened, his grip on your hand tightening.

“Good news,” the doctor said with a reassuring smile. “No fractures, no severe damage. It’s a sprain, like we suspected. We’ll wrap it properly, give you some crutches, and you should be good to go with some rest.”

Spencer still didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”

The doctor chuckled. “I’m sure, Dr. Reid.” He patted Spencer’s shoulder before moving to your ankle, carefully securing it in a stabilizing brace. “She just needs to take it easy.”

Spencer was already nodding. “Of course. She will. I’ll make sure of it.”

You snorted. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Spencer shot you a look, but you caught the way his lips twitched like he was trying not to smile.

Once you were cleared to leave, Spencer helped you into the car, his touch gentle but firm, like he was afraid you might shatter. The moment you were settled, he reached across to buckle your seatbelt for you.

“Spencer,” you said dryly, “I twisted my ankle, I didn’t forget how to function.”

“Humor me,” he mumbled, clicking the seatbelt into place.

The drive home was quiet, the soft hum of the engine filling the space between you. Every few minutes, Spencer glanced at you like he was checking to make sure you were still breathing.

By the time you got home, he had already switched into full-on caretaker mode.

The moment you stepped inside, he was there, guiding you to the couch like you might collapse at any second. He propped your leg up with an absurd number of pillows, fetched you a blanket, and then disappeared into the kitchen.

You sighed, shaking your head with a fond smile. “Spence, I don’t need—”

“I made tea,” he announced, walking back in with two cups, carefully balanced. He handed you one before kneeling beside the couch. “And I’m ordering takeout. You need to eat.”

“I also need my husband to sit down and breathe,” you teased, nudging his knee with your good foot.

Spencer hesitated, then sighed, finally sinking onto the couch beside you. His hand found yours again, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against your palm.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just sat there, hands intertwined, the warmth of the tea seeping into your fingers.

Then, quietly, Spencer murmured, “I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

You softened, turning your head to look at him. His brows were slightly furrowed, his eyes still holding remnants of worry.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I’m okay, Spence. And I’m here.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze locked onto yours. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.”

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Well, lucky for you, you’re stuck with me.”

Finally, finally, a small smile broke across his face.

“Yeah,” he murmured, squeezing your hand. “I am.”

And as he curled up beside you, arms wrapped around you like he was afraid to let go, you knew—no matter what happened, Spencer Reid would always be there to take care of you.

[amirawrah]

✩once in a lifetime...part two🥐💋🎨

staring : Wiliam 'wilo' Saliba x Ameerah Tamilore Adeyemi

❀ summary: After attending an Arsenal match with her friends, she never expected to leave the stadium with a lingering sense of unfinished business. William Saliba saw her walk away that night, and he didn’t stop her—something he instantly regretted. When fate brings them back together at a party, their unspoken connection is impossible to ignore. As the night unfolds, stolen glances turn into quiet confessions, and what started as hesitation becomes something undeniable. But with emotions running high and unspoken feelings in the air, the real question remains—will they finally say what was left unsaid, or will history repeat itself?

❀ amirah: we back for part 2!!!!, i hope you guys enjoy this as much as how you liked part one. as always like, repost and share, leave notes tell me things!!!!! anyways bye.

love Amirah

The sunlight streamed through your bedroom window, casting a warm glow over the sheets as you stirred awake. Your mind felt hazy, lingering somewhere between sleep and the events of last night. The party. The conversation on the balcony. Him.

You stretched, rolling onto your side, and that’s when you saw it—your phone resting on your nightstand, the screen still open to the last message you had received.

William Saliba.

You stared at his name for a moment, replaying how you got his number in the first place.

— "So, I guess this means I won't have to regret not stopping you this time?" he had said with a teasing smirk, holding out his phone.

You had rolled your eyes but took it from his hand anyway, typing in your number and sending yourself a text.

— "Now you won’t have an excuse." You had smirked back, feeling bold.

— "I wouldn’t want one."

The memory made your stomach flip, and now, looking at his name on your screen, you didn’t know what to do. Should you text him first? Wait for him to text you? Overthinking had always been your thing, and this situation was no different.

A knock on your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Wake up, lover girl,” Justine teased, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, rolling onto your stomach.

Halle appeared behind her, grinning. “Hate is a strong word for someone who was giggling on the way home last night.”

“I was not giggling,” you said, sitting up.

Tolami, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, raised a brow. “So you and Wilo, huh?”

You sighed dramatically. “You guys are making this a bigger deal than it is.”

Tolami smirked. “Oh, so you don’t like him?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it. Your silence was answer enough.

Justine plopped down onto your bed, grabbing your phone before you could react. “Did he text you yet?”

“Give me that!” you lunged, but she dodged, scrolling through your messages.

“Damn,” she said, eyes widening. “You got his number and you didn’t even text him back?”

Halle gasped. “That’s illegal. Text him right now.”

“I was going to!” you defended, reaching for your phone again.

Tolami chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re making him sweat, though. I respect it.”

"And what are you doing here mrs, aren't you meant to be like dicked down right now or" you said towards Tolami

Halle laughed at your words while Tolami playfully slapped your arm

Justine grinned, finally handing your phone back. “Okay, fine. But seriously—text him. You know you want to.”

You let out a breath, looking at the screen again. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before finally typing out a message.

meerah♥︎: Good morning.

Three dots appeared almost instantly. Your heart jumped.

Wilo🥐: Morning. I was starting to think you changed your mind about me.

You bit your lip, smiling to yourself.

meerah♥︎: Maybe I just like keeping you on your toes.

A beat passed before his response came in.

Wilo🥐: So you like me, then?

Your stomach flipped. You stared at the message for a moment, the corners of your lips twitching.

Halle peeked over your shoulder. “Are you blushing?”

You shoved her away with a laugh. “Get out of my room!”

Justine, Halle, and Tolami all laughed as they walked out, leaving you alone with your phone in your hands and a decision to make.

You took a breath and finally replied.

meerah♥︎: I guess you’ll just have to find out.

The moment you hit send, William's reply came almost instantly.

Wilo🥐: I’ll take that as a yes.

You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head. Before you could think of a witty response, another message popped up.

Wilo🥐: Are you busy this morning? Let me take you to breakfast.

Your eyes widened slightly. That was… unexpected. You weren’t sure why, but something about him asking so casually made your stomach flip. You hesitated for a moment before replying.

meerah♥︎: I have class this morning. Art history.

A few seconds passed, and then:

Wilo🥐: Smart and talented. I should’ve known.

You felt warmth creep up your neck.

meerah♥︎: Are you trying to flatter me, Saliba?

Wilo🥐: Is it working?

You rolled your eyes, smiling at your screen. Before you could reply, another message came through.

Wilo🥐: Alright, since I’ve been rejected for breakfast, what about lunch?

You bit your lip, debating for a moment. It wasn’t like you had plans after class maybe do a little bit of work but that could wait, and the idea of spending more time with him was… intriguing.

meerah♥︎: Lunch could work.

Wilo🥐: Good. I’ll pick you up after class.

Your heart skipped a beat.

meerah♥︎: Confident, aren’t you?

Wilo🥐: I just know what I want.

You swallowed, staring at his response a little longer than necessary.

meerah♥︎: Fine. Lunch it is.

Wilo🥐: Looking forward to it.

You locked your phone, exhaling slowly. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, but something told you this was going to be an interesting day.

You stretched as you sat up in bed, your silk bonnet still secure on your head as you blinked against the morning light filtering through your window. Your conversation with Wilo still lingered in your mind, but you shook off the thoughts, knowing you had to focus on getting ready for class first.

Swinging your legs over the edge of the bed, you reached up, slipping off your bonnet and shaking out your hair. Running your fingers through the strands, you made a mental note to style it properly after your shower.

Pushing yourself to your feet, you padded over to the bathroom, flipping on the light. You grabbed your toothbrush, squeezing a bit of minty toothpaste onto the bristles before brushing

You reached for your cleanser, massaging it gently into your skin,You followed up with toner, then your favourite moisturiser , rubbing it in . Finally, a few dabs of sunscreen to protect your skin from the morning sun, and you were done.

Now, a shower.

You turned on the water, letting it heat up as you stepped inside, allowing the warmth to soothe your muscles. The scent of your body wash—something soft and slightly floral—filled the air as you lathered up, the steam curling around you. You took your time, letting the hot water rinse away any lingering sleepiness before finally stepping out and wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel.

Back in your room, you stood in front of your closet, debating your outfit for the day. Art history class wasn’t anything too formal, but you still wanted to look put together—especially now that you had lunch plans with Wilo.

After a moment of indecision, you settled on a simple yet stylish outfit .

Returning to your vanity, you quickly styled your hair, making sure it fell just right before adding a touch of lip gloss for a natural shine. One last glance in the mirror, and you nodded to yourself. Ready.

Grabbing your bag, you slung it over your shoulder and picked up your phone, quickly checking your messages. No new texts from Wilo yet, but you had a feeling you’d be hearing from him soon.

With one final breath, you stepped out of your room, ready to take on the day. And maybe—just maybe—see where this thing with Wilo was going to lead.

ameerahsnarrative posted on her story

[ caption: time for class ]

✧

Across the city, Wilo lay sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling with one arm resting behind his head. His phone sat beside him, the last message from you still open on the screen.

Lunch could work.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He wasn’t sure what it was about you, but he liked the way you kept him on his toes. You weren’t just easily impressed by him being a footballer—if anything, it seemed like you weren’t fazed at all. That made you different. And interesting.

He exhaled, finally sitting up and running a hand over his short curls. There was no training today, which meant he had the whole morning to himself before meeting you later. His teammates had already mentioned plans, but right now, he wasn’t interested.

Checking the time, he pushed himself out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, twisting the faucet and letting cold water splash over his face. As he brushed his teeth, his mind wandered back to last night—how he had first noticed you at the party, the way your dark brown eyes had met his, how your quiet nature had drawn him in. And then, there was the moment on the balcony.

Are you going to walk away again? Are you going to let me?

Wilo shook his head slightly, rinsing his mouth. He had never been the type to overthink things, but you? You had him doing exactly that.

He stepped into the shower, letting the warm water loosen his muscles as he thought about the afternoon ahead. You hadn’t agreed to breakfast, but lunch was a different story. He needed to pick a spot, somewhere nice but not too much. Something casual, something that would make you comfortable.

After drying off, he threw on a pair of grey sweatpants and a fitted white t-shirt, running his hand over his jaw as he checked his reflection. He figured he’d chill for a while before heading out.

His phone buzzed just then, and he grabbed it, expecting one of the guys. But instead, it was you.

meerah♥︎: What’s your favorite kind of food?

His brows lifted slightly. That was unexpected—but he liked it.

Wilo🥐: Why? You planning on impressing me?

Three dots appeared, then:

meerah♥︎: Just answer the question, Saliba.

He chuckled, leaning against the counter as he typed.

Wilo🥐: I like French food, obviously. But I’m open to anything. Why? You picking the spot?

A short pause.

meerah♥︎: Maybe. Maybe not.

Wilo smirked, shaking his head.

This lunch was going to be interesting.

Wilo tossed his phone onto the bed with a quiet chuckle, running a hand over his jaw. You were something else. He wasn’t used to people—especially girls—playing this little game with him, making him work for their attention. Most of the time, he didn’t have to try. But you? You were making him think.

And he liked it.

He checked the time—still a few hours before lunch. With no training today, his schedule was wide open, but he wasn’t the type to sit around all morning doing nothing. He figured he’d hit the gym for a bit before meeting you, at least to keep himself busy.

After changing into black athletic shorts and a long-sleeve compression top, he grabbed his keys and headed out.

✧

Even though the team had the day off, Wilo knew he’d find at least a few of the guys at the training ground, either getting in extra reps or just hanging out. Sure enough, as he walked into the gym, he spotted Gabriel and Martin doing some light work on the weights.

Gabriel noticed him first, smirking. “Look who decided to show up.”

Wilo nodded in greeting, stretching his arms. “Day off doesn’t mean doing nothing.”

Martin chuckled, shaking his head. “Mikel would be proud.”

Wilo only grinned, grabbing a set of dumbbells and starting his workout. He could feel Gabriel watching him, though, and it wasn’t long before the Brazilian spoke again.

“So…” Gabriel drawled, setting down his weights. “What’s this I hear about you and some girl at Noah’s party?”

Wilo sighed, knowing there was no avoiding this. “Where’d you hear that?”

Gabriel smirked. “Bro, you think we don’t notice things? You disappeared, and then later, you looked like you were in another world.”

Martin raised a brow. “So it’s true?”

Wilo exhaled through his nose, setting down his dumbbells. He wasn’t one to talk much about his personal life, but there was no point in denying it. “She’s… different you know.”

Gabriel and Martin exchanged a look.

“Oh, this is serious,” Gabriel teased. “Man said different.”

Wilo rolled his eyes, grabbing a towel. “Relax.”

Martin laughed. “Are you seeing her again?”

Wilo took a sip from his water bottle, his smirk barely noticeable. “Lunch.”

Gabriel whistled. “Man is serious serious.”

Wilo ignored them, focusing on finishing his reps. But deep down, he knew—this wasn’t just some random girl he’d met at a party.

This was something else entirely.

✧

The minute your professor dismissed the class, you exhaled, stretching your arms as you gathered your things. Art history had always been interesting to you, but after sitting through a long lecture, all you wanted to do was eat.

“You zoned out like twice,” Halle teased as she walked beside you, her bag slung over her shoulder.

You rolled your eyes playfully. “I did not.”

She gave you a knowing look. “Oh, you definitely did. Probably thinking about a certain tall Frenchman.”

You shot her a warning glance, but the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I was thinking about food.”

“Uh-huh.” Halle smirked. “So, what’s the plan? You coming with me and Justine, or—”

Your phone buzzed in your hand.

Wilo🥐: I’m outside.

Your stomach did a small flip, but you kept your expression neutral as you looked at Halle. “Actually… I have lunch plans.”

Her eyes lit up. “With him?”

You nodded, avoiding her gaze as you pushed the door open and stepped outside.

“Damn, already?” She laughed. “Okay, okay. Have fun. But I want all the details later.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile. “Bye, Halle.”

She winked before walking off, leaving you to scan the parking lot. It didn’t take long to spot Wilo—leaning against his black Mercedes, dressed in a casual yet effortlessly cool outfit: dark jeans, a fitted long sleeved black tee, and a silver watch glinting on his wrist. His arms were crossed, and the moment he saw you, a small smirk played on his lips.

You took a breath and walked over.

As you reached him, he pushed off the car, opening the door for you. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you said back, sliding into the passenger seat.

He shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side, getting in. As he started the engine, he glanced at you. “Find a place?”

You nodded, pulling out your phone. “Yeah, it’s called Maison d’Été. It’s a cute little French café, not too far from here.”

Wilo raised a brow, clearly impressed. “French, huh? Thought you said you weren’t trying to impress me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just figured you’d like it.”

He chuckled, shifting into drive. “Let’s go then.”

As he pulled out of the parking lot, you stole a glance at him—his focused expression, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel effortlessly. It felt… natural, sitting in his car, heading to lunch together.

And for the first time since last night, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—you were in just as much trouble as he was.

The low hum of the car engine filled the comfortable silence as William drove through the city streets. His hand rested casually on the steering wheel, his other arm draped over the center console. The air smelled faintly of his cologne—something warm and clean with a hint of spice.

“So… art history?” he asked, glancing at you briefly before turning his eyes back to the road. “That’s what you were in class for?”

You nodded. “Yeah. It’s an elective, but I actually really like it.”

Wilo hummed. “What’s so interesting about it?”

You turned slightly in your seat, looking at him. “Art is like… a way of seeing the world. Every painting, every sculpture—it tells a story. Even if you don’t understand it at first, there’s always something beneath the surface.”

He gave you a small side-smile. “That how you see people too?”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

His fingers tapped lightly against the wheel. “Like… do you try to figure out what’s beneath the surface?”

You considered that for a moment. “I guess so. But only if the person is worth figuring out.”

William let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “And? Am I?”

You bit back a smile, pretending to think. “Mmm… jury’s still out.”

He scoffed playfully, glancing at you. “That’s cold.”

You laughed softly, looking out the window as the car slowed at a red light.

“I also paint, by the way,” you said, shifting the conversation. “That’s probably why I love art history so much. It’s like seeing all the greats before me and trying to understand what made their work timeless.”

William glanced at you with genuine interest. “Painting, huh? What do you like to paint?”

“People,” you answered, your fingers tracing invisible patterns on your thigh. “Faces, emotions, moments frozen in time. But I also love mythology—especially Greek mythology. Something about that era, the way they told stories through their art, their architecture… it’s fascinating.”

Wilo tilted his head slightly. “Greek times?”

You nodded, eyes lighting up. “Yeah, like how they built the Parthenon, sculpted statues like the Venus de Milo, or even how they depicted their gods in murals. It was all so dramatic and full of meaning.”

He smirked. “So if I let you paint me, would I look like one of those statues?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I don’t know, Saliba, do you have the patience to stand still long enough?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Probably not.”

The light turned green, and he pressed down on the gas, his smirk lingering. “But I’d let you try.”

Your heart did a small flip at that, but you masked it with a playful scoff, looking out the window as the café came into view.

Maybe this lunch would be more interesting than you expected.

William pulled into a small parking space outside Maison d’Été, the little French café tucked between a bookstore and a boutique. It had a charming, rustic aesthetic—white brick walls, large windows, and vines creeping up the sides. Outside, a few tables were occupied by people sipping coffee and chatting quietly.

He got out first, walking around the car to open the door for you.

You raised a brow as you stepped out. “Chivalry isn’t dead, I see.”

Wilo smirked. “I try.”

The two of you walked toward the entrance, the soft chime of a bell ringing as you stepped inside. The café smelled like fresh pastries and rich espresso, the scent wrapping around you like a warm hug. Inside, it was cozy—soft lighting, wooden tables, shelves lined with jars of preserves and coffee beans.

A waiter greeted you both with a smile. “Table for two?”

Wilo nodded, and the two of you were led to a table near the window. The natural light poured in, making the space feel even more intimate.

As you settled into your seat, you glanced at Wilo across from you. He looked surprisingly relaxed here, despite his towering frame making the small café chair seem almost too small for him.

You picked up your menu, scanning it. “You read French, right?”

Wilo chuckled, leaning back. “I do.”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Because I might need a translator.”

He shook his head, amused. “You picked the place, and you don’t even know what you’re ordering?”

“I picked it for the vibe,” you defended. “The food part is a gamble.”

Wilo let out a deep chuckle, his fingers tapping against the table. “Fair enough.”

ameerahsnarrative posted on her story

[ caption: ♥︎ ]

✧

A few moments passed in comfortable silence as you both browsed the menu. Every now and then, you’d glance up, only to find him already looking at you, a small knowing smile tugging at his lips.

Finally, he spoke. “So… what’s the verdict?”

You sighed dramatically. “I think I’ll just go with a croque monsieur. Can’t go wrong with that.”

He nodded approvingly. “Solid choice.”

The waiter returned, and Wilo ordered for both of you in smooth, fluent French. You tried not to let it show, but something about the way he spoke, so effortlessly confident, made you a little weak.

Once the waiter left, you took a sip of your water. “So, William Saliba. What’s your deal?”

He raised a brow. “My deal?”

You leaned forward slightly. “Yeah. Everyone knows you as the Arsenal defender, but who are you outside of football?”

Wilo tilted his head, considering the question. “I think I’m still figuring that out.”

You weren’t expecting that answer, but it intrigued you. “How so?”

He exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. “Football has always been my life. Since I was a kid, everything revolved around it—training, matches, moving to different clubs. It’s what I love, but… sometimes I wonder what else I’d be if I didn’t have it.”

You nodded, understanding more than you expected. “That makes sense. When you dedicate yourself to something so fully, it’s hard to separate you from it.”

Wilo’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. “Yeah.”

For a moment, the air between you felt different—heavier, more thoughtful.

Then, he smirked, breaking the tension. “And what about you? Who are you outside of being the girl who doesn’t finish her art history notes?”

You scoffed. “Excuse me, I take excellent notes.”

He chuckled. “You just don’t listen in class.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, but before you could fire back, the waiter arrived with your food.

As your plates were set down, you noticed William watching you with that same unreadable expression from earlier. Not just playful, not just intrigued—something deeper.

You suddenly got the feeling that, just like you, he was trying to figure out what exactly this was.

And maybe, just maybe, neither of you really knew yet.

William took a bite of his croque monsieur, chewing thoughtfully as he studied you. “So, tell me more about you,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Outside of painting and art history, what else do you do?”

You swallowed your sip of water before answering. “I wear a few hats,” you admitted with a small smile. “I’m a creative director, photographer, writer, and editor at a Elle magazine. Kind of a mix of everything.”

His brows lifted slightly, impressed. “ Elle? That’s a lot.”

You chuckled. “It is, but I love it. I get to work with some of the biggest names, tell important stories, and be creative every day. It never actually feels like a job.”

William nodded, intrigued. “That’s actually really cool. So you’ve probably met a lot of famous people, huh?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, quite a few. Comes with the territory.”

His lips quirked up. “Anyone you were completely starstruck by?”

You thought for a second before grinning. “I’d say Lewis Hamilton, but I kept it together. Barely.”

William raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Lewis Hamilton, huh?”

You smiled, nodding. “Yeah. He’s a legend in F1. I’m a huge fan. I mean, how could you not be? He’s incredible at what he does.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. “I was lucky enough to meet him once, and I nearly fainted.”

William chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can imagine. Must’ve been a big moment for you.”

You laughed softly, shrugging. “I tried to play it cool, but yeah, I was definitely starstruck. I think everyone has their own idols, right?”

William nodded, his expression softening with understanding. “Yeah, definitely.”

He seemed to think for a moment, then leaned back a little in his seat. “And what about art? I mean, you paint, right? What do you love most about it?”

You smiled, feeling comfortable talking about your passion. “I just love the process. The way colors and shapes come together to create something that speaks to people. It’s like telling a story without using words.” You paused, glancing out the window for a second. “It’s kind of like how athletes speak through their performances.”

William tilted his head, intrigued by your words. “I get that. I guess we both have our own ways of telling stories.”

You nodded. “Exactly.”

And just like that, the conversation flowed with ease, a sense of mutual understanding developing between you two.

As the conversation continued, William leaned back in his seat, his eyes meeting yours as if deciding whether or not to open up more. After a brief moment of contemplation, he finally spoke.

“You know,” he started, his voice a little softer now, “you’ve told me a lot about you. I should probably tell you more about me too.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious. “Of course. I’m listening.”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking thoughtful. “Well, I guess most people know me as a footballer, but there’s more to me than just the pitch.”

You nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I’ve been playing since I was a kid, but I’ve always been focused on improving. It’s been my dream since I was little. Everything in my life pretty much revolves around it,” he said, his tone quiet but passionate.

You could tell how much football meant to him, and it made you smile. “Sounds like a huge part of who you are.”

He nodded, then gave a small chuckle. “It is. But sometimes, I wonder what I’d be doing if I wasn’t a footballer. Like, when I’m not playing or training, I try to find ways to stay grounded. I love traveling, trying new foods, and just relaxing when I can.”

You smiled. “That sounds like a nice balance.”

“Yeah, but it’s not always easy,” he admitted. “Football can consume you if you let it. You’re always expected to perform, always under pressure. Sometimes, I just want to escape from all that for a while and do something different.”

You tilted your head, sensing a deeper side to him. “What kind of things do you do to escape?”

Wilo thought for a second, then looked at you with a playful grin. “I like to cook. My friends always tease me, but I find it relaxing. I think it's the one thing I can do without anyone expecting me to be perfect.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You cook?”

He nodded, his grin widening. “Yeah. Nothing fancy, but I like trying new recipes. I’m actually pretty good at it, believe it or not.”

You laughed softly, feeling a little surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for the chef type, but I’m impressed.”

He laughed too, shaking his head. “Everyone is. But honestly, it’s just nice to have something I can do just for me. Away from the pitch, away from the cameras.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could feel how genuine his words were. “I get that,” you said softly. “We all need something just for ourselves.”

He met your eyes, his expression softening. “Exactly.”

There was a brief pause before he smiled, shifting the conversation. “I guess we’re not that different after all. You have your art, and I have my cooking.”

You laughed. “I like the sound of that.”

As you both continued eating, the conversation continued to flow easily. You could tell that, like you, he was trying to find a balance between his public persona and the things that made him feel like himself—and in that moment, you felt like you were getting a glimpse of the real William Saliba.

✧

The plates were cleared from your table and the conversation continued to flow effortlessly, William leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on the table. His eyes held a hint of curiosity as he asked, “So, where are you from?”

You smiled, already expecting the question. “I’m from Nigeria.”

His brows lifted slightly, as if intrigued. “Nigeria? That’s really cool."

“I moved here for university. That’s actually how I met Tolami. We became friends because of our 'Nigerian connection', and from there, I met Justine and Halle in uni. Eventually, we all ended up living together.” you said.

William nodded, taking it all in. “That makes sense. You and Tolami seem close.”

You laughed. “Yeah, she’s basically my sister at this point. She’s actually the reason I even went to the match the other day.”

He smirked. “Then I guess I owe her a thank you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you at his words. “What about you?” you asked, shifting the attention to him. “Tell me more about you.”

William exhaled, sitting back in his chair as if gathering his thoughts. “Well, you probably already know I’m from France. I grew up in Bondy, just outside of Paris.”

You nodded. “That’s where Mbappé is from, right?”

He grinned. “Yeah. Football is a big thing there. I started playing really young, and it kind of took over my whole life.”

There was something about the way he said it—fondness mixed with a quiet intensity.

“Did you ever think about doing something else?” you asked curiously.

He tilted his head, considering your question. “Not really. Football was always the dream. I was lucky to have people who believed in me, so I just kept pushing. But sometimes, I wonder what life would have been like if I had taken a different path.”

“And what would you have done?” you challenged, intrigued by the thought.

William chuckled. “I don’t know... maybe something completely different. I like music, but I’m terrible at it.”

You laughed. “You play any instruments?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ve tried. It didn’t go well.”

The thought of William struggling with an instrument made you giggle, and he smiled at the sound.

The two of you shared a quiet moment then, a mutual understanding passing between you. It was easy—this connection. Unexpected, but easy.

As the night winded down, William leaned back with a content expression. “This was nice.”

“Yeah,” you agreed softly.

✧

After a pleasant drive back, the familiar sight of your apartment complex came into view. William parked the car, his hand resting on the gear shift as he turned toward you, his gaze soft and sincere.

“I really enjoyed today,” he said, his voice quiet but warm. “I’m glad we got to hang out.”

You smiled, your heart fluttering slightly. “Me too. It’s been a nice change of pace. I don’t think I’ve had a day like this in a while.”

There was a brief pause, both of you lingering in the car, not quite ready to say goodbye. The air between you felt different now—charged with an unspoken understanding, an energy that felt both exciting and a little intimidating. You could feel the weight of the moment as you met his eyes, and he gave you a small smile, leaning a bit closer.

For a second, it felt like time slowed down. You both were so close, just a breath apart. The world outside seemed to disappear as you shared a quiet, knowing look. You were almost lost in the moment—just you and him, the noise of the world shutting out.

But before anything more could happen, the sound of the apartment building door swinging open broke the tension. Justine appeared, lugging a couple of grocery bags in her arms, her eyes widening as she saw the two of you sitting there.

“Oh, hey!” she called out, a playful smile spreading across her face. “Did I miss something?”

You shot her a quick look, feeling a flush creep up your neck. “Justine! What are you doing here?” you said, trying to brush off the awkwardness.

She grinned, completely oblivious to the moment you and Wilo had shared. “I went grocery shopping. Thought I’d surprise you with some snacks, but it looks like I’m the one that got suprised.” She winked as she walked past you, heading toward the door.

William laughed, clearly amused by Justine’s teasing. “Seems like it,” he said with a playful grin, then turned his attention back to you. “I guess I’ll see you later, then?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Yeah, I’ll see you later.” But there was an almost palpable hesitation in the air, like neither of you wanted to break the moment entirely.

Justine, in her usual nonchalant way, was completely unaware of the quiet tension that still lingered in the space. As she disappeared into the building, you turned back to Wilo, the two of you finally alone again.

A soft silence enveloped you both, and this time, it felt more intimate. Wilo’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand moving towards yours, almost as if he was asking for permission.

“Can I—” he began, but the words trailed off as he met your eyes, searching for your reaction.

You smiled gently, your heart racing. “Yeah…”

Without saying another word, Wilo leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek in a sweet, soft kiss. The touch was tender, his warmth lingering on your skin as he pulled back slowly.

You could feel the moment settle between you like something significant had just happened. It wasn’t rushed or impulsive—it was simple and genuine, a gesture that made your heart flutter even more.

He smiled softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Take care, okay?”

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm. “You too, Wilo.”

He gave you one last look before getting back into his car, driving away slowly. You stood at the door for a moment, hand still on the handle, your heart still racing. That kiss, though brief, had felt like something that would linger with you for a long time to come.

And as you finally stepped inside your apartment, you couldn’t shake the smile on your face, wondering just where this unexpected connection with him might lead.

[twobitsblade]

hi!! i requested something recently however i absolutely can’t remember how specific i was with the format request and i do not wanna make this a guessing game for you lol

i requested something where ponyboy helps his gf reader who is very stressed after a long day of school with tests, projects, fights, etc. and how he would help her with that. i would like to request it as a fic, but if you want to ignore this then feel free! or if you already did hcs for it or smth lolll, anyways sorry this is so long, i LOVE your writing and i hope you have an amazing day/night!! tysm🫶🫶

⋅˚₊‧ 𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ my boy’s gentle embrace

[ author’s note: hi honey, thank you so much for this wonderful request! you’re such an absolute sweetheart for resending it to be more specific! i hope this is what you wanted—if not, feel free to send another request and i’ll rewrite it. ]

as you stomped back to your modest one-story house on the east side of tulsa, each step made you feel angrier and angrier. the fact that your old, torn-up boots let the snow freeze your feet wasn’t helping—god, how today had gone wrong.

first, your english teacher had yelled at you in front of pony, which, although you knew he’d never judge you, still left you embarrassed. he was your boyfriend, after all. oh, whatever. it was too late to reminisce about that now. you had lord knows how many assignments to finish, and if you thought about it too much, you knew you’d snap—so it was better to just suppress it.

you continued trudging through the snowy sidewalk until you reached your house, but before you could even put your key in the lock, you heard a familiar voice—one that immediately soothed all your thoughts, no matter how cliché it sounded.

“c’mere!” ponyboy called out, and you quickly hopped over to him, almost slipping on the snow. the only thing stopping you was your boyfriend’s hands immediately gripping your waist.

“jesus, be careful!” he said, running a hand through his hair. “wanna, uh, stay over at my place for a bit? darry ain’t mad at me today, so he won’t have no problems with it.”

you sighed, shaking your head and dusting yourself off. “i can’t, pony. i got schoolwork for days!”

but the weariness in your eyes didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“oh… um, okay… well, how about you stay over for a bit, and i’ll help?”

looking at the genuine expression on his face, you couldn’t deny him. not long after, the two of you ended up on the curtis’ living room couch. as you removed your shoes, your teeth chattered from the cold. pony turned to you, eyebrow cocked.

“jeez, you really don’t take care of yourself, do ya?”

you shot him a look almost as icy as the weather outside, which made him shrug.

“it’s just—i dunno,” you muttered, cutting yourself off.

“no, c’mon, tell me,” he pried, and you immediately folded.

“well, it’s—god, i mean, today… the way the teacher yelled at me in front of you.”

a glint of recognition sparked in his eyes.

“and i’m being assigned so much damn work,” you admitted, and suddenly, tears slipped from your eyes.

before you could even think, his hands were pressing you against his chest. pony had never been good at comforting, but lord knows he could give a good hug.

“it’ll be alright, it’ll be alright,” he murmured against your scalp, pressing gentle kisses along your hairline.

“shh, just breathe, c’mon.”

eventually, you were able to calm down.

“i’ll help you with your work to the best of my abilities, alright? and if you really need an extension, i—” he hesitated, but after one good look at your face, he continued, “i’ll help you ask for an extended deadline.”

you started crying again at his words, but this time, not out of sadness or anguish—out of contentment. your boyfriend, your boy, was there for you. and finally, in all the chaos of your life, you felt safe in the warmth of his embrace.

[7975348473]

can you write a lyrason fic where grayson is jealous of lyras ex? preferably before they start dating. ❤️

Grayson Is Jealous.

Today was another normal day in the Hawthorne household.

Everyone had gathered around in order to discuss the next Annual Game night— which would be the third of the week, but you can’t do much once Xander insists.

“LETS PLAY DRINK OR DARE AGAIN!!” Demanded Xander.

Lyra considered the demand, she was in charge of choosing which games would be included in this game night. Apparently, it was a ‘Benefit of becoming a soon-to-be-sister-in-law’.

“Xander. The last time we played Drink or Dare, you made Avery scream Hamlet at the top of her lungs at 12am, made Libby an aspiring arsonist and almost made Max a boy.” Lyra deadpanned.

Nash chuckled while Jameson completely lost it. Grayson rolled his eyes as a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“I did no such thing, they had the choice to drink after all.” Xander replied sending a pointed glance towards the three in question.

Avery, who was used to the bull shit of the Hawthorne brothers, completely ignored Xander.

“Don’t do it, Lyra. You know the consequences of saying yes to a Drink or Dare game.” Avery warned her.

Lyra held back the urge to laugh. She was about to answer when her phone rang.

The room went silent as she checked who in their right mind would call her at 9 in the morning. Everyone knew she wasn’t a morning person.

Lyra was surprised to see a number on the screen. Grayson leaned over and raised a brow in question, seeing just the number.

She picked up, “Hello?”

A muffled voice came from the other side of the line, “Hello? Is this Lyra?” He sounded like a male.

Lyra paused for a second, she knew that voice. But she couldn’t quite put her finger on whose it was.

“Uh— yes. Who is this?” She asked, mildly embarrassed at not being able to recognise the person.

“… Lyra— you seriously don’t recognise me?” The other person asked sounding genuinely hurt.

Lyra paused again, wracking her brain cells cause she was damn sure she knew this person. And then it clicked.

“HOLY SHIT— HARRY????” Lyra screamed, quite literally springing up, off of her seat on the sofa.

Her embarrassing past began to catch up to her the moment she said Harry’s name out loud.

Harry. Harry Smith. Her childhood friend and also her… first boyfriend.

Lyra suddenly felt the need to crawl out of her skin, dig up a ditch in the floor and die.

Harry and Lyra were friends in the past. They were raised in the same neighbourhood and talked a fair amount of times.

She liked to dance and was fairly good looking, he also liked to dance and thought she looked pretty. So he asked her out. And she said yes. That’s it. No real reason. Just cuz.

Lyra mentally screamed into the abyss. I mean— they were middle schoolers. Can you blame them? Lyra had thought that maybe dating would get her mind off… things for a while.

She had been wrong. So they broke it off literally two days later. No hugs, no kisses, just one failed date.

Lyra realised that everybody was staring at her now. She nervously signalled for them to give her a minute and walked out to the balcony.

She heard Harry laughing on the other side of the line.

“Yes. It’s me. Thank god— I thought you might have Alzheimer's or something.” He joked. Lyra let out a forced laugh.

She didn’t hate Harry. They had continued being friends after their little ‘dating phase’ but eventually grew apart when Lyra moved away from Miles End.

This is bloody awkward. She thought to herself. She hated making conversation. It made her feel like she wasn’t herself again.

Lyra took a deep breath, “Anyways, what’s up? It’s been a while.” Said Lyra, finally.

Harry huffed, “I know right. College was crazy. I thought about contacting you a few times but I didn’t really know how to reach out to you.”

Lyra gave a non committed ‘hmm’.

There shared a few moments of awkward silence and Lyra contemplated jumping off the balcony. She scratched the thought though once she realised that the balcony itself wasn’t very high off the main ground.

I’d have to jump like— twice to die from here.

“Well, my stupid ass finally realised I could just ask your parents for you phone number. They were ecstatic.” He laughed.

Lyra gave a small smile at the mention of her parents, “I swear, they think I have no friends.” She said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, can you blame them? You were a loner.” He said, matter of factly. She hated that he was right.

“Gee, did you call me to make fun of me?” Lyra asked, jokingly.

And so they continued, catching up with one another for what felt like forever. Lyra didn’t exactly enjoy the entire thing. The Lyra Kane Harry had known wasn’t actually her.

It was the facade she had on for everyone as to seem alright. Like a normal little girl. She couldn’t stand it anymore. Not after everything. Not after Grayson.

Lyra turned around to see Max and Avery waiting for her on the other side of the balcony door with a questioning look. She gave them both a smile.

“Anyways, we should really meet up again— it’s been like— forever since we last met each other .” Said Harry, as enthusiastic as ever.

Oh hell no. Was Lyra’s immediate thought. She wasn’t ready to meet everyone from her past just yet. She needed time. To heal. To be herself again with no room for doubt.

“Haha, yeah. I’ll consider when I can come over to Miles End.” She replied.

Lyra said her goodbyes and hung up, facing her two, extremely nosy friends. She could hear the others chatting away in the ‘conference room’.

“Anddddd who is this Harry?” Asked Max, with an intrigued expression. Oh the gossip queen she was.

“Don’t ask.” Said Lyra, visibly exasperated. This only interested the two girls more.

“An old neighbour?” Suggested Avery. Lyra shook her head.

“An old friend?” Tried Max. Lyra shook her head again.

“An.. acquaintance?” Said Avery. Lyra gave her a look.

“Oh! An old dance buddy?” Asked Max, not taking the hint, something she had picked up from her boyfriend.

Lyra considered the term ‘an old dance buddy.’ Sure. They had danced together before.

“Yeah— something like that.” Lyra replied.

Avery was giving Lyra an assessing look while Max’s eyes lit up, “Oh no honey, there is more to the faxing story. Something good.” Max said ever so dramatically.

Lyra made the mistake of shooting her a nervous look. Trying to get her to drop it. And she saw the moment it clicked for the two best friends.

Avery looked absolutely floored, “No way.” She said.

But it wasn’t Avery that Lyra was worried about. She turned to Max, “Max. Listen to me.”

Max opened her mouth. Avery turned to her best friend, “Calm down Max.”

“I am calm. Totally. Just— let me just make sure my assumption is correct,” Max turned to Lyra, “Is he your.. ex?” She asked.

Avery looked over to Lyra, anticipation visible in both of their eyes.

Lyra sighed in defeat, “First boyfriend as well as my only ex. It’s not what you think—”

“EXCUSE ME— FIRST BOYFRIEND???” Avery and Max screamed at the exact same time. Lyra smacked a hand to her forehead. Fuck. This was going to be complicated.

The conference room went silent and Lyra felt her embarrassment as a physical thing. God forbid a girl try to prevent a simplistic thing from turning into a dramatic disaster.

Lyra gave them both a look. Avery sent her an apologetic smile while Max just looked gobsmacked. Lyra didn’t know whether it was normal to want to giggle in this kind of a situation.

The three girls walked back into the ‘conference room’. Lyra prayed all the while that maybe, just maybe, they all shut up for another reason.

Maybe Nash got his younger brothers to finally listen to him. Or Xander managed to duct tape everyones mouth shut.

But the moment the door opened and she saw everyone stare on at her, she knew her prayers were pointless. She sighed.

“It isn’t what you think.” Lyra said, trying to calm everyone’s curiosity. She was miserably failing.

Lyra glanced over at Grayson to see how he felt about the entire situation. In all honesty, if Grayson were to hide any of his previous relationships from her, she would be upset.

But Lyra hadn’t tried to hide it. She had just… forgotten?

Thankfully, Grayson looked fine, he was just staring at her, expecting an explanation.

“We were childhood friends and middle schoolers. We gave it a shot just for the funzies, it took us two days to realise that dating was not our thing. That’s all.” She explained, taking her seat on the sofa next to Grayson again.

“That’s alllll?~~~” Asked Thea, who finally decided to stop scrolling Instagram and look up from her phone. Lyra sent her a livid glare.

Soon after, everyone fell back into flow again. Lyra looked over at her boyfriend, “Gray?” She asked, knowing fully well that Grayson would understand the question.

Grayson looked at her and smiled, “It’s fine, Lyra. If he’s a childhood friend, you can talk to him. I won’t take away your freedom.” Lyra gave him a small smile and nuzzled closer to him.

It only took her a few moments to realise that, no. Grayson was not alright with what had went down.

He had stopped talking completely, he wore no expression— which was his go to poker face when he wanted to hide his feelings, his eye brows were slightly furrowed and he was zoning out.

No. He was not okay.

The conversation ended swiftly as everyone agreed upon the games of Drink or Dare and Strip Bowling. Classics.

When Lyra and Grayson finally reached their shared bedroom in the huge ass Hawthorne mansion, Lyra spoke up.

“Gray.” A demand. Look at me.

Grayson did just that. “I’m fine Lyra. You can do whatever you want.” He replied, nonchalantly. A little too nonchalantly.

“Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Do you seriously think that hiding things from me will do you any good?” She questioned with a singular raised brow. He didn’t answer.

“Especially when it’s about me?” She pried. Grayson sighed.

Lyra closed the distance between them and took both of Grayson’s hands in her own, “Talk to me when you need to, Gray.” She said.

Grayson held her gaze, “… I’m not…” he took a second, “especially fond of this new figure.” He managed. Lyra blinked once, then she blinked again.

And then she burst out laughing. Grayson raised a brow at her but his smile gave him away.

“And what are you laughing at Ms. Kane?” He asked, amusement evident in his voice.

“eSpECiALlY fONd Of tHiS nEW fIGurE??” She managed in between gigggles. Grayson’s smile widened.

“It’s the truth.” He huffed. “Just.., simplified.”

Lyra finally composed herself, “and if I ask for the non-simplified version?”

Grayson looked at her for a moment.

“I don’t want him around you. I don’t like you talking to him. I might want to snap his neck.” He deadpanned. Lyra fell into a fit of giggles again and this time Grayson joined her.

Lyra would never get used to his honey-coated laughs.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think, asshole?” She asked, a huge smile still plastered across her face.

Grayson turned towards the bathroom door, prepared to take a shower, “Not at all.”

Lyra laughed again as Grayson picked up his towel. Just then, Lyra’s phone rang once more.

Lyra grabbed it and read the display name before showing it to Grayson.

Harry.

Grayson made a face and it took everything in Lyra not to break down laughing again. She picked up, maintaining eye contact with her boyfriend.

“Hello?” She said.

“Lyra! Hi.” Harry replied, seemingly walking somewhere.

Lyra turned to walk out the door not wanting to disturb Grayson, “You called agai—”

She was cut off by Grayson suddenly grabbing her wrist. She whipped her head around but Grayson simply led her over to the bed. He plopped himself down, pulled Lyra towards him and kept her in his embrace.

Lyra went mute. She suddenly felt the need to hang up her phone—or break it, whichever one was faster, and kiss the boy who was currently resting his face against her stomach.

Grayson looked up at her and urged her to go on. Lyra put the phone on speaker, “H-hello—” she asked, her voice sounding squeaky and flustered.

She felt Grayson smirk against her and she wanted to smack him on the head for it.

“Lyra? You ok? Where’d you go all of a sudden?” Harry asked, Lyra felt Grayson frown upon listening to Harry’s voice and she held back a giggle.

“Sorry. There was— something. I— YOU NEEDED SOMETHING??” She asked or screamed. Or something in between, she didn’t know. Grayson did that to her.

Harry paused for a moment, “Uh— yeah, Right! So I met your mom on accident right after we hung up.”

“Mhm.” Lyra said, trying to focus on Harry’s words instead of the man who had her in between his legs and held onto her for dear life.

“Andd we were discussing things. She was surprised to know that we already talked since apparently, a certain somebody doesn’t pick up their moms phone.” Lyra winced. That was true. She needed some space for a while.

“Aha— guilty as charged your honour.” She replied. Harry chuckled.

“Honestly, Lyra, she’s so worried about you— you really should come by.” Harry said. Lyra replied with a ‘hmm’. Lyra could swear she heard Grayson murmur “Desperate bastard.”

“Anyways, she told me to tell you to pick up her phone calls and come over since your vacations have started.” Harry said.

“Uhhh, yeah sure, I’ll have to check with my people first.” Lyra said trying to ignore the fact that her, suddenly clingy Hawthorne, nuzzled closer at the ‘my people’ part.

“Mmk, you do that. What are you doing at university for vacations anyways? Don’t tell me you’re studying.” Harry said, adding a sigh. Lyra looked down at Grayson to se him making a face the screamed “does this man ever shut up?” She coughed to cover her laugh.

Now how was Lyra supposed to tell Harry that she practically jumped at the chance to spend a few months with Grayson right after her college semester was over?

“Ah— well, I’ve been hanging out with my friends and—” Lyra didn’t get a chance to complete her sentence.

“Boyfriend.” Grayson finished, seemingly satisfied with hugging her for now. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that she immediately missed his embrace. She failed.

Silence. “What?” Said Harry, finally.

Lyra was about to sit down next to Grayson so that he could talk but Grayson just pulled her down onto his lap and Lyra ascended for a second.

Lyra looked to him, knowing fully well how red she must have been by now. Grayson simply signalled for her to continue.

“I— nothing, I’ve just been hanging out with my people.” She said, the butterflies reaching her head. Lyra had officially lost the ability to form coherent sentences without stuttering.

Obviously, she smacked Grayson’s arm as a result. Grayson chuckled, not loosening his hold on her.

“Uh huh.” Said Harry, sounding sceptical. Grayson murmured something along the lines of “what’s he so suspicious for?” and Lyra couldn’t help but giggle.

“Oh! Your mom says that she’s happy you’re rekindling your old relationships.” Said Harry, ignoring Lyra’s odd behaviour.

“Friendships.” Grayson corrected. Lyra laughed.

“.. Lyra are you okay?” Harry sounded genuinely concerned.

“Y-yes I’m fine— sorry what?” She said, suppressing her laughter as Grayson pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“… Um— is this a bad time?” He asked.

“Yes,” Grayson replied, not bothering to try and keep his voice inaudible to the phone this time.

“… Who is this— Where’d you go, Lyra?” Lyra felt almost bad for Harry.

“I’m Lyra’s boyfriend. And, yes, she’s busy, this is a bad time.” He replied. Lyra shot him a look but her smile didn’t seem to be willing to seize.

“B- BOYFRIEND?? SHE WAS WITH HER— OH— oh. OH!! THATS WHY SHE WAS SO FLUSTERED. THIS MUST BE SO AWKWARD FOR HER WITH ME BEING—” Harry was cut off by Grayson.

“It doesn’t matter who you are. She wasn’t awkwarded out.” Grayson stated in the cold tone he used to scare people off. Lyra could hear the unspoken words, by the likes of you.

“Don’t be rude, Gray.” Lyra whispered to him.

“You asked me to be honest.” Grayson replied, innocently. Lyra wicked him on the arm again playfully.

“… I’m just gonna hang up now.” Said Harry before hanging up.

Lyra and Grayson sat their in silence staring at each other for a while.

“Why does he talk so much?” Grayson asked, finally.

Lyra raised her brow in response.

“Like— didn’t you both literally just talk, why does he feel the need to continue talking again?” He said.

Lyra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Just pass on the message your mom gave him and shut the fuck up.” Grayson stated matter of-factly, and Lyra almost fell off Grayson’s lap when she saw a pout form on his face.

Grayson Davenport Hawthorne. Pouting. God, she had been blessed. Pouting shouldn’t have looked as good on him as it did.

“Grayson,” Lyra said as he met her gaze, “You’re jealous.” She stated.

Grayson stared at her for a while. “That I am, sweetheart. I don’t like him.” He said. Lyra smiled.

“You don’t have to. I don’t plan on talking to him much.” She replied. Grayson ‘hmm’ed in response, something still bothering him.

Lyra rolled her eyes, he was being incredibly petty, “No, we didn’t kiss. Or hug. Or cuddle. Or any of that stuff. Just one failed date.” She said.

Then, Grayson actually smiled, “So, I’m your first?” He asked, satisfied. Lyra rolled her eyes a second time.

“Yes. You are.” She replied.

Eventually Grayson and Lyra got up since he needed to shower.

“Alright, you should shower now. I’ll go use the other washroom.” Lyra stated, turning around.

“Or.” Grayson said and Lyra stopped, facing him again.

Grayson leaned in and whispered something directly into her ear. Lyra went red.

“G-GRAYSON???!!!!”

———————————

What Grayson said? I’ll leave that up to ur imaginations.

BRO IDK JEALOUSY FICS ISTG. But I had this ask for a while so I figured I might as well 😭🥹🙏🏻

This plot came to me in the shower lmfao—

@alwaysthefangirl , @lyrakanefanatic

Constructive Criticism ❤️❤️❤️✨

(@haniya1234, I’m late, but I’m here 😔😌✨ I couldn’t think of a nice premise for before dating so this turned out to be after 😭😭🙏🏻, apologies 😭🥹🙏🏻 ENJOYYY.)

[bonechillen]

Hi! I have one kiss prompt for you, I'd like to see number "50. …out of love.", please 😊 -Shadowfallen

Thank you for the prompt!!!

This one was a ton of fun!

Story under read more, and here is the AO3 link!

In the days before the reunion with her friends, Shadowheart had practically buzzed with excitement. Her mother had helped her pack, sending plenty of rations - and then some. Her father, not to be outdone, had supplied her with arguably sage advice on courtship of all things. Well-meaning advice, and packed dinners were luxuries Shadowheart never thought would be afforded to her. It almost seemed too good to be true, how things had turned out for her.

It wasn’t until Shadowheart stood before the roaring campfire, feeling its warmth upon her now-freckled skin, that she could truly reflect on how much she gained on her journey. Something about being back where it all started made the stark differences in her circumstance clear as the night’s sky alight with the moon’s glow.

The last time she’d camped along this stretch of the River Chionthar had been the night they’d saved the tieflings from Minthara’s attack of the grove. Now the Drow stood in quiet contempt as she no doubt waited for the other Drow from their merry group to arrive. Shadowheart couldn’t help but feel her stomach churn in contempt as she pictured Minthara of all people vying for Tav’s attention. And Tav would give it, because she was good, loyal and faithful to her friends. And…Not Shadowheart’s any longer.

That last night along the River Chionthar, near the grove, with their entire journey ahead of them, weighed heavily in Shadowheart’s mind. She’d stood where she stood now, watching the shadows for Tav to clamber from them, hoping she’d find her way to Shadowheart’s side. Inhaling sharply, Shadowheart couldn’t help but hope that the night’s events would unfold the same way.

It was a foolish notion - Tav had ended things between them.

While it stung still, Shadowheart could hardly blame her. A friend, perhaps the dearest of her friends, had needed Tav more than Shadowheart did. Tav - being Tav - insisted it would be wrong to expect ‘A woman who just got her life back, to wait for the impossible.’.

A fair, even merciful choice in a way, yet not one Shadowheart would have picked for herself. It had infuriated her at first that Tav had discarded her so quickly, but with time, the spite faded. Her logic was sound, and her heart’s intentions, as good as ever. Perhaps that was why it still hurt so much. Shadowheart painstakingly knew what she lost when Tav went to Avernus, and what Karlach gained. A chance.

If anyone deserved the steadfast comradery of Tav, it was Karlach. The bitterness of their parting was amended by the refreshing notion that Tav was doing it for a beloved friend. Despite all the sensible reasons for their parting, some part of Shadowheart still dreamed of a day when Tav appeared back in her life - to stay. That image crossed her mind each time ‘moving on’ crossed her mind. How could she, when her heart burned amid the Hells?

No amount of preparation would have sufficed in bracing herself to see Tav again. When she strolled into camp, closely behind the hulking tiefling, looking like a rugged adventurer of legend, Shadowheart had to fight the blush that came to her cheeks.

Tav looked vastly different from the well-kempt Drow that had left the day they defeated the Netherbrain. Gone was the long, silken hair that flowed effortlessly down Tav’s back. Now, the Drow sported a rough chop of ivory hair, still befitted with the soot and brimstone of the Hells.

Karlach ran ahead of Tav, eagerly racing to Wyll, to wrap him in a swooping hug, followed by Astarion, who’d been right at Wyll’s side. Along came Gale, then the astral projection of Lae’zel, all greeting the returned warriors from Avernus with gleeful cheer.

The others watched on with delight, waiting for their turn to greet the women. Shadowheart smiled to herself, unable to bring herself to take the steps forward herself, but happy all the same to see Karlach and Tav again. There was a slight sting when Tav’s gaze traveled through the small crowd around her, weaving through the bodies of their friends, searching. Shadowheart’s nails dug deeply into her palms while she held her breath, realizing Tav was looking for her. A moment later, their eyes met across the camp.

Tav’s smile faded as her eyebrows rose to scrunch above her wide eyes. Lips drawing into a thin line, it looked as though the Drow had seen a ghost amid their camp. Shadowheart must have bore a similar expression, she was sure of it. Turning her gaze to the moon above, Shadowheart let out the breath she’d been holding. Did Tav have to become hotter after spending six months in the Hells?

Shadowheart laughed softly at the unconscious pun - her father was getting to her. As she cast her gaze from the moon to its reflection in the River Chionthar, Shadowheart wondered how differently she would look to Tav. It didn’t seem likely to change anything, yet, there was something satisfying to the thought of Tav holding the image of Shadowheart on this night close to the chest along those nights amongst the Hells.

Huffing, Shadowheart crossed her arms and turned her gaze to the ground beneath her. Shadowheart kicked the loose dirt as though it would absolve her of her foolishness when it came to Tav - the Drow was doing just fine without her, why couldn’t she do the same?

“Are you picturing the dirt to be my face?” came the gentle Drowic accent that fluttered through Shadowheart’s daydreams. At the sound of her voice alone, Shadowheart knew her father’s bequeathed witty words wouldn’t be enough to navigate the stormy waters of her relationship with Tav.

Lilac eyes, ringed with dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights, met Shadowheart's widened gaze as she looked up from the dirt. Shadowheart couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of anguish at the sight of her pitiful form - had Tav come with her, they’d spend each night in each other’s embrace. Rest would come easy to Tav, safe in their warm bed, and Shadowheart’s persistence embrace.

“Come here -” Shadowheart ushered tenderly, pulling Tav into a tight embrace. Pulling the Drow’s form against her own revealed a much different sensation than Shadowheart had come to expect from the other woman. Her musculature had grown, no doubt from days upon days of tearing through whatever nasty creatures the Hells had to throw at the pair of doomed women. Shadowheart squeezed a little tighter at the thought - some part of her yearned to be by Tav’s side. There, she would keep her safe as she had amid the many battles that had come before.

Shadowheart closed her eyes, pressing her face against the warm, dusky skin along Tav’s neck. She couldn’t bring herself to let go just yet. In that moment, she’d never missed the tadpole more. There was little she wouldn’t give to peer into Tav’s mind, to know how she measured up in her former lover’s eyes. As the embrace lingered, Tav’s fingers dug deep into the fabric of Shadowheart’s tunic, expelling a sigh of contentment from Tav’s lips.

Tav’s breath danced across the bare skin of Shadowheart’s neck, as if to kiss the sensitive skin. Shadowheart got the feeling the pair were pushing the boundaries of harmless intimacy between friends, to lovers, to friends again. Still, she couldn’t help but ache for the sensation of Tav’s lips against her neck rather than just her breath. It was what was between Tav’s lungs that Shadowheart yearned for above all, not the breath within them.

Hooting and hollering from across the camp brought the women from their intimacy. Pulling away from Tav, Shadowheart looked on to find Karlach and Wyll engaged in some sort of drinking game, cheered on by others.

“It’s good to see Karlach so cheerful. A rare sight these days.” Tav said wearily, turning to Shadowheart with a soft smile on her lips. No - she couldn’t look at Tav’s lips. She would have to cast her gaze elsewhere. Settling on Tav’s eyes, Shadowheart chased away the urge to get lost in them, scraping up her wits.

“It’s not all fun and games in the Hells, then?” Shadowheart lightly teased, nudging Tav gently. Tav grinned, casting her gaze downward as she chuckled softly to herself.

“It’s quite hellish, actually. Perhaps I should have read the reviews.” Tav relented, gaze rising to meet Shadowheart’s again.

“Quite the comic these days. Should you ever leave Avernus behind permanently, a life in the circus would suit you.” Shadowheart jested, swaying toward Tav. For being so afraid to be near her again, it was nearly as easy as breathing now to be in her company again.

“As long as you come to see me. I’d make a fool of myself for you, a smile on my face.” Tav crooned with a devastating smile that made Shadowheart’s chest wrench as if it were filled with twisting vines. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe around Tav!

“I’ll take you up on that - should you leave the Hells behind, that is.” Shadowheart relented, fighting the wanting - the needing - for Tav that her body implored upon. “How are your parents faring?” Tav asked innocently. Shadowheart offered a thanks to the Moonmaiden for the change in subject. She wasn’t ready to think about what the future might hold for Tav. There was a vivid fantasy in her mind she would cling to of Tav returning to her, in every way - she needed that vision like she needed air while Tav frolicked through Avernus, every horrible thing the Hells could conjure posing a threat.

The pair fell into idle chatter of their lives, letting the burning desire between them simmer all the while. When Tav finished regaling a tale of disemboweling two cambions simultaneously, Shadowheart couldn’t help but feel a tad jealous of the Drow’s exciting life. Though, she felt immensely jealous of Karlach, by Tav’s side through all of it while Shadowheart was planes away from the woman who held her heart in her hands.

It was then Shadowheart noticed the gazes of their companions landing on them. They too seemed jealous, each of them wanting a piece of Tav before she fell back into the snapping jaws of Avernus.

“I’d better go. I’m sure Minthara is eager to relay tales of matricide.” Tav said with a chuckle, arms crossing tightly across her chest.

“Very well. I…” Shadowheart began, stepping closer to Tav, to reach forward and tidy the messy locks that had fallen into her face. “It was good to see you.” She finished, clearing her throat as she stepped away from the other woman, and her widened gaze.

“Keep well. Give your many, many animals and your parents my regards.” Tav replied stiffly, offering a curt nod as she left to mingle with the others.

The moon hung high in the sky, most of the party-goers had found their way into their bedrolls. Sleep evaded Shadowheart; instead, she sat beneath the waterfall where she’d first tasted Tav. A finer vintage than she’d ever tasted - impossible to source and scare as could be, Tav was sweeter than the best of wines.

Tears pricked at Shadowheart’s eyes as she thought of the night she’d shared with Tav under the coursing rage of the waterfall. The memory burned bright in her mind, like a lone candle on an altar of devotion. Tav was the only lover she could recall, yet something told Shadowheart that even if she held hundreds of suitors, Tav would stand paramount.

The scuffle of steps behind her altered Shadowheart to the approach of the Drow. Wiping her eyes quickly, Shadowheart craned her neck to see Tav’s approach. Tav offered a somber smile as she approached slowly.

“I thought I’d find you here. I came to say goodbye.” Tav offered, not daring to come closer.

Shadowheart tore her gaze from Tav, back to the coursing waterfall. Frustrated, Shadowheart got to her feet, and marched toward Tav, then right past her. “Goodbye, Tav.” Shadowheart offered, keeping her voice even.

A gentle hand tugged at Shadowheart’s shirt sleeve, begging her to stay in place. Looking to the lavender colored hand that held her in place, Shadowheart froze. She couldn’t bring herself to spurn Tav’s touch.

“I…Do you remember the night we spent here?” Tav asked gently, letting her hand fall from Shadowheart’s sleeve.

“Of course. There’s nothing that could wrest the memories I share with you away from me. Nothing.” Shadowheart affirmed, fighting the raw emotion that begged to seep into her voice.

Tav smiled, letting her hand coil into Shadowheart’s, as she spoke again, softly. “I replay them in every moment of peace - and even in strife. I need to remember.” Tav admitted, eyes burning like the flames of faerie fire.

“Remember what? You aren’t the one who had your memories scattered to the wind.” Shadowheart mocked, her ire with Tav boiling over.

“I need to remember what I need to get back to. Even if…If I return, and you’ve moved on, I won’t-” Tav began, stuttering nervously as a violet flush found her cheeks.

“There’s no moving on from ‘The Hero of Baldur’s Gate.’” Shadowheart replied with a bitter laugh.

“And there’s no forgetting the woman who defied Shar.” Tav affirmed, grasping Shadowheart’s other hand in her own. “Not even for a moment.” Tav added, shaking her head. “And thank the Gods - I don’t think I’d make it a day if I closed my eyes and couldn’t picture you beside me again.” Tav finished with a grimace upon her fair drowic features.

“Then why-” Shadowheart began, failing to keep the torrent of swelling emotion from her voice, “Did you reject me? Did you think me incapable of loving you from afar? Do you think me so shallow that I wouldn’t understand?” Shadowheart accused, squeezing Tav’s calloused hands in her own.

“No, love, it’s not that.” Tav implored, her own eyes swelling with unshed tears as Shadowheart felt her stomach lurch at the term used - love. “It just isn’t right to ask you to-” Tav began, before Shadowheart cut her off abruptly.

“My entire life people have been deciding what’s best for me. You don’t get to decide what’s best for me.” Shadowheart bit, the sour taste of her words settling in her mouth. It hurt to lash out on Tav in such a way, but it hurt so much more to be shirked by the woman she loved ‘for her own good’.

Tav’s face fell, as a look of shame darkened her features. Dropping Shadowheart’s hands, Tav pulled Shadowheart into a deep embrace, letting honeyed words drip from her lips into Shadowheart’s ears. “You’re right.” Tav admitted, squeezing Shadowheart with a strength she’d never known from the slight Drow.

“It’s been known to happen.” Shadowheart replied, a wistful sigh escaping her lips. Parting from their embrace, Shadowheart reached for Tav’s face to run a thumb along Tav’s high cheekbones, smiling to herself as the Drow’s eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

“You’ll return to me when Karlach can leave the Hells. No where else - to me, straight away. Do you understand?” Shadowheart instructed, to which Tav offered a firm nod, still holding on to every moment of touch shared between them. Shadowheart couldn’t contain the love that poured from her heart, taking shape in a kiss to affirm the love she felt for Tav. Much had changed since Tav left, but the love they shared stayed evergreen. The kiss was almost as rushed, and unsure as the first one they'd shared several paces from where they stood now.

Breaking apart for air, Shadowheart could only admire the stupefied expression on Tav’s face, before the Drow began to speak again.

“But, you needn’t wait for-” Tav began, to which Shadowheart interrupted her with a soft kiss upon Tav’s lips.

“Stop talking, love.” Shadowheart added, earning another nod from Tav, before the pair descended into a myriad of needy kisses. Each one whispered of the indomitable love shared between the women.

Shadowheart took her time with her lover, claimed again, enjoying each fleeting intimate moment. The Hells could wait; in that moment, Tav only belonged to her.

Thank you again for the ask!

Check the awesome collection of these stories on AO3 here!

[davey-in-a-minivan]

EPISODE 10 PROPAGANDA!!! listen the pasithea powder scholarly convention debated this one for hours last night but i personally have to pick 10 bc of the way it revels in the sheer breadth of drama of the show's premise and also it makes me feel like the top of my head's going to lift off

>really love that we see the other as anna alegros first so we can see how EFFECTIVELY it zeroes in on the chinks in david alegros' armor and sends him running, and jane is much calmer but immediately there's the question of how will she fare once subject theta's attention is on her?

>also jane insisting on treating it like a patient and not a test subject without knowing if that's right but erring on the side of a little dignity!! and in defiance of blanc who doesn't treat HER with dignity!! jane's also a prisoner of the queensguard!!

>i think my heart STOPPED the first time i heard this it's so fluid it's so fucking fuck fuck fuck i need to relisten again right now

>othersophie's appearance is brief but so so mighty. this is the first instinctive thing the other thinks will give jane pause!!! this is who she's afraid of hurting!!! and othersophie pulled from jane's mind is so much more disgusted and betrayed by jane than real sophie ever is..... delicious fucking angst

>THE WAY JANE SAYS THAT LAST OH!!! less a word and more an exhale punched out of her!!!! yeah!!!!!!!!! god!!!!! me too!!!!!!!

>bc look ive never predicted a plot twist in my life but i didn't predict the other turning into evelyn!!! it turned into sophie and i was like of course, sophie's turned into jane, the soulmateism and then oh

>the way the reveal is done in an AUDIO MEDIUM is fantastically cool, the transformation- shock- recognition in the next few lines land as hard as any visual reveal could have like it is just enthralling sorry it's almost embarrassing gushing this much in a public forum but this scene is just SOMETHING ELSE

>also blanc follows this up with "you knew it was going to do this" which makes me think of sophie's "mm. that makes sense" when jane later says who the other turned into where, like, yeah, this makes a lot of sense but that doesn't soften the blow. i don't know if anything could!

>fascinating to see how theta's strategy changes over the course of the conversation. at first it says things like "you're seriously going to do this to everyone you love??" which are clearly meant to wound by being delivered in evelyn's voice but isn't something he would say--he never knew she dosed sophie with pasithea!! for obvious cause effect reasons!! but at the twelve hour mark (once the memory of the other as anna and sophie is more distant and they've both calmed down some) it starts talking like it really might convince her it's evelyn. and jane starts to slip. references arguments "we've had before." says "that's something you--he--would do"

>LET'S FUCKING GO.

>YOU HEAR THIS AND FEAR FOR JANE FOR BEING FOOLED. WRONG FEAR!!!

>and then she says. be evelyn. 🧨🧨🧨

>theta starting to get scared, jane becoming almost flippant! theta referring to evelyn in the third person and jane saying "you"!! the mundane fucking tragedy of no last goodbye!!!!!

>SORRY JANE BUT THIS IS SO SEXY

>this followed up by "I do know you. I know you died trying to help other people. You wanted to--protect Medean kids, and--Cassandran soldiers, and--your death didn’t mean anything. You didn’t end the war, Evelyn. I ended the war." IS CRAZY

>jane deserves a god complex!!!!

>it's so so gripping to see jane -- who tries to be moral! who cares deeply about other people and doesn't want to do harm! -- justify something horrifying to herself because she has been pushed to such an extreme of grief and she has the power in her hands!!!

>absolutely haunting

>that stage direction KILLS ME!!!!!!! she thinks it worked!!! she thinks she managed the impossible and undid the worst thing that ever happened to her!!!! with raw hope!!!!!

>does it make it better or worse that he lives for a minute?? that for a minute it's just evelyn?? that he has a chance to hug her before blanc shoots him dead??

>it's just so brutal. i feel like i need to go stare at the wall for a few hours

>she did get swept up in a fantasy but can you blame her? grabs blanc by the shoulders and shakes him like a rag doll. can you blame her??? YOU ALL MADE HER DO THIS. SHE'S TWENTY FOUR AND ALONE

>the compactness of this episode is so satisfying. one recording, beginning to end. it feels like a play!!!

in conclusion. what in the holy fuck of an episode. theta is not the only one getting his brain chemistry irreversibly changed by this conversation!!!!!!!!!

Onwards and upwards with Pasithea Pandemonium! I expect this matchup, like the Sophie matchup, will be pure carnage. It's Episode 10, "Evelyn," vs. Episode 23, "Fix It."

[starfacedstudio]

ID: A splash image featuring several colorful cyclops characters, each divided by geometric gutters - forming a tall diamond shape in the middle with two divides on each side for a total of seven frames. Each panel features a single character and is rendered in pseudo-monochromatic colors to represent each character as a different color within a rainbow. End ID.

big ol splash image time.... i made this back in march and boy did my blood and sweat and tears go into getting this thing done on a tight ass deadline!!!! a very emotional grind it took to get this thing done but im still very happy with it :)

[regular-lord-reckoner]

i am so glad this week is finally (almost) over

i had an appointment with my pcp on monday to see about this possible kidney stone situation

they did a urinalysis on me and sure enough i do have some blood in my urine so that plus the pain means it's likely there's a stone, but i'm in a situation again where i haven't had any pain for days so it's like...that's not good !! (especially since this has been going on for a few months at this point !)

they ordered me a ct scan which i had today so i'm hoping maybe sometime tomorrow i'll get the results of that and we can maybe figure out what's going on

i also had a dentist appointment on wednesday but it was just a cleaning and my dentist said everything looks good. it is kinda funny because i was actually supposed to have this appointment months ago but decided to reschedule because i had too much going on that week and so it got pushed out until now and then i end up having even more shit to do this week than i did back then so...oh well !! it's finally done

and tomorrow i've gotta do some of my usual errands (mostly taking the garbage off and getting a few things from the grocery store) and then i think i'll finally be done !! hopefully !!

hope you have a good, restful weekend coming up if you're reading this !! <3

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[ivyues]

Laptop Delivery - Bang Chan

Practice got a little more eventful thanks to an forgotten laptop.

It was a peaceful morning. Fresh from your shower, you padded into your kitchen, planning to grab a quick breakfast before heading to uni. But something on the counter stopped you in your tracks – Chris' laptop.  

Your heart sank. He’d stayed over last night but had to leave early for dance practice. The sight of his laptop sitting on the counter screamed trouble. Normally, he wouldn’t bring it over – it was too precious, filled with tracks, demos, and other vital material for the group. You knew his schedule was packed, and forgetting something this important could only mean bad news.

You snapped a picture of it and sent it to him with the caption:

"Forgot something?"

Still, you couldn’t shake the thought that it might be much more important. Without hesitation, you called him, even though you knew he was at practice.  

After a few rings, he picked up, slightly breathless. "Hey, baby. I’m… kinda at practice right now – what’s up?"  

"Did you leave your laptop here on purpose?" you asked, though you already knew the answer.  

"What?" His voice was sharp with confusion. "No, I thought I— wait, let me check the picture you send me."  

A muffled curse followed as realization hit. "Oh shit, no. I’ve got a meeting with some producers right after practice. I can’t believe I left it there." His tone was laced with stress.  

Chris hesitated. "I—" he started, then stopped himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. He was probably considering rushing back to your place after practice, which would make him late for the meeting. Worse, you wouldn’t even be there to open the door since you'd already be at uni by then.

"I… could… bring it to you," you offered cautiously, knowing what value the device had to the group.  

"Really? Would that be possible?" His voice softened, a mixture of relief and guilt.  

"Yeah, but I’d have to leave now. I still have uni today," you said, already moving to grab your things.  

"Ah, that's amazing. You're an angel," he said warmly. "I’ll text you the room number."  

Skipping breakfast, you grabbed his laptop and headed out. On the way, you planned to stop by a bakery for something quick after the delivery, before heading straight to class.  

-----

At the JYP building, you knocked lightly on the practice room door, despite Chris’ text saying you could walk right in. The door opened to reveal Felix, his face lighting up with a grin.  

"Hey!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug.  

"Hi, Lix," you replied with a small smile. From across the room, Chris’ head shot up, his eyes locking on you. Relief and affection softened his expression as he quickly made his way towards you.  

"Hey," he murmured, stopping just in front of you.  

"Hi," you replied, reaching into your bag to pull out his laptop. As soon as the sleek silver device emerged, the room fell silent.  

The members froze, eyes wide. It wasn’t just a laptop to them; they knew what was inside – tracks, demos, lyrics, everything. The fact that you were holding it was proof of something bigger: the trust Chris had in you.

But before anyone could speak, Chris gently pulled you into the room, his fingers brushing your cheeks as he softly pulled your mask down.  

And then, he kissed you.  

It was natural, familia – something the two of you had done countless times before. But here, in the quiet practice room, with – unbeknownst to you – all eyes on you, it felt different. His lips were warm and soft, a silent expression of gratitude and love.  

The members didn’t move, still processing what they were seeing. None of them had expected this. Sure, they knew how much Chris cared about you, but seeing it displayed so openly caught them off guard.  

When he finally pulled back, his ears burned red, and he muttered a sheepish "I’ll call you later, okay? Thanks again", as he took the laptop from your hands.  

You, cheeks blazing, barely managed a nod as you stepped back. The silence lingered for a beat longer before you mumbled, "Y-yeah. Bye, everyone."

You turned and left, closing the door behind you.  

The moment the door clicked shut, chaos erupted.  

"YAH, HYUNG!"  

"I can't believe you just did that!"

"PDA MUCH?!”

"Channie hyung, what was that?!"

"Wow, so smooth. Too bad your ears give you away."  

Outside, you heard the screaming teasing very clearly and couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks still burning as you walked down the hallway. Chris could handle the teasing – he brought it upon himself after all.  

masterlist

[cowboybeepboop]

Late Night

Pairing: Clark Kent x fem! Reader 

Genre: Smut, gentle and romantic

Word count: 3.7k

Summary: Your friendly neighbor Clark Kent comes to your door one evening, allowing for the two of you to finally grow your relationship.

Warnings: This is not proofread what so ever, gentle/sort of shy Clark, unprotected sex, oral fem receiving, p in v sex. 

a/n: Idk rn but I genuinely can't wait for David Corenswet to be Superman (Henry Cavill is so hot tho...). I’m already imagining how perfect he's gonna be as Clark Kent. As always, send me any requests you have and I hope you enjoy!

For months now, you had been quietly pining for the man who lived across the hall from me in our unassuming apartment building. His name was Clark Kent, and there was something about him that was utterly endearing. It wasn't just his chiseled jawline or the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, but the kindness he exuded, the way he always had a helping hand ready for anyone in need. 

You had become something like friends, sharing the occasional awkward small talk as we passed by with our shopping bags or recyclables. You had seen him in various stages of undress, coming back from his midnight runs, his superhero-like physique hidden under loose-fitting t-shirts and sweatpants. 

Something that had fueled your evening pleasure sessions, everytime your eyes fell closed you could remember the image of his hardened abs, his huge and muscular arms. 

On a warm summer evening, there was a knock at your door. It was Clark, the guy from across the hall. He stood there sheepishly, his hand running through his black hair. 

He wore a white shirt that was unbuttoned and messy. He held a bottle of wine in one hand. "Hey", he said. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I was wondering if I could get a favor?"

“Sure what’s up?” you give him a small smile, your eyes fall on his exposed chest before quickly flicking back to his face. His heart rate increased as he realized that you could see through the thin fabric of his shirt the toned muscles of his chest covered in a light layer of hair.

He cleared his throat, composing himself, holding up the bottle of wine. "I, umm, I was wondering if I could borrow your corkscrew. I lost mine."

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” you move to the side, allowing him to come in. Your mind clouding with desire as he towers over you, his cologne filling your senses. 

He steps into your apartment, the tight space meaning his body brushes against yours slightly as he passes. The contact between you both is brief, but it's enough to send a shiver down his spine as he enters.

Your cheeks flush slightly as you realize your own appearance, wearing just a button down top that is unbuttoned enough for him to see your cleavage and your underwear. You awkwardly lead him to the kitchen, arm subconsciously moving to cover your breasts as you turn around, handing him the corkscrew. 

"Uh, thanks." He says as he takes the corkscrew from you. Even with your arm draped over yourself, he can't help but notice the glimpse of exposed skin, his eyes lingering before he catches himself and averts his gaze, forcing himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

He starts to open up the bottle, the action allowing him to look away from your figure for a moment and compose himself, his hands shaking slightly as he tries to concentrate. 

Your hand reaches out, fingers brushing over his. “Oh yeah this thing is weird, you kinda have to do it a particular way.” you murmur, taking the bottle from him as you fumble with the screw. 

He bites his lip as your fingers brush over his, his stomach swirling at the touch of your hand. He watches as you take the bottle from him, his eyes fixated on your every movement as you try to open the bottle.

"Thanks," he mutters, his voice low and a bit shaky. His eyes wander down, his gaze drawn to the way your top fits, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your cleavage. 

“Mhm,” you reply as you pull the cork out, a small splash of wine staining your collar. You bite down on your lip while setting the bottle down, fingers rubbing the fabric. His eyes widen slightly as he watches the droplet of wine slide down your collar, the stains on the fabric making it even more translucent. 

Clark swallows hard, his mind wandering to inappropriate and ungentlemanly thoughts. He clears his throat, trying to look away, but he can't help but notice the way your fingers are now rubbing at the fabric, the motion only drawing his attention further to your chest.

You glance over him, hand falling from your shirt as you give him a soft grin, noticing the way his gaze lingers. 

His gaze flicks up to meet yours, his cheeks flushed. He realizes he's been caught staring, his eyes having been fixated on the way your hand moves over the fabric of your shirt, the motion stirring something deep within him.

"I, umm..." he stutters, his words failing him as he feels his throat dry up. He swallows slowly, forcing himself to focus on something else. "Thanks, for helping me open the bottle," he manages to say.  He shifts on his feet, trying to discreetly adjust himself as he feels his jeans becoming a bit tighter.

“Of course, do you want to share the bottle? Or do you have someone waiting for you?” you move slightly closer to him. 

His heart quickens as you come closer, his mouth going dry as your proximity makes it all that much more difficult to concentrate. He glances down at the bottle sitting on the counter, his mind racing with desire and indecision.

"No," he says, his voice low and a bit huskier than usual. "There's no one waiting for me." He looks back up at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with a mixture of nervousness and something more forbidden. "I'd like to share the bottle with you."

“Perfect.” You smile, stepping closer as you reach for the cabinet behind him, your chest pressing into his ever so slightly. You open the door, reaching for two glasses ​​his breath hitches as he feels your body press against him, the sensation sending a jolt of heat through him. 

Your chest rubs against his, and he can feel the weight and softness of you against his body. The proximity is driving him mad, his mind clouded by primal desires he's trying to keep in check.

He bites his lip, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the counter, trying to maintain his composure. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he opens them again, his gaze fixed on your every move.

You step back, with the glasses in hand. “We could watch a movie?” you prompt as you pour some wine into the cups, silently enjoying the way he reacted to your touch. 

He nods, his mind still racing as he tries to calm his racing thoughts and the growing hardness in his pants. "Yeah, a movie sounds good," he mutters, his voice coming out a bit more hoarse than he'd liked.

As you pour the wine, his eyes follow your every move, the way your fingers grip the bottle, the way the liquid flows into the glasses. It's all too tantalizing for him. "What do you feel like watching?" He asks, trying to keep his voice level and casual.

“How about you choose?” you hand him a glass, taking yours in hand along with the bottle as you walk into the living room. Taking a seat down on the couch you sip on the wine, your eyes follow his every move, drinking in his muscular form. 

He tries to stay composed, forcing himself to look away and focus on the task at hand. Clark walks over to the DVD collection and scans the titles, his mind unfocused and his thoughts still lingering on you. After a moment of browsing, he picks a movie at random, inserting it into the player.

"All set." He says, returning to the couch and taking a seat beside you. You pull at the hem of your shirt, trying to prevent it from riding up too much while taking another sip of your drink. 

“Great.” you smile, sucking your lip between your teeth as you admire his side profile. He can't help but notice the way you fidget with your shirt, the action drawing his mind to places he shouldn't be going at the moment. 

He struggles to keep his eyes focused on the screen, his gaze keeping wandering over to you, admiring your features and the way the fabric clings to your body. Clark takes a long sip from his glass, the alcohol doing little to calm his racing thoughts and desires. He shifts in his seat, trying to discreetly adjust himself as his jeans grow even tighter.

“Is everything alright?” you notice his movements and set your cup on the coffee table, scooting slightly closer to him. His eyes widen slightly as you move closer, the proximity sending a fresh wave of desire through him. He swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"Yeah," he responds, his voice a little hoarse. "Everything's fine, just...adjusting." He glances over at you, his gaze lingering on your figure, his eyes tracing over the curves where your shirt clings to you, the way your position inadvertently exposes more skin.

“Clark?” your knee brushes against his thigh as you scoot closer. He stiffens as your knee brushes against him, the casual touch sending a jolt through him. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, his hands gripping the edge of the couch as he tries to maintain his composure.

When he hears his name, the way you say it, so soft and gentle, almost a whisper, it sends a shiver down his spine. He looks over at you, his eyes locking with yours, his gaze intense and filled with desire. "Yeah?" He manages to respond, his voice a bit shaky.

“Are you.. seeing anyone?” you chew on your cheek as you search his eyes. At your question, a mixture of surprise and uncertainty crosses his face. He holds your gaze, his eyes searching yours for any hint of insincerity.

"No," he says finally, his voice steady and sincere. "I'm not seeing anyone." He swallows, his nerves getting the better of him as he wonders where this conversation is going. He can't help but feel a flicker of hope and anxiety at the same time.

Your eyes light up as you press a hand to his thigh, “Then… well I hope i’m not misreading the situation,” you murmur, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. It's unexpected, but oh so welcome. 

His eyes widen for a brief moment, before closing as he melts into the kiss. Every cell in his body seems to come alive, the taste of your lips on his sending him into a dizzying spiral of emotions.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his touch gentle as he leans into the kiss, deepening it as he loses himself in the moment. His tongue brushes over your bottom lip as he presses his chest against yours, pushing your back into the plush fabric of your couch. 

Your bodies meld together, your back sinking into the cushion as he bears down on you. His tongue teases your lip, requesting entry which you give him without hesitation.

His heart races as he feels the soft give of your body against his chest, the heat and pressure of your bodies mingling together.

His hand runs over your side, his touch gentle but firm as it moves over the curves of your body, his hand sneaking under the fabric of your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his. You lean back, gasping for air as his fingers explore your body. 

He takes your gasp as an opportunity to trail his lips along your jaw, his breath hot against your skin as he nips and kisses his way down your neck.

His hand moves under your shirt, slowly, his fingertips dancing across your bare skin, mapping out each contour and dip of your body. He groans softly against your throat as he feels your warm, supple flesh under his fingers. You feel so good against him, it's almost overwhelming.

“Clark..” you gasp his name as he unbuttons your shirt swiftly. He loves the way you say his name, the sound of it coming from your lips making his own name sound like a prayer.

He unfastens the buttons of your shirt, revealing more and more of your body to his hungry eyes. He peels back the fabric, his hands roaming over your now-exposed skin, his fingers tracing over your stomach and up to your chest.

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, his teeth grazing over the sensitive skin, tasting your scent, committing it to memory. “Clark..” you moan his name again, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he kisses down your chest, hands landing on your breasts. 

His name slips from your lips again, the sound like a sweet melody in his ears. He can feel the pressure of your fingers on his shoulders, the touch driving his desire even higher.

His mouth travels down your chest, his kisses feather light and seductive as he moves over your breasts. His hands follow his mouth, palms cupping your breasts as he starts to massage the soft flesh.

He moans against your skin, his touch almost reverent. His body thrums with an aching need, the desire to be closer to you nearly overwhelming as he captures your lips in another hungry kiss. He cups your breasts in his hands, his fingers kneading the supple flesh as they press into your skin. His touch is soft but firm, his hands large enough to cover them completely

Clark pulls back slightly, breaking the kiss but keeping his eyes locked with yours. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving with anticipation. He can feel your heart racing beneath his palms as he gently caresses your breasts. "Are you sure about this?" He whispers, his voice thick with desire. "I don't want to rush you." His eyes search yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

You smile up at him, placing a soft hand on his cheek. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life," you reply, your voice barely above a murmur. The sincerity in your tone sends a thrill through him, confirming that this is what you both want.

He nods, his expression serious as he leans back down to kiss you again. This time, the kiss is slower, more deliberate. He savors the taste of you, the feel of your body pressed against his. His hand slides up to the back of your neck, cradling it as he deepens the kiss, exploring every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

As the kiss lingers, he slowly starts to unbutton the rest of your shirt, taking his time to reveal each new inch of your skin. His eyes never leave yours, watching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. You melt into him, your own hands sliding up to tangle in his hair as the fabric of your shirt falls away.

The moment your skin is fully exposed, the air in the room seems to crackle with tension. He leans down to press a line of soft, wet kisses along your collarbone, feeling your body shiver beneath his touch. He takes a moment to just look at you, his eyes filled with a mix of awe and desire. "You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his voice low and rough.

Your cheeks flush with pleasure as he says the words, his eyes devouring your exposed flesh. He takes his time, kissing and caressing every inch of your body, his hands moving in a slow, tantalizing dance that leaves you trembling with need. Each touch is a promise of what's to come, each kiss a declaration of his desire for you.

The room is filled with the sound of your mingled breaths and the soft whispers of your names on each other's lips. The anticipation is almost unbearable, but you both know that the slow burn of this moment is only making the fire between you grow hotter.

Clark finally takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling gently as he rolls the other between his thumb and forefinger. You arch your back, gasping at the sensation, your hands tightening in his hair. He teases and worships each peak, his tongue swirling and flicking, drawing out your moans of pleasure.

As you lay there, the warmth of his mouth on your skin, the softness of the couch beneath you, and the gentle pressure of his body above, you can't help but feel that this is exactly where you're meant to be. With each tender kiss and caress, he's claiming you, and you're willingly giving yourself to him.

The movie on the TV becomes background noise as the only thing that matters is the connection growing stronger between you both. His kisses trail down your stomach, his hands skimming over your hips to the waistband of your underwear.

He kisses the skin just above the waistband, the heat of his breath making you squirm. "I want to make this perfect for you," he murmurs, his eyes looking up at you for approval. You nod, unable to form words as your breath catches in your throat.

He takes his time, pulling down your underwear in one smooth motion, exposing your most intimate parts to his gaze. His eyes darken with desire as he looks at you, but he keeps his touches feather-light, his mouth hovering just above your skin without making contact.

Clark takes a deep breath, savoring the moment as he gazes down at your exposed body. He gently kisses the soft skin of your inner thighs, moving closer to the apex of your legs. His eyes are filled with a fiery hunger that makes your heart race even faster. He presses a soft kiss to your mound, feeling you tense up at the contact. 

Then, with a gentle caress, he parts your legs wider, his gaze never leaving yours. You can see the desire in his eyes, and it only fuels the fire burning within you. With a soft sigh, he lowers his mouth to you, his tongue tracing the seam of your folds with the lightest touch. You moan, your body trembling as he starts to explore you, taking his time to learn every curve and sensitive spot. 

Each touch is a declaration of his intention to worship you, to take things slow and savor every second of this shared intimacy. His fingers join his mouth, gently teasing and exploring, bringing you closer to the edge with every stroke. The room is filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths and soft whimpers, the only soundtrack to this passionate symphony of desire.

Clark continues his gentle exploration, his tongue circling your clit with a patience that borders on agonizing. He's not in a hurry; he wants to savor every moment of this, to make sure you feel loved and desired. His fingers slide into your wetness, curling gently as he begins to stroke you internally, matching the rhythm of his tongue. 

You can't help but whimper, your eyes squeezed shut as the sensations build within you. He's so attentive, so in tune with your body's responses that you feel like you're floating on a cloud of pure pleasure. Each kiss, each caress is a testament to the connection growing between you, and you know that this is just the beginning of a night that will change everything.

Clark's eyes never leave yours as he shifts his position, aligning his body with yours. His hand moves to guide himself, and with a gentle nod from you, he begins to press into you. His movements are slow and deliberate, his expression one of intense concentration as he tries to read your every reaction. You can feel the tip of him pushing against your entrance, the anticipation of what's to come making you squirm.

As he enters you, he whispers sweet nothings into your ear, his voice a soothing balm to the building passion. He's so big, so thick, but he's so gentle that it's almost a surprise when he's fully sheathed inside you. You gasp, your eyes flying open, and he stills, giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation of being filled by him.

He waits, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pain or discomfort. When he sees none, he starts to move, his hips rocking in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your toes curl. Each thrust is met with a soft moan from your lips, his name slipping from your mouth like a prayer as he fills you completely.

The feeling of him inside you is unlike anything you've ever experienced. It's as if your bodies are made for this, as if every inch of him is meant to be connected to every inch of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands sliding down to grip his firm ass as he moves within you.

The room seems to spin around you, the only constant is the feeling of him, the sound of your hearts beating in sync. He kisses you again, his movements becoming more urgent as the passion takes over. You can feel him thickening, growing even more inside you, and you know that he's getting closer to the edge.

You whisper for him to go faster, to give you more, and he responds eagerly, his strokes deepening and quickening. Your body responds in kind, your hips rising to meet his, the friction between you building until it's almost unbearable. You're both so close, the tension coiled tight in your stomachs, ready to snap.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, it does. You cry out, your body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. He follows shortly after, his own release shaking his body as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

For a moment, you just lay there, your bodies entwined, your hearts racing. Then, with a soft sigh, he pulls back, his eyes searching yours for any signs of regret. But all he sees is pure satisfaction, a mirror to what's reflected in his own gaze. He leans down to kiss you gently, a soft promise of more to come.

[stalkedandblocked]

camgirl!reader x sevika

tw. reader and sevika are live, regular au (?? i have no idea how to word it 😭) masturbation (reader), strap on, fingering, cunnilingus (giving and receiving), sevika puts you in a headlock, squirting, overstim, sucking the strap

while in college you get a little bored of your mundane life, and with some free time during the night and also in need of some more money you start an only fans account. after growing quite a following you decide to do a raffle to stream with one of your fans to make things more interesting.

a/n: this took so long holy moly. i hope y’all liked this because this is one of my first times writing a full fic <3 like and reblog if ur a real sevika truther :D

with your tripod and camera on your bed infront of you, you moan, “mmmf… im so close,” you arch your back off the bed as you press the vibrator harder onto your clit. you spread your legs wider, giving a show to the camera. “fuck- oh my god,” your hips start bucking and you throw your head back, you moan and cry as your orgasm hits you, the painful feeling of overstimulation comes quickly but you keep the vibrator on your pussy and your whole body trembles through your orgasm. panting like a dog, you finally turn off the vibrator and place it to the side.

you lift your shaky body and sit on your knees in front of the camera, putting your hands in your lap to squeeze your breast together. you start to announce the little idea you had. messages are spammed in the chat, asking for you to chose them, that they’ll even send money for you to choose them, and asking about what you mean by this. you only giggle and say, “it’s just a thought you pervs, i thought it might be fun to chose one of you randomly and see if you’d be interested in streaming with me.”

the chat dies down on the questions and you say a few more words to say goodbye, before ending the stream by blowing them a kiss.

after hopping in the shower and getting yourself clean, you change into some comfy pajamas before making a post on your page.

‘hi to all my fans! i’m so glad you guys were interested in my proposal, if your in the area dm me for a chance to stream with me ;), i can’t wait!’ after pressing send you turn your phone off and head to bed, hoping that hopefully this won’t be a mistake, and that whoever you chose isn’t entirely horrendous looking.

the next day you check your phone, a couple hundred dm’s are in your inbox. most being people from far away asking if they can fly out but you stick to your word, you find one from an account who sent their address. “let’s see what this person has to offer” you think to yourself. you text back and forth before ultimately asking for a photo of them holding some id next to them so you know they’re not lying about their identity.

a while passed before the account responds, there was no indication about who this person might be so your surprised to see a woman, another notifications sends and it’s a photo of her id attached. you look closer at it, her names sevika, she’s quite a bit older than you, but that didn’t bother you. you ponder for a bit, you’ve never had sex with a woman, but was not opposed to the idea. but yes, even thought the photo of herself is a bit awkward, even reminding you of a parents facebook photo which makes you laugh to yourself a bit, she is very attractive. and from what you can see she seems quite muscular.

“alright”, and you send her an address of a restaurant near both of your homes and tell her to meet you there tomorrow and 4pm.

the next day, you put on a simple going out outfit, nothing to make it obvious your meeting a stranger to fuck her, then head out the door. as you walk to the restaurant you feel butterflies, obviously you had only even been with men, but she was, well, very sexy you thought. the idea excited you but also made you nervous.

as you sat at a table and tell the waitress your waiting for somone, another walks into the restaurant. you miss her face but her hair is tied half up and it’s short, a few inches above her shoulder. she’s also is very tall. you gulp, from what you remember that looks like her. she scans the restaurant before you make eye contact. she walks over to you and sits across from you.

“you must be sevika,” you smile, feeling more nervous than you expected to be. when she responds her voice is deep and smooth, her words are almost seductive. compared to your messages and how she talks to you she seems much more ready and nonchalant about this whole situation in real life. everything about her attracts you, “so did you have any ideas of when you’d like to.. ahem” you try to keep your voice down so no one hears and gets any ideas, “..stream”.

sevika is lazily leaning back in her char, legs nudged open a bit. she leans over the table, resting her arms on it, “i’m ready whenever you are.” you have no idea if she meant to make you flustered, or tried to make it sound sexy but her words melt you brain almost. you stand quickly and grab her arm, “let’s do it today, let’s do it now!” you squeal out before your dragging her out of the restaurant.

sevika had driven so she directs you to her car, you drive to your house and you walk up the stair together after she grabs a bag out of the back of her car. your whole body is warm and fuzzy with excitement. “i usually wear some lingerie when i start, as you probably know. would you like some or do you want to start naked?” you ask, grabbing a matching to set to change into.

“naked.” she responds, she watches as you walk to the bathroom to change. you throw a robe out of the bathroom so she can cover herself before you start. you come out in your set, wearing a robe as well. she sits on your bed watching, “let me set up the camera and then we can begin. did you have anything in mind on what we want to do, what we want to follow?”

“i have ideas for later, but let’s not worry about that now.”

you begin the stream, sevika sits naked on your bed, and you take the robe off infront of the camera. sevika places a hand on your hip guiding you to her lap before you crawl over her. each touch feels like sparks, your already soaked and anticipating what’s gonna happen. you grab eachother and start kissing, her tongue runs over your lip and your lips crash against each other. you sit down on her lap and slowly move your hips over her muscular thighs, you moan into her mouth. “that’s a good girl,” she praises, before continuing to kiss you.

she grabs your hips roughly, helping them move back and forth, you arch and moan for her. your chat is going crazy, some even shocked that it’s another woman. she stops your grinding and lifts your hips up a bit before dragging her thick finger up and down your slit. both of you seem like you forgot that your streaming and just enjoy each others bodies. she rubs your clit in circles, making your toes curl. she takes you from on top of her and flips you to face the camera, spreading your legs, the exposing position making you even wetter. she slides your panties to the side so the camera can see your wet cunny, she starts rubbing circles on your clit makes you throw your head back.

she chuckles at you, “don’t make me hold you head up. already so sensitive, huh?” her mocking words make you moan once more, she begins teasing your hole before nudging her index and middle finger into you. her fingers are so thick and long, your already seeing stars, “fuck! yes! right there sevika, oh my god-” you scream out as she adds her ring finger inside. your juices leak all over her lap and hand. your head leans against her and you mewl into her ear, begging to cum. as you finally start to reach your orgasm she pulls out her fingers and slaps your pussy.

“fuck!” you cry out as your body reacts to your ruined orgasm, sevika chuckles. you breathe heavily as sevika manhandles your basically limp body, laying it on the bed, she starts pulling down your panties and the slick dripping between your legs is more visible than ever. you arch your back slightly off the bed and she unclips your bra, she stops what she’s doing and stares at them. you giggle and can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or because of her expression, like she’s almost captivated. your breasts fall from the bra and lay prettily on display, which sevika quickly takes advantage of and begins to suck at on of your nipples and knead the other. you let at small moans while kisses litter your tits.

she lifts her head up and smirks “are you ready?” she asks, with having no idea what she’s talking about, you eagerly nod. she begins moving her body over yours and places her bare pussy on your face, letting down all her weight, then spreading your legs and burrying her face in your own cunt. your almost shocked by this, she starts teasing the tip of her tongue on your clit, before diving it into your hole, tongue fucking you and hitting all the good spots in your pussy. you moan against her cunt and try to copy her actions. you suck her clit and lap your tongue up and down her pussy, you squeeze around her tongue in response to her moaning. it’s low and vibrates through your whole body. it’s not long before you cum because of the previous teasing she had done earlier. you squeeze your legs around her head and buck up, trying to keep up the pace with how your lapping her pussy, but inevitably struggle from how your body is shaking against her face.

sevika places one last sloppy kiss to your clit then raises herself, and grinds against your face until she orgasms, gripping onto your hair. the moans she lets out makes your pussy ache.

while coming down form your high you lay next to each other panting, forgetting about the stream itself. “you okay, baby?” sevika asks, places kisses on your neck. “mhm,” you mumble, relaxing into the bed as she kisses you. “well, i think it’s time for what i had planned for earlier”, she gets up and disappears off camera. across the room she pulls something out of her bag that she had grabbed earlier. she begins to attach something to her hips, and before you know it she’s standing over you with a strap on.

it’s so thick and long, you gulp. not even with any men had you had to take something for big. “i know your wet enough but, i don’t think this is” sevika lets out a sly smile. her height already towers over you, so even standing and you sitting in the bed has you face to face with it. “suck it.” she orders and obediently you do. you place your hands around it, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes, and slowly thrust your mouth down onto it. she stares down at you and bites her lip. you bob your head up and down, slowly reaching down with each thrust, your throat adjusts around it and you gag against it and sevika laughs. she places one hand on your head to tug at your hair. once you finally reach down the base she holds your head down. the length makes your eyes tear up as you gag even more.

she pulls your hair back until your off of it and pushes you down to the bed. still grasping your hair she puts your face down into the pillows and keeps your ass up before crawling over you. she has your face infront of the camera and wraps her arm around you. her thick biceps flex as she grabs the strap to line it up at your cunt. she wastes no time pushing it in, when she bottoms out your eyes roll back and without even moving it feels almost heavenly. she starts thrusting slowly before they become almost rapid, her arm squeezes around your throat even more and you moan and gasp. “taking it like such a good little slut,” she purred. you let out a messy smile and your moans just couldn’t stop coming out. they way it felt against your g-spot and pounded into you made your toes curl.

“se-sevika!” you drooled, “i’m gonna cum, please! hah, keep going!” you screamed, sevika took no time and started pounding into you more, her free arm rubbing your clit, fast circles against the puffy aching bud. your body shook and your eyes rolled back into your head, sevika thought they might never go back. you cried out before you finally squirted all over yourself and the bed, the liquid covering your stomach, the sheets and sevikas hand. “holy shit” sevika gasped at the reaction to your orgasm. your whole body was stiff and shaking, your mouth tried to let out moans but nothing came out as your eyes rolled back as hard as they could. your body went limp onto the bed, sevika pulled out of you, a line of slick breaking as the contact broke. you whined at the sudden emptiness.

she grabs the camera and faces it towards you, she spreads your weak legs showing the amount of cum that had leaked from your hole and everything that had dripped onto the sheets and between your thighs. “took it like the good slut she is,” she grabbed a handful of your ass and let out a laugh before she abruptly ended the stream.

she threw the camera onto the bed carelessly, then asked, “so, want to meet again next week?”

[sematarygirls]

Okay but he’d fuck you so hard when they lose the Super Bowl after you spends an hour gloating about the eagles handing their asses to them!

i saw this request and started giggling and kicking my feet omg. anon, i owe you my first born child. you are a GENIUS! (although, fair warning, i'm not great at writing smut. i hope this is okay <3) not proofread

cw: unprotected p in v, rough sex, mean rafe, slapping, degradation

Football tended to be a touchy subject between you and Rafe. Where you were a diehard Eagles fan, he wouldn't be caught dead rooting for them. After the Chiefs narrowly beat out the Eagles in the 2023 Super Bowl, Rafe wouldn't shut up for weeks about how "trash" the Eagles were. It drove you absolutely insane.

That's why, when the Eagles absolutely kicked ass this Super Bowl in a rematch against the Chiefs, beating them out at a whopping 40-22, you thought it was your well-deserved right to rub it in Rafe's face, much to his dismay.

One thing about Rafe is that gloating is only okay when he does it—much like a lot of other things (he's a very hypocritical guy), hence his growing anger when you wouldn't stop talking about how the Chiefs absolutely threw the game with all their fumbles, making jokes the whole time about how it seemed like they weren't even playing.

Another thing about Rafe? He tended to get violent when he was angry. With other people, this meant he'd kick their asses, but with you, it meant you were in for a long night of rough fucking to make him feel better and put you in your place for your "bratty attitude."

Though, if you tried to point out the hypocrisy with him finding your actions annoying when he had done the exact same two years prior, he would only get more annoyed and very, very defensive.

You'd learned at a very early stage in your relationship that some battles were not worth fighting with Rafe, and besides, you kind of liked it when he was all rough with you, manhandling and degrading you deliciously.

"Not so mouthy now, huh?" He taunted, pounding into you from behind. Each thrust pushed you forward a little bit, your face burying further into the pillows as you moaned. A sharp slap to your ass had you gasping, the pain sending a jolt of pleasure to your core that had you practically gushing around Rafe's thick length. You didn't know how long you'd been going at this with him, but he hadn't let you cum, nor had he let up the brutal pace.

"Look at you," he sneered. "Can't even think of anything to say back to me, huh? Thought you were gonna gloat all night about how the Eagles won." His words were cruel and biting, revealing the depth of his anger, which wasn't about the football game. It was more so about being challenged, his ego hurt after talking such a big game about how the Chiefs were going to dominate.

You couldn't form a coherent sentence. Your brain turned to mush as the only thing you could focus on were his rough hands on you and his length stretching your velvety walls. You could practically feel each ridge and vein of his cock as it slid back and forth, his tip nudging your cervix roughly with each pass.

"What happened to that smart mouth, huh?" He mocked. "Your dumb little brain's too desperate for cock, huh, bunny," he cooed, his tone patronizing as he continued to pound into you with rough strokes, making your back arch and eyes roll back.

He was so mean, but you loved it.

He was right. You couldn't respond to him anymore. You had lost your ability to form a single word, dumbed down to a mess of please sounds as he hit that sweet spot inside of you so perfectly. He took that as a victory, seeing it as proof that you knew your place. He loved it when you whimpered underneath him, completely at his mercy. "Look who's behaving now. You're lucky you're so pretty, honey," he continued, enjoying this little game of his. "Otherwise, I wouldn't put up with such a bratty mouth."

"Fuuuuuck," he groaned, giving your ass another sharp smack before his hands found your hips again, his grip bordering on painful. "And this fuckin' love this pussy. Fuckin' perfect, baby."

He was getting close. You could tell by the way his pace started to falter, and his words switched from degrading to praising. One hand slipped down to your clit, rubbing firm circles. Even when he was pissed, he still tried to make you cum first.

It didn't take much more effort on his part. Your thighs were already trembling, desperate for release from the moment he'd thrown you onto the bed and ripped your clothes off.

"You're gonna be a good girl now, huh? You're gonna stop being such a pain in the ass, aren't you?" He questioned, punctuating each question with a thrust. "No more running your mouth and riling me up, right?"

"Uh huh," you whined pathetically, needy and desperate to cum.

He knew he had you right where he wanted you, all pliant and begging. "Yeah, you gonna stop talking back, huh? You can be a good little bunny for me, can't you?" He cooed, his words sounding a little bit less harsh. He was enjoying having you like this, completely at his mercy.

All you could muster was a weak nod, your fingers gripping the sheets and mouth parted in ecstacy as you reached your peak, blinding pleasure overtaking your body as your walls clamped down around his cock.

"That's it, baby, just like that," he groaned, pumping a few more times before pushing deep inside you and releasing spurts of hot, sticky cum into your eager cunt.