#i told you. what if it never gets better. what if this lasts forever and ever. i’m TRYING but then i close my eyes and i’m right back !!!

[lupinqs]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN ━━ Future In Our Hands

☆ ━ pairing: hopkins!paige x oc (dani callan)

☆ ━ word count: 6.3K

☆ ━ warnings: sexual content (fingering—p giving, morning sex)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, take me to church masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: well… that’s it. my first baby all grown up. i actually cannot believe it’s over yall, genuinely. i love all of you so much, i love dani so much, i love dani and paige so much—like how’re we supposed to say goodbye…. anyways thank you all for your support on this fic, take me to church will always, always have a special place in my heart. ALSO! i’m planing to write an epilogue, so i want you guys to send in some ideas of what you might wanna see in that!! i love you all so much, onto the next 🫡

JUST LIKE DANI thought they’d be, things are different now—but also so much better. After leaving her father’s house, she stayed with the Bueckers for a few weeks. They were kind, welcoming, and unwaveringly supportive, but Dani knew it couldn’t last forever. Paige’s family has their own lives, and—no matter how much they told her she wasn’t—Dani didn’t want to intrude. So when her Aunt Julia offered her a place, Dani accepted, moving into her aunt’s modest apartment just outside the city.

It’s been over a month now, and things are good—really good. Julia and Dani have grown close, almost like they’re making up for lost time. Dani feels lighter in this space, unburdened by judgment or fear. And then there’s Grey, Julia’s son. The baby has taken to Dani in a way that’s mutual and immediate; his face lights up every time she walks into the room, and Dani finds herself softening in his presence in ways she never thought possible. For the first time in years, she feels like she belongs somewhere.

The alarm on Dani’s phone blares, slicing through the comfortable silence of her new bedroom. She groans, reaching blindly to shut it off, and Paige groans along with her. Dani’s hand finds the phone, and she presses the button with more force than necessary, silencing the obnoxious buzz. The room goes quiet again, but it doesn’t last long.

Behind her, Paige stirs, nuzzling closer until her face is buried against Dani’s neck. Her arms tighten around Dani’s waist, one hand slipping beneath the hem of Dani’s sweatshirt to rest warm and solid against her bare stomach.

Dani lets out a breath, feeling Paige’s slow, steady breathing against her skin. “We gotta get up,” she murmurs, though the words lack any real urgency.

Paige responds by shaking her head, her voice muffled. “Noooo. Just a few more minutes.”

Dani huffs out a quiet laugh, the corners of her mouth lifting despite herself. “P…”

But before she can say more, Paige groans dramatically and shifts her weight, rolling fully on top of Dani. She’s warm, all long limbs and lazy strength, her hands sliding up Dani’s sides as she tucks her face against Dani’s neck again. Her lips brush against the sensitive skin there, leaving soft, barely-there kisses that make Dani’s heart stumble in her chest.

Dani sighs, her hands coming up to rest on Paige’s hips. “Paige, we’re graduating in a couple hours.”

Paige makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh, finally lifting her head to look down at Dani. Her hair is a mess, her eyes half-lidded with sleep, but she’s smiling in that lopsided way that always makes Dani’s stomach flip.

“What time is it?” Paige asks, her voice scratchy and low.

“9:30,” Dani says, trying to keep her tone firm.

Paige scoffs. “We ain’t gotta be there ‘til 11:30. We got time.”

Before Dani can respond, Paige leans down, her lips brushing against Dani’s in a kiss that’s soft and lingering at first. Dani melts into it instinctively, her hands sliding up Paige’s back, but it doesn’t stay soft for long.

The kiss deepens, shedding its softness in favor of something needier, hungrier. Dani feels Paige’s weight pressing down on her, grounding her in the moment, the exhaustion they’d both been clinging to dissipating like mist under the heat building between them. Paige tilts her head to angle the kiss just right, her lips sliding against Dani’s with purpose. There’s nothing rushed about it, but there’s an urgency to the way Paige grips Dani’s waist, her fingers splaying against bare skin like she’s memorizing the shape of her.

And then Paige shifts her hips just so, grinding down in a way that steals the breath from Dani’s lungs. Dani gasps against Paige’s lips, her fingers digging into Paige’s shoulders, and she feels rather than hears the soft hum of satisfaction Paige makes in response.

It’s just enough to spark something deep inside her, enough for her body to react instinctively. Dani’s hips buck up to meet Paige’s, the friction making her head spin, and before she knows it, her arms are around Paige’s neck, pulling her impossibly closer. Paige adjusts, settling fully between Dani’s legs, her weight a warm and steady pressure that has Dani’s pulse thrumming wildly.

The hand Paige had been using to grip Dani’s waist slides up, her palm skimming the curve of Dani’s side and brushing just under the swell of her chest. It’s light, barely there, but it sends a shiver coursing through Dani all the same. Paige feels it—of course she does—and her lips curl into a smirk against Dani’s mouth before she dips her head to trail kisses along Dani’s jaw, her breath hot against sensitive skin.

“P…” Dani breathes, her voice shaky.

Paige doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. Her lips press against the spot just below Dani’s ear, lingering long enough to make Dani squirm beneath her. “Hmm?” Paige hums, her tone teasing, almost lazy, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to Dani.

“Paige,” Dani tries again, her hands sliding up to bury themselves in Paige’s messy blonde hair. She tugs lightly, just enough to make Paige lift her head and meet her gaze. Paige’s eyes are heavy-lidded, her pupils blown wide, and the sight sends another jolt of heat through Dani.

“We’re—” Dani swallows hard, trying to focus, but it’s almost impossible with Paige looking at her like that, with Paige’s hand still skimming her side, her hips still pressed so perfectly against Dani’s. “We’re gonna be late,” she manages, though it comes out far weaker than she intended.

Paige grins, the kind of grin that’s all mischief and affection rolled into one. “We got time,” she says, her voice low and certain. And then she’s insistently reconnecting their mouths, lips sliding together perfectly, teeth clashing just slightly. Dani’s eyes flutter shut as she continues kissing the blonde, feeling Paige’s hands begin to trail downward. They slide along Dani’s stomach, tracing slow circles on her skin, almost teasing. It makes Dani squirm a little until Paige’s fingers brush along the waistband of the pair of Paige’s basketball shorts Dani wore to bed.

Without Paige even asking anything, Dani’s nodding against her, hips shifting. They’re on a time crunch, so if they’re gonna do this, they gotta do it fast. Paige grins against Dani’s lips—probably at her eagerness—before sliding her fingers under the shorts and Dani’s panties in one go.

Dani gasps just slightly as Paige’s fingers reach for her clit, the blonde humming against her lips as she begins to circle the bud. Paige’s mouth disconnects from Dani’s, her lips skimming over her jawline and along her neck. “Mmm,” she hums against Dani’s ear. “So wet, Dan.”

Dani feels her cheeks heat at the words, heat flushing through her face down to her core. She whimpers a little at Paige’s slow circling of her clit, bucking her hips enough to let her know she needs more. Paige understands immediately, and then two of her fingers are sliding inside Dani, the slickness of her making the motion almost effortless. The sound that follows is, indeed, sinful—the obscene wet noises filling the otherwise quiet room, making Dani’s stomach tighten with a renewed wave of arousal.

Paige groans a little, pulling back from Dani’s neck. She grabs at the brunette’s shorts with her free hand, pushing them down so she can see her fingers working, eyes locking onto her digits moving in and out of Dani’s cunt and the way Dani’s body arches up into her. Dani watches Paige watch, catching the blonde bite her lip, eyes almost glazing over as her fingers slide inside Dani.

It makes Dani whimper, her hips instinctively pushing back against Paige’s fingers. “Mmph… please…” she mumbles, not really sure what she’s begging for, but the need in her tone seems to spur Paige on.

Paige responds immediately, thrusting her fingers deeper, curling them just enough to hit that spongy spot inside Dani that makes her gasp loudly. Dani feels Paige’s free hand move back up her body, under her sweatshirt to squeeze at her breast, thumb brushing over her nipple. Paige’s lips find Dani’s neck again, too, biting down lightly before sucking a mark into her skin.

Dani cries out a little at the sensation, her body trembling as the pleasure begins to overwhelm her. “God, P,” she moans, voice ragged.

She feels Paige grin against her neck once more, her fingers moving faster now, her thumb rubbing slow, deliberate circles back on her clit. “Like that?” Paige whispers, breath hot against Dani’s skin.

Dani just nods, her breath hitching as she struggles to respond. “Yeah,” she finally manages to gasp out, her hips moving in time with Paige’s fingers. “Just like that.”

Dani bites down onto her lip hard, probably enough to draw blood, keeping herself in check because she has absolutely no interest in her aunt hearing her moan Paige’s name. Paige’s fingers are just relentless as they thrust in and out, the wet sounds between them growing louder and more obscene with every second. Dani feels Paige moan against her neck and that, along with the curling of Paige’s fingers, has Dani’s brows furrowing together, eyes scrunching closed, her whole body tightening.

“’M close,” Dani whimpers breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper as her nails dig into Paige’s back.

Dani feels Paige’s fingers press even harder at her words, scissoring inside her, angling them just right. “Come on, Dan,” Paige encourages. “Wanna feel it.”

That‘a all it seems to take. With a muffled moan, Dani’s body goes taut, her muscles contracting around Paige’s fingers as she cums hard, her hips bucking as waves of pleasure crash over her. Paige holds her tightly, her fingers slowing just enough to guide Dani through her orgasm, her lips still pressing gentle kisses to her neck.

“Fuck,” Dani gasps, her body finally going limp as she collapses back against the mattress, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tries to catch her breath.

Paige smirks down at her, slipping her fingers out. Paige presses a gentle kiss to Dani’s jaw, then her lips, then her nose, then the spot between her eyebrows before pulling back so she’s eye-to-eye with the girl. “Now it’s time to get up,” she says, cheesing.

Dani rolls her eyes, slapping at Paige’s arm lightly. “Shut up.”

THE FINAL APPLAUSE feels like it echoes forever, reverberating around the crowded football field. Dani sits there in the plastic chair, the edges of the graduation gown stiff against her arms, her cap threatening to slip off her head. She doesn’t move. Around her, classmates are already standing, hugging, and tossing their caps into the air, but Dani feels rooted in place.

It’s over.

Her childhood—whatever was left of it—has officially ended.

That’s the only thought looping in her head. The years she spent on cramped bleachers, in loud cafeterias, on basketball courts that smelled like old wood and sweat—all of it is behind her now. Her chest feels heavy with something she can’t quite name. Relief? Sadness? Fear? She shakes it off and stands, taking a deep breath that doesn’t fill her lungs the way she wants it to.

When the crowd begins to disperse, she finally spots Paige a few rows over, standing tall and blonde and unmistakable in her blue gown. Thaliah is next to her, smirking as she bats Paige’s hands away from the crooked cap on her head. Dani weaves through the sea of gowns, her own steps feeling distant and mechanical. But when she reaches them, her grin comes naturally.

“Look at us,” Thaliah says, throwing her arms around both Dani and Paige, drawing them into a three-person hug. Her grin is wide. “All grown up!”

Dani chuckles, pulling back just enough to breathe. “Finally free,” she agrees, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

Thaliah rolls her eyes. “Yeah, free to do what? Work? Be an adult? Ugh.”

Dani doesn’t answer because her eyes are drawn to Paige, who’s blinking quickly, her lashes wet. Dani’s smile softens as she takes in the way Paige’s lower lip wobbles just slightly before she sucks it between her teeth.

“Aww, babe,” Dani says, her voice teasing but fond. She steps closer, brushing her thumb under Paige’s eye to catch a tear before it can fall.

“I’m not crying,” Paige says immediately, sniffing and straightening her shoulders like she can will the emotion away.

“You’re totally crying,” Thaliah chimes in, her grin wicked. “Somebody get a camera!”

Paige narrows her eyes. “I ain’t crying!”

“You are,” Dani teases, her hand lingering against Paige’s cheek before letting it fall back to her side.

“Shut up,” Paige mutters, but the corner of her mouth betrays her with a twitch of a smile.

The three of them laugh then, the kind of laughter that feels bigger than the moment. It’s a release, a shared acknowledgment of everything they’ve been through together and everything that’s ahead of them. Dani lets it wash over her, lets herself feel the warmth of it as they shuffle out into the packed hallway.

The noise is overwhelming, a cacophony of voices and camera flashes and the occasional squeal from someone who’s just spotted their family. Dani’s chest tightens briefly, but she shakes it off. This is supposed to be a happy day. She forces herself to focus on the here and now.

“Alright, I’m off,” Thaliah announces, clapping them both on the shoulder. “If I don’t get to my mom soon, she’s gonna start yelling my full name in front of everyone, and we can’t have that.” She gives the pair one last grin before disappearing through the crowd.

Paige stays close as they navigate through the throng of people, her hand brushing Dani’s back as they walk. Dani can feel the slight tremor in Paige’s energy, the kind that only comes when Paige is overwhelmed, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she nudges Paige gently with her elbow, and Paige gives her a grateful smile.

They find Paige’s family first. Her mom is the first person Dani notices, standing near the bleachers with a wide smile and arms open. Lauren, Ryan, and Drew are bouncing on their toes, waving furiously when they spot Paige. Bob is chatting animatedly with Paige’s grandparents, and her aunt is juggling a camera and a gift bag with tissue paper spilling out the top.

“Paige!” Lauren squeals, launching herself at her older sister the second she’s within reach. Paige laughs, catching her and spinning her around before setting her down. Ryan and Drew both aren’t far behind, wrapping their arms around Paige’s waist and clinging like a little koalas.

Dani watches it all unfold, a small smile tugging at her lips. It’s a lot, seeing all of them there, so many people who love Paige and want to celebrate her. A small pang settles in her chest, but she pushes it aside quickly.

She doesn’t have to look far for her own family. Julia is standing just a few feet away, holding baby Grey on her hip, her smile soft and full of pride. Dani’s grandparents are beside her, their expressions warm and welcoming. It’s quieter, simpler, but no less meaningful.

Julia’s arms are open before Dani even realizes she’s moving, and she steps into the hug, letting herself sink into the familiarity of it. “I’m so proud of you, Dani,” Julia whispers into her ear, her voice thick with emotion.

The words hit harder than Dani expects, her throat tightening as she blinks rapidly, willing herself not to cry. She pulls back after a moment, forcing a smile as she meets Julia’s gaze. “Thanks,” she says, her voice a little hoarse.

Grey babbles something unintelligible, reaching for Dani with chubby hands, and she can’t help but laugh as she takes him into her arms. “Hey, buddy,” she murmurs, bouncing him slightly. He giggles, his tiny hands grabbing at the tassel on her cap.

Her grandparents step forward next, wrapping her in hugs that smell like lavender and old books, murmuring their congratulations with quiet pride. Dani’s smile feels a little steadier now, a little more natural.

It’s not perfect. It’s not what she used to imagine this day would look like. There’s an emptiness where her parents should be, a hollow ache she tries not to focus on. But looking at Julia’s warm smile, Grey’s wide eyes, and her grandparents’ unwavering support, she decides it’s enough.

“Hey, kiddo.”

Dani turns to find Bob, Paige’s dad, leaning in for a hug. His grin is kind and effortless, the kind that makes Dani feel seen, like she belongs. She melts into the embrace, letting him clap her on the back as she smiles against his shoulder.

“Look at you!” he exclaims as they pull back. “High school graduate. You’ve done good, Dan.”

Her grin widens. Bob’s probably the closest thing she has to a dad these days, and she’s grateful for how steady he’s always been, how he’s never made her feel out of place. “Thanks, Bob.”

Before she can say more, Amy swoops in, wrapping Dani in a tight hug that smells like fresh laundry and perfume. “Aw, Dani, all grown up!” Amy squeals, pulling back to hold Dani by the shoulders and give her a good once-over. “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Dani laughs, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Please don’t cry, Amy. Paige’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Amy laughs, her hands squeezing Dani’s shoulders briefly before she lets go. “No promises.”

Dani makes her way down the line, crouching slightly to hug Paige’s little siblings. Lauren and Ryan and Drew all beam at her, their arms wrapping around her tightly. Drew leans into her side, his small voice eager as he says, “You’re coming to the cookout after, right?”

“Of course,” Dani says, ruffling his hair before pulling Lauren in for a quick squeeze. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

When she stands, she feels a hand slide into hers, warm and familiar. Paige is there, her blue eyes soft as she looks at Dani, squeezing her hand gently. “Okay,” Amy says suddenly, clapping her hands together like she’s directing a photoshoot. “I need pictures!”

Paige groans, loud and exaggerated, her head tilting back like this is the most torturous request in the world. “Mom, come on—”

“No complaints!” Amy cuts her off, already holding up her phone. “This is a big day! Paige, Dani, come on.”

Paige rolls her eyes but grins as she tugs Dani closer by the hand. Dani follows easily, letting Paige guide her until they’re standing shoulder to shoulder. Paige’s arm wraps around her waist, her hand resting lightly on Dani’s hip, and Dani lets her own hand settle comfortably against Paige’s back. They tilt their heads together instinctively, their smiles wide and natural as the first flash goes off.

One photo turns into three, then four, and Dani quickly loses track of how many cameras are aimed at them. Both of Paige’s parents are taking pictures, as are their grandparents, Julia, and Paige’s aunt. It feels like every angle is covered, and Dani doesn’t even know where to look at this point.

“Oh, wait, wait!” Julia exclaims suddenly, waving her free hand while balancing Grey on her hip. “Take one showing the caps!”

Dani and Paige both blink at her, confused for a moment before they realize what she means. “Oh!” Paige says, reaching up to tug her cap off. “Yeah, yeah.”

Dani does the same, pulling her cap off and holding it in her hands. When she glances over at Paige, she can’t help but laugh. “Ooh, cap head,” she teases, nodding toward Paige’s hair, which is flattened awkwardly where the cap had been.

Paige narrows her eyes at her, a mock glare that doesn’t last long. “Fix it.”

“Please,” Dani corrects, smirking as she leans in to do just that—fix the mess. Her fingers comb through the strands of blonde until Paige’s hair looks normal again. Paige huffs but doesn’t pull away, her lips twitching upward in the smallest smile.

When Dani’s satisfied, she steps back, only to feel Paige’s hand brushing against her own hair. “Hang on,” Paige mutters, her fingers quick and sure as they smooth out Dani’s own cap-induced disaster.

Once they’ve both deemed each other photo-ready, they angle their caps toward the cameras, holding them up so the bedazzled designs are clearly visible. UConn logos sparkle under the sun, the rhinestones they painstakingly glued on last night catching every flash.

“Go Huskies!” Amy cheers from behind the phone, her voice bright with pride as the camera clicks again.

Dani feels her grin stretch impossibly wider. In that moment, she forgets about the ache in her chest, the absence of her parents, the uncertainty of the future. All she feels is this—Paige’s arm warm around her waist, their friends and family laughing and cheering, and the glimmer of the UConn logos they’ll carry with them into the next chapter of their lives.

THE NIGHT feels heavy in the best way—cool air brushing against Paige’s skin, her hoodie soft against her arms, and the low hum of cicadas filling the spaces between quiet laughter. It’s dark now, the kind of dark that stretches across the park like a blanket, broken only by the dim glow of the streetlamp by the parking lot and the stars above. The four of them—Paige, Dani, Thaliah, and Jalen—are settled into their usual spots at the park they’ve claimed since what feels like forever. The basketball court has cracks they know like the backs of their hands, the picnic table has their initials carved into the wood, and everything about it feels like home.

Paige leans against the basketball hoop, dribbling lazily as Jalen sets up for a halfhearted shot. He misses—terribly—and Paige laughs, grabbing the rebound and tossing the ball back to him. “Bro,” she teases, “you might need to rethink that NBA dream.”

Jalen points at her, mock offended. “You laugh now, but when I’m in the league, you’re not getting courtside tickets.”

“Good,” Paige fires back with a grin. “I’ll be too busy winning nattys at UConn anyway.”

The words feel easy, automatic, but they carry a weight she’s only just starting to realize. UConn. Storrs. It’s been this abstract, glittering thing for so long, but now it’s real—a fresh start, a new chapter. Summer sessions start in just a couple weeks. Basketball in the basketball capital of the world. And Dani. Dani will be there too.

She glances toward the picnic table, where Dani’s sitting shoulder to shoulder with Thaliah, both of them half-focused on Thaliah’s phone. Milkshakes sit abandoned on the table, sweating in the humid air, and Dani’s curled hair falls into her face as she leans closer to the screen. Paige watches her for a moment, her grin softening into something quieter.

“Aye,” Jalen says, nudging Paige with his elbow and smirking a little. “You good?”

“Hm?” Paige blinks, startled out of her thoughts. “Yeah, I’m good.” She spins the basketball once, catching it easily. “Just thinking about how much better I am than you.”

Jalen groans. “Aight, thin ice, Bueckers.”

Paige laughs, tossing the ball his way before walking toward the table, her curiosity piqued by whatever has Dani and Thaliah so engrossed. She hops up onto the bench beside Dani, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table. “What’s so fascinating?”

Thaliah glances up briefly, holding her phone out so Paige can see. “My roommate at UCLA,” she says, scrolling through an Instagram profile of a girl with tanned skin and lots of beach photos. “She’s already from Cali, so.”

“Hmm,” Paige hums, tilting her head as she studies the photos. “She seems chill.”

“I think so too,” Dani agrees.

Thaliah nods. “Yeah, she’s nice. We’ve been texting. She’s into film, which gives us somethin’ in common, and she’s already invited me to a festival this fall. I think we’re gonna get along.”

Paige nods at the words before watching Dani groan dramatically, leaning her head against Thaliah’s shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re gonna be in sunny LA while I’m stuck in Storrs with this creature.” She gestures lazily in Paige’s direction without looking up.

“Aye!” Paige exclaims, feigning offense. She ruffles Dani’s curls lightly, earning an indignant squawk. “Watch that mouth.”

Dani swats at Paige’s hand but grins, leaning back in her seat, humming, “Mhm.”

Paige smirks. “It’ll be fun, you know it.”

“Debatable,” Dani shoots back, but there’s a warmth in her tone that makes Paige’s chest feel strangely tight.

Jalen finally joins them, the basketball tucked under one arm. He stands behind them, leaning over to try and get a glimpse. “What’re we looking at?”

“My future roomie,” Thaliah says, holding up her phone again.

Jalen squints at the screen, then nods approvingly. “Damn. She fine.”

Dani bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her milkshake as Thaliah groans and mutters something about boys being predictable. Paige just shakes her head, leaning back on the bench and letting the easy rhythm of their banter wash over her. It’s moments like this, she thinks, that she’s going to miss most.

But then Dani’s hand brushes against hers, her fingers curling briefly around Paige’s, and she thinks maybe she doesn’t have to miss it. Not really. Not when Dani’s right here, and when tomorrow, and every day after, will start with both of them heading toward the same place. Together.

Jalen’s phone buzzes on the bench, the screen lighting up with a notification. Paige notices it before he does and glances over, catching the slight furrow in his brow as he picks it up and reads the message. “Ah, man,” he says, standing and shoving the phone into his pocket. “My mom’s tellin’ me to get home. Graduation tomorrow and all.”

Thaliah stretches, groaning a little as she stands. “Guess I’m out too, then. He’s my ride.”

Paige frowns, tilting her head at them. “Wow, ditching us already?”

Thaliah smirks as she grabs her jacket. “Hey, not all of us can be completely irresponsible. Some of us have families that enforce things like curfews and sleep schedules.”

“Lame,” Paige teases, but she stands to hug Jalen, patting him on the back. “Congrats ahead of time, though. Have fun tomorrow.”

Jalen grins, hugging her back.

Thaliah waves as they head toward the parking lot, leaving Paige and Dani alone on the weathered wooden bench. The night feels quieter now, though not uncomfortable—just different. The cicadas hum in the trees, and the faint smell of grass and pavement lingers in the air. Paige lets herself enjoy the moment for a second, her gaze drifting over to Dani.

Dani sits quietly, staring out at the court, her expression unreadable. It’s the kind of stillness Dani falls into sometimes, where Paige knows she’s in her head about something but won’t say what.

Paige stands, grabbing the basketball from beside her and turning it over in her hands. The weight of it feels familiar and grounding. “Play with me?”

Dani turns to look at her, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“Play with me,” Paige repeats, her tone lighter, teasing. She bounces the ball once against the ground for emphasis.

Dani snorts. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious.” Paige grins, holding the ball against her hip.

“Uh-uh,” Dani protests, shaking her head. “We both know how that’ll end.”

“And?” Paige arches a brow.

Dani doesn’t move, her expression skeptical. Paige rolls her eyes, stepping closer and grabbing Dani’s hand, tugging her to her feet. Dani resists for about half a second before giving in with an exasperated sigh.

“You’re annoying, you know that?” Dani mutters.

“Yep.” Paige leads her toward the court, the basketball bouncing lightly in her other hand.

Once they’re on the court, Paige dribbles a couple of times before passing the ball to Dani. “1v1,” she says, her voice challenging.

Dani catches the ball awkwardly, holding it for a moment as she stares at Paige. “This is stupid,” she says, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth now. “We both know who’s gonna win.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Paige replies, dropping into a defensive stance. “C’mon. Play.”

With a small shake of her head, Dani starts to dribble—slowly, clumsily. The ball bounces unevenly against the pavement, and Paige bites back a laugh. She gives Dani a few seconds before darting in to steal the ball.

Dani yelps and pulls the ball to her chest, her arms wrapping protectively around it like it’s a lifeline.

“That is illegal!” Paige exclaims, standing in front of her with her hands on her hips.

“Then quit tryna take it from me!” Dani fires back, her voice half-laughing, half-exasperated as she shifts away from Paige.

Paige grins, circling around Dani like a shark. “Aight, fine. If you wanna be like that, we can be like that.”

Before Dani can respond, Paige lunges, trying to pry the ball free. When that doesn’t work, her fingers find their way to Dani’s ribs, tickling mercilessly.

Dani shrieks, laughter spilling out of her uncontrollably. “Paige! Stop!” she yells, twisting and turning to escape, but Paige keeps going, grinning against her ear.

“This… is… definitely… a… foul!” Dani manages between gasps, her laughter growing louder as her grip on the ball falters.

“Don’t care,” Paige replies, her voice smug as she tickles harder. Dani’s back presses into Paige’s chest as she struggles, her legs wobbling beneath her.

Paige spins the brunette around, her fingers relentless against Dani’s ribs, tickling so hard that Dani’s squealing, “Paige!” nearly collapsing under the weight of her laughter.

Finally, Paige relents, stepping back as the basketball slips from Dani’s grasp and rolls across the court. Dani leans against Paige, panting and giggling, her forehead pressing lightly into Paige’s chest.

“I hate you,” Dani mutters breathlessly, swatting weakly at Paige’s hoodie.

Paige just grins, her hands settling on Dani’s hips. “Nah, you don’t.”

Dani pulls back slightly, glaring up at her with an exaggerated pout. “Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t,” Paige replies, her voice softer now, teasing but with an edge of sincerity. Paige’s grin widens, her hand sliding upward to cup Dani’s jaw. Her thumb brushes lightly against Dani’s cheek as she leans in, her voice barely above a whisper. “C’mon, Dan, you don’t hate me.”

Dani rolls her eyes, relenting. Paige thinks she hears her breath catch. “No, I don’t.”

And then Paige tilts her head, her lips brushing against Dani’s, soft at first, as if feeling the rhythm of the moment. But then, the hesitation fades. Paige presses forward, coaxing Dani’s lips to part, and with a quiet, deep inhale, her tongue slips into Dani’s mouth.

Paige feels Dani’s mouth opening slightly more, a sigh escaping her lips. She shifts closer, hands sliding down from Paige’s chest to her sides, pulling them tighter together, the warmth of her body mingling with Paige’s. Their tongues tangle, teeth clashing slightly.

Paige’s hand on Dani’s hip trails downward, fingers slipping, finding purchase on the curve of her ass. She squeezes lightly, feeling the taut muscle beneath her fingertips, and that small movement has Dani grinning against her lips, the playful smirk against Paige’s mouth making Paige’s stomach flip.

Paige lets out a soft laugh through the kiss, a breathless sound, but she doesn’t pull away. She deepens the kiss instead, her fingers pressing a little harder, pulling Dani closer still. It’s like a slow burn, the way their bodies are melting together, hot and heavy but not frantic.

Paige takes her time. She lets her lips linger, firm but careful, savoring the way Dani responds. There’s a heat between them, an energy that buzzes under Paige’s skin, but she reins it in, keeps it simmering just beneath the surface. This moment isn’t about rushing forward—it’s about Dani, about the way she fits so perfectly in Paige’s hands, the way her lips feel impossibly soft and warm, the way she melts into the kiss.

Dani shifts slightly, her hands sliding up from Paige’s chest to loop around her neck. It pulls Paige down further, and she lets it happen, leaning into the touch, into Dani. The kiss slows for a beat, their lips brushing more gently now, like the initial spark has given way to something softer, something steadier.

Paige pulls back just an inch, her forehead resting against Dani’s. She opens her eyes slowly, and the sight of Dani—her cheeks flushed, her lips slightly swollen, her eyes half-lidded and searching—nearly takes her breath away.

“Dan,” Paige murmurs, her voice low and a little unsteady.

Dani blinks up at her, her fingers still playing lightly with the hair at the nape of Paige’s neck. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. The way she looks at Paige—like she’s seeing her for the first time and yet has always known her—says everything.

Paige feels her phone buzz against her skin, the vibration pulling her reluctantly out of the moment, out of Dani’s warmth. She lets out a soft breath of frustration, but she’s still not ready to fully pull away. Her hand stays on Dani’s ass, fingers tracing the curve of her hip in a way that keeps their bodies pressed together.

She pulls the phone from her pocket with a sigh, glancing at the screen, but the feeling of Dani still so close, so tangible, is enough to make her hold on just a moment longer. It’s a message from her dad asking if she and Dani want to come back and watch a movie with Drew, Ryan, and Lauren.

She shifts the phone to face Dani, letting her read it for herself. The light from the screen illuminates their faces, casting soft shadows across Dani’s features. For a second, Paige just looks at her, at the way Dani’s brow furrows slightly in thought as she processes the message, and then the way her lips curve into that familiar smile that always does something to Paige’s chest.

“You wanna?” Paige asks quietly, her voice soft but steady, letting Dani know she’s willing to go along with whatever she decides.

Dani looks at the message and then up at Paige, smiling just a little—like the smallest of secrets are being shared. She nods, and that small gesture makes Paige’s heart skip just a little.

“Yeah,” Dani says, her voice barely above a whisper, but there’s something in her tone that makes Paige’s chest tighten with affection. “Let’s go.”

Paige smiles back, the warmth spreading in her chest, and presses one last kiss to the corner of Dani’s mouth. It’s soft, lingering for a second longer than it probably should, but Paige can’t help it. She can’t help but savor the taste of Dani, the way her lips feel like home. It’s like everything before this—before the arguing, before the space between them, before all the pain—has led to this.

This moment. This kiss. And everything that comes after it.

When she pulls back just a fraction, still feeling the heat of Dani’s skin under her hands, Paige wraps her arm around Dani’s waist and guides them back toward the picnic table. Her fingers graze the soft curve of Dani’s waist, a quiet gesture of possession, of love, of a future they haven’t yet fully realized but are starting to piece together.

They collect their milkshakes, Paige grabbing both cups, offering Dani her Oreo one, who takes it with a grateful, quiet smile, and they walk side by side, their shoulders brushing with every step. They don’t say much, the silence between them comfortable, an unspoken understanding that fills the space where words aren’t needed. There’s no pressure, no rush, just the steady rhythm of their footsteps as they head back.

Side by side, they walk back to Paige’s house, their bodies pressed close enough that the warmth between them is constant, never faltering. Neither of them speaks much, but the air between them feels thick with the weight of it all—the unspoken words, the shared memories, the connection that neither of them can deny anymore. They walk in sync, like they’ve always been meant to, and Paige finds that she doesn’t need words to fill the space.

The familiar sights of their neighborhood pass by, the houses and the trees, the sound of their feet on the pavement, the occasional rustle of wind through the leaves. They pass Dani’s dad’s house, and neither of them looks at it. Paige’s mind briefly flickers to that house, to the past, to the pain that had lingered there for so long, but it’s all behind them now. That part of their lives is a closed door, and neither of them needs to open it again.

They reach the front door of Paige’s house, and Paige can’t help but glance at Dani as she opens it. The door opens with a soft creak, and for a brief moment, Paige holds the door open with one hand while she rests her forehead against Dani’s. It’s a simple thing, but there’s something about it, something about the way Dani’s body fits against hers, something about the softness of her skin under Paige’s touch that makes it all feel like it’s meant to be.

And in that moment, Paige knows, without a doubt, that everything before this was just the beginning. Because this—this is their forever.

Then, Lauren calls for them both from inside, telling their names. Dani grins up at Paige, murmuring, “C’mon,” pulling her inside.

And as they step inside the house, with their hands still intertwined, the door closes softly behind them, sealing shut their childhoods, their high school days, and all the ups and downs that surrounded them. The future’s wide open, and Paige and Dani are ready to take that step into it.

[sanemistar]

TAKE ME BACK

contents ★ ex!geto x fem!reader, angst to fluff, exes then back to lovers, slightly ooc geto (?), 1.2k+ wc. requested for my milestone event. author's message ★ trying a new layout for this one :3 i honestly love this color combo plus these are my favorite colors ever <333

event m.list ★ jjk m.list

seeing your ex boyfriend suguru for the first time after the breakup left you with mixed feelings of both familiarity and unfamiliarity. in terms of appearance, he hadn’t really changed. he looked pretty much the same way as you left him except his jet black hair had gotten longer. however, something about his aura had changed. you weren’t exactly sure what it was, you just had a feeling that it wasn’t the same as before, it was a tad bit softer, more gentle, and it made you feel as if you were being in the presence of a completely different person.

tension began to rise as awkward silence filled the atmosphere around you. it was excruciating and you had a hard time breathing, your heart clenched painfully. you were anxious and nervous.

yet despite all that, deep down inside your heart was a part of you that wanted to see suguru again, which grew bigger when it actually happened, you were quite happy to see him again after all that time.

if you were being completely honest, you had never been able to move on from him. so in other words, you still had feelings for him. and if he ever asked you to get back together, you would do it in a heartbeat without a single hint of hesitation.

you knew he wouldn’t though, and these were only wishful thoughts on your part. because you were pretty sure things between you and him had ended once and for good that day. showing no signs of a reconciliation.

“you haven’t changed at all.” your eyes widened slightly, it was as if he was reading your mind. was it some sort of telepathy or something? you didn’t know. his voice pierced through your ears, and it got you thinking that his tone hadn’t changed in the slightest. his voice was still as soft as it could be.

“you too, sug—geto.” you almost called him by the nickname you gave him back when he was your boyfriend, but quickly realized and changed to his last name. however, it didn’t feel right to you. it felt so forced, simply because his nickname used to roll off your lips ever so effortlessly, your tongue was so used to the sound of ‘sugu’ as it rolled out naturally. so when you forced it to say his last name instead, it came off weird.

suguru chuckled, a somewhat sad smile made its way onto his face upon hearing his last name rolling over your lips. the sound of it felt foreign to his ears as it reminded him that you two weren’t in the kind of relationship that allowed you to be on a nickname basis anymore. it hurt him, and it hurt him deep.

because truth be told, he too, still loved you. he tried his hardest to move on with his life, he went out with many girls, and he even went as far as to sleep with them in desperate attempts to forget all about you as if he’d never met you. but to his misfortune, his attempts never worked out. you were simply unforgettable to him, he could never erase you from his heart even if he wanted to.

he had left his heart with you on the day you called it quits, and couldn’t manage to get it back to give it to someone else.

you felt as if time was frozen, and you were stuck in yet another prolonged moment of silence. with just you and suguru together, no one else.

your mind was constantly telling you to run away, to not look back and leave him behind. that you were better off without him. but your emotions took control over your actions as your heart refused to let your body move, and you remained still in your spot.

“i can’t believe i let you go,” suguru spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever, breaking that thick layer of silence. “i was such a fool, wasn’t i?”

his regretful tone caught you by surprise, you couldn’t believe that it was possible for suguru to regret a decision he made. yet there he was, spilling out his regrets in front of you.

you slowly parted your lips open, thinking of what to say back to him.

“isn’t it a little too late for that?”

that wasn’t what you wanted to say, you wanted to say that you missed him, that you still loved him, that you wanted to get back together with him.

but your mind was too quick to react. you wished you could take back what you said, but it was too late for that.

“maybe… but if i’m being honest with myself, i still love you. actually, i don’t think i’ve ever stopped loving you once.” you watched suguru admit that he still had feelings for you in utter disbelief. it was the last thing you expected to hear from him. how he looked at you while he was talking and how earnest he sounded were enough proof that he was being sincere and genuine, he meant every single word he said.

suguru on the other hand, felt some sort of relief washing over him after finally letting his suppressed feelings for you out of his chest. he didn’t know if he would ever get another chance to see you again, so he was more than determined to win you back. it wasn’t guaranteed that you would allow him in your life once again, but he was still willing to give it his all.

“so please just,” he paused momentarily, taking a deep breath before proceeding. “take me back to you.” it sounded as if he was pleading, perhaps he was indeed pleading. he was just desperate at that point as this was his last resort. but he didn’t care if he seemed desperate, he was able to put his pride aside and show you his weak side. to suguru, if showing his vulnerability to you was the price he had to pay for him to get you back, then so be it.

“you idiot, of course i’d take you back. i wouldn’t want to be with anyone who wasn’t you, i will always love you.”

that sole sentence was enough to bring you to tears because of how moving it was. you immediately run towards him and throw yourself in his arms as you wrapped your arms tightly around him as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding onto him for dear life. his body slightly flinched under your touch, but quickly reacted as his strong arms pulled you closer to him. your bodies were so close that you could feel the warmth of one another.

“welcome back, sugu.” you said in between your sobbing, finally allowing his name roll off your lips ever so easily. he smiled upon hearing his nickname being said as he gave the top of your head a series of small, tender pecks.

“yeah, i’m back home.” he hummed softly against your ear.

suguru had been lost for so long, but at last he was finally back to where he belonged, to you, his home.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @lxnarphase @sylusdoll @itachiiwrites @itoshivy @17020 @creamflix @luv-lies @suguru-getos ( @gothsuguru + @hiraethwrote special tags for you my loves since you asked me about it )

[ohbueckers]

HEART OF A WOMAN. … instead we’re moving slow, i guess she’s used to it by now.

05, CHAPTER FIVE. YOU BETTER START THINKING.

ju speaks. i procrastinated this so bad lol but i have some time over the break to get some stuff out (more hoaw chapters) so yay! pairing. wnba!paige bueckers x fem!oc. warnings. sexual innuendos.

present day, june 2025.

i’m not sure why i let it happen again.

scratch that—i know exactly why. i just don’t want to admit it to myself. it’s always like this with paige and me. a spark, a touch, a stupid comment or argument that turns into something much bigger, much harder to control. we’ve been here before, over and over, in different cities, in different beds, pretending like this time will be the last time. it should’ve been.

the last couple of weeks have been easier than i expected, softer in a way i didn’t know we were capable of. i’m starting to think it’s too good to be true. paige hasn’t been running from me, hasn’t been trying to prove something every second of our time together. maybe that’s why i’ve let my guard down, just a little.

she’s still herself, of course. cocky, loud, and incapable of stilling. but she’s been showing up. not just physically but in the ways i used to hope for back when we were together the first time. it’s in the way she looks at me when she thinks i’m not paying attention, like she did in high school when she told me she never wanted to let go of me. it’s in the way she texts me good morning before i can even think about reaching for my phone, like she’s trying to prove she can still be someone i want to wake up to.

and maybe, stupidly, i’m starting to believe her.

not completely, not yet. paige bueckers has always been good at saying the right things, making promises she’s not ready to keep. but these past weeks, it’s like she’s trying to remind me who she was before everything got so messy. the version of her i fell for in the first place.

but when she’s here, like this? it’s so hard to remember why i ever tried to stay away.

paige is stretched out on her back, arm slung around me, fingers tracing patterns absentmindedly on my shoulder. the sheets are tangled around her bare legs, and she shifts slightly, the motion sending a faint brush of her skin against mine. i glance up at her, and the smug smirk already curling at her lips tells me she knows exactly what she’s doing.

“you staring at me, nai?” she asks. her voice is rough and a little husky from sleep as she stretches. my eyes flash to her exposed abdomen.

“don’t flatter yourself,” i mutter, though it is so obviously a front.

“tooooo late,” she drawls, shifting again so she’s propped up on one elbow, the other hand sliding up to lazily run along my arm. “you’re terrible at pretending you’re not obsessed, by the way.”

i roll my eyes, trying to hide the way my breath hitches at her touch. “says the girl who texted me five times in a row last night because i didn’t answer fast enough.” i lean back against the pillow, staring up at her, and i swear i could forever.

paige’s grin widens, shameless as she looks away. “i mean, what was i ‘posed to do? sit there and wait? nah, i had to apply pressure.” the smugness on her face tells me she’s having way too much fun with this, fun with me.

i snort, shaking my head as i get up, swinging a leg over her and straddling her waist casually. “pressure? you called me a ‘certified flake’ and threatened to pull up if i didn’t respond.”

paige lets out a low laugh, her hands instinctively finding my thighs as i settle over her. “yeah, and look where it got me.” she licks her lips, smirk softening as her eyes flicker over my face, lingering on my lips that are curled up into a smile. “don’t act like you didn’t like the attention.”

i arch a brow, tilting my head to the side. “oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

her hands tighten on my thighs, smirk faltering for just a second before she regains composure. “mhm. attention. you’re welcome.”

i roll my eyes but don’t pull away, my hands bracing on her chest. how could i? “you’re such a problem.” i bring the comforter we shared last night up over my back, and its like a tent giving us privacy from the sun of my windows. i really need some black-out curtains or something.

“and you love it,” she fires back, her voice dropping, teasing, as her fingers trail upwards, stopping just far enough.

i do. God, i really do.

i smile, and i swear my face hurts from it as i lean down to kiss her. again and again, each one leaving paige chasing after my lips. i savor the moment. i’m not sure how long it’ll be like this, but i like it. a lot. i pull back, resting my head on her chest, breathing in her morning scent as she bites down on her lip in reminiscence.

“tell me i’m wrong,” she murmurs.

i laugh, more of a pity chuckle just because she’s so full of herself. i furrow my eyebrows just slightly, bringing my hand to a resting point right by my face. “i’m not telling you shit, bueckers.”

“yeah? but you didn’t say i was wrong.”

i don’t want to admit it, not to her, not even to myself, but paige knows me better than anyone. she always has. it’s infuriating and comforting all at once, the way she sees through me like i’m an open book. i’m not an open book. i never have been, but for paige…

she doesn’t press, though. she never does when it really matters. she just watches me with that maddening half-smile, her fingers brushing over my skin like she has all the time in the world, and i know she’s waiting for me to say it. to give in.

maybe that’s why i keep coming back. or maybe it’s because she’s the only person who’s ever made me feel this much all at once—frustration, want, affection, something i’m not ready to name. whatever it is, it’s why i don’t pull away, why i let her keep pulling me closer even when i know i should stop.

i shift, the sheets rustling beneath us, and my chest tightens. not about what she said, but what i’m forcing myself to think about. i hate how much i want this, how much i want her, even after everything. especially after everything. but its addicting, and i know she feels the same.

“maybe i’m just a sucker for this,” i mutter, low enough that i’m not sure she hears it.

but of course she does.

she nearly breaks her neck to look down at me. she doesn’t let the words settle. “nah, you a sucker for me.”

i roll my eyes again, avoiding her gaze, but i don’t argue. instead, i lift my head again as i prop myself up on her chest. “what makes you so sure?” it’s a stupid question, but i was fully ready for her to read me.

paige’s smile turns smugger. “because you’re here,” she says simply. “and you’re smiling like that.”

i scoff, trying to play it off, but the way she’s looking at me makes it impossible. i lean down, pressing my lips to hers again, even slower this time. how could i stay away from her when kisses me like this? i feel the way her mouth curves, realizing she’s smiling too.

my hand slides up to cup her face, and she pulls me just a little closer by the small of my back, grip tight like always, like she’s scared i’ll slip. it’s not rushed—in fact, we have a couple hours to be entangled like this before having to part—it’s intentional. like she’s got all the time in the world and wants me to feel it.

and i do.

“it’s—mhm—okay,” paige says, and i find her muffled words rather cute as i shift my hips up, pushing my lips further into hers. her hand slides up my bare back, fiddling with the clasp of my bra. “i am too.”

i pull away, sitting up a little straighter as i quirk a brow at her. “you’re what?” i ask. i decide to help her out, unclasping my bra, but holding the straps up over my chest until she’s finished speaking.

her eyes fall, tongue swiping over her swollen, pink lips. i’m teasing her, i know it, paige definitely knows it. but as she brings her hands up slowly, tearing my own away, i almost forget what i was doing to her in the first place, suddenly fully exposed. i hear her breath hitch. “a big, fat sucker for you.”

i bite back a smile despite her unserious words, because they always make me do that. i roll my eyes, cusping her mouth into my hand playfully as she laughs, shaking out of it.

paige doesn’t hesitate.

she attaches her lips to my collarbone, trails down to the curve of my chest. i look down, and if i didn’t know any better, i’d say paige bueckers is absolutely enamored with me. “so beautiful, baby,” she huskily says, her hands grounding my hips against her as she moves to my tits, attacking the marks she’d left last night so roughly it has my breathing going faster.

i tangle a hand in her hair, fingers tightening reflexively, and it’s like i can’t look away. her face, her lips—every detail feels seared into my memory. “for real,” she continues, and when she looks up at me unexpectedly, lips curving into a small grin, it’s like i’ve completely checked out.

i’m not me anymore, i’m whatever paige wants me to be.

“need you framed or somethin’.” it’s a joke. clearly a joke, nailea. but the way she’s making me feel makes it land differently.

“framed, huh?” i manage.

“yeah,” she replies proudly, like it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever said. “you know, like for the crib. big centerfold. maybe as my lock screen too.”

i can’t help it—i laugh, shaking my head, closing my eyes momentarily as i pretend her words aren’t setting me closer to giving myself to her completely. “you’re so stupid,” i mutter.

paige doesn’t flinch, her grin only widening as she dips her head again, her lips brushing over the swell of my chest. “nah, just honest,” she murmurs against my skin, and the way her voice vibrates there nearly makes me lose it.

i force myself to breathe, leaning back slightly as her hands wander. “maybe you can,” i blurt out without thinking, and she pauses, glancing up at me again.

“what you talkin’ about?” she asks.

i don’t answer right away, leaning over to grab the pink polaroid camera sitting on my nightstand. it’s old and clunky, a relic from freshman year that my dad had given me, and i’d kept it more out of nostalgia than utility. now, though, it feels like fate.

it always does with us.

when i sit back, holding the camera up, paige’s eyes light up, her grin widening into something more troublesome. “nai,” she drags out.

i lift my eyebrows, playing along, like i don’t already know where this is headed. “i’m listening.”

“you not serious,” she shakes her head, voice etched with some laughter. she doesn’t believe it, yet she still tilts her head, sizing me up like she’s already planning the perfect angle.

“thought you wanted me framed, p,” i counter, poking my bottom lip out as i lift the camera a little higher.

her grin deepens, tongue flicking over her teeth as she leans back just enough, hands sliding up and down my legs, creating some sort of friction. she hesitates. “you sure?”

i pretend to think for a moment before responding. “hmm, depends. you gonna cooperate?”

paige chuckles. “oh, i’ll cooperate.” she shifts again, her posture loosening as she leans back against the headboard, one arm draping casually over her head, the other trailing down to rest just between my legs. shes so sexy it’s almost overwhelming. her grin is the same as always, blue hues pierced into me.

“go on then,” she urges. “show me how you see me, baby.”

i adjust the camera into focus, fingers fumbling over the different buttons i’m sure i’ll have to show her have to work before snapping the first photo. the flash and the sun combined cast her in a perfect light, and though she’ll look less defined in the old pixels, the sight’s engraved in my head now.

the whir of the camera fills the room, and the polaroid slides out, landing softly against her chest. paige grabs it, holding it up with a satisfied smirk as the image slowly develops, inspecting it like it’s a prize. she glances at me, her expression softening just a little. “i’m bettin’ you could do better.”

“oh, you think so?” i shoot back, handing her the camera.

“mhm. there a timer on this thing?”

i step out of the shower and into my room, shivering a little as i pull the towel tighter around my chest. paige, completely the opposite temperature of me, must have messed with my thermostat.

i silently curse her for getting so comfortable.

she’s still here, tall figure leaning over the bed she made up. she’s wearing nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and her sports bra, her phone in one hand, the other lazily shuffling through the scattered polaroids we just took.

“what you doin’?” i ask, tilting my head at her as i walk over, water droplets trailing down my legs.

paige glances up, her blue eyes gleaming like i’ve interrupted something i should’ve known better than to question. “you thought i was lying about my lock screen?” she smugly says, holding up her phone.

i keep my eyes on her, not knowing what to expect as i move closer, the faintest tug of a grin threatening my lips. “what’d you do?” i mutter, snatching her phone to check it for myself.

sure enough, the lock screen now features a series of the pictures we’d taken. i blink, and i think my boiling, hot shower just cleansed every dirty thought i had before getting in, because i don’t remember us being this fucking horny. my cheeks flush despite myself. “paige, you cannot keep this on your phone.”

she strokes her chin, lowly laughing at my reaction. “why not? looks good, don’t it?”

i shake my head as i fight back every inch of amusement that wants to take over me. “it’s unhinged,” i retort, though the corner of my mouth betrays me. a part of me wants her to keep it.

she looks at me, completely unfazed. “everything we just did is unhinged.” well…

before i can think of a snappy comeback, there’s a sudden knock at the front door, loud and authoritative. my heart leaps, and i freeze. paige stiffens too, her smile faltering just slightly.

“shit,” i mutter, tossing her phone back on the bed. “put a shirt on.”

paige doesn’t move immediately, still grinning like she thinks this is funny.

“now, p!” i urge, hitting her arm and scrambling toward my closet for a robe.

“aight, aight,” she finally says, scurrying over and grabbing a shirt off the back of a chair. she takes her time pulling it on, moving like this isn’t urgent, like we’re not one knock away from being exposed.

but then there’s another knock, louder this time. not from the front door—this one is right outside the bedroom.

the fuck?

i freeze, my hand still on the closet door, dread pooling in my stomach.

paige’s eyes widen as realization dawns on her. “yo, who has a key to your apartment?” she mouths, grabbing the polaroids and shoving them under the pillow in a panic.

i shake my head as if to tell her i wouldn’t know before squaring my shoulders, trying to channel a calm i don’t feel. If i act casual, maybe—just maybe—i can smooth this over. except i don’t know who it is. we don’t know who it is. i tie the robe around myself and open the door slowly, preparing for the worst.

and there she is. cameron brink.

her arms are crossed as she scans the room, and she doesn’t have a reaction to paige’s presence in the slightest bit. i speak first. “how’d you—“ i start, but she cuts me off, holding up a pink key decorated with yellow daisies attached to her keychain.

well, shit.

“i had a feeling i’d need this,” she says coolly, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “and your locations.” her eyes flick over my robe, then to paige standing awkwardly by the bed, and then back to me.

“bye, paige,” she says pointedly, not even giving her the courtesy of a glance as she busies herself by stuffing her keys into her purse.

paige hesitates, looking between me and cam, clearly debating whether to say something. i’ve got my own arms crossed, chewing down on my lip like a kid in trouble. she takes the hint, and finally, she steps toward me, pressing a quick kiss to my cheek before grabbing her phone and heading toward the door. “i’ll… catch you later.”

if it weren’t for the predicament we were in, i’d call her adorable.

the door closes behind her, leaving me alone with cam, and i don’t even have to look at her to know what’s coming.

“really?”

i roll my eyes, crossing my arms tighter against my chest. i shouldn’t be upset with her though. i’m deflecting. “you stalking me now?”

cam smirks, but there’s no humor in it. “i came to apologize for what happened at the bar,” she says. “in person, because i haven’t seen you. but now i know why—you’ve been busy.” her voice has something etched in it, almost like she’s disappointed in me, but at the same time, knew.

i look away, fingers curling around the fabric of my robe. “it’s not like that,” i mutter, but even i don’t believe it. not really. it is like that. and maybe i’m just too tired of pretending i can stay away.

“isn’t it? i thought you were done with her,” she says, her brows raising like she’s daring me to lie.

i let out a breath, awkwardly keeping my hands to my sides as i sit on the edge of the bed. “me too.”

“then why is she leaving your apartment like a one-night stand?”

“because—” i start, but the words stick in my throat. what was i supposed to say? that seeing paige nearly every day had unraveled every ounce of willpower i had? that being around her felt like falling into an old habit, comfortable and impossible to resist?

“you try having your ex-girlfriend get drafted to the team you work for,” i say finally.

still, she rambles. “and maya?” cam presses. she’s so worried about it you’d think it was her problem. “they’re seeing each other, you know that, right?”

i close my eyes for a moment, guilt clawing at my chest. that wasn’t fair. “we haven’t…” i trail off, shaking my head. “we haven’t been thinking that far.”

cam exhales, hand running down her face. “that’s the problem, nai. you’re not thinking.”

her words settle into the room, a bit harsh for me to hear, but not untrue. and maybe that’s what stings the most—that i’ve been avoiding this conversation with myself for weeks. the truth is, i haven’t thought about anything beyond the way paige makes me feel when she’s close, the way her voice drops when she says my name, the way her hands feel like they’re meant to pull me back in no matter how far i run. i haven’t thought about maya, about what it would mean for her to find out, about how i’d explain myself if it came to that. i haven’t thought about the job i fought so hard to get, and how quickly it could all fall apart if this got out.

i look at cam. she looks like she’s seen this all before. she hasn’t. she hasn’t even seen half of it and wants better for me. she loves us both, i know that. but apart better than together.

i bite my lip, frustration pooling in my gut as i try to put my thoughts together. somehow, the only thing i can think about is how this isn’t just paige and i’s secret anymore, and i should fight to keep it under wraps until we figure it out. “please don’t tell maya,” i plead.

cam looks at me, her expression unreadable for a long moment before she sits down beside me, close but not touching. “you know i won’t.” i feel a sense of relief. “but promise me you’ll start thinking. about how this affects your job. about you.” she chuckles dryly, emphasizing that i don’t really have a choice.

i suppose she’s right. she is right.

[cinderblockgabbs]

Hi here’s a loooooooooonggg rant from the one that can’t go on without inserting Wilford into every egos life in any way possible…

For context: I see engineer mark as a separate person from actor mark, but he’s also like actors self insert, or how he interprets himself if he were an awesome engineer in the year 2080- something. This doesn’t mean that they’re the same person, at least not anymore, they just have a lot of the Same personality traits and the same name.

I also see a large portion of iswm in general as a really messed up retelling of wkm that’s been retold and reset so many times it’s become a completely new and different thing. This isn’t saying that every iswm character is supposed to symbolize every wkm character, but at one point, SOME were vaguely based off of marks interpretation of his wkm friends. It’s kinda like an answer to the ship of Theseus.

Anyways, One of the things we see as the captain is mark being stuck with the warp core where we watch him tweak out and slowly build the warp core up again which makes that chain reaction that sets off kinda everything that happens in iswm. I’m saying this cuz I like thinking it’s a parallel to actor mark creating his vengeance plan against William and stuff. I see it that way because both engineer marks and actor mark were stuck in isolation for forever, and they couldn’t die, so they were miserable. AND AND AND, both marks FIRMLY BELEIVED their closest friend (engie’s being the captain and mark’s being William) were ACTUALLY EVILLL AND THEY WANTED TO STOP THEM . The creation of the warp core and the poker night both came from this crazed and desperate guy who convinced himself that what he was doing, despite it being bound to hurt people, was the right thing to do.

The only difference between engie and actor tho is that engineer mark felt actually so terrible after he realized that he was in the wrong, while actor mark genuinely CANT see that he even COULD be wrong.

MEANWHILEEE Wilford’s in iswm, it doesn’t matter why, he’s just kinda doing whatever. I like thinking that at one point Wilford would’ve seen engineer mark at his lowest. Wilford, being actually so sad and stupid as a character, would see actor mark in engineer mark. Like he sees a lot of iswm characters like if they were just wkm characters in silly costumes. This is a coping mechanism cuz deep down Wilford KNOWS he’s not talking to his old friends at all.

Just like in WMLW, I think Wilford would want to try to make amends with actor mark , but actor really REALLY hates Wilford, so this could never happen. Until Wilford meets engineer mark yayyyyyyy 😛😛

So then Wilford tries saying sorry for everything and I miss you and whatever to who he thinks is his ex best friend and little brother (I hc them as step brothers) but it’s just engineer mark being like “..ok…🤨”

BUT THEN ALSO LAST THING LAST THING, since Wilford caught engie at such a low point in his life he would feed into Wilford’s delusions because engineer mark (just like actor for a time) is completely alone and has nobody. And since engineer mark is like actor marks space self insert, and mark put a lot of his personality into engineer mark, engie feels a familiar resentment to Wilford but also a familiar longing to hear him out and he doesn’t know why and probably never will and when engineer mark realizes and accepts that he’s in the wrong which breaks the cycle of actor marks self destruction infliction of pain into everybody else, JUST WHEN EVERYTHING IS OVER AND ENGINEER MARK FINALLY GETS A BETTER LIFE OUT OF THAT DAMN SHIP, he might not even remember who told him whatever he had to hear at his lowest, but he’ll remember that whoever they were, they helped him a little. maybe. just a bit..

That’s all I have that’s the end of the rant if anybody has something ANYTHING AT ALL to add pleaseeeeeee do I’m desperate to talk about obscure Markiplier lore and headcanons to anybody

[syrenki]

post depressive episode clarity like what the fuck do you mean they'll never disappear, just fade.

[classyrbf]

ᯓ★ BETTER THAN YOUR BOYFRIEND! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...what happens when your boyfriend cheats on you and you look towards your best friend for help

INFO...jjk men (toji, gojo, geto, nanami) x fem!reader, reader gets cheated on, riding, sending a video to your ex, oral (f!receiving), car sex, kinda cute/some fluff in the beginning, pet names (doll, princess, baby, sweetheart), creampie, possessiveness, choking, not proofread

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

ᯓ★ TOJI

When you showed up on Toji’s doorstep in the middle of the night with tears pouring down your face he was more than ready to kill whoever made your cry. He wasn’t surprised when you told him your shitty boyfriend had cheated on you and not with just one girl but multiple. Toji never liked your boyfriend, he could tell that guy was up no to good from the start, reading him like a book. He’d be sure to beat the shit out of him once he helped you gain composure.

“I’m sorry for showing up so late,” you hiccuped as he wiped your tears.

“Don’t worry about it, doll. You know I’m always here for you.” He gave you a soft smile. Toji hated to see you this way, you were too pretty to be crying over some guy who looked like he crawled from the sewers. “That guy was a piece of shit. You deserve better.”

“But, every guy I’ve been with or tried to be with has done me so wrong!” It only made more tears spill from your eyes. Toji engulfed you in a hug, rubbing your back. “Toji?” You sniffled.

“Yeah?” He pulled away from you, wiping your tears again.

“Kiss me. Right now,” you demanded. You had to see for yourself if what you’ve been feeling these last couple of weeks was absolutely true. Toji had zero clue, but you’ve been thinking about him way too much, more than a best friend should, feeling more than a best friend should. And when he planted his lips on yours, cupping your face, kissing you like a starved man, you didn’t quite expect your tears of sadness to be turned into tears of pleasure.

“Nnngh, Toji!” You moaned, his fat tip rubbing against your g-spot with each thrust of his hips. Your arms clung around his neck, fingers resting in his black silky hair.

“Can’t—mmm, fuck—believe he’d cheat on you! His fucking loss!” He growled in your ear, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist, hugging you close to him. Your pussy clenched down around him, milking him for his every worth, juices dripping down his length and onto his balls. “So tight, doll—oh shit!” He grunted. Lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass filled the room, echoing off the walls around you. “Been wanting you forever, craving you.”

Your brows furrow in pleasure, barely able to contain your moans as you and Toji stare into each others eyes. “M-me too!” You whimper, nodding your head at him. You lips messily interlock, tongue gliding against one another, swallowing each others moans.

“Let’s show him what he’s missing, baby.” He smirks, reaching for your phone on the couch. His thrusts come to a stop, clicking on your now ex boyfriend’s contact and opening the camera to record a video. “Go nice and slow for me,” he says huskily.

Slowly, you move your hips up and down his thick shaft, whimpering when you feel him throb against your walls. Toji angles the camera up, a devious look in his eye. He moves it back down when you start to move faster, you sloppy pussy squelching when you slam your hips down on his. Toji slaps your ass a few times before grabbing it, guiding your hips to go slower once again. “That’s it, doll. Good fucking girl,” he lowly chuckles in your ear. Toji ends the video, sending it and tossing the phone to the side.

“I can’t believe we actually did that,” you giggle, biting down on your lip. Not even one minute passed before your phone began ringing, vibrating on the couch but you were too busy getting your brains fucked out to even notice. “Ah, you’re so deep,” you mewl, the curve of his dick making your back arch.

“Better get used to it cause we won’t be stopping anytime soon.” He placed a wet kiss on your neck, sloppily thrusting into your poor pussy. “You’re my girl now.” He’s slamming your hips back down on his cock, fucking you deeply, making sure every inch of him is coated in your juices. He quickly pulls out, jerking his cock before thick globs of cum coat your skin before he’s inserting himself back inside your dripping entrance. Neither of you noticing the five missed calls and fifteen unread texts from your ex.

ᯓ★ GOJO

As soon as you called Gojo crying, he basically teleported to your house. When he learned that your boyfriend had cheated on you and you kicked him out, he was the least bit shocked. For the past month you’ve told Gojo that your boyfriend has been acting off, and finally the truth came to light.

“I’m so sorry,” he frowned, rubbing the top of your head as you cried into his chest. It hurt Gojo to see you like this, constantly seeing you get hurt by these shitty guys who didn’t know any better. He had a massive crush on for the longest time and he’s always been afraid to say anything. He’d treat you better, treat you the way you’ve always deserved.

“I just don’t it, Toru! Is it me? Did I do something wrong?” You frowned.

“No, no! It’s not you all! You’re absolutely perfect. He’s a fucking asshole for not seeing that sooner. You’re kind, funny, smart, and beautiful. You’re everyone’s dream girl, y/n.” It may have sounded like he was only trying to be nice, but in reality he was speaking from his heart.

“Awe, Toru, thank you,” you giggled through your tears. Gojo looked at you few seconds, the most sincere expression written on his face.

So how, in only a few minutes, did he make you go from giggling to moaning like bitch in heat?

“Feel better, princess?” He mumbles against your cunt, sucking on your swollen and sensitive clit. “Please tell me you feel better,” he whines.

“Toru—mmph! What’s—ah! Oh my god!” He slides his long, slender fingers into your sopping hole, pumping them in and out, curling them up slightly. Your jaw falls slack at the way his tongue expertly explores your folds, licking up every last drop of your essence. Your hand clings to his fluffy white hair, his hands pushing your legs open each time they threat to close around his head.

“Taste so good, princess. Just like I imagined—mmm,” he moans at your delectable taste, ignoring the way your squirming in his hold and clenching around his fingers as your second orgasm approaches. His captivating eyes flutter open to look at you, watching the way you lose yourself on his tongue. He could tell your boyfriend—ex boyfriend has never pleasured you like this before, let alone made you cum.

“Fuck!” You gasp. “Feels so good—hah, shit! Toruuu!” You cry out, legs quivering when the tip of his tongue runs back and forth over your clit.

“Promise me something, yeah?” He moves his fingers in and out of your sloppy hole slowly, bringing you right on the edge. “Be mine? I’ll treat you so good, princess. Been wanting to for the longest time, god, you’re so fucking perfect. Please?” He presses soft kisses to your thighs that make your breath hitch.

“You’re confessing now?!” You chuckle, trying to catch your breath.

Gojo smiles up at you. “Is that a yes?” He quirks a brow. He presses the pads of his fingers against your g-spot massaging slowly.

“Ah,” you bite down on your lip, “you’re no fair!” You run your fingers through his hair. “It’s a yessssuhh.” You’re barely able to get the word out before he dips his head between your legs again, his wet tongue circling your clit. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m cumming again!” Your head is thrown back as your entire body shakes with pleasure.

“Thank you, princess,” Gojo murmurs.

ᯓ★ NANAMI

Nanami noticed you haven’t been yourself for the past couple of days and he didn’t dare to ask but he had a feeling it had something to do with that obnoxious and egotistical boyfriend of yours. It always had something to do with him no matter what. He didn’t think of it when you asked him if you can come over and watch a movie, but not even five minutes in the door you start explaining everything. You didn’t cry, just talked and talked about it, venting about the situation. He was glad to be an ear. He’ll always be here to help.

“I’m just so frustrated and I hate feeling this way!” You rolled your eyes.

“Maybe you need to deal with it in other ways rather than venting,” he suggested.

“Like what? Drinking my problems away? I’d rather not.” You shook your head, waving your hand in dismissal.

What didn’t cross your mind was the fact your best friend was talking about having you bent over, fucking you into the mattress. “K-Ken! F-fuck!” Your eyes squeeze shut when he thrusts his hips harder, the tip of his swollen cock pressing into your sweet spot.

His thick fingers squeeze into your plush skin, pulling you back onto his cock. He leans over next to your ear, breath fanning against your skin sweaty skin. “He doesn’t know how to handle a woman like you. Not like I do.” He peppers kisses down your back, a contrast of you screaming his name.

Your walls squeeze around him at his words, your pussy somehow growing wetter than it already was, creating a sloppy and sticky mess where you two met. Your hands grasped the sheets below. “Yes, Ken, handle me, show me you can handle me!” You grit your teeth, looking back at him.

A feral growl escapes his throat, blonde hair clinging to his sweaty forehead. He reaches a hand down, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pushes your head into the mattress, the sound of skin to skin slapping against each other growing constant as he fucks your hard and deep with such a grueling pace. “I can handle you, sweetheart,” he chuckles deeply. “Better than your boyfriend.” He licks his lips.

“Mmm—ah, yes!” You laugh with a smile. “Ex.” You’re quick to correct.

“Who gives a fuck what he is—hah, shit, sweetheart, gripping me so damn tight.” He’s so focused on the way your ass ripples against his hips, addicted to how warm and wet your cunt is. It was hypnotizing. Your jaw hung open, eyes rolled back, drool spilling from the corner of your mouth and onto the bed below you. Each rut of his hips had you going stupid, barely able to think.

Successfully, you can say that his method of dealing with your problems has worked better than you could’ve imagined. “Feel so good inside me! Don’t stop!” You cry out, voice wavering. The stretch of his cock against your gummy walls had you craving more. So much more to the point you wanted to feel all of him. “Cum in me.” You’re bitting down your lip so hard you’re afraid you’ll draw blood.

Those three words have Nanami’s eyes wide in excitement. His body runs hot, your words making the blood rush straight to his pulsating cock. “D-don’t say stuff—mmph—like that,” he grunts.

“I thought you could handle me?” You’re smirking, playing with fire. His rough hands grip onto your hips harder, hard enough to leave bruises. Each thrust of his ragged hips shoots bolts of pleasure through your core.

His brows furrow in concentration, grunts and growls mixing in with your moans as his abs tense up, body jolting forward as his sloppily thrusts into your greedy hole. “I can handle you better than anyone else and you know it!” His hand swats your ass, a loud smack cracking in the air. “Nngh, shit!” Before he knows it, his tip kisses your cervix, pulling you back on his cock as his hot cum paints your walls.

ᯓ★ GETO

When you told Geto about your boyfriend cheating on you, he knew you’d needed to be comforted despite what you said. So he planned a day just for you to do your favorite things in attempts to take your mind off of things, but he could see that you were still thinking about it deep down. The both of you sat in the car, watching over the city lights while music quietly played on the radio. The orange sunset casted a hue over the world, shining brightly.

“I’m sorry I just can’t get it out of my head.” You pout, fiddling with your fingers. “I appreciate you doing this, Suguru.”

“Of course, y/n. It’s the least I could do.” He gave a half smile, caressing your back.

“It just keeps replaying over and over in my head,” you shut your eyes, “I hate it. Nothing takes my mind off of it no matter what!” You ran your hand over your face, slouching in the passenger seat.

“Well, there’s something we haven’t tried yet.” Geto raised a brow, shrugging his shoulders.

“What?” You asked, confused.

Minutes later your knees are to your chest, the sheer force of his hips rocking your body into the seat of the car. Strands from his messy bun cling to his forehead, sweat dripping between the divots of his abs. His calloused hand presses down on your lower abdomen, the pad of his thumb reaching down to rub your neglected clit. “Sugu!” You cry out, tears pricking the corner of your eyes.

The car shakes with his feral and animalistic thrusts, the curve of his cock finding your sweet spot, knocking the breath out of you. You’re panting and gasping, clawing at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “Come on, baby, you can do it.” His lips quirk up into a smirk, his hand reaching out, slipping his fingers into your mouth to suck on. “Let it all go for me.” He moves at a rapid pace, your eyes rolling back and your body going limp, hands falling to your sides.

He removes his fingers from your mouth, his hands gliding down to your throat, fingers ghosting over your skin before he carefully wraps his hand around it, gripping it firmly. “I’ll make you forget everything about him. You want that, don’t you? Fill that pretty little head of yours with nothing else but me.” His sultry words send shivers down your spine. A devilish chuckle escapes from him when he feels you flutter around his throbbing length. “Nnngh,” he plants a wet kiss on your jaw, “cum for me.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! I’m cumming!” You scream, eyes widening at the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “Yes, yes!” You squeal, legs shaking as he continues to rub your clit, dragging every last bit of your orgasm out of you.

His heavy balls slap against your ass at a rough pace, threatening to spill his seed inside of you. “Want to mark you, show that asshole who you’ve always belonged to!” Sinful eyes stare back at you.

Fat tears roll down your cheeks. “I’m yours! I’m y-yours! Ahh!” He puts more pressure on your clit, your body jolting, squirming beneath him.

“Hah, fuck, baby!” He moans, jaw falling open as he tosses his head back. He clenches his jaw, grunting as he keeps the same fervent tempo. He watches the way your filthy pussy clings to him so tightly, your juices forming a ring at the base of his cock, creating a sticky, slimy mess. His thrusts grow hasty, hungry for his orgasm, itching to see you coated in his cum.

He bullies his cock into your cunt, snarling and moaning at how rapidly his orgasm was nearing. He pulled out of you with a drawn out moan and instinctively your soft hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him until you felt warm cum drip onto your stomach.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[andwewerehappy]

had the big cry about them tonight. mostly him. keep daring the universe to prove me wrong when i say i’ll never see him again.

[dreamiie4her]

How i mastered the art of persisting & how yall can too

hello my luvs, lemme tell u, its been a rlly eventful last 2 weeks in terms of me undergo a drastic shift in my mindset and WHEWWWWW, i thought it was time to share with yall

storytime

this past year i told myself i would adopt a strict mental diet where i wouldn't let doubts stop me or anything and lemme tell you, it was such a rocky road. There would be periods of me affirming that i was a master shifter, seek validation from the 3D and then start dwelling in my old state again. This cycle of giving up continued until i came across these posts. I then deeped how i've been overcomplicating manifesting & shifting to the point where i would give up so easily on my new states because "persisting was too hard” when it rlly wasn't. Anyways, lemme share my favourite tips & advice i learnt.

THE ADVICE & TIPS

stop associating emotions w/ states

Once i stopped associating me doubting, being frustrated, etc with my state, i found stuff x10000 EASIER!! I be affirming when i'm sad/frustrated because my emotions do NAWT define me. If something happens in my life, i allow myself to acknowledge it then i affirm on loop that "everything gets better" and the very fact i am a master manifestor.

manifesting will exist whether u like it or not

whenever i feel like "giving up", i remember that no matter if i "give up" on my desires or not, the law of assumption will still operate in the same principle of dominant thoughts materialising ur reality. So that really made me think, why would i not take advantage of knowing about the loa and manifesting everything i want? Like once you find out about the law of assumption, there is no turning back so u might aswell utilise it.

you can never lose your "manifestation powers"

Sometimes i be having thoughts "what if i lose my manifestation powers" and its like?? i will always be able to manifest easily & so will you. You can never "lose" the ability to manifest. Its a LAW. Meaning you will always be able to do it

pick a staple affirmation & loop it no matter what

After utilising robotic affirming, i've felt so much more FULFILLED then i ever did. Trust me when i say, pick one affirmation (e.g. "i am a master shifter") and keep affirming through your doubts, random thoughts, etc. Litreally when you deep it, affirming is basically thinking and thinking is super duper easy. So picking one affirmation and continuously repeating it is so easy even when you feel like your having sm doubts (trust me, once u get in the habit of js affirming, things feel sm easier).

you don't need to believe to manifest

Before some of yall come at me, lemme tell yall something. When i got more serious about the loa this year, i overconsumed a sh!t ton of loa content stating in order to manifest your desires and it made me feel so frustrated whenever i felt doubts/overwhelmed when affirming for my desire. The belief bit will follow natrually while persisting, dont focus on beliving in ur manifestation, keep repeating you have it & your belief of it will feel more natrual as you keep repeating it (if that makes sense)

the 3D isn't the end, keep persisting

I made a post about this but to keep it short & simple, your 3D circumstances aren't permanent. Just because you may be experiencing the opposite of what you want in the 3D, doesn't mean it will stay like that forever and your manifestation "won't work". Keep affirming bb <3

okie that's it for the post <3 i'll probs make a pt2 if i got anymore advice?? but hope yall liked it ;3

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[seraphicsentences]

all mine (pt.2)

closeted/in denial abby anderson x reader

pt.1: you told me your new man don’t make you nut, that’s a damn shame.

please click here!

tags: sub!abby, dom!reader, experienced!reader, mentions of owen, tbh trauma from owen, strap-on sex, cunnilingus, 69ing, dry humping, grinding, nonexplicit masturbation, lowkey voyeurism+exhibitionism ish? there’s plot i swear.

A/N: im well aware that i apologize in every post i make and that its redundant, but im still sorry that i took forever to write.

so. some of this may sound a little familiar from the first part, but it’s simply just drawing parallels between abby’s and your stances on one another.

this gets gradually worse and worse. i think the quality started landsliding once i reached the smut. enjoy!

it’s been near ‘round a week later, and abby’s avoiding you like the fucking devil. in fact— by the way she’s been acting, you think she might even believe so. she’s never felt so inexplicably thrown off. clickers, bloaters… couple of well-aimed shots and they’re no deal. but you? the ghost of your touches haunt her day and night. she’s like a woman possessed. and she’s insatiable.

her once weekly visits to the chapel have become daily: hour-long stays spent on her knees, prayers whispered hastily under her breath, eyes darting to paranoically try to catch potential eavesdroppers.

even owen, the air-headed asshole, has been left victim, or perhaps victor, to the effects of your actions. in a desperate attempt to ease her whirling mind, or rather, to ease the painful throbbing between her thighs, abby’s seemed to have turned to her boyfriend as a last ditch effort.

abby’s newfound flood of arousal, pooling and pleading, only to be met by owen’s two incher every night have had his ego blowing up fucking obnoxiously.

“god, abby, you’re fuckin’ desperate for my dick lately,” he’d gloat, hilariously blind to his girlfriend’s infidelity.

unfortunately for abby, her pathetic resorts have done nothing to quiet the moaning mess of guilt-filled memories. if anything, they’ve done quite the opposite.

she’s been left to the mercy of her palm, heel of it digging into her clit while she’s beside the sleeping figure of owen, straining every massive muscle in her body to give her that orgasm she so badly needs.

it’s to no avail, though. stuck gasping and tearing up against a pillow, her poor pussy crying for some semblance of relief. and what’s left is a week-long edged abby anderson, ms. “top soldier”, who’s back to shooting no better than a freshly new recruit.

what’s up with that, hm?

~

2am now, in the isolated west dormitory’s showers, and abby’s at it again. her body starving for your touch; your sinful, corrupting, addictive touch, and she’s failing to appease her needs once more.

“mmph- fuck, ah-please,” abby begs into her forearm, groaning as two thick fingers plunge deep into her sopping hole, thrusting in and out messily.

it’s exhausting to fuck the way you do. even with her arms the impressive size they are, it’s impossibly demanding to reach every nerve you had reached, filthy sounds echoing along the tile walls, taunting her.

abby knows what’s coming, or really, the lack of it.

skin pink from the heat of the water, she abandons her effort, shutting the stream off with a squeak and ventures the locker room to get dressed for the night.

her mind wanders to you— that’s all it ever seems to do as of recently, and she thinks about how she almost misses your antics. she can’t place her finger on what it is exactly about you that makes her chase every teasing interaction so masochistically.

maybe it’s your lopsided smile that lures her in, or that glint in your eye she gets caught up in. or maybe it’s just that she knows she shouldn’t want you, and it’s so deliciously wrong, and that’s why she’s got to have you.

towel flung over her shoulder, abby makes her way out, only to stop in her tracks when she hears the loud slam of a locker door.

what the fuck? wasn’t the bathroom empty when she last checked??

cheeks burning at the mistaking of her privacy, she swivels the corner, furious to see who the fuck else is using the west dorm showers at this hour. of all the hours.

and, well, abby’s frozen in place when she’s met with the sight of a mystery someone’s bare back. but oh, how she recognizes you, you and your wet hair, slinging droplets down your smooth skin, trailing lower and lower and-

you cough, breaking her trance. baby blue eyes dart up, caught, as you slide your tank on, smirking.

“hey, anderson.”

that just about does it for her. abby slams an open locker door shut, almost sprinting out of the room.

and really, there’s no choice but for you to follow her, practically hunting her down as she sharply turns down random hallways, clearly attempting to outrun you. abby makes a wrong turn soon enough, and you honestly think you might burst out into laughter because of the funny way fate seems to string the two of you together.

the blonde’s backed herself into a corner, and it just so happens to be your residential corner. you can’t help but wonder if she already knew where your room was located.

“scared, anderson?” slips out of your mouth, and it feels significant, reminiscent of the week before. you stare her down, wet strands clinging to her skin to match yours, and it’s like the two of you know what’s to come with your words. the inevitable.

you’re not sure which one of you moves first, rubber band of tension snapping as your lips collide in a catastrophic sort of way. you’re scrambling to blindly dial your dorm code in and tugging abby by her shirt in a tangle of limbs and saliva.

“i’ll play nice,” you pant, “even after that disappearing stunt you pulled last week.”

abby laughs, whispering, “whoops,” under her breath before pulling you in for another dizzying kiss, tongue eagerly curling into your mouth like she’s been waiting years for a taste.

you wrap your fingers around her hair with a tug, and the low groan that escapes from the back of abby’s throat has you repeating the motion again and again as you veer her backwards to fall atop your bed. you follow, straddling her, not wanting to spend a second apart from the fucking drug that her mouth is.

your hips grind down on their own, burning and desperate for stimulation. abby, in return, wraps a strong hand around your throat, pulling you even deeper into a sloppy kiss to swallow your moans as she pushes her hips up to meet yours.

“fuck,” you gasp, clit catching against the seam of your shorts with every roll.

abby’s mind has gone blurry with arousal, drunk off the satisfaction of finally getting what her body’s begged for. every pretty noise that slips out of your mouth sends pulses of pleasure straight through her bundle of nerves, and every touch of skin has her feeling set ablaze.

but as always, she needs more.

she maneuvers you easily under her big frame, your head tipping back in a soft whine as she latches herself onto your throat, biting and soothing your skin over.

she’s lodged a leg in between your own, mimicking your position as she wildly bucks her hips down onto you. “please,” she breathes out, tears welling in her eyes with how foreign this feeling is. she can’t bring herself to care about how needy she’s acting, because to starve, is to take anything.

“just like that, baby, you’re soaking my thigh,” you coo, continuing to dry hump her leg like she’s nothing but a toy to you. the whimper she lets out at the name you call her is downright criminal, and the way her movements pick up have you groaning it out again. “c’mon baby, make a mess of yourself for me,” you grab her meaty hips, grinding her harder down against you.

“gonna-“ she gasps into your neck, before shuddering against you as she cums with a cry, muscular thighs holding you so desperately tight in place. you almost scream, caught in the iron grip she has your body in, stopped so close to your own finish. you dig your nails into the flesh of abby’s hips, hearing her moan as the pain mixes with pleasure, and echo the sound yourself as the burning in your core starts up again.

“just let me, for a minute- i need you- just stay here, shit,” you ramble, gripping her hair for leverage while you fuck yourself faster against her thigh.

every twitch of a muscle beneath your soaked pussy has you reeling, unable to wrap your mind around what a massive fucking crime it is, for another woman not to have experienced the absolute blessing it is to have abby anderson’s defined-ass thigh to grind on.

you glance down at abby, and the fucked-out expression she has on, all watery doe-eyed as she peers up at you, mesmerized, has you throbbing enough to match your heart rate.

curse after curse flies out of your mouth as she attaches her mouth to your neck again, biting down as you let go of that coil tugging on your navel.

abby’s no sooner clambering atop you, diving in to taste your sounds as she scoops you onto her lap, practically growling, “fuckin’ get over here,” under her breath.

as your vision returns, she attacks your mouth with a sloppy kiss, colliding teeth, and you’re unbearably hungry for more.

“let me- i’m gonna taste you,” you breath out, shoving abby’s back down with a push.

she falls back with a soft thud, eyes not leaving you once. “please, fuck- taste me, have me,” abby affirms, scrambling to tug her shorts off.

the massive soaked patch at the center her boxers have your eyes rolling into your skull. “shit, anderson,” you run a finger over her clothed slit, giggling as she jerks her hips up.

“shut up,” she rasps, her words harsh, but the small smile on her face says otherwise.

you grin up at her, “didn’t say anything,” before licking a fat stripe up her covered pussy.

her response is immediate, hands fisting into your hair to pull your mouth closer, actions the epitome of more, more, more.

you flatten your tongue, licking, and meshing her arousal with your saliva to entirely soak her boxers wet. you wrap your lips around where you guess to be her clit, based off the place her legs tremble when your tongue reaches it, and suck hard.

“there,” abby whines out, back flying off the mattress, and you’re so very desperate to see what other fun reactions she has in store for you, you grab at her waistband to unveil her pretty dripping pussy.

up close, face to face, you get to really admire the work of art she is. the divets of muscle adorning her thighs frame her pussy almost in a greek-goddess sort of way. light brownish-blonde curls of hair that reach out to your mouth, trying to pull you in closer. she’s beautiful. you’re in complete control of her right now, and holding the reins of such an unreal being has you groaning into her slick eagerly, hands holding her spread wide open while you feast.

you’re dipping your tongue into her sopping mess, teasing and thrusting, feeling her gummy walls flutter around every brush of the muscle. you dart a thumb up to circle her puffy clit, red, from her earlier actions, and the way abby’s legs kick up— almost hitting you in the face, has you giggling again into her pussy. the vibrations of your laugh make abby squeal, thighs clamping around your head, and then she’s tugging at your hair, chanting, “stopstopstopstop,” and you, of course, oblige immediately.

your face comes up covered in her wetness, arousal dripping from your chin as you lick your lips in an halfhearted attempt to clean yourself up. “sorry, sorry, i- did you want me to stop?” you ramble, concerned that you might’ve gone a little too far this time, getting yourself involved with a taken straight girl.

abby’s face flushes a deep red, even darker than it had been from your actions, as she catches her breath and looks away. “no, i- can you, uhm.”

you catch on to her hesitation, newer to sex thats more than just, well, dick. you rub her calves soothingly, “use your words, baby, you got it.”

she visibly gulps, thighs pressing tight around your body, “can i?” she asks, almost sulkily as her hands move to tug at your shorts.

“oh-!” slips out of your mouth, surprised, “yeah, yeah you can.”

she lets out a soft okay, tugging harder now, slipping her calloused fingers under your waistband as well so as to drag both down together. abby’s groans, low and heady, at the sight of your glistening pussy, practically dripping down your thighs from just getting her off. “this too,” she murmurs, sliding your tank off before you can blink.

she’s pulling you in closer, as if she’s in a trance, as she wraps her lips hesitantly around one of your perked nipples. the high-pitched sigh you let out is more than enough encouragement for her to continue, warm tongue flicking at it as she sucks around your breast. “is this okay?” she pulls away to whisper, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear as she looks up at you, eyes wide.

“fuck- yes, just,” you push her head back in, her lips abiding immediately as they gently pull at your nipple, teeth grazing the most sensitive parts of your chest as you arch your back into it, quiet moans ringing in her air.

all of a sudden you’re being turned around, confused, until your hips are being lifted up towards abby’s stuck-out tongue and you’re shaking with your face pressed to her thigh while she experimentally kitten-licks around your hole, unknowingly teasing you.

her nose brushes ever-so-slightly over your pulsing clit as her tongue passes just over your dripping mess, and it has you crying out, “there, please- right there, please,” breath hot over her own throbbing pussy.

her hips jerk up at the sensation, and you take the hint— latching your lips around her own clit and stuffing two fingers easily into her hole, moaning at the feeling of her squeezing tight around you.

it’s no wonder abby’s the top soldier of wlf. for a girl who’s only ever been with the most lacking, vanilla man ever, she picks up fast. each action of yours is borderline self-serving, with the way abby’s mimicking every move not even a moment after, so adorably eager to please.

abby had this insistent need to pull every pretty sound from you, whether she got it through grazing her teeth against your clit, or curling a thick finger against your g-spot, she was determined to hear it— to the point where you thought she might’ve even needed it. and it’s what made sex with her so intoxicating.

she wasn’t like any of the other girls you typically hooked up with, and that’s not to say the girls you usually got with were bad to fuck… they just weren’t as invested in your pleasure as you were with theirs. and as the type to get off on giving rather than receiving, this was especially new. you’ve never been with someone like you. and god, does it take the cake.

abby’s really coming to terms with all the ways she can use her especially large everythings to make you feel good, murmuring into your pussy, “‘m fuckin’ splitting you open with my fingers, pretty,” as she pushes in a third finger to your sopping hole, relishing in the squelch that comes with the thrust.

your thighs shake around her head, stimulated beyond compare as you continue your ministrations on abby’s pussy, humming mhms into it to encourage more of her bolder ventures.

“mm-fuck, can feel you choking my fingers. you gonna cum, hm?” she mumbles cockily, the high from your reactions sending her mind into a frenzy.

“shit, please, need it so bad,” you croak out, taking only mere seconds apart from tonguing down her puffy clit.

“ah- god, me too, pretty. cum on my tongue,” she says, and the fucking vulgarity of it, so downright shocking to hear from ms. straight christian prude over here, has you riding your orgasm out, trembling heat overtaking your body like a california wildfire. matched moans come from beneath you, as abby’s hips fuck up against your mouth, legs flexing deliciously as the two of you reach your peaks together, the world slowing.

you slide your body off of hers, turning around to be met with a sight to behold. your cum, all over abby’s mouth, shining on the tip of her nose, remnants leaked onto her chin— and you have not a doubt you look the same mess. you yank her into a sloppy kiss, fluids mixing in your mouths in the most animalistic nature.

“i’m not done with you,” you say, eyebrows scrunched as you take in her fucked-out expression.

“i know,” she whispers, “give me more,” she breathes out.

abby slips out of her tank, finally, using the cloth to gently wipe your face and hers, action a bit too intimate for what you guys have, but neither of you decide to call out on it.

“you gonna let me fuck you?” you ask quietly, running a hand over her chest softly, enamored, as abby shivers from your words.

“please fuck me,” she whimpers, tone all pouty and petulant as she watches your hand trace ambiguous shapes over her skin.

“so polite,” you tease lightly, pulling her in for a brief kiss before reaching over to your bedside drawer and pulling out your favorite strap, just the one for the special girl in front of you.

8 inches, hot pink, with a slight curve to it, but most importantly, never been used on anyone other than yourself, by yourself.

“it’s so-“ she stutters nervously, thighs rubbing together in anticipation as you secure the toy onto your hips.

“pretty?” you finish, unable to help your laugh as she looks at you, so clearly not thinking of your response.

“yeah,” she shrugs, “suppose it is.”

it’s quiet in the room as you finish latching the silicone dick onto yourself, the two of you settling into the weight of your impulse-fueled actions.

you gently pull open her closed legs, settling yourself between them as you tease her entrance with the tip of the toy, covering it with her cum. you then spit down onto it, twisting your hand around to coat, and hear abby ask, “what’re you doing?”

you continue to prep the toy with easy motions, committed by memory, “i know you’re soaked, anderson, but it’s still a dick you’re taking, baby.”

“i just mean- i, you know,”

you hum, “owen doesn’t put in the effort, huh? and i bet you’re not even a quarter as wet for him as you are for me,” scoffing.

“don’t-“

“it’s the truth though, isn’t it?”

“…yeah.”

“that’s what i thought.”

you thumb her clit in circles, using her slick as lube to rub over it smoothly, relishing in the way abby’s head falls back and her hips jolt up. “that’s it, ease up for me,” you murmur.

you prod again at her entrance with the toy, sliding the tip in slightly as she hisses, “‘m sti-still sensitive.”

“and you’re gonna take it like the fuckin’ slut you are, anderson, aren’t you?” you tsk, pushing a couple inches more into her.

“shit- yes, yes ma’am,” she whimpers out, legs threatening to close from the new stretch.

“because even after all that time in the shower, nothing can fill you like i do,” you finish, thrusting the full length of you into her tight pussy, abby nodding repeatedly as her back arches up.

her moans pick up alongside your hips, voice breaking with every thrust as you push into that one sensitive spot deep inside with obvious expertise.

“so, s-so go-od,” she cries, hands gripping into the bedsheets as she searches for some tie back to reality.

you smirk satisfactorily, fast pace fueled by the sight of abby’s open mouth, drool spilling out the sides as her voice grows hoarse from constant use. you fuck her hard, strength channeled from the anger you bore against her homophobic attitudes, and jealousy you garnered towards owen and his idiotic male self.

you lock your eyes with abby, sweat dripping down your face as you zero down on her, slamming into her pussy with no reprieve. “no more owen,” you say, each word punctuated by another deep thrust.

“this is so wrong, this is so fucked,” abby rambles, nervous eyes darting around the room so as to avoid your gaze. her eyebrows are tugged together, head shaking no: but no to argue your words, or no to agree with them?

“has something so wrong ever felt so good?” you pant out, “tell me baby.”

“i can’t, i can’t, i can’t,” she repeats, torn between what felt right in her head, and what felt so right in her heart. “turn me over,” she babbled, not wanting to head-on face the fucking sin-filled act she was committing.

“you tried running, baby. and how’d that work for you?” you ask, fed up. “you’re still back here, a fucking mess, and all for me.”

“what’s it gonna take for you to face the fact that you’re getting fucked by a girl, and it’s so much better than anything you’ve ever experienced?”

abby’s eyes scrunch tight, trying to tune you out, but her moans still wrench out from the back of her throat, guttural and unstoppable.

you slide out finally, earning you a soft whine of disagreement, toy dripping with her slick with the tip pressed against her folds. “look at me, abby.”

and fuck. she’s never taken notice to the fact that you’ve never said her name before—but god does it sound so pretty coming out of your mouth. and god is it enough to make her wrestle her eyelids open and stare you dead in the eyes, blue clashing with the darkness you reeked in.

“say that again,” she whispers, look full of pleading. 4 letters, 2 syllables, but it has her core tensing and her heart racing a mile.

“tell me you’re mine, abby,” you breath, and she almost finishes right there and then.

“i’m yours,” she says, a single tear breaking free from her right eye, baptizing her skin, absolving her of guilt.

“good,” you choke out, bottoming entirely into her as she releases a cry. your movements quicken, ravenous, chasing the sweet whines that fill the room.

abby’s tits bounce with each thrust, and you reach down to give her sensitive nipples a pinch, making her reach an all time new height of pleasure. her chest heaves, curses slur, as she squirms under your touch, nearing an unbearably overstimulated state.

“feels- gonna cum,” she moans, barely holding on.

“cum for me,” you demand, needing to see her fall apart now more than ever as you pound into her harder, fingers rubbing harsh circles into her clit.

“s-shit,” she gasps, throwing her head back as her walls tighten around the toy, “‘m- fuck, god- fuck! ‘m cumming!”

loud squelching noises overtake the room, complete with the sight of abby writhing beneath you as spurts of her juices drench your moving cock.

her chest heaves, mouth open in a silent scream as she comes down from her high, squirming with overstimulation.

you can see the moment her brain clicks, panic in her eyes clear as her skin turns pasty white.

“i’m so sorry i didn’t mean to do that i don’t know how-“

“abby.”

“-that happened ive never done that before, like who-“

“abby.”

“-fucking pisses on someone like that i’m so sorry ill clean it-“

“ABBY.”

her eyes shoot up to meet yours, frame cowering as she mumbles a quiet apology again, so obviously uneducated in the realm of half-decent orgasms.

“you squirted, abby, you didn’t piss on me for christ’s sake. it was hot. now don’t worry about it, i’m very honored,” you chide lightly, cradling abby’s heated face in your hand.

you stand up, grabbing a clean towel and wetting it with warm water from your kettle. striding over, you spread abby’s legs lightly, running the towel gently over her worked-out center, breath hitching, hips jerking with your touch.

“why are you- you don’t have to-“ abby stutters, grabbing your wrist.

you pause, confused. “abby, i’m not a fucking dick, contrary to belief,” you scoff.

she doesn’t let go. “no that’s not what i- i didn’t mean it like that, it’s just, you know.” she waits for you to look up at her, before looking away. “you don’t have to fuss over me.”

a laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. “you mean owen doesn’t-? yeah, who am i kidding, of fucking course he doesn’t ‘do aftercare,’ god, what a dick!” you groan, facepalming.

“abby, baby, this is fucking normal. owen just sucks,” you smirk, her cheeks flushing at your words. “let me take care of you,” you continue more softly, nudging her grip off as you drag the towel over her sternum next, cleaning off any remnants left from the two of you.

abby’s quiet now, eyes following your every movement, curious almost, a bit hesitant— as if she’s not sure what to do with herself in the meanwhile. she’s stiff to the touch, frame shrunken now due to the sheer vulnerability of it all. bare as the day she was born, and touched like she’s never done wrong a minute in her life.

she doesn’t know how to feel about it. wisps of hair tickle her nose, and so she scratches it, pushing her hair away, tugging it behind her ears. and you’re right there on it, wordlessly turning her around as you begin to comb through her hair loosely, pulling it into a simple braid. the same hairstyle she displays everyday, always done by her own hand: tight, knot-free, and burning into her scalp. a reminder to remain true to her virtues, live by strict rules, and not stray from the lord’s path.

but the way you braid is so different. you’re careful to tie in the tickling wisps, but not harsh. effective, but not pushing. with owen she feels like an accessory, but you make her feel like someone worth worshipping. and so, the only burning she feels is not on her scalp, but behind her eyes.

you do notice the subtle tremble in abby’s shoulders, droplets trickling down her cheeks as you weave her hair through, but you make no comment on it. certainly not with the way your own hands fumble her golden strands, fingers shaking into the knots. you tie the end of it up.

“i should go,” abby whispers, standing to grab her scattered clothes.

you remain seated, mouth opening and closing like a fish, as your lips struggle to wrap around the words your heart is singing out for.

you settle on one.

“stay,” you blurt, louder than you intended, the word ringing in the tense air.

abby freezes, hand outstretched towards her tossed shirt. her head edged just the slightest bit towards you, like subconsciously, she was waiting for you to say something.

“just- stay,” you whisper this time, more unsure. waiting for the rejection you know is to come. and while your brain is screaming for you to let her go, your eyes are hooked onto abby’s figure— searching intently for the smallest signal of her response.

you see her breath catch in her throat.

“okay,” she whispers back, and her head turns just enough for your gazes to lock, matched desperation surging.

she’s drawn back to the bed like a magnet pulled to its twin, the mattress dipping as she settles in the space beside you.

and abby feels the heat of your drilling stare, one she refuses to return. she has no more fire left in her, not for you, just contemplation. a longing for more, an urge to savor, an ache to feel.

so abby faces the door, and you face her back, waiting for the day she’ll turn around.

so what did we think guys?!?? this was 4.7k words. crazy.

ok. so notice the tear coming from her right eye during that whole end part of the sex. note that it came from her RIGHT eye. scientifically speaking, that’s a tear of joy. BOOOOOOM MIC DROP.

i, unfortunately, shot for the stars and tried to make this deeper. hard to do that when you’re not in touch with your emotions. so now you guys are stuck being confused. good luck!

anyways. the final scene is supposed to represent where they metaphorically stand in their relationship. reader is trying to bond with abby, or at least making an effort to, hence her facing abby. abby can’t come to terms with all this, but she’s trying! she’s not fully accepted the homosexual part of herself though, the side that comes out with reader, so she’s facing the door. FACING IT, not leaving through it. ;)

also, yes, owen goes in dry. it’s canon. do not come at me.

taglist:

@pricefieldsuperiority @heartlexs @graviewaviee @liaphrodite @k1ngpin42 @deadbolted @be3flow3r @mrsabbyanderson

@rob1nbuckl3ys @vivispace @bookpagecandlescent

@thelosstvalkyrie for photo creds ty baby <3

[nereidprinc3ss]

hourglass

in which spencer disappears from fem!reader's life entirely for three months, right as it seems they were finally about to make things official. when he comes back they reunite, all the while knowing things can't be the same as they were.

18+ (smut, angst) warnings/tags: oh god so many. NOT canon compliant in the slightest, i make shit up, softdom!spence, nipple stuff prob, fingering, oral f receiving, piv sex, unprotected sex, pet names, tara mentioned, depression, mentions of trauma cause its the prison arc duh, passing mentions of alcohol, mentions of spencer losing weight, reader mistakenly thinks spencer tried to kill himself BUT ONLY FOR A SECOND, where is diana reid, nobody knows or cares, probably filming glee, optimistic ending a/n: haven't posted smut in forever but this wip required it and the angst was so angsty i just had to finish it. it was started in jan or feb and subsequently added to and changed months apart and then edited so the writing quality varies from section to section which i apologize for. originally based on good guy by julia jacklin... also the odyssey by homer? can't really explain that one you'll just have to see for yourself anyway byeeee ilysm!!! PLS tell me if you liked it! or if you hated it! but preferably if you liked it! MWAH! wc <12k

It’s been about three months since you last saw Spencer Reid.

About three months since you had an early Valentine’s Day celebration (even though you weren’t a couple) complete with champagne (even though he doesn’t usually drink) and slow dancing (even though you swore you’d be terrible and he spent the first ten minutes laughing at you as you stepped on his toes.)

About three months since you finally settled your head on his shoulder and let the warbling vinyl carry you somewhere distant as the two of you danced slow circles on the parquet floor for what felt like hours.

You’d have liked him to stay later that night. You’d have liked him to stay all night if you were being honest with yourself, but at 11:45 he gently pulled away and told you he had to go.

“Curfew?” you joked, the corner of your mouth lifting a little and you hoped you were hiding your disappointment well.

“Actually, I’m going down to Texas for a few days to speak with one of the leading doctors in experimental Alzheimer's and dementia treatment. I’m going to see if he can get my mom into a clinical trial. I leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god, that’s amazing, Spencer! What are you doing still here? You should be at home getting ready to go!”

A rosy blush stains his cheeks and he looks down at the ground, laughing that little self-deprecating laugh of his. It makes your heart dance to see him so happy, makes you want to wrap your arms around him and never let him go so that he knows how much you absolutely adore him—but you settle for an affectionate squeeze where your hands have come to rest on his biceps.

“I wanted to see you tonight because I won’t be here for Valentine’s Day... but I still really wanted to spend it with you,” he admits meekly.

If before your heart was dancing, it is now melting.

The dreaded ‘what are we’ talk has been lurking in the dark corners of every conversation you have with each other lately—at least, in your mind it has. What you have with Spencer is not easily defined, and near impossible to explain to your friends—you act like a couple, you go out on dates, he introduces you to his team like you’re his girlfriend without ever putting it into so many words—but this validation that your pseudo-relationship might be evolving is better than any flowers he could have gotten you (although the peonies he brought will look very nice on your bedside table.)

“Four whole days... what will I do without you?” you whisper, brushing a hand along his face, and your chest aches with the heavy truth of it—despite the fact that he often is gone for stretches about that length. They don’t ever start to feel shorter.

“Well, you can start by reading that copy of The Odyssey I annotated for you.”

“Depressing,” you admit. “And a little ominous, considering you’re about to embark on a hero’s journey.”

“I think you’ll like this one,” he smiles.

You chew on your bottom lip, looking up at him as you think.

“Give me something to look forward to,” you say, earnestly.

“I—well, honestly, I just really want to kiss you and I’ve wanted to for a long time now and, you know, if that’s something you’re maybe also interested in then we could, uh, figure out a time to—”

“You want to kiss me?”

“Wh—you couldn’t tell?” Spencer says, like he can’t believe it.

As if on reflex, you lunge up and capture his lips with your own. It obviously catches him by surprise, but when you lower from your tiptoes he follows you, pulling you in closer and holding your face in his hands.

It’s too natural, too right, to be exhilarating. There’s no rush of adrenaline—it's more like stepping into a hot bath or warming your freezing hands at a fire. Like pieces clicking into place. It’s a relief.

You breathe into it, letting more and more of yourself melt against him. He keeps coming back to you deeper and deeper like a rising tide, and you want more than anything to keep getting closer to him—but then he stops. He stays close enough for you to breathe his air, but dodges your kiss gently before supplanting it with a gentle one to the corner of your mouth.

“I really have to go,” he breathes, before moving away from your mouth to kiss your forehead and speak softly against your skin. “If I don’t leave now I’ll be here all night.”

Which is exactly what you want, and the implication does little to make you want him less. But you care about him too much to be so selfish.

At some point, his hands found their way into your hair, and you gently grab his wrists.

“Incentive for you to come home.”

Nearly three months since that night.

At first when he stopped answering texts, you’d assumed he just had too much going on down in Texas. Which you could understand—you knew how stressful this situation with his mother was.

Even when four days came and went without even an alert from him that he was back in town, you thought, okay, maybe he’s been called away on a case. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s disappeared because of his work. But even then, he’d at least text you enough information so that you would know he was alive. Now, radio silence.

So you tried not to be clingy. You tried to act like an adult, to focus on school and your life outside of Spencer, but when Tara Lewis cancelled your weekly meeting due to an “unforeseen work-related emergency”you called her immediately. Tara was something of a mentor, and it was she who had connected you and Spencer to begin with. You had met the other members of his team by that point, yes, but none who you knew as well as Tara.

When she had informed you that Spencer had been arrested in Mexico and was now facing prison time for murder, you laughed.

Laughed until you realized her end of the line was silent.

Realized it was not at all a joke.

In a catatonic state of tranquility, you asked her for more details. Beyond assuring you of his innocence, she couldn’t (or more likely, wouldn’t) provide them. Asked where he was now. Asked all the right things that made sense to ask.

Then you hung up and had a panic attack because Tara said something about 25 years and you saw Spencer evaporate from your future like an apparition.

Slowly, you felt him evaporating from your past, too. Those memories from the night he left, became visions of you swaying with a ghost. Holding nothing but light between your hands as you kissed the peony air of your apartment.

He doesn’t want to see you, she had said into the phone one night, her tinny voice cutting in and out. You’re not on his list of approved visitors.

“You asked him about me?” you had whispered, curled up on top of your made bed in the dark.

I tried. I’m sorry. I’ll call you when I know more.

All your days melded together like a muddied smear of paint. Suddenly you felt you had nothing to look forward to. No anchor, no goal. Yes, a PhD... and then what?

The only thing that punctuated one 24 hour period from the next was the time you spent crying because Spencer was in prison and he didn’t want to see you and by the looks of things you may never see him again. When you weren’t crying, you were thinking about how your life was a big cosmic joke. An unfortunate statistical anomaly that didn’t mean anything to anyone else, and that you couldn’t do anything about.

That copy of The Odyssey, which wasn’t even bound and instead was a thick stack of printer paper organized by a single black clip, became something of a manifesto for you—a tome that your poured over, reading and re-reading each note in the margins, each word beautiful and imbued with meaning because you knew Spencer had selected every single one specifically for you. You traced the letters reverently, because in a way this was the last thing he had said to you—about Lattimore’s faith to the original text, Merrill’s strict use of dactylic hexameter, the stylings of Wilson and Lombardo, and how he thought you would enjoy Hammond’s prose just as much as he did.

Day by day it was becoming more prophetic than fictional, and you allowed yourself to sink into madness. You would rather be a deluded zealot than be nothing at all.

He didn’t want to see you.

He might as well have been dead, for all that you were grieving him. And you started to hate him, because he wasn’t dead, but wouldn’t do you the kindness of proving it. Like a festering wound, scratched open day after day so as not to ever heal, you had to live knowing he was less than an hour away. So no, you weren’t exactly over it. You lived day by day, waiting for the occasional call from Tara to keep you updated on Spencer, but either she didn’t want to share much about how he was doing, or he had specifically barred her from doing so, because she was always sparse on the personal side of things. That thought actually lifted your spirits, because it meant he was at least acknowledging your existence in some tiny way.

But your routine was becoming more regular, and so you staid on top of your classes and your non-Reid related meetings with Tara once a week, and you learned to dip your toes into existential dread and the oily black pool of depression every night without ever fully submerging yourself. You learned hope, because it was pretty much all you had, and the BAU had confidence that they would get Spencer out one way or another so you did too.

So you didn’t really think about it when you missed a couple of calls from Tara some evening in May. You were preparing for finals and had way too much on your plate academically to think about anything else which was a welcome relief so you fully embraced it. I’ll call her back tomorrow, you think, as you clean up from dinner before going back to the living room where your textbooks and papers are completely covering every available surface. Maybe I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life after school, but I’ll be damned if I don’t even make it that far.

Hours later, well into the night, you’d all but forgotten about the calls. A knock at the door takes you a bit by surprise, and you frown as you stand again, tugging your Georgetown sweatshirt down over your shorts as you shuffle to the entrance of your apartment. You’re not expecting anyone, so you crack the door, peering around the edge of it.

And you couldn’t even consider trying to hide that shaky inhalation of dead air when you see Spencer standing on the other side.

Surely you’re hallucinating.

Surely this man in front of you who looks like he just got back from a day of work didn��t spend three months in prison pretending you didn’t exist.

He looks the same. Hair a bit longer, maybe—and gaunter even more than is normal for him. 

But it's him.

You can’t think about the apprehensive look on his face—you can’t think about the impossibility of him being here. You can’t think at all. Without your explicit permission, your body surges forward into his, and he’s real, and alive, and warm, and he is an anachronism in the hallway as he accepts everything you pour into the embrace, doesn’t flinch when you move your arms from around his waist to loop around his neck and back to his waist again with crushing force because you just can’t get him close enough.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer mutters into your hair, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry, he keeps saying, rubbing your back as you try to find a solid grip on the sleek material of his suit—try to gather all the pieces of him, already afraid he might fall apart and float away again.

“You—dis—disappeared,” you hiccup after an eternity, pulling away enough to look up at his pretty face. Tears blur your vision and darken the front of his jacket, bending the florescent lights so they form a kind of halo above his head.

Through the surreal haze you can see his throat bob.

“I know.”

He knows?

He knows?

You scoff.

“You have no fucking idea, Spencer. What the fuck is wrong with you? I—I'm—”

The hot anger is such a relief for a second, boiling the oceans of your despair into a wrathful, scorching fog, but as soon as you try to tell him how you feel, the barbed wire cuts into your throat again. You shove him away, skin burning where his hands had been.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks, hands hanging uselessly at his side. There’s that kicked puppy look about him—and it’s familiar, but now there’s more damage. You don’t know anything about his time in prison, you haven’t heard a damn thing, but beneath the glassy desperation in his eyes there is an unfathomable void that seems to be preventing him from being fully present—and you realize for the first time that he is different.

It chills you.

Before, you and Spencer shared everything. There wasn’t one part of his internal machinations that you didn’t understand, nothing you kept from each other. But as you study him now from a few feet away, you realize there might as well be a yawning chasm between the two of you.

He is so different.

Those eyes look deeper. No gears turning just behind the slashes of gold and brown anymore—only an endless dark corridor that goes places you will never go.

Gone is the perpetual boyish up-turn at the corner of his lips that always made him look slightly vacant in a way that you found incredibly amusing. Something you had been so fond of, even if you teased him.

He seems to have aged ten years—if not physically, then in demeanor. And now you feel like a little kid throwing a tantrum.

You cross your arms, suddenly unable to meet his eyes.

You’re embarrassed. And pissed. And relieved. Everything is worse and better. You want to fall back into his arms, but you have been jarred by the revelation that this might not be the same Spencer. It might not be the same relationship. You have no idea where you stand.

He says your name gently, with so much familiarity you’re briefly jerked into the past. It makes you wish you could look up to find him as he was three months ago. Wish this was just a bad dream. But that’s not fair to him.

“Sorry,” you mutter, studying the grey carpet fibers instead of looking at him.

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says immediately, “you’re right. I don’t—” he clears his throat— “I’m being incredibly selfish. I shouldn’t have just shown up, I’ll just—I'll leave. I’m sorry.”

A silent moment passes.

You don’t look up as he turns and swiftly begins to move down the hall toward the stairway, leaving as quickly and silently as he had come, like a few bars of a song sighed in and away on a fleeting breeze.

Your bare feet are concretely planted, imagining him jogging down the steps and speed-walking away from your building—

And suddenly you’re sprinting after him, feeling like you might puke because Spencer was just here and you let him go again—and even though you’re still so mad and confused and hurt, the realization that he is leaving again makes the entire building spin and lurch.

“Wait!” You yell, almost wiping out as you run down the stairs and whip around corners in your slippery fucking socks. “Please, wait!”

The lobby is already empty as you spill out into it, and cold dread tightens around your neck like a fist as you shoulder your way through the double doors and right into Spencer.

“Please don’t leave again, you just—I'm sorry, I really need you to not go—” you blabber, lachrymose once more, gripping onto his forearms for dear life.

“I’m not going,” he breathes shakily. “I tried to leave because I think you were right and maybe I should and maybe it would be better for you but I can’t.”

“You can’t,” you agree, more sob than spoken word. He cups your jaw, then your cheeks, wiping tears and brushing away hair like he can’t figure out how to hold enough of you between his hands. The wild kaleidoscope of his eyes, bright and alive and real as he scans you desperately captures your attention enough to slow the tears to a trickle. He notices this and stares back, entranced.

A silent agreement is made, or maybe an inevitable fate is accepted—either way, something was set in motion three months ago and it matters to see it through. Spencer kisses you and you’re ready for it. You don’t need slow or tender. You need to feel how he feels. You need to know what he knows.

You sling your arms around his neck and he pulls you closer until you almost tip backward, chasing the bruising kiss even as you regain your footing. You want to drink him in and you do your best, breathing deeply as he kisses you deeper, backing you inside and toward the elevator.

“Is this okay?” he manages, only after blindly reaching for and mashing the up button on the wall panel.

Ideally it wouldn’t happen like this, but the world you live in obviously isn’t ideal and your personal situations as they coincide are far from ideal, so this is how it has to happen. But it’s hard to explain, and you’d rather not admit that this is so far from what you wanted for both of you and follow up with the fact that despite that you need him like you need water. So you don’t say a word as the metal doors slide open promptly. Instead you pull him in and let him press you to the chrome wall as he hits your floor button, and that very hand comes back to grab your ass like you didn’t think Spencer Reid capable of. It almost aches as his fingers dig into the flesh, but it’s a good ache because it means he’s real and he’s there.

You gasp as he hitches your leg up, arching into him. The shorts that you’re wearing leave very little to the imagination to begin with, but they become downright indecent like this.

Quickly the elevator stops and the doors hiss open. You don’t hesitate to pull Spencer by the hand down the hall. When you notice you left your door wide open, you don’t even care. Neither does he, apparently—once you’re inside he slams it shut, flipping the deadbolt while his eyes are glued to you like you’re already naked. Now Spencer is shameless in the way he drags his eyes over every curve, every place your clothes and hair are disheveled from his touch and eye-fucks you so obviously it makes your face warm. Three months ago Spencer would have at least been bashful about it when he met your eyes again, but this Spencer is far from apologetic as he pins you with his burning gaze once more. His hand stays stuck to the door like he’s holding himself back.

“Is this what you want?”

There’s an undercurrent of sorrow below the gravely arousal, like this isn’t what he wanted for the two of you either. But you’re both at the mercy of fate. This is all you have, and it might be all you can do for each other anymore. So you don’t need to say that, because he understands.

“Yeah. Yes, this is what I want.”

For just a second more he watches you from his place by the door, and there’s an unexpected softness to it. He looks at you the way he would have looked at you before. Like as long as he stays there he can entertain the idea of being that person again.

Need wins out quickly, though, and he surges forward. Immediately you’re caught in the riptide of him, helpless as he kisses you all the way to your bedroom.

He’s never been in here before. You find yourself glad it’s relatively clean—one of the pastimes you’d picked up in his absence was keeping everything tidy. It was something you could control.

A lamp glows at your bedside. You lean against the footboard of your bed, hands timidly behind your back and suddenly shy to have in him in your intimate space. Both of you set aside the heaving desperation long enough to catch your breaths, and for him to scan the room like he too is being forced to reconcile with the innate and unexpected intimacy of the moment. He cuts a harsh, dark gash in your sweetly decorated bedroom, radiating something wild and powerful and unsure of himself like a chained bull as he takes in the soft, pale bedding, the paintings and photos taped to the walls, the woven rug and the sheer drapery. His breathing slows as he studies it all—eyes eventually catching on something behind you. Looking is unnecessary. You’re sure he’s spotted the dried peonies in their ceramic vase. Or maybe the now worn stack of papers that is his Odyssey, marked up and soft around the edges from constant flipping-through.

Then Spencer looks at you, and that softness seeps in again. Along with something like... fear? Grief?

In some other universe your first time with Spencer is sweet and giggly and kind and he smiles at the decor in your room and looks around with wonder because it’s another way he gets to know you. It’s a different way to learn you from the inside.

You sense that he’s caught in between universes right now as well, painfully aware of what he would have given you that he can’t anymore.

He breathes your name like an apology, and foolishly you let a second go by in which you think he might offer you one. But he doesn’t. Not with his words, anyway. His eyes tell a different story.

“It’s fine,” you say unprompted on a whispered exhale, then a little louder as you push off the footboard, crossing the space until your hands are on his chest. You focus on his tie, not making eye contact as you rush to undo it. “It’s fine.”

He lets you do this for a few seconds before finally covering your trembling hands with his own. You still can’t meet his eyes.

“We don’t have to do—”

“No! No, please. I want to. I need—I need us to be okay.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, catching your chin and forcing you to look at him. “We are okay. Me and you are fine.”

It’s a pretty thought, but it’s not true. In fact, it’s a hideous and abject affront to the truth. Sure, maybe you’re fine in comparison to last week. Maybe anything feels fine compared to an eight by six cell. But it would be impossible for you and Spencer, for your relationship, whatever that relationship may be, to be fine. It’s especially impossible for him to make that claim, after all he did or rather didn’t do while he was gone. What you need is for him to stay anyway. What you need is to find a way to be with him, to exist with him, even when you are so clearly not fine.

“I just need you to stay,” you whisper, and he’s already nodding, wide-eyed like he’d do anything for you. You ignore all the bitter venom rising in your throat. You pretend this isn’t all happening after he cut you out of his life with a dirty switchblade. Instead you focus on his hands on yours, the familiar smell of him, which invites you to let go of each and every thought and worry. He must’ve showered before coming here, you realize. How long has he been out? What happened? 

“Okay. Okay, I can stay. What else can I do? How do I make it better?”

You sniffle and look back down.

“You can untie that for me.”

He hesitates, then nods some more, fingers working under yours to undo the tie around his neck.

“Okay.”

A moment goes by and after that final whispered word, the tension begins to build again. Spencer senses it in the way your fingertips linger on his chest and you step even closer, dragging them down to his belt. The metallic sound of it unbuckling, despite being your own doing, still manages to flip your stomach. How many times have you pictured this? When was the first time you realized you wanted it? You’re sure you haven’t stopped wanting it even once since then.

Spencer tosses the tie away and is shrugging off his jacket now, then before you see it coming he’s kissing you again, ducking down to do it. He feels taller this close up, and especially in your bedroom, where he just seems rather out of place. But you want him here. God, you want him here.

You break the kiss, forced to look down as you fumble with his belt.

“Sorry,” you gasp, embarrassed by your lack of dexterity. The light is barely sufficient to see what you’re doing, especially when he’s wearing black on black and your eyes are still bleary.

“You’re okay,” he assures you, and it’s so Spencer a fresh round of nerves electrifies the tips of your fingers. That thing is happening—the thing you’d hoped to avoid if you hadn’t lost momentum partway through, where you’re allowing your actual feelings for him to get in the way rather than getting swept up in the pathos of the moment and letting everything be easy and mindless. “Here, can I help you?”

But he doesn’t actually wait for an answer before he’s finishing off the belt for you, tugging it loose from his hips till it’s a leather coil in his hands. Your fingers brush the material and he lets you take it as if it were your prize. It’s heavier than you thought it’d be, and you just feel the weight of it in your hands for a moment, your dropped head brushing his chest.

You have a terrible feeling that if you do this now, it doesn’t mean everything will be alright. Because it can’t just go back to normal. Spencer has told you nothing of what must be an enormous trauma, and you haven’t spoken about it at all, but you sincerely doubt that after this he’s going to be ready to just jump into that committed relationship the two of you had been toying with for months before his absence. You’re almost... scared of him, now. Scared of where he’s been and what he’s endured—things you’re sure you couldn’t have taken. What that does to a person, you can’t imagine. He seems so solid and real in front of you now—but you know that’s not always enough. Maybe you’re just scared that somehow whatever he’s been through will have made him care for you less. That you were too far removed from the whole ordeal, and now you’ll never understand. If you could understand, maybe you could fix it for him. Maybe he’d stick around.

Still—even if you do end up pushing him further away in the long run—won't it have been worth it to have had him so completely, even just once?

You toss the belt to the ground, compressing all of these very complicated thoughts and feelings into a few seconds so short he can’t ask you any questions about them. Instead you find his top button, and just as you manage to undo it with relative ease he’s gently grabbing your wrists. You look up at him, immediately surrendering.

“If we’re going to do this I need you to relax a little bit.”

Gears grind in your chest. You feel need and anxiety comingling in every square inch of your body. It’s a sick buzz—a high on an empty stomach.

“I can’t,” you admit.

“Yeah, you can,” Spencer gently disagrees, slowly lowering your hands. When he’s sure you’re not going to try ripping his clothes off again, he releases, and his eyes lower to the zipper of your hoodie. His fingers follow, warm against the soft triangle of revealed skin at your chest as he grips the small piece of metal between barely shaking fingers. “You can.”

You match his eyeline, breathing shallowly and watching as he slowly drags the zipper down. You wonder if that sound has haunted his fantasies the way the sound of his belt has haunted yours. If he’s seen this hoodie on you and wondered what’s underneath, staring at you and daydreaming during movie night with you none the wiser.

Both of you have your eyes glued to the span of skin as the zipper parts. Spencer stalls with the zipper at your sternum, just below the band of your bra.

Right. No shirt.

You look up and find his eyes already on you, tinged with a curious kind of humor.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.”

The words come out shy. Spencer’s chuckle has its own nervous airy quality as he resumes tugging on your zipper, leaning down until your noses bump.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Then he kisses you again, a little sweeter now. Sweet enough to give you butterflies and for them to flutter right out of your stomach and spill from your lips in a little whimper against his.

It comes as a surprise when he pushes the fabric from your shoulders without looking or asking. Not that you’d have said no—you're just underprepared for how assertive he is in this foreign context.

Left just in your flimsy shorts and your thin bra, you feel quite exposed—but Spencer’s hands are as demanding and hungry as his mouth. They skim up your sensitive sides and sweep lower, suggesting less proper placement over your ass and pulling at your bottoms until you gently put a stop to their wandering.

“Wait. We’re... we’re uneven.”

It’s a struggle to get any words out at all when he keeps chasing your lips, nipping at you like he physically can’t stand not kissing you, but they catch his attention and he laughs airily, pulling back to let his gaze pour over your less clothed form. It lingers and catches and lights you up everywhere it touches, drops of heat soaking into your skin and making you feel all fuzzy and needy.

“We are,” he acknowledges, tone low and colored with the faintest smile. “You’re a lot prettier without your clothes on than I am.”

“I don’t believe you.”

The challenge comes immediately and thoughtlessly. Spencer’s golden eyes flash up to yours. He’s breathing a little harder than usual.

“You want me to show you what I mean?”

If that means getting him naked, then yes, absolutely.

You nod, but rather than immediately stripping, he takes your hand and holds his own open next to it. A thick pink scar bisects some pretty significant palmistry lines, but you don’t mention that. Instead you swallow—your thoughts, your words, your nausea.

“That’s new.”

You wonder how you hadn’t noticed it earlier.

He nods.

“A lot is new.”

It sounds almost like he’s challenging you—there's a kind of tremulous force in his voice, despite the perpetual softness there, like he’s inviting you to say it’s ugly. And you realize he’s referring to more than just the glowing scar cutting an asteroid trail against the flesh of him palm. The scars he obtained in prison must form a constellation over his body.

“I don’t care. I wanna see you.”

Spencer swallows, cupping your face with the scarred hand once more. You can’t feel it against your cheek but you know it hasn’t gone away.

“I’m sure you think you do,” he permits, and that’s where the conversation ends for the moment—with his hand on your face and his lips back on yours. “For now why don’t you let me worry about you?”

Obediently, you breathe, “okay.”

This is, for whatever reason, amusing to him. The brief levity dies as quick as it comes like a snuffed-out brush fire as soon as he lets his hands fall back down to your hips.

“I want... I want to give you slow. But...”

But slow is for people who didn’t lose three months of their life. Slow is for people who don’t know what it’s like to be starving. Slow is not for the desperate.

You understand the feeling.

“I don’t need slow.”

You’ll let him use you up like quick-burning fuel if that’s what he needs. You’ll go as fast and as bright and as hot as he tells you.

“But you want slow,” he murmurs, a secret acknowledged into your own waiting mouth. You’d keep it there forever. You could be the object he hides his soul in. “I know you do. You deserve to get what you want.”

“I can go fast. I want whatever you can give me.”

Spencer’s shuddering exhale is like a drug, dizzying as you inhale it and your eyes flutter at the high, pressed head-to-head with him. For so long you’ve needed him so badly. It’s overwhelming to have him now, all over you. If only your walls could breathe him in the way you are, if this room could remember what it feels like to hold him the way you will, if any inanimate object could bear witness to how you’ll give yourself, any part of yourself, over to him, so willingly.

“I’m going to try.” Spencer’s voice is hoarse as he walks backward to the bed, taking you by the hips as he goes. “I want to do it right. I want to do this the way I... the way I imagined it, before...”

Now he’s sitting, and you’re standing between his legs as he finds the clasp of your bra and undoes it, his fingers a comforting pressure where they ghost down the slope of your back. Your heart is pounding at the confession, at the way his tongue darts over his bottom lip and his fingertips journey back up to your straps, looking up at you with haloed irises as if he’d find anything other than the most dangerous kind of smoldering devotion in your eyes—the kind cult-leaders seek and spend years nurturing, and he’d earned with a mere brush over your bare skin.

The fabric slides down your arms, and as it falls to the floor, you watch something like despair flash-flood his eyes. It is a deep, distinctly human grief. The ineffable kind where something is almost too beautiful; so perfect it offends the mortal senses because it should be permanent, but nothing is, and the clash of divine beauty with unstoppable time which oxidizes copper and covers marble with vine is almost as grotesque as metal rending delicate flesh. It is the grief that drove the first poet to write and the first parents to press their baby’s painted hands to the walls of a cave. It is the desire to do the impossible—to capture ephemeral perfection and make it eternal, and the knowledge that it is hopeless. You recognize it because you’ve felt it for him.

“I thought about you all the time,” he whispers, doesn’t bother calling you beautiful but you don’t mind because he’s telling you with his hands and his eyes and the waver of his voice. “When I was gone, I thought about you—”

You’re just as quiet, just as soft.

“Don’t, Spencer.”

He doesn’t get to tell you about when he was gone. Not now. Not after he acted like you didn’t exist.

“Okay.” He swallows the things he’d wanted to tell you like you choked on the things you needed to tell him for three months. “I’m sorry.”

But his hands—his hands are perfect over your waist and his lips are perfect where they kiss your ribs like they’re his homeland. You could forgive a thousand wrongs for each kiss he puts to your skin. Light from the full moon stretches over the room like a blessing from the cosmos, and you have every intention of making the most of that gift, how the silver gilds the planes of his face and highlights curls like they were carved, and invites you to search for something in each shadow.

Some of his kisses land over the sensitive skin of your breasts though you doubt he has much intention or that there is any sort of end-goal with the trail he blazes—in fact, you have to root your hand in his hair and pull gently back when he doesn’t seem to realize that he’s making you wait again. His eyes are glassy and cheeks slightly pinkened—you weren’t expecting this wave of fondness to knock you on your ass but here you are, falling all over again.

“You don’t have to go that slow.”

A slow smile splits the heart of his mouth at your bashful tone and he’s emboldened to bring his hands higher for a moment, thumbs brushing particularly delicate though not downright indecent spots. Nonetheless, your breath catches.

“Impatient girl,” he scolds, and though it’s lighthearted it still inspires heat to dance across your face. Oh, I think I’ve been plenty patient, you itch to say, but you bite it back because it’s only sad and true and unkind.

Still, he gives you the beginning of what you want, really only the tip of the enormous iceberg that is your desire for him, by slipping his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts and tugging them down. His hands slide up the fronts of your thighs, tracing the trim of your underwear, and you’d swear he’s not even breathing. The moment one of his hand loops behind your knee and pulls forward until it’s pressed to the mattress and you’re half-kneeling, half standing, desire begins to truly cloud your mind. Manhandling never seemed like Spencer’s style, but when paired with how softly he reveals your hip, pulling gently down on the fabric of your underwear just to admire you up close, you don’t mind it.

More kisses are littered over your stomach, and he takes you by surprise a second time with a quick maneuver landing you on your back and him on top of you.

“I wasn’t doing you justice with my imagination,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I couldn’t have known.”

“Couldn’t have known what?” you pant as he shamelessly digs his fingers into the plush of your ass. You almost hope it bruises.

“How pretty you would be,” he coos like he means it, and you dissolve, slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. “You were holding out on me.”

It’s a tease, not at all serious, but you manage to hit him with a, “Was not, asshole,” and he chuckles, placating your little hurt with another sticky kiss, and you get another disorienting glimpse of some other timeline where you’re both a little less damaged. Where it’s a little easier.

But in this timeline, his touch becomes starving and ragged and urgent, and you accept the drag of his thumb up your thigh and between your legs, gasping when he runs his knuckles up the center of you. This touch is metal on screeching metal. It does not pretend to be anything more than what it is—brute, powerful, executed to elicit sensation. You get the sense that Spencer’s never touched anyone this honestly, and while you do envy the girls who got to have him gentler, you’ll take this as the compliment that it is. A kind of vulnerability that is nearing primal.

His lips, though—always his lips—are kind when they brush and land on your skin guided by some invisible map. A dip down your neck and chest and then a plunge, his tongue dragging over your hips, chasing the fabric of your underwear as he almost pulls it off and then reroutes, making room for himself between your legs and pushing lace aside to mark the hinge of your inner and upper-most thigh. Your chest heaves and you don’t dare move for fear he’ll stop leaving signs of himself on your body and you won’t be able to reassure yourself that it was real and he was here and it was not another dream.

Because something in you knows, if only consciously recognizing it for the first time now, that he will disappear again. That this may be your only chance.

The desire to make the ephemeral eternal. An impossibility.

He’s clearly losing himself to something, eyes shutting blissfully. You wonder when the last time he let his guard down even a  little was. You’re okay with being the thing he gets lost in, even if you’re not exactly okay with him—something you are becoming more acutely aware of as each touch makes a part of you want to cry. Maybe you still have some things in common. A strange pain that doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you, for one thing.

You slam back into your body as his nose nudges against you through fabric, and his lips catch on cotton as he drags himself up, eventually settling a kiss against the little bow at the waist of your underwear. There he stays, eyes closed, mouth pressed to you.

“Is this okay?”

You swallow, buzzing. Is this really what he wants? After everything?

“You don’t have to...”

“But is it okay with you?”

Nothing more than an airy whisper, you reply, “Yes, if that’s what you want.”

Being emotional at this point seems wrong, but it’s difficult to ignore the fact that you have thought about this before and it’s finally happening but it’s not exactly as you’d imagined it. There is an indelible sadness to it, to the way he’s so hungry for you because he’s been deprived, to the desperation with which he touches you because he’s had everything taken from him.

For a moment, before he tugs your underwear down, he pauses, and you wonder if he’s freezing one moment in time, this moment, and grieving all the other ways it could’ve been, and accepting that this is the way it is going to be. You are.

These higher realms of thought abandon you as he finally pulls the last barrier down your legs and encourages you to spread them further. You don’t have time or energy to be embarrassed, not even by his staring, or the way his eyes dart up to yours and back down again, wide and shining, as if to say, have you seen yourself? Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?

All you feel is the lack of him on you, the pull to have him closer so strong it’s almost sickening because he could be gone at any second. Maybe he understands that because he doesn’t waste anymore time before he’s kissing the most sensitive part of you. The drag of his tongue has you loosing a shuddering cry.

His mouth wanders, making connections you wouldn’t have realized the value of until you feel them on your skin. Your hips buck as he traces you and you’re unable to stop yourself from tangling your hands in his hair. Speech fails you—hell, you can hardly breathe as you watch his with a furrowed brow and parted lips, only expelling air from your lungs in the form of little cries and gasps and failing to hold your hips down to the bed.

The tip of his tongue teases around your entrance and he catches your leg as your foot rises off the bed, slinging it over his shoulder and consuming you more fervently until you have no choice but to moan though you’ve never been one for theatrics. Nobody has done this for you like he’s doing it for you. Locks of hair fall in front of his face and you hold them back for him, shuddering as he shifts his weight and presses the tip of his finger to your cunt.

“Ah—please,” you manage, your first words since he started. Spencer groans against you and the sound is so wonderfully unexpected, so much better than in your dreams. You cant your hips up in further invitation, chirping as he takes it, pushing two fingers into you at once. Your eyes screw shut and you bite back a whine at the slight stretch, unconsciously writhing your hips either to get further away or take him deeper, you’re not sure.

Spencer pulls back, kissing your hips and thighs and pumping his fingers very slowly as you adjust.

“’M sorry,” you pant, “it’s been awhile, I...”

“Don’t apologize,” Spencer says like it’s simple, his own breath coming quicker. “How’re you feeling? Need me to stop?”

“No! No, it feels really good, I feel good.”

He holds your burning gaze, matching it with his own, and his hair is tousled and his cheeks are flushed as he continues to move his hand.

“Yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

This little show of obedience, of call and response, has him smiling before he occupies his mouth with something else once more. It’s a different smile than you’re used to from him, but you decide you don’t at all mind it.

Like that, with his tongue and fingers working tirelessly, your orgasm comes on quickly. The feeling is rare but not entirely foreign, and in that brief moment of utter disconnect between your brain and reality, of sheer white-hot pleasure, you don’t feel you’re missing out on anything at all. How could you be, when you are here and Spencer is here and for a moment all your neurons are lighting up and flashing neon? How could there be anything more to life than the searing feeling of him slowly withdrawing his fingers from you, than your hips between his hands like he’s cradling the world, and his lips, indiscriminate with where they kiss because every part of you is worthy of attention?

You’re reeling, and your legs are gelatinous as he so affectionately sucks the darkest mark yet onto your inner thigh like a parting gift, like he’s signing his trembling work. If you could clamp your legs shut around the almost painful aftershocks you would, but he’s climbing back up your body, so all you can do is wriggle against him and release delayed, stunted little moans. He stops to kiss your neck before he makes it to your mouth and drinks down all your sounds until you’re gentle and pliant for him like you haven’t been yet.

His voice is soft and sympathetic when he speaks. “Better?”

Wordlessly you nod, both comforted and unsettled by how well he knows you. What, exactly, has been made better, you’re not sure. Not trust. You don’t trust him anymore. Something cheaper, but temporarily effective. A sense of permanence, maybe, however fleeting it may be. You’ve completed something with him now, and he’s still here, still sweet.

He looks into your eyes, then, for a moment—and there is just enough light in the room for you to tell yourself that the shadows dancing there as he looks at you are love.

They morph as you watch into haunting, wild hunger. Pained even now.

He sits up abruptly and so do you, scooting back against your headboard and pulling your knees to your chest to protect your pounding heart as Spencer takes you in with darting eyes and quick breaths. His fingers find the collar of his shirt and he begins to unbutton.

“I need you to remember it’s all going to heal.”

He swallows, and you hardly have the wherewithal to study the way he unbuttons his shirt, a way he exists in the world that you had previously not been privy to. The words are too distracting.

“What?”

Sometimes he reminds you of a deer, with those big brown eyes that can’t help betraying anxiety. Moreso in those old pictures he’d shown you from his early days at the BAU—but it shines through occasionally even now. It’s reassuring to know that something inside of his has remained soft.

“Just...” his fingers don’t stop at their task, and you come to the disturbing realization that his knuckles are bruised. “Please don’t freak out, alright?”

Your mouth goes dry, eyes glued to the lengthening span of revealed skin.

And before he even has his shirt fully undone, something isn’t right.

He’s like a Pollack of bruises—starbursts and watercolor blots of discoloration blooming over his side and stomach.

You’re glad the light is off for two reasons: one, being that you don’t think you could handle the bruising in all its glory, and two, you hope the look of horror painted on your face is at least partially obscured from Spencer.

But you can’t. You simply don’t have the gas in the tank to freak out, as he’d said—at least not externally. Those bruises shouldn’t be there, but 96 days is a long time to be gone.

You drag your eyes back to his—nervous, deeply insecure and mistrustful. A deer. Just like those pictures of a 24 year old Spencer in an FBI jacket that was too big for him.

It’s enough to have you scooting on your knees across the mattress to him. Those big eyes stay glued to you as you draw near, falling as you carefully push open his shirt, cautious not to bump any tender spots as it falls to the bed. A flash of white gauze wrapped around his forearm that makes your stomach flip. How? You want to ask. Why?

He doesn’t seem to know what you’re going to do, and neither do you, until you’re grabbing his hands, bruised knuckles and all, and just... holding them for a minute.

“I lost weight,” he says quietly, as if that’s the most shocking thing about his current appearance, though it is noticeable.

“You’re still pretty.”

He smiles at this—a true Spencer Reid smile. Flattened lips, eyes tinged silver with sadness, voice quiet and anxious and wavering.

“I didn’t have a lot to spare.”

A moment goes by.

“I’m not going to ask you about them,” you promise, though you care so much and you want to know but you already understand that he won’t want to tell you.

Another moment. It doesn't surprise you to watch the shiny vulnerability in his eyes to freeze over completely. But he squeezes your hands once in thanks, and you know it’s still the same Spencer.

“Lie down.”

Oh. Right.

This.

You do as he says, taking a deep breath to try and exhale the concern twisting your stomach like a poison. Somehow your room feels so unfamiliar, so new with him in it. Even the whorls on your ceiling look different as you study them, trying to time the pattern of your breathing with the pattern of the paint and plaster and not let the sound of Spencer further undressing quicken your heartrate too much.

Soon he’s coaxing your legs apart again, reverently, and kneeling between them, studying every part of you—lingering not on the parts you’d expect. He traces the scar on your knee with his thumb, follows a line down your thigh to the freckle on your hip. The scrutiny is unnerving and warms you everywhere. Perhaps he senses the microscopic clench of your thighs as you imagine pushing them together, if he weren’t in the way.

“You alright?” He asks, still stroking your hip. Tender again. It’s so hard to keep up.

“I...”

Suddenly your heart beat is a deafening echo in your own ears. The tide of your breathing is too powerful, too in and out and whooshing, leaving you always too empty or too full but never comfortable.

Maybe he’s changed, and he’s harder to know now, but he is the same Spencer. He is the Spencer you’d fallen in love with. The hard part is knowing that now you may never get a chance to tell him that. You don’t know if he’d be able to hear it.

There are things you can’t have with him anymore. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. But you can have this. It will be different, but you’d rather him be different and here than the same and only in your memory.

You swallow.

“I’m good.”

Tangling your hand in his hair once more, you pull him down into a kiss. It’s hesitant, at first—maybe he can taste your thoughts, where they’d been balancing just on the tip of your tongue. But the uncertainty fades and he kisses you deeper, harder, in a way that is hard to keep up with. You like the messy overwhelm of his lips, teeth, tongue. That’s the only way he knows how to want you.

When you go to wrap your leg around his waist he catches it, running his hands over the soft plush of your thigh. The hard line of him presses against you like memory foam and you gasp and he breathes it in deeply as your brain short-circuits, as you realize this is really going to happen, that you’re going to have him like you’ve never had him before and in ways you’ve only imagined and immediately felt ashamed for.

“Spencer,” you whisper. He ducks to leave open-mouthed kisses along your neck and your eyes flutter shut, craning your neck but not losing sight of your objective as you reach down blindly. When you find what you’re looking for he freezes, groans against your neck at the same time as you breathe the tiniest whimper. Just in your hand he feels impossible, hot and imposing and hard. Your heart palpitates.

Without thinking, you angle your hips up and encourage him closer, until the tip of him is smearing through your folds, and you both go utterly silent like the breath had been stolen right from your lungs. The moment crystallizes, time around you hardening like preserved amber to keep you frozen there forever.

And then he rolls his hips, catching the underside of his cock on the crux of you, and then he does it again, and you choke out a moan and so does he, and it’s beyond perfect—it's nirvana, more than you could ever have conceived of, with his weight pressing you into the mattress, arms caging you in, his heavy breaths hot against your neck and vice versa as you twine together like serpents on a rod, your foot floating in the air as you widen your legs to make more room for him.

And you’re not even fucking yet.

“Oh my god,” you whine, just for him, barely audible under the heavy cloak of night, the thickened air in your bedroom and the sound of panting and fabric shifting. It’s like your heart is trying to reach through your chest to his own where they’re pressed together—that is how hard it’s beating.

Spencer only breathes a long, low curse and shifts so he can grasp himself. Your fingers drift down the shaft of him as he slots himself at your entrance, notching half an inch in and you hold your breath, and you brace yourself—and then he’s kissing you again, but gentler this time. Reassuring. You soften, you can’t not, releasing all your air in a soft gust through your nose, and then he’s pushing in.

Your lips part at the stretch as it fuzzes your mind, but he stays right there, nose pressed to your nose, lips ghosting over your own. He’s not going anywhere, you think, and you’re glad for it, when it burns ever so slightly, and the tiniest whine escapes your open mouth.

“Shh,” he soothes immediately, low and soft, only fractionally louder than you had been. “You’re okay.”

Spencer. Your Spencer.

For a moment, you’re living in that alternate universe. The kinder one. The flash of pain you feel then has nothing to do with the way he’s opening you up.

This is the closest you have ever been, and in some strange way, the furthest apart.

Together, fingers brushing, you guide him until he settles at not quite your deepest point. You can feel that he’s not giving you everything yet, but you’re okay with that, as you adjust to the full feeling. Spencer again senses your desire to close your legs against the deep intrusion, and gives you the best he can by encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

“Good girl,” he whispers tenderly, nudging at your jaw with his nose and dragging kisses along the ridge of it. Your stomach flips at the moniker and your brain turns to warm sludge as your eyes flutter shut. It makes you feel all light-headed and you flutter around him. Spencer chuckles into the junction of your neck and shoulder and the vibrations send a chill down your arching spine. “I thought you might like that one.”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm. How are you? You okay?”

“’M ready.”

“You’re ready?” His tone is dripping sarcasm and faux-disbelief as he pulls back the slightest bit only to push right back in deeper, this time. Your toes curl, one thigh sliding higher up his waist as you cling to him.

“Fuck,” you manage, a pitiful, high pitched curse tossed to the wind. He echoes the sentiment.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, continuing with that slow pace, “you feel so good, angel.”

You grapple at his back, searching for purchase as your brow knits. “Faster.”

This inspires another breathy chuckle, but he obliges, and you cry out softly. It’s almost unreal, your head buried against his neck, drunk on his scent and the drag of him like a shock felt in the far reaches of your body, again and again.

There’s nothing you can say that will accurately demonstrate what you’re feeling, so you elect not to speak, to remain silent and try to get a grip on this cacophony of sensation and emotion. But it’s too much to be alone with. You feel you have to get it out, to seek understanding. You can’t do it alone.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know...” the sentence trails off into a gentle keen. He moves to kiss you, speaking against your lips.

“You don’t know?”

Shyly you shake your head. Spencer sighs wistfully.

“Do you know how much I missed you?”

It’s like he can sense your need for comfort. For something grounding.

And while this topic was off-limits earlier—you're softer now. The stone walls that form your boundaries have been chipped away and lowered.

Spencer continues unprompted.

“I thought about you every day. Every night while I was falling asleep. You were always on my mind, angel girl.”

You whine. Whether it’s pleasure or distress is anyone’s guess—including your own.

“You were gone so long,” you whisper, eyes shut.

At this, Spencer slows again, and the tension that was building settles back to a simmer.

“I know. I wish I could—I wish I could change that. But I’m here, okay? I’m right here with you.”

Then he makes sure you feel every last inch, and it takes your breath away. If your thoughts were any more coherent, they’d be something along the lines of: but for how long? How long until you leave again?

“You’re here.”

You say it like a mantra, once out loud, and then again and again in your head, timed with every clash of your hips. With each repetition he becomes more real. Every little ache, every tingling, head-emptying brush against that most sensitive spot inside proves to you that he could not be any closer. This can’t be faked. It can’t be another dream to wake up in tears from.

“You’re here,” you gasp as it hits you, as it truly sinks in.

“I’m here,” he breathes.

There’s so much you want to say—three months of words you need him to hear, of things you need to talk to him about, things you need to yell at him for and things you can only say crying in his arms and things you can only say laughing or whispering or drunk or half-asleep—and in this moment you can’t manage any of it. Every word condenses into one drop of salt water, drifting away from your eye and down your cheek. Spencer doesn’t tell you to stop crying. He only kisses the tear away, and murmurs I’m here I’m here I’m here over and over again against your skin until he’s not even speaking it out loud anymore. But you feel it. With every brush of his lips, every breath, every movement, you feel it.

Soon he’s adjusting his angle, gradually picking up the pace but retaining that unforgiving depth, and your nails bite into the skin of his back as your jaw drops. Spencer hisses, pressing impossibly closer.

“I’m sorry!” you squeak.

“Do it again.”

“Wh—what?”

“Please,” he begs, low and hot against your jaw, just beneath your ear. “Do it again, honey.”

Honey.

You’d do anything for him if it meant he calls you that again.

When he shifts his weight to one arm and reaches down between your bodies to play with your aching clit in exactly the right way, you don’t really have a choice. You arch and moan wantonly enough to feel embarrassed as your nails scratch down his back. At the same time he’s making noises of his own, and you almost feel guilty for marking him up like this only you think he likes it. The most perfect and troubling tension is building in your core, so taut you almost fear the inevitable rebound when it snaps. But you’re driven to be exactly what Spencer needs right now, and to let him try and be what you need. Even if it scares you. Even if you’re not sure how.

Spencer groans, head tucked to the bend of your shoulder. “I’m not gonna last.”

Any response you might’ve been about to muster is annihilated by a sudden, deep bolt of pleasure.

“’M gonna cum,” you mewl like it’s a secret.

“Are you?” he asks, coming up breathless. If your eyes were open, you’re sure you’d see him above you.

“Mhm.”

“Look at me. Look at me.”

It is unmistakably a command—one you fight to follow.

You cry out as you meet the intensity of his gaze, those shadowy corridors suddenly ablaze and alive. They are not unending, like you’d thought. They are a door thrown open to let the light in, or maybe to let the fire out. They’re open in this moment for you.

No more words are spoken after that—you cum hard, gasping as you fall and spin. Spencer follows very shortly after, like he was holding it together just for you, and your eyes are still locked though everything is a bit bleary.

“Fuck,” you whine as he continues to fuck you for as long as he can, despite your writhing hips, but you’re entranced by him, unable to look away now that you’re hooked. Until he slows to a halt, glances down at your mouth, and you just have time to pray that he’ll kiss you before he does. You whimper against his lips—a plea for understanding. A plea for him to stay, even though this is over. He kisses back so soft and sweet it’s like he can read your mind. Echoes of I’m here I’m here I’m here still buzz across your skin. His eyelashes tickle your cheek. Your heart stops beating quite so quickly, melting and warm like the rest of your body.

Soon the kissing ceases and you’re just breathing together, trapped and faced with the knowledge that it must end just the same as you had waited for it to start.

Eventually the air between you becomes mostly carbon dioxide and you let your head fall to the side, dizzy and giggling breathlessly as you nearly avoid asphyxiation. Spencer laughs too, letting his head fall to your shoulder once more, and you finally let your eyes flutter closed. To do something as simple as laugh with him again is its own small euphoria. It’s unexpected, and a soft landing once all that tension breaks underneath your combined weight.

It can’t last forever, you know that well. But the slow fade of it makes the next parts a little easier.

Spencer presses a kiss to your neck. “Is your bathroom through that door?”

You hum a confirmation and are only slightly disheartened when he pulls out and rolls off of you. You’re further disturbed when you see there’s gauze around his thigh, matching what’s around his arm, and you wonder how you missed that. Spencer scoops up his clothing and disappears into the adjoining restroom, assuring you he’ll be right back and leaving you alone with your thoughts and the whorls on the ceiling which have seemingly shifted into entirely new constellations.

He leaves the door cracked which is oddly reassuring—the sliver of warm light and the sound of the sink running. Only a few moments pass before he’s returning clad in boxers once more to sit on the edge of the bed, pushing away the sheet you’d just pulled over your chest and pulling one of your legs over his lap. Your face warms as he brings a washcloth between your thighs. As soon as he glances up at you and catches your eye you’re looking back to the ceiling.

“I should’ve asked first,” he says quietly as he cleans up the mess he’d made of you.

You speak just as softly, like you’re both afraid of disturbing some peace, of waking some sleeping giant. “It’s okay. I would’ve told you if I didn’t want it.”

His reticence, his unreadable face, make you nervous.

When he’s done, he rises to toss the dirtied cloth in the laundry bin, and with his back to you (as scratched up as it might be) you feel braver.

“Are you gonna, like... hate me now?”

It was a mistake. That’s clear by the way he turns around, brow knit deeply and grimacing slightly like even the suggestion offends him.

“Am I going to hate you?”

Again you pull the sheet up, and again you look away, studying the pattern of moonlight stretching out over the floor and scooting to make room for him when he steps in it.

“Not hate, I just...” the bed dips beside you and you are indescribably glad he’s not immediately running out the door. “I’m not dumb. I know what this was.”

He pulls you into him and you settle against his chest. It feels good. “I never thought you were dumb.”

This is your first real conversation since he’s gotten back, you realize. And how quickly you’re falling into familiar patterns, familiar syntactical beats. You know when to speak. You know when to bite your tongue and keep him talking.

The silence goes on longer than you’re used to. Maybe he got good at not speaking while he was away.

Eventually your eyes wander, falling to the white strip over his thigh where it is parallel to yours on the bed, only over the sheets.

“What happened?”

You said you wouldn’t ask, but that was then, and you’re upset again. You almost want to hurt him. To piss him off. You don’t know.

But it doesn’t work.

“Do you really want to know?” There’s a note of something heavy in his voice, and you look up at him. It’s a privilege to have him this close—his beauty is a constant surprise that you’d become unaccustomed to over the months. You say nothing, and he takes that as the yes that it is. “I... I did it to myself.”

He may as well have reached down your throat and grabbed for fucking heart for all its clenching. Tears well almost immediately, though they’ve been waiting in the wings all night.

“What? Did you—were you trying to—”

His eyes widen.

“No! No, honey, no.” You wilt as he gathers you closer, a deeply confused frown still contorting your features, too heartbroken even to cling to him, or to appreciate the ease with which honey slips past his lips again. “No. I was—it's complicated. I didn’t—I wasn’t trying to hurt myself, but I had to—I had to do it before someone else did something worse.”

The bruises covering his abdomen.

You sniffle and pull back enough to look up at him tearfully. “Why would they want to hurt you?”

Mist fills his eyes even as he’s looking down at you, a layer of separation, as if he’s two places at once. Even as he goes to brush your hair behind your ear, to stroke your cheek.

“I’m... not... the same, as I was.” It’s not an answer to your question—but it’s the beginning of the answer to a question you’d been too afraid to put into words.

“Don’t say that,” you beg, because you know where this is going. He keeps smoothing your hair like it’ll make this easier.

“But it’s true,” Spencer says gently, the slightest waver betraying his own emotion.

“You’re just going to leave again.”

And you’re losing to the tears.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“But you will,” you insist, like a child crying to a parent come to comfort them after a bad dream.

“Not right now. Right now I’m here.”

I’ll stay until you fall asleep again.

For now, maybe that has to be enough. 

You cry on his shoulder. He kisses your head and doesn’t tell you to stop. 

Eventually, you sniff and wipe your eyes. 

“We were so close. Before you… we were almost there.”

You’re sure of it. You’re sure that if he hadn’t gone when he did you would’ve been a real couple. You would’ve told him you loved him. 

“We’ll get there again,” he promises, rubbing your arm. “I just… I need a little bit of time. I think you do too. But we’re going to get there again.”

Maybe it will never be like it was. 

But as so often is the case—Spencer is right. Difference doesn’t mean it won’t ever be good again. 

You have to believe that, just as you had to believe you’d see him again. 

You look to The Odyssey on your bedside table. 

The sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world. 

But the sun has a habit of rising, time and time again, after the longest nights, after the darkest storms. 

You feel the beginnings of its rise, see the golden tips of it lighting the room as he holds you. Even now. 

[hyunebunx]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 ⏖ ’ skz and the reason you aren't together !

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: angst

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: i loveee me some angst so i hope you'll enjoy! <3 seungmin's part is slightly longer because i wrote it for my beloved keisy @starlostseungmin <3

𝜗୧ chan 𝜗୧ - he chose work over pursuing his feelings for you.

He knows how you feel about him, and you know how he feels about you. Things couldn’t be simpler.

But in reality, things were more complicated than ever. Yes, Chan did in fact confess, but with the same breath he also told you this could never go any further.

You were devastated, confused and sad, not understanding what was going on through that bright mind of his.

You liked each other, you both wanted this – so, what was the issue?

It wasn’t you, it could never be. It was him, as always.

He was too busy, his job too demanding to leave any room for you and the precious feelings you’ve developed for him.

Chan felt like he didn’t deserve your love, because he could never be there for you in the way you needed a boyfriend to be.

He could never be there every morning when you woke up, kiss you goodbye each time you left the house or greet you with a big hug when you returned. He just couldn’t, too caught up in work to even notice the hours tick by.

You didn’t deserve an absent lover, one that could not put you first.

No matter how much he cared, how much his whole being longed for you, his job would always be his main priority. Then, his seven brothers. While you, would end up being third on his list.

It pained him to admit it, and even more so admit it to you but since he respected you so much, you deserved nothing but the truth.

This information crushed you, every word that left his mouth a stone that contributed to the mountain you were quickly getting buried under.

“But I love you.”

He shook his head, brown curls getting into glossy eyes. “I love you too, but we – I, can’t.”

At the end, just as you were preparing to depart his studio, he stood up. Without thinking, you hugged tightly, aware this would be the last time before things would change forever.

“Please don’t be sad because of me.”

How could you not? How did he expect you to not mourn the beautiful relationship you could have had, if only he wasn’t so against it?

If only he would have chosen you.

𝜗୧ minho 𝜗୧ - because he broke up with you.

Yeah, pro idol Minho ended your relationship on a random Thursday night, taking everyone but most importantly you, by complete surprise.

“Let’s break up.”

You can’t believe your ears, especially since you’re in his house, eating the food he just prepared for the both of you, in his kitchen while wearing one of his shirts.

Nothing was amiss, nothing even prompted it. Things have been going great in your relationship – there was no recent argument or disagreement that could explain his sudden decision.

Blames it on his work and his hectic schedule, trying to appear as detached and unaffected as he possibly could. But you know better; you see it all.

The way his fist clenches over the dish rag, how his eyes won’t meet yours even for a split second. This isn’t something he wants to do, not in the slightest. Yet, here he is, breaking both of your hearts for a reason he doesn’t even bother revealing.

It stings in the worst way possible, even more so when you stand up to hug him and he just puts a hand up, stopping you in your tracks.

“Please, Y/n. Don’t make this harder for me.”

Tears well up in your eyes and that’s when he looks away, slumping against the counter as a sniff reaches his ears. He’s gripping the wood with such force you’re afraid it might actually snap.

“Why are you doing this? What’s going on?”

But Minho doesn’t respond, not even as you start crying and begging him to talk to you, to tear down the wall he suddenly plopped right between you two in your relationship.

He’s so close, mere inches away, but his heart that belonged to you, that always responded to yours, is suddenly grabbed harshly out of your hands and shipped away to an unknown destination.

“Minho.” You sniff, not hiding your tears or the pain that’s slowly ripping your heart to pieces and letting them fall all the way down to your stomach, trying to escape from the torture. Because even the idea of not having him in your life was pure torture.

“I think you should go.”

He walks past you, head hung low as he throws the dish rag on the table without saying anything else, putting an end to the conversation. An end to your relationship. Throwing it all away like the time spent together meant absolutely nothing to him.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

But it wasn’t, not like he’d ever let see you the way he broke down as you slammed the front door shut, walking out of his life for good. Even if you didn’t agree, it was better this way.

Your life was better, and happier, without him in it. That’s what he kept murmuring to himself as he slid to the ground, against his bedroom door, crying while clutching his chest, afraid his heart might stop beating.

It was all for the better.

𝜗୧ changbin 𝜗୧ - is already in a relationship.

The most stupid thing you can ever do in this lifetime is fall in love with someone who’s already in love with another.

Not only is he in love, he’s also in relationship that’s been going on for three beautiful years.

The thing is, you haven’t always had feelings for Changbin.

It was weird, really. For the longest time now, he was just your bubbly co-worker who laughed so loud the whole department could hear him. The mood maker of the company.

It happened on the annual Christmas party, where you drunk a little too much as you were nursing a broken heart after your ex dumped you out of the blue.

The whole world was spinning but you were happy – happier than you’ve been in months.

Noticing you could barely stand, Changbin ever the gentleman, offered to drive you home.

You complained and complained but after some more convincing from him, Changbin managed to coax you onto the passenger seat of his sports car.

You were silent the whole ride but as he parked on your driveway, he gasped, worriedly grasping your hands and exclaiming about the tears on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying.

But that’s when the dam broke and it all came to the surface, tears flowing freely down your face and neck as you sobbed, telling Changbin everything from beginning to end.

And he listened, holding your hands and nodding when appropriate, offering you the occasional sip of water or a tissue to wipe your face, not interrupting once.

His heart broke for you, unaware his mere presence was already working on mending yours.

The next morning, you almost didn’t show up to work as you remembered everything, how you made a fool out of yourself in front of everyone but especially Changbin. But something pushed you to do so.

As you arrived, a care basket was on your desk, accompanied by a little note with a crooked smiley face and then, he appeared, doing the exact same expression.

And you laughed, wholeheartedly. And you continued to do so as you began taking your lunch breaks together, working side by side and even taking turns on driving the other home.

Falling for him was inevitable, but you didn’t mind, all warm and fuzzy on the inside as the heart your ex broke was anew.

That is, until you met her. You and Changbin became so close that he couldn’t help but want to introduce you to his other half, the woman who loved him unconditionally that knew a little too much about you.

And just like that, your heart shattered once again, the pieces so tiny they were easily blown away in the wind, leaving behind a big whole were all of your love once resided. How could you be so stupid to believe someone could ever love you again?

𝜗୧ hyunjin 𝜗୧ - you found out he was in love with someone else.

Plain and simple, as heartbreaking as it sounds.

Let me paint this picture: you two are best friends, each other’s safe places. You always talk about everything and anything with one another, feeling comfortable to share even your darkest secrets.

Because of that, you genuinely thought he might even reciprocate your feelings at some point.

But one day, as you’re both hanging out at your house, watching a movie, all of the hope and daydreams you held in your heart for a happy ending with him just get crushed.

He suddenly dumps this new information on you while he’s casually munching on some popcorn, watching the couple on the screen confess their love for each other like your heart didn’t just stop beating.

You’re so taken aback that you stop breathing for a moment, looking at him with wide eyes.

For some strange reason, Hyunjin doesn’t meet your gaze even as it goes silent between you two and your eyes keep burning holes into the side of his head.

Only when you finally tear your gaze away, eyes glossy as you try to murmur encouraging words does he finally turn to you.

His breath hitches in his throat at the sight but other than that, he doesn’t comment on it.

The whole ordeal feels like a slap in the face, hurting more than any physical injury you’ve ever sustained but, it’s not like you could blame anyone but yourself for it. You’ve missed your chance and now, Hyunjin was going to be in a happy relationship with someone else.

So, as expected from any best friend put in that situation, you say through gritted teeth.

“You should confess.”

Hyunjin searches your face for any sign of discomfort and finds many – but, as expected, doesn’t say anything, just looks away and nods slowly. Like he just can’t maintain eye contact for more than five seconds at a time.

And that’s the end of it. The whole vibe changes, now uncomfortable and cold and it’s clear that neither of you is paying any attention to the movie anymore.

But he still remains till the end, and when the credits start rolling, you stand up first and bid him goodnight without your usual warm smile or departing embrace before sprinting up the stairs to your room.

His heart squeezes painfully in his chest as your door slams shut, the tears in your eyes bringing him unexplainable sorrow.

And as he leaves your apartment that night, down in the dumps, you know things between you have changed forever.

Because that’s the last time you and Hyunjin talk.

𝜗୧ jisung 𝜗୧ - he hasn’t confessed yet.

Jisung has liked you for a while now but for some reason, every time he wanted to take that leap of faith and finally confess, something always came up.

You were interrupted, plans had to be cancelled or you were simply too busy to even talk to each other.

It was driving him insane, especially when he’d spot you at an event surrounded by people he felt he couldn’t push through, missing his chance at your attention every time.

He felt forced to watch you from the sidelines, a background character in your life that would never get his moment to shine.

You were friends, but he often felt he cared about you more than you cared about him and it was tearing him apart.

Each time you smiled or laughed at one of his jokes, everything around him disappeared as time seemed to come to a stop, making you look even more beautiful. Which was a hard thing to do since you were already perfect in his eyes.

His insecurities and crippling fear of rejection were literally ruining his life, preventing him from experiencing the love story he’s been yearning for.

Jisung was good at hiding his feelings from you, but sometimes, he slipped up.

Like that time, he held your waist for a little too long, or guided your hands over the piano keys like it was the most natural thing in the world. Those moments when he wasn’t overly conscious, when he got lost in the moment, were your favorite.

You see, in his mission to prevent you from discovering how insanely in love he was with you, Jisung managed to make you believe the opposite. That he hated you. Okay, maybe not hate, just strongly dislike.

Always avoiding being left alone with you, barely meeting your eyes or pulling away when you got a little too close. He seemed repulsed, and it hurt you.

Where you really that unpleasant in his eyes?

He was nice and bubbly around everyone else, no matter the gender. Why couldn’t he be the same Jisung whose smile made your heart skip several beats around you, too?

This went on for a long while, which solidified the idea he hated you in your head, until you couldn’t take it anymore.

One day, Jisung almost walked in on you and Felix…hugging on the practice room floor? His heart dropped, brows furrowing in confusion. Felix knew how he felt about you, he would never disregard that, right?

Everything clicked when he heard your muffled sobs and pained voice.

“I give up, Felix.” You said, hiding your face in his chest as a loud sob escaped you. “Jisung hates me, it’s official! I tried so, so hard but it was no use.” Felix murmured something back, deep voice uncharacteristically soft as he comforted you, caressing your back.

Jisung couldn’t hear what he said though, eyes filling with tears as the only thing resonating in his ears was the pounding of his own heart. You thought…he hated you?

𝜗୧ felix 𝜗୧ - because your relationship is too…complicated at the moment.

Complicated didn’t even begin to describe your relationship with the ray of sunshine.

He was your ex that somehow slithered his way back into your life again, only this time, as a friend. Not even, just an acquaintance that knew too many of your secrets and biggest aspirations.

There was no denying the feelings you still harbored for him, the flame flickering in your heart each time he was around; each time he spoke, he smiled, he laughed or even as much as looked at you, your heart thumped so loudly in your chest you were afraid he was able to hear it.

It was embarrassing, especially since he didn’t seem as affected.

Your relationship ended on a sour note – arguing, screaming, crying, the whole package.

Yet a few months later, when you happened to be at the same party, Felix accompanied by a friend walked up to you like nothing even happened, greeting you brightly.

It was horrible, and you almost cried right there and then, missing the way his doe eyes took in all of the little details that changed about you ever since you broke up, desperately committing them to memory.

Like he never wanted to forget, because he didn’t. Felix never wanted to forget about you, even if you didn’t love him anymore.

And so, this happened a few more times until the inevitable took place.

You kissed. And never spoke about it.

And then you kissed again, and again, until he was coming over to your house in the middle of the night to do more than kiss.

It messed with your head, the way he was looking at you – like you hung the stars on the night sky for him and him alone. Like he loved you and wasn’t breaking your heart each time those plush lips kissed every inch of your skin, worshipping every part of your body.

“Why do you keep coming back?” You’d whisper one night, resting your head on his naked chest as the moon bare witness to your unspoken feelings.

“You keep calling.”

“And when I’ll stop,” you move to look at him, face mere inches away from his, hands supporting your weight on his chest, “will you still come?”

He hesitates, staring straight into your eyes. “Most likely, yeah.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Yeah…complicated.

𝜗୧ seungmin 𝜗୧ - because he is your best friend.

For most, the transition from best friends to lovers was as natural as breathing, something inevitable that was bound to happen one way or the other. Not for Seungmin.

He didn’t even allow his mind to go down that road, to think about being more than friends with you, one of the people he held the closest to his heart.

Not because he didn’t have romantic feelings for you, but because he was afraid.

Yes, he was afraid that once that line was crossed, the one that kept you firmly in place in the beautiful friendship that only blossomed and became very special over the years, it would all disappear.

Things would change and shift, which would bring forth your downfall.

In his eyes, the risk of fighting and breaking up was too big for him to even consider taking your relationship to the next level. He didn’t want to lose you, never.

But what he failed to take into account was that you would not stay single forever.

That’s why, the moment you skipped over to him and squealed about having a date, his heart almost stopped beating.

His world was spinning, like an earthquake started in his head which was quickly crumbling down every single wall and boundary, and rational decision he ever made over the years.

“You…have a date?” He gulped, ignoring the alarms going off in his head that were deafening him. “With who?”

“This guy from work.” You shrugged, excitement dimming as your gaze met his, serious. “He isn’t the one I like, but I guess it will have to do for now.”

Seungmin wasn’t stupid but his heart understood your allusion before his mind did, thumping loudly and stealing his breath away.

You were talking about him. You were going out with another guy but were thinking about him – he was the one you liked!

Still, he didn’t vocalize a response, choosing to nod and pat you on the back gently, staring at anything else other than the disappointment that overwhelmed your whole frame, making you appear oh so small.

The day of your date arrived sooner than he’d like, and Seungmin was miserable, especially since you texted him the location ‘just in case’.

Usually, he was more than happy to know where you were, safe and sound, but this time he would have preferred you didn’t let him know you were with another guy at the restaurant you frequented together.

Hours passed, and night was making its presence known, but still no sign from you. Was he worried? No. Because for once, you staying out meant the date was a success and you were having the time of your life with this guy that wasn’t him.

That’s until, a mere half an hour later, loud knocking had him off the couch in a second, opening the door to find you frowning, and with tears in your eyes. Opening his mouth to speak, shocked, thinking something had happened on the date, your finger hitting his chest stopped him.

“Why didn’t you come?” You sniffed. “I thought going out with someone else would finally prompt you to admit that what we have is more than a simple friendship! Do you hate me that much?”

He was speechless, grabbing you by the elbows as you barged in, tears streaming down your face.

“Answer me, Kim Seungmin!” Well, he was fucked.

𝜗୧ jeongin 𝜗୧ - isn’t sure what he feels for you yet.

Or better yet, his commitment issues prevented him from admitting to any feelings he might have.

See, you weren’t just friends. You were a little more than that, spending most of your free time together going to cute cafes and what would be considered dates, acting all lovey dovey.

That is, when you weren’t spending the weekend bound to his bed. That wasn’t fair, sometimes he was the one tied up. A very mutual arrangement.

Jeongin managed to drag you into a situationship you were now too deep into to break off, having developed actual feelings.

But each time you tried to speak to him about said feelings, he’d close off quicker than a frightened snail, impossible to reach.

After each one of these occasions, he wouldn’t contact you for days on end, sometimes even weeks, leaving you wondering if he’d ever come back.

He always did, he couldn’t stay away from you no matter how much he tried.

Even if he messed with other people in that time, he’d still make his way back to you, smiling like nothing even happened and ready to give you all of his attention and affection again.

It was exhausting, and very, very painful.

But you still welcomed him back with open arms, too happy to see him to even care that each time he appeared in your life again, you were not the same.

Every time he disappeared and you didn’t say anything, a piece of your heart was ripped off harshly, stomped on and then thrown in the trash, devoid of any color or life. Like an old toy, forgotten in favor of a new, shiny one.

But Jeongin didn’t care. It’s not like he could be bothered to pick up your scattered pieces – they didn’t interest him, you did.

Not like he ever noticed the light in your eyes dimming each time he stormed back into your life after pretending you didn’t exist for weeks.

To be honest, you don’t think you’ll ever be together.

Not now, or in the future.

No matter how much you hated to admit it, the facts were neatly laid out before you – Jeonging didn’t care about you at all, no matter how sweet, loving or good you were to him.

He thought you couldn’t notice, that your love for him was too blinding for you to see anything else other than him.

But you did. And he also did when one day, for the first time since he met you, as he stumbled out of a bar, giddy and tipsy with his phone to his ear ready to hear your sweet voice, his call didn’t go through.

[mariasont]

hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly  underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked. 

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut. 

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet. 

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[parkerslatte]

Fated Meetings

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: none.

Summary: Since the babysitter Y/N usually hires had to cancel last minute, Y/N is forced to take her four year old daughter to a ball in the Autumn Court. While Y/N gathers drinks for her and her daughter, she finds her missing and in the arms of a certain High Lord.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Y/N held onto her daughter, Sapphira’s hand tightly as she and the rest of the Inner Circle entered the ballroom. It was not ideal to bring Sapphira along to such a high profile event and it was not a good idea to expose her to such powerful fae at only the young age of five. But Y/N had no choice. The usual babysitter was away in another court and with no one she could leave Sapphira with at the last minute, Y/N was forced to bring her along. 

Of course, Sapphira hadn’t minded in the slightest. When she was born Rhys had spoiled her with glittering gowns fit for a princess. No matter how hard Y/N insisted he did not need to give her small little family anything, Rhys insisted. With nowhere to wear her elaborate gowns, Sapphira only wore them around her own bedroom and whenever Y/N read her a princess story. The young girl always pictured herself within the story, dancing with a handsome prince. Once Y/N told her she could wear one of her gowns to an event, Y/N was sure she had never seen her daughter so excited. 

Y/N glanced down at Sapphire and smiled at her daughter. The young girl’s gaze constantly bounced between everything that moved and glittered. But Y/N couldn’t blame her, she was doing the exact same thing. It was her first time in the Autumn Court and it was nothing if not beautiful. Even more beautiful than Velaris, Y/N thought. 

As the Inner Circle branched off around the ballroom, Y/N looked to her daughter. “Do you want a drink?”

“I want to dance!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Y/N looked to the dancefloor and found it vacant, with the exception of a singular elderly couple. Y/N did not want to risk Sapphira being so exposed like that. 

“What about later?” Y/N suggested. “They might play that music you love later.”

Sapphira thought about it for a second, her brain ticking. Y/N would have loved to know her thought process. 

“Okay, mummy,” Sapphira said.

Y/N smiled at her daughter and squeezed her hand lightly. “Let’s get you a drink.”

Y/N led Sapphira to the drinks table and reached for two cups of water. If Y/N did not have Sapphira with her, she would have indulged in the champagne that was being offered. But tonight Y/N wanted to be on high alert in case anything happened to Sapphira. 

Y/N pulled Sapphira to the side of the room and leaned against the wall while she sat down on the floor. People around her glanced back at the two, some with disgust and Y/N glared at them. 

“Y/N?” A voice startled Y/N as she lightly jumped back. 

Y/N turned to the source of the voice and she smiled. “Lucien!”

Y/N wrapped her arms around the youngest Vanserra and greeted him warmly. She had always liked talking to Lucien and she always enjoyed how he was around Sapphira. Y/N knew of the hard time he had settling into the Night Court so she always made sure to make him feel welcome. 

“I have not seen you in forever!” Y/N exclaimed, stepping back from Lucien. “Is the Day Court treating you well?”

Lucien smiled. “As well as ever. I’m currently bouncing between there and here. Ever since Eris became High Lord, he made one of his priorities to repair our relationship.”

“And how is that working out?” Y/N questioned.

Lucien sighed, though it was content. “Surprisingly well, considering everything.”

“It’s good he is working on fixing everything between you,” Y/N said. 

“After he explained everything, I feel as if I understood him better,” Lucien said. “I could see hints of the brother who used to play with me to distract me from Beron when I was a child.”

Y/N smiled. “I think you would have been a difficult child.”

Lucien gasped. “I was not. I believe I was quite delightful, perhaps even more delightful than your own child.”

“You could never be more delightful than Sapphira,” Y/N said, smiling. “She is the sweetest child in the whole world.”

“I cannot argue with that,” Lucien said, a glint in his eye. “How is she? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean? She’s right here–”

The space where Sapphira was sitting on the floor was now vacant. All that was left was the cup of water that was still full. Y/N’s heart began to beat faster as panic rose within her. 

“Sapphira!” Y/N exclaimed, scanning the room for any sign of her daughter. 

“I can go and see if she has left the ballroom,” Lucien said, suddenly serious. “Do you want me to inform Azriel? He could probably find her quickly.”

“No, do not inform anyone from the Inner Circle. If they find out she is missing, it will turn into a bloodbath here and I don’t want Sapphira seeing that,” Y/N said. 

Lucien nodded before taking off. Y/N did the same and began the search for her daughter. 

***

It had been roughly five minutes or Y/N thought before a young maid tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Yes,” Y/N said, quite sharply. 

The maid flinched slightly but did not back away. “I believe I have just passed your daughter in the gardens, just through those doors there. She looked an awful lot like you.”

Y/N looked at the large glass doors leading to the beautiful gardens outside. Of course her daughter would sneak away to one of the most beautiful places in the court. Y/N said a quick thank you to the maid before she quickly left in the direction of the doors. 

As she slipped out, the sound of the ballroom faded away and was replaced by the slight breeze and distant chatter. One of the voices extremely familiar. Y/N frowned and hurried in the direction of the noise. As soon as Sapphira was safely back in her arms, she was leaving the court immediately. 

“See those hills over there?” The unfamiliar voice asked softly.

“Yes,” Sapphira answered.

“Those hills are special because they are home to the rarest flowers in the whole of Prythian,” the voice said. A masculine voice. 

Y/N only walked faster. 

“See at a certain time every night, they glow, not for long but long enough to light up the entire hill.”

Sapphira gasped. “I want to go there!”

Y/N closed in on the pair. The figure was holding her daughter in his arms and Y/N wanted nothing more than to put an arrow through his head. She was not very good at wielding weapons, preferring to do the healing of a wound rather than inflict it, but if he did not put her daughter down, she would suddenly become the best archer in the whole of Prythian. 

The man chuckled. “You will need to ask your mother. Speaking of which, you should go back inside–”

“That is right, Sapphira. Get away from him,” Y/N spoke up. 

As soon as Y/N spoke, the man turned around and Y/N gasped. The man holding her daughter was none other than the High Lord himself. Eris Vanserra. 

“High Lord,” Y/N said, dipping her head. “I didn’t know–”

“Y/N, please, there is no need for formalities,” Eris said and set Sapphira down on the floor. 

“How do you know my name?” Y/N questioned.

Eris smiled softly and Y/N swore it was the most beautiful smile she had ever seen. “Well my little brother speaks of you a lot and this one,” Eris nodded his head to Sapphira who was brushing down her gown, “speaks a lot about you.”

“Mummy, can I stay outside with Eris, please? He is really nice!” Sapphira said, running up to Y/N and tugged on the bottom of her dress. 

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, briefly glancing at Eris. “I’m sure he is busy.”

“In fact I am quite free,” Eris said. “I dread to go back indoors.”

Y/N stepped closer to Eris. She had never spoken to him before. Though the Inner Circle have spoken about him a lot, none of the comments were too positive. Though the demeanour of the male standing before her contrasted the image she had conjured up in her head. 

“Isn’t this whole ordeal for you?” Y/N questioned. “Isn’t that the whole reason me and my daughter were dragged here?”

“Dragged?” Eris questioned. “I believe your daughter was more than ecstatic to come tonight.”

Y/N looked down at her daughter. “How much did you tell him? You have only been gone ten minutes.”

“She did not stop talking,” Eris said. “Barely let me get a word in.”

“She is normally shy around new people,” Y/N said as her daughter stepped around her legs and closer to Eris. 

“I’m the eldest of seven children,” Eris said, “I’m good with kids.”

“Please can we stay out here a little longer, mummy? I like it here!” Sapphira said, pulling Y/N closer to Eris.

Despite the darkness, Y/N couldn’t help but admire Eris’s beauty as she inched closer to him. His copper hair was immaculately styled on the top of his head, a single strand falling in his eyes that she itched to push back. 

“I suppose we can stay here a little longer,” Y/N muttered.

Sapphira expressed her delight while Eris only smirked. “Perfect. I can show the two of you around the gardens.”

“In the dark?” Y/N challenged.

“You seemed to admire something else in the darkness,” Eris said, his voice loud enough for only Y/N to hear. “Though I can’t guarantee that the gardens are as beautiful as your view currently.”

Y/N flushed and stepped away from Eris. “Well, show the way, High Lord.”

Eris smiled and held out his arm for Y/N to take. “It would be impolite of me to not offer you my arm.”

Y/N glared at him before wrapping her arm around his. Sapphira walked just ahead of them, eager to see the rest of the gardens. 

***

Y/N watched Sapphira run around between all of the hedges fondly, she had never seen her daughter look so happy. Currently, her and Eris were situated on a bench, he lounged upon in, completely relaxed. His jacket was unbuttoned and the crown that was situated on the top of his head was in Sapphira’s hands. 

“We should get back inside soon,” Y/N said, turning to face Eris. 

“You said that ten minutes ago,” Eris teased, crossing one of his legs over the other. 

Y/N flushed once more and turned to face her daughter, who stopped to admire a large rose bush. “I know, but she is so happy out here. She has always been a happy child, but out here…it's different. Our small apartment doesn’t have a garden so Sapphira doesn’t really have anywhere to play.”

Eris studied her for a moment. “What do you do for a living, Y/N? I don’t believe Lucien has ever brought it up.”

“I’m a healer,” Y/N replied. “I help out the Inner Circle quite a lot.”

“You speak about it like you are not part of it,” Eris remarked.

“I’m not,” Y/N replied. “I just attend any matters in other courts in case a healer is needed urgently. I’m not particularly close with anyone except Azriel, he is the one who introduced me to Rhys and Feyre.”

Eris let his gaze fall to Sapphira. “And Sapphira? I assume she is not a healer.”

Y/N laughed. “No, and she would make an awful healer when she grows up, and she has never taken an interest in it. I didn’t have a choice but to bring her tonight, my usual babysitter is in the Winter Court visiting family.”

Eris smiled and Y/N was sure that the image of it would be burned into her memory. “I assume her father is busy.”

The smile from Y/N’s face faltered. “I wouldn’t know. I haven’t seen him since the moment I knew I was pregnant with Sapphira.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Eris apologised. “I didn’t know.”

Y/N gave him a tight lipped smile. “Not many people do. We were together for three years and when he noticed my shift in scent, he was gone before I even realised what was happening. Only Azriel knows the real truth, and now you do too.”

“Well I say that he missed out,” Eris said, leaning closer to Y/N, “on an amazing daughter and her gorgeous mother.”

Y/N didn’t look away from him, in fact her gaze fell to his lips. But just as she caught herself she looked back to his eyes, only to find a hint of amusement in them. “Well, if he stuck around then I wouldn’t be talking to a rather handsome High Lord, would I?”

This time, Y/N was the one to surprise Eris. He cleared his throat and looked away. “We should go back inside.”

“Look who’s eager to get away now?” Y/N teased. 

Eris tilted his head as he leaned closer. “Sweetheart, I would need to be dragged kicking and screaming to be pulled away from you. But this whole event is still about me and there are most likely many guests wondering where I have been.”

“I–”

“Mummy!” Sapphira exclaimed. “Can we go and dance now? You said I could dance later.”

Sapphira ran to where Y/N and Eris were sitting, still clutching Eris’s crown. Y/N stood from the bench, her arm brushing Eris as she did so, she hadn’t realised how close the two had gotten during their conversation. 

“Of course, sweetie,” Y/N said and held out her hand.

“Is Eris coming?” Sapphira asked, looking up at Eris with wide eyes. 

Eris smiled and stood to his feet. “Of course.”

Sapphira smiled wide and gripped onto Y/N's hand and then Eris’s and began to drag them with all of her strength back to the ballroom. 

Y/N leaned closer to Eris. “You don’t need to come with us, if you prefer to be out here, you can say no to her.”

“Like I said, there are most likely plenty of people who are wondering where I went,” Eris replied. “And wherever you are going, I will follow.”

Y/N looked away from Eris just as Sapphira dragged them through the doors to the ballroom. There were still plenty of people inside and there were plenty of people on the dance floor. 

“This is where I must leave you both,” Eris said. “It seems that my brother is trying to get my attention.”

Sapphira looked up at Eris. “Please stay.”

“Sapphira, Eris is busy and needs to get back to his duties,” Y/N said. 

Eris looked at the young girl and bent down to meet her height. “How about this? Once I finish my duties for the evening, I will come and dance with you and your mother?”

“Eris you really don’t–”

“Yes please!” Sapphira exclaimed. 

Eris smiled and Y/N swore that she would melt. “Perfect.”

Sapphira held out Eris’s crown to him. “This is yours.”

Eris gently took the crown from her hands. “This crown always looked silly on me.” He placed the crown on top of Sapphira’s head. It was too big for her but her hairstyle kept it in place. “Why don’t you hold onto it for me? Remember this is a very important job.”

Sapphira’s eyes lit up. “I will protect it!”

Eris smiled before standing up. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Y/N could feel many eyes on her as Eris spoke to her but she couldn’t find it within herself to care. “I will see you later, Eris.”

After bidding goodbye, Y/N thought Eris would simply leave to attend to his duties. However before he left he gently took Y/N’s hand in his, his skin soft, and brought her hand up to his lips, pressing his lips against her knuckles for a lingering moment. Her daughter giggled happily at the gesture while Y/N only held onto Eris’s hand tighter, something within her wanted him to stay. 

When he released her hand, Eris’s gaze lingered upon Y/N for a moment longer before he turned and walked away, creating a path through the many dancers on the ballroom floor. Y/N watched where he left, a lovestruck expression on her face which was only interrupted by Sapphire gripping onto her hand. 

“Are you going to marry him?” Sapphira asked.

“What!” Y/N exclaimed, looking down at her daughter. “Of course I’m not.”

Sapphira giggled happily and pulled Y/N’s hand. “I want to dance!”

With one last glance in the direction Eris disappeared, Y/N nodded. “Let’s go then.”

***

“This better be important,” Eris said as he neared closer to Lucien. 

“I see you were the one who found Sapphira,” Lucien said. “Y/N was worried sick about her.”

“I was in the gardens,” Eris said. “If anything she found me. Now, what was so important you needed to drag me away from a beautiful woman. Isn’t your mate around here? Shouldn’t you be entertaining her instead of pestering me.”

“Elain couldn’t make it tonight,” Lucien said. “And do my ears deceive me or did you say that Y/N was beautiful?”

“You certainly didn’t mention that in your stories about her,” Eris said. “And nor did you mention that Sapphira’s father isn’t in the picture.”

“Well I have a mate,” Lucien said. “My loyalty resides with Elain, I cannot go around calling other females beautiful now, can I? And you brought up Sapphira’s father to her? I knew you hadn't entertained the company of many females in the past few years, Eris, but who knew you were incapable to woo one without bringing up past failed relationships.”

“Oh, shut it,” Eris sneered at his brother. Lucien only laughed. “Is this the only reason why you called me over here?”

Lucien took a sip of his wine. “Yes. After all, I have been mentioning her quite a lot around you as of late. I thought you might need a push to talk to her and I gave you one when I secretly told Sapphira to go into the gardens earlier to find you.”

Eris glared at his brother. “You sent Sapphira out to me?”

“I did. I saw the look in your eyes the moment Y/N entered the ballroom and how quickly you left,” Lucien said. “That look in your eyes, I know you felt it. That snap.”

Eris sighed. “Can we not talk about this now?”

“We will talk about it now or you will avoid it,” Lucien said. “I knew you would like her but I never thought she was your mate, Eris.”

“Well it clearly hasn’t snapped for her, so please don’t bring it up to her until I am ready to tell her,” Eris pleaded with his younger brother. 

“Tell her, Eris,” Lucien said. “I know Y/N and I know that she deserves love, a real home. And I know that you crave the same. Tell her, from what I can see, she likes you too.”

Eris looked out at the ballroom and spotted Y/N and Sapphira instantly. Y/N looked so carefree dancing with Sapphira and Eris could only smile at the sight. That golden thread connecting him to Y/N tugged him toward her. He took the first few steps on his own. Everyone else in the ballroom seemed to disappear as Eris took a few more steps. As he continued to walk towards her, Y/N looked up at him. 

Eris felt like his heart stopped beating. The pull toward her became stronger and stronger. She was beautiful. The most beautiful female he had ever seen. The moment he had seen her walk into the ballroom he thought that. And the moment he felt the bond, he was overcome with emotion. He had left the ballroom to the safety of the gardens to process everything. Until a young girl approached him and he instantly knew who the child belonged to, he could see it in her features, she looked exactly like her mother. And she was the one to bring his mate into his life the moment she disappeared from the ballroom.

“Eris?” Y/N’s voice interrupted his thoughts. 

He hadn’t noticed but he was now standing back with Y/N and Sapphira. 

“Yes?” Eris said.

“Have you finished with your duties for the night?” Y/N asked. 

Eris nodded. “I have. Now I am yours.”

Y/N smiled and Eris. “Just for tonight, of course.”

The wide smile on Eris’s face faltered. “Yes, just for tonight.”

“Eris, can you dance with me?” Sapphira asked, gripping onto the edge of Eris’s jacket. 

Eris looked at the young girl and his smile returned. She still wore his crown and it now sat crooked on top of her head. “Of course. Will you join us, Y/N?”

Y/N shook her head. “All of this dancing has worn me out. I will get a drink for myself. I trust you to look after her.”

Eris grasped her hand in his. Sparks flew at their connection. “I will join you after we dance.”

Y/N chuckled. “Good luck trying to get her off of the dance floor.”

Eris smiled and brought his other hand up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. He allowed his hand to linger on her cheek, caressing her face gently.  “I will try my best to get her back to you in a timely manner.”

Y/N smiled and Eris swore she leaned into his touch. “Again, she will dance until she falls asleep,” Y/N replied.

“Then I’m afraid we will be here all night because I, too, love dancing,” Eris said. 

“You will need to show me some of your dance moves sometime,” Y/N said, her hand caressing his wrist. 

Eris smirked and leaned forward, his breath brushed her face. “I will happily show you anytime.”

“You better,” Y/N said.

“Eris, can we dance now?” Sapphira asked.

“Of course, give me just a second,” Eris replied. He turned back to Y/N. “I will see you later, Y/N.”

Before she had the chance to respond Eris pressed a kiss to her cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. Y/N didn’t respond as Eris stepped away, sweeping Sapphira in a dance in the centre of the ballroom.

***

Y/N remained still as she watched Eris and Sapphira dance, many moved out of the way to not disturb the High Lord. Though many gave the High Lord questioning looks as he danced with an unfamiliar girl. Y/N’s heart was racing.

“Y/N?” Azriel asked, approaching her. “Are you okay?”

“Eris…” Y/N began, but words failed her.

Azriel’s gaze followed Y/N’s and he went rigid. “Why is he with Sapphira?”

“He–” Y/N cut herself off as she finally tore her gaze away from Eris and Sapphira to look at her friend. “Azriel. Eris is my mate.”

Azriel’s head snapped to Y/N’s. “Your mate? That is not possible.”

“It is,” Y/N said. “I feel it. I feel him.” Y/N placed her hand over her stomach, feeling where the tug was coming from, connecting her to Eris. 

“Does he know?” Azriel asked, placing a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said. “He hasn’t mentioned it.”

Y/N returned her gaze to Eris and Sapphira and her heart melted at the sight. Sapphira stood on Eris’s feet as he walked her through a dance, a carefree smile on his face. “He is so good with her.”

Though Azriel was still tense, his gaze softened as he looked at the joy on the young girl’s face as she danced with Eris. 

“Are you okay, Y/N?” Azriel asked once more.

“I think so,” Y/N admitted. “I am just shocked. I never thought I would have a mate.”

“I’m shocked too,” Azriel muttered. “Considering it’s Eris of all people.”

Y/N gently hit his shoulder. “He is a good male.”

“And you have figured that out from one conversation?” Azriel questioned.

Y/N shook her head. “I know because of how he treats Sapphira.” Y/N nods her head to the two still dancing, Sapphira with a wide smile on her face. “Be honest and say you have never seen her that comfortable around a stranger before.”

Azriel looks at Sapphira and Eris. “I haven’t.”

Y/N smiles. “And that is how I know that he is a good male. Because my daughter is an excellent judge of character.”

Azriel sighs. “Just be careful.”

“There is nothing to be careful of,” Y/N said. “But to put your mind at ease, I will be careful.”

Before Azriel has the chance to respond, Eris interrupts the conversation, carrying Sapphira in his arms, her eyes slowly closing. “I believe your daughter is ready for bed.”

“I’m not…” Sapphira mutters, as her eyes droop once more, her head resting on Eris’s shoulder. 

“I can take her back home,” Azriel offers.

“Or I could have a room set up here?” Eris suggests, looking at Y/N. “It saves you returning home too.”

There is something in Eris’s eye that Y/N could only describe as pleading. He wanted her to stay at the Autumn Court for the night. Y/N couldn’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t want to. “Only if it’s not too much hassle.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Eris answers. “I can take you both to a guest room. The finest I have to offer.”

Y/N smiled. “Honest anything will do, Eris. I’m sure that you have more important guests who will need that room more than us.”

“My two most important guests are right here,” Eris said. “Now, shall we get going?”

Y/N looked at Azriel, who she had only just realised was still standing there. “Tell Rhys where I am?”

Azriel looked at Eris, his gaze hard. Eris only stared back at the shadowsinger, nothing in his eyes to suggest any ill intent. Azriel relaxed. “I will see you when you return, Y/N.”

The shadowsinger left, not before giving a warning look to Eris. The High Lord cleared his throat. “Well, shall we get going now?”

Y/N nodded. “Lead the way.”

As Eris tried to hand Sapphira over to Y/N, the young girl clung to his jacket, seemingly not wanting to leave Eris. Eris sent Y/N a panicked look. Y/N smiled at him. “It’s okay. When she is sleepy she always clings onto people she trusts.”

The touched expression on Eris’s face was enough for Y/N to feel a pull on the bond between them. The quicker she had Sapphira asleep in a bed, the quicker she could tell Eris about the bond. 

Eris led her down a variety of hallways and Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the beauty of it all. “If Sapphira were awake she wouldn’t want to ever leave.”

The smile on Eris’s face was small but Y/N didn’t miss it. “You are free to visit anytime.”

Finally the two stopped outside of two large doors, Eris pushed open the door with one arm and gestured for Y/N to enter. The room was large with a king size bed in the centre, draped by a crimson canopy. Solid gold was shaped into patterns on the bed frame. Y/N was sure that it cost more than she made in a year. There was a seating area beside a fireplace, pillows and blankets rested upon the sofa and made Y/N want to snuggle up there with a good book in her hands. 

But the most stunning feature of the whole room was the windows. They were floor to ceiling leading out onto a secluded balcony allowing for a view of the Autumn Court. Y/N couldn’t help herself but gasp. 

“You cannot seriously be allowing me to stay here?” Y/N asked. 

“I am,” Eris said, walking over to the bed. “Only the finest room for my most important guests. I have some spare clothing for Sapphira if you wish to change her. I am sure my mother kept clothing from when myself and my brothers were children.”

“No, it’s okay,” Y/N answered. “If you wake her now, I will never get her back to sleep.”

Y/N joined Eris at the bed and watched as he placed her gently down upon the soft covers. The care in his movements was unlike anything Y/N had seen before. No one except for her had held her daughter with such care before. Eris gently tucked her under the covers and pulled the blankets up as she snuggled into them. Y/N leant against the bedpost. 

“What?” Eris asked as he noticed her staring. “Like I said, I’m good with children.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not that.”

Eris smiled and approached her. “What is it then?”

“It’s just…I have never seen someone care so much for her before. I know the Inner Circle loves her but they have never held her or gone so much out of their way to make her smile like you have tonight,” Y/N said. “Thank you, Eris.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eris said. “Don’t ever thank me for something as simple as making your daughter smile.”

“She just never warms up to new people as quickly as she did to you,” Y/N said. “She really likes you, Eris.”

Eris looked at his feet for a brief moment before gesturing to the sofa by the fireplace. “Shall we sit?”

“Don’t you need to return to the ballroom?” Y/N questions. 

“I have disappeared from these events before,” Eris explains. “No one will miss me. If they do, Lucien will deal with them.”

Y/N took a seat on the sofa and Eris sat next to her, his thigh brushing against hers. The pull within Y/N made her shuffle closer, seeking as much contact as possible. She craved it. 

“Eris, there is something I need to tell you,” Y/N said, suddenly serious. “It might be a lot to take in and I really don’t want you to run from the room screaming in fear.”

Eris chuckled. “Whatever you are about to tell me probably is not going to match the news I need to tell you.”

Y/N let out a breathy laugh. “Earlier, when you kissed my cheek, something snapped into place. A mating bond. You are my mate, Eris.”

For a brief moment, Eris stilled and Y/N was afraid that he would end up running from the room. But her fears were not brought to life as Eris began to laugh quietly. Y/N frowned. “What is so funny?”

A warmth enveloped Y/N’s hand. She didn’t need to look down to know that it was Eris’s own hands. 

“The news I wished to share with you is the same as yours,” Eris said with a smile. “I felt it too. The moment you walked into that ballroom. That snap I never thought I would feel.”

“And are you…happy about it?” Y/N asked, holding her breath. 

Eris frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be happy? Y/N, I never thought I would be blessed with a mate, let alone someone as beautiful and incredible as you. I never thought I deserved it.” Eris caressed her cheek as he leaned closer to Y/N. “But now that I see you Y/N, you are everything I have ever wanted. Deep down I always craved a mate, I always craved to be loved by someone unconditionally and the mother has blessed me with you. I must be the luckiest male in the entire world.”

Y/N’s eyes watered. “Oh, Eris.  You really mean all of those things?”

“Of course I do,” Eris said. “I have only known you a short time, Y/N. But everything about you I admire. And you are someone I could easily fall in love with.”

Y/N placed her hands on Eris’s chest, her fingers gripping onto the lapels of his jacket. “Eris, you must realise that Sapphira will always be part of my life and she is the most important thing to me. You say you want me, but you have to want her too.”

Eris rested his forehead against Y/N’s. “Y/N, I already know. And I already adore Sapphira, she reminds me a lot of Lucien when he was younger, before my father–” Eris cut himself off. “What I am saying is that I have already accepted her. If you choose me too, I will continue to provide for her. Whatever she wishes I will try my damn hardest to make that wish come true.”

Y/N smiled. “Don’t spoil her too much.”

“So do you accept me as your mate?” Eris asked. “Obviously we don’t need to accept the bond until you are ready. Of course not until we tell Sapphira everything, because if she doesn’t accept it then I will gladly step back and–”

“Eris,” Y/N said, cutting him off. “I accept you as my mate. I may have only known you a short time but from how you are with Sapphira tells me all I need to know about you. You are a good male.”

Eris looked into Y/N’s eyes and Y/N already had a new favourite colour. Everything about this felt right to her. It was as if everything around her had fallen into place and this was what she was destined for. A life with Eris, raising her daughter together. 

“May I kiss you?” Eris asked, hesitation evident in his voice. 

“Yes, you may,” Y/N replied.

Without any hesitation, Eris pressed his lips against Y/N’s and she could feel the bond tighten between them, pulling them into one another. Eris’s arms wrapped around her body as Y/N caressed his face, her hands brushing over his stubble before moving up to tangle in this hair. The kiss was nothing but perfect. 

The only thing that interrupted Y/N and Eris was a small mumble from Sapphira. Y/N pulled away and shot to her feet to check on her daughter only to find her still fast asleep, mumbling incoherently. Y/N sighed and sat back down on the sofa, she leaned into Eris. 

“Do you think I could borrow some of your clothes?” Y/N asked. “I don’t think this dress will be very comfortable to sleep in.”

Eris’s eyes scanned over her body. “I do have some clothes you can borrow, though it will be unfortunate not to see you in this dress any longer.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and leaned closer to him, her lips brushing over his. “If you play your cards right, I may just wear this dress again. Just for you.”

Eris smirked. “Is that a promise?”

“It will be after you get me some clothes,” Y/N answered. 

Eris got to his feet and left the room swiftly and Y/N only giggled lightly at his hasty departure. He was back only moments later with a pile of clothes in his arms. 

“You were quick,” Y/N commented, standing to her feet. 

“My room is only across the hall,” Eris answered, a faint blush coating his cheeks. 

Y/N took the clothes from his arms. “Thank you, Eris.”

Eris nodded and took a step back. “I should get back to the ballroom to tell everyone the event is over.”

“Yes you should,” Y/N said.

“I should be going now,” Eris said, still remaining where he is standing. 

Y/N is the first to give in. She dumped the clothes on the chair and pulled Eris into her, planting her lips on his. It was an addicting feeling already. Eris held onto the back of her neck deepening the kiss, bending over Y/N causing her to tilt her head back. If Eris wasn’t holding her up, Y/N was sure she would collapse from the sheer amount of emotions coursing through her veins. Some were her own and some were Eris’s, that golden thread connecting them doing its best to convey what the other thought of one another. 

Y/N gripped onto Eris tightly not wanting to ever let go. On one hand she was grateful that Sapphira had been allowed to come along with her, she had not seen her daughter as smiley as she was tonight in a while. But on the other hand Y/N wished that her usual babysitter was available so she could pull Eris down onto the bed and continue what they were doing all night, preferably with no clothes obstructing their bodies. 

Y/N was the first to pull away, panting for air. “We should stop. I don’t want to get carried away.”

Eris brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Me neither.”

Y/N kissed him again. 

However this time the kiss did not last long at all as a quiet young voice cut through the air. 

“Are you going to get married?” Sapphira’s voice was like a bucket of ice cold water poured over both Y/N and Eris, causing them to jump apart. 

Y/N turned to face her daughter. “No, we aren’t Sapphira. Eris and I…we were just helping each other with our hair.”

Sapphira huffed. “Can you get married? I like Eris.”

Eris looked down at the floor, his face bright red. Y/N chuckled lightly. “Okay, Sapphira, I think you should get back to sleep. It is late and you need to be rested for tomorrow.”

“Will Eris be here tomorrow?” Sapphira asked, pointing at Eris.

Y/N perched on the edge of the bed next to her daughter. “Of course he will.” Y/N turned to face him. “He’s not going anywhere.”

Eris smiled. “I will be here bright and early tomorrow, Sapphira.”

Sapphira smiled sleepily and yawned. Y/N brushed her daughter's hair from her face and watched as she fell back into a peaceful sleep. Once she was asleep, Y/N laughed and approached Eris. 

“Well you have Sapphira’s blessing,” Y/N said, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

Eris pulled her closer by her hips and rested his arms lazily around her. “And I’m glad to have it.”

Y/N hugged Eris. “Goodnight, Eris. I will see you tomorrow.”

Eris hugged her back. “Bright and early.”

Y/N smiled and pecked his lips quickly. “My mate.”

Eris smiled. “My mate.”

Reluctantly she let go of Eris and allowed him to leave the room. Before the door closed he turned around and blew her a kiss. Y/N smiled at the lopsided grin on his face before the door closed completely. 

Y/N changed into the clothes Eris had given her. They smelt of him and Y/N wrapped her arms around herself. She climbed into the soft bed next to her daughter and swiftly fell asleep, dreaming about her future life with Sapphira and Eris. 

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ EVERYBODY TALKS (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: lando eventually lands the girl of his dreams. he also finds out just how fast news travels

a/n: this was one of my wips i posted foREVER ago so enjoy the full one shot whilst i finish off some written stuff. based on everybody talks by neon trees🙇‍♀️🤍

*faceclaim (but imagine as you see her fit) is millie hannah

landonorris just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

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landonorris boo’s birthday

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alex_albon here’s a thought stop calling her your boo and actually make her your boo

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user did anyone else see that comment or am i making things up

user bro just ask her out i swear to god

user last photo is feeling very intimate mr. norris

alex_albon happy birthday y/n/n, please don’t get me super drunk tomorrow

user i saw that last comment mr ur not slick

yourusername no promises albono i intend to do a lot of shots

texts between lando and friends ੈ✩‧₊˚

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yourusername y/n’s big birthday bash🪩

👤 tagged landonorris, friend1 and 6 others

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landonorris did u run to the bathrooms just to post on instagram

yourusername stfu and order me shots

user is anyone else now thinking about how often y/n probably sees lando shirtless👁️👄👁️

user i’ve been thinking about it since she first posted that photo of him in the gym showing his abs

user @/user TAG ME IN THAT WTF

texts between lando and friends ੈ✩‧₊˚

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yourusername 💋

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user MA’AM YOU ARE UNBELIEVABLY ATTRACTIVE

lilymhe is that the lip combo i suggested because GIRL IT SUITS YOU

user lando MOVE i want her too

landonorris pretty

landonorris where are you off to?

yourusername meeting that friend i told you about on my bday!

y/n’s texts with lando ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just posted stories ੈ✩‧₊˚

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yourusername race days

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maxverstappen1 you’re a jinx. never come again

maxverstappen1 (it was lovely to see you)

yourusername hope you enjoyed your time in the garage🥰🥰

user come to every race you’re good luck

user personally if my best friend was super hot and came to cheer me on looking that good i’d cuff her but maybe lando’s different

yourusername nah he’s just oblivious

landonorris @/yourusername HUH

yourusername @/landonorris i said what i said

tmz just posted a photo ੈ✩‧₊˚

texts between lando and friends ੈ✩‧₊˚

landonorris just tweeted ੈ✩‧₊˚

yourusername responded: yes, literally everyone.

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landonorris lando: 1, friendzone: 0

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user FUCKIN FINALLY.

user @/yourusername i could treat you better

alex_albon you’re not really winning if you’ve been pining over her for two years mate

landonorris shut the fuck up before she sees this

yourusername @/landonorris TWO YEARS??? TWO YEARS AND YOU SAID NOTHING????

user uh oh. lando’s in trouble

————

a/n: this was… weak i apologise im still settling in😭 just wanted to put something out whilst i finish my charles/seb/lando written one shots eek!

as always any reblogs and whatnot appreciated. big love xx

- giselle

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