#i will miss that team endlessly

[jenseclaren]

extreme e ending after terrible branding strategy and being the hardest racing series to watch but what i’m sad about is losing rxr, johan and mikaela

[julietsf1]

For Her - Lando Norris x Reader

summary: She came to support him. Instead, she was met with hate and a paddock full of people who acted like she didn’t exist. But if there was one thing about Lando Norris, it was that he loved out loud (3.2k words)

content: protective boyfriend, public relationship, public displays of affection, romantic grand gesture

AN: happy new season guys!!! what a race, I hope china will be kinder with my heart :') here's another fic for our race winner! muah <3

........................................................................

The first race of the season should have been magical.

It should have been the kind of morning you’d always imagined—walking through the paddock with the giddy excitement of someone witnessing greatness up close, feeling the electricity in the air, the intoxicating mix of tire smoke, adrenaline, and champagne already waiting for its moment in the podium spray. You had thought of how proud you would feel watching Lando, how thrilling it would be to see him in his element, how belonging you might feel in a world that, until now, had existed for you in stories and through screens.

You had not imagined being denied entry.

"Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to step back."

The security guard barely spared you a glance, already moving on to the next person in line, his voice impassive, as if he had done this a hundred times before and you were simply another face in a sea of hopeful girls who had tried to talk their way into the paddock.

You gripped your lanyard a little tighter, your heart skipping slightly. "I have a pass," you said, voice gentle but firm as you lifted it to eye level, the McLaren logo glinting in the sunlight.

The guard exhaled sharply through his nose, unimpressed. "We've had a lot of fans trying to sneak in today. If you don’t have the right accreditation, I can’t let you through."

Your stomach twisted.

"I do have the right accreditation," you tried again, as kindly as possible, despite the heat creeping up your neck. "I’m with McLaren. My boyfriend-"

"Yeah, that’s what they all say."

The words were clipped, dismissive, and spoken with the kind of flat finality that suggested he had already decided you were lying.

Embarrassment coiled in your chest, wrapping itself around your lungs, making it suddenly difficult to breathe.

You stood there, cheeks burning, as people brushed past you, throwing curious glances your way. The seconds stretched endlessly, each one more excruciating than the last.

It wasn’t until a McLaren staff member recognized you—"Oh, she’s with Lando," they had said offhandedly—that the security guard finally stepped aside, not bothering with so much as an apology.

By the time you walked through the gates, the joy you had carried that morning had dulled into something smaller, something fragile.

And then, somehow, it got worse.

...

The McLaren motorhome stood like a beacon in the paddock, its sleek glass windows reflecting the bustle of team personnel moving inside. You exhaled slowly, shaking off the earlier embarrassment, and made your way toward the hospitality lounge, longing for something warm and familiar.

A latte, perhaps. Something to reset the day.

You stepped up to the hospitality counter with a practiced sort of grace, the kind that had been instilled in you from your childhood—shoulders back, chin lifted, a polite smile even when you wanted to disappear.

The woman behind the counter was stunning in a sharp, effortless way, her McLaren uniform crisp, her dark eyes shrewd, assessing. She barely looked up when you stepped forward.

"Good morning," you greeted, your voice light, pleasant. "Could I get an oat latte, please?"

The woman’s gaze flicked to you then, sweeping over you in a way that wasn’t unkind but wasn’t exactly warm, either.

"Are you with media?" she asked, already sounding bored.

You shook your head, still polite. "No, I’m—"

"Hospitality is for team guests only," she interrupted, her words clipped, a polite but unmistakable dismissal.

There was something about the way she said it, the way her lips curled just slightly, that sent something sharp down your spine.

You held up your accreditation again, your expression kind but unwavering. "I am a team guest. It is my first race though! I'm with Lando."

A pause. A flicker of something in her gaze.

And then, a small, almost imperceptible smirk.

"Ah," she said slowly, like she was only just now realizing. "Of course you are."

There was something else behind her tone, something you recognized.

You had met people like her before, in glittering lobbies, at perfectly curated events, in spaces where perception was everything. People who measured others in careful glances and quiet, ruthless judgments.

The woman tilted her head, her smile suddenly saccharine. "I’m afraid we’re only serving certain guests at the moment."

The words landed with the soft cruelty of a velvet dagger.

She wasn’t saying no outright.

She was refusing you while pretending it was about something else entirely.

You stared at her for a moment, your fingers tightening slightly over the strap of your bag.

You could have fought. Could have pointed out that this was ridiculous, that you had every right to be here, that her behavior was as transparent as it was petty.

But instead, you simply let out a soft breath and smiled.

Not the kind of smile that was warm and grateful.

The kind of smile that veiled the frustration you were feeling.

"No worries," you said gently, dipping your head, your voice smooth, graceful. "I wouldn’t want to trouble you."

And with that, you turned and walked away, back straight, head held high, because if nothing else—you were not the kind of woman who begged.

But it still stung.

...

The hotel room is quiet except for the faint murmur of the city outside. The occasional car hums past beneath the window, the distant noises of Melbourne nightlife drifting in through the small gap in the balcony door. Inside, the glow from the bedside lamp casts soft golden light over the pristine sheets, the half-finished cup of tea you abandoned hours ago, and your phone—face-down, untouched, deliberately ignored.

You had set it aside like it burned you.

And in a way, it had.

You don’t need to look at the screen to know what’s waiting for you there.

A photo. You, walking alone through the paddock, caught at an unflattering angle—your hands adjusting the strap of your bag, your gaze flicking off to the side. Out of context, impersonal, just another frame in someone else’s story.

But the caption beneath it?

That made it personal.

The caption beneath it, however, was anything but subtle.

"Classic gold digger. No personality, no job, just another wag looking for a paycheck."

The replies were worse.

"She looks so full of herself. I bet she spends his money like crazy."

"Lando deserves better. She looks disgusting."

"Does she even like racing or just his wallet?"

You had expected something like this eventually. Being seen always came at a cost.

But expectation doesn’t soften the blow.

It doesn’t make the words less sharp. It doesn’t stop them from settling in the quiet places of your mind, the ones that whisper in the dark when the world is still.

You exhale slowly, smoothing your hand over the sheets, willing away the tightness in your throat.

It’s fine.

You were raised to handle things like this with grace, with an understanding that women who stand beside successful men are often reduced to spectators, accessories, footnotes in their own stories.

You know who you are. You know your worth.

And yet, knowing doesn’t stop the sting.

A keycard beeps at the door.

Then, the soft sound of it swinging open, of footsteps—light, easy, carrying a kind of restless energy even now.

"Hi, darling," Lando’s voice fills the space before he does.

You don’t turn immediately, letting yourself blink once, twice, composing yourself in the quiet before offering a small smile as he steps inside.

He looks effortlessly disheveled—his hair still damp from the rain outside, his McLaren polo slightly untucked, the fabric creased like he’d run a hand over it one too many times.

He is still buzzing—from the high of the weekend, from the thrill of being back in the car, from the sheer joy of doing what he loves.

And then he looks at you.

And everything shifts.

His grin falters. His brows pull together.

"Hey," he says again, but softer this time, slower. "What’s wrong?"

You hesitate, fingers brushing against the sheets. "It’s nothing."

Lando stills.

"You’re upset."

It’s not a question.

You exhale, tilting your head slightly, lips curving in something almost amused. "No big deal, this is your weekend."

But Lando doesn’t smile.

Instead, he moves—crossing the room in three long strides, sinking down in front of you, his hands warm against your thighs, his gaze level, intent.

"Tell me," he says, quiet but firm.

All day, you have been ignored, dismissed, treated like an inconvenience. And yet, here he is, giving you his undivided attention, his entire world narrowing down to this moment, to you.

You hesitate. Then, finally, you murmur, "People weren’t exactly kind today."

His grip on your legs tightens just slightly.

"Security thought I was a fan trying to sneak in. Hospitality wouldn’t serve me." You let out a small, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And now there’s a photo of me online. People saying I’m a disgusting gold digger."

Lando doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, he reaches for your phone, flipping it over with careful precision before scrolling. He doesn’t need you to guide him—he finds it immediately.

His jaw tightens.

And then, in a tone so low and steady that it makes your stomach flip:

"Are you joking?"

You open your mouth, but he’s already shaking his head, pushing himself up, pacing now, running a hand through his curls.

"Such bullshit," he starts, turning sharply, voice too controlled, too even, "that after everything—after how much effort you’ve put into being here, after how much of your life you’ve adjusted for me—these people had the nerve to treat you like that?"

You shift under his gaze, biting your lip. "Lando, it’s not—"

"No, no, hold on," he interrupts, hands in the air like he needs a second to process. He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, but there’s nothing amused about it.

"Because from where I’m standing, you’re the easiest person to love in any room, and I genuinely don’t understand how anyone could be that dense."

He exhales sharply, shaking his head, jaw tight. "Honestly, I don’t even know whether to be pissed or impressed by their level of dickheadness."

He stops, inhales sharply, then turns back to you.

"Tomorrow," he says, voice steady now, decisive. "We fix this."

You raise a brow. "We?"

Lando tilts his head, giving you a look like you have just asked if the sky is blue.

"Obviously."

...

There are very few things in life that can silence an entire paddock.

Lando Norris walking in hand-in-hand with you is apparently one of them.

The usual morning commotion—the hurried strides of engineers, the murmured strategy discussions, the distant hum of espresso machines—all of it seems to slow, the air shifting as one by one, heads turn.

Eyes follow you as you move through the paddock, curiosity crackling in the air like static before a storm.Conversations taper off, whispers trailing in your wake, phones discreetly lifted, cameras capturing the moment in real time.

Lando, of course, is unbothered.

If anything, he thrives under the weight of their attention. His grip on your hand remains firm, steady, unwavering, his strides unhurried, his smirk bordering on self-satisfied.

He wants them to see.

It’s deliberate—the way he holds you close, the way his fingers brush over yours in soft, thoughtless patterns, the way his head tilts toward you slightly every time you speak, like you are the only thing worth listening to.

There is no question about what this is.

There is no question about where you belong.

He makes sure of it.

And then, with perfect, almost cinematic timing, he steers you toward McLaren hospitality.

Right to the coffee bar.

The barista from yesterday stands behind the counter, the same sharp-cut uniform, the same perfectly applied lipstick, the same calculating gaze.

Only now, it falters.

She sees Lando before she sees you, her posture straightening, professional mask slipping into place like second nature. But then, her eyes flick toward you—toward your hands intertwined, toward the subtle, unspoken intimacy of the way he keeps close.

You watch as realization dawns.

Oh.

Lando leans against the counter, effortless, grinning.

"Two oat lattes," he says, voice bright, easy, amused. "One for me, one for my girl."

The silence that follows is exquisite.

The barista hesitates—just for a fraction of a second, just long enough for you to see it.

Panic.

"Of course," she says, voice smooth but not quite as sharp as before.

And just like that, there are no shortages, no waiting, no excuses.

The coffees are made within seconds.

Lando watches, humming thoughtfully, tapping his fingers lightly against the counter as she slides the first cup toward him. He lifts it to his lips, taking a slow, exaggerated sip before letting out a long, obnoxiously satisfied hum.

"Mm," he muses, shifting his weight, sparing her a glance. "Tastes better today."

His smirk is dangerous.

"Must be the service."

The barista’s lips press together just slightly.

You take your coffee, cradling the cup in your hands, offering her a soft, serene smile.

"Thank you," you say lightly.

You watch as she winces.

And Lando, the ever-efficient instigator that he is, takes it one step further.

"You know," he muses, as if the thought has just occurred to him, "I think I should make this a tradition."

He turns to you then, eyes bright with mischief, voice just loud enough for the surrounding staff to hear.

"Morning coffee," he says smoothly. "Every race weekend. For the foreseeable future."

The barista looks like she wants to disappear.

You, on the other hand, can’t help but smile.

...

The checkered flag had waved, the roar of the crowd still vibrating through the air, but none of it mattered—not the celebrations, not the flashing cameras, not the McLaren team swarming the pit wall in victory.

Because the moment Lando climbed out of the car, eyes scanning the chaos, he found you.

And then—he ran.

Straight toward you, helmet discarded, race suit half-unzipped, curls a disheveled mess from the heat of the cockpit.

You barely have time to react before he collides into you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you off the ground like you weigh nothing.

You shriek—an actual, real shriek—as your feet leave the pavement, the entire world tilting as he spins you in circles,laughter spilling from his lips like he can’t contain it.

And then—he kisses you.

Right there, in front of thousands of fans, in front of cameras, reporters, his entire team.

Hard. Fierce. Like he’d won the race and you in the same breath.

The world erupts around you—cheering, chanting, Oscar groaning dramatically in the background.

"Oh my god. You two are disgusting."

None of it matters.

Because Lando is grinning against your lips, breathless, victorious, yours.

When he finally sets you back down, he doesn’t let go.

Doesn’t even try to.

Instead, he beams down at you, cheeks flushed, curls damp with sweat, voice all cocky, all Lando.

"So, did I impress you or what?"

You roll your eyes, fond and exasperated all at once. "Eh. You were alright."

He gasps. Actually gasps.

"You’re joking." He turns toward the cameras, mock-betrayed. "Did you guys hear that? I win a Grand Prix, and she says I’m ‘alright.’"

You bite your lip, pretending to consider. "You were pretty fast, I guess."

"Pretty fast?" he repeats, positively scandalized. "Babe. I am literally the fastest man in Australia right now."

You burst out laughing. "I was kind of rooting for Oscar."

Oscar, mid-drink of water behind you, chokes.

"Lies." Lando pulls you back in, forehead resting against yours, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for you.

"Say you’re proud of me."

You sigh dramatically. "I guess I’m—"

"Say it."

You grin, heart pounding. "Fine. I’m proud of you, Norris."

He hums, satisfied, smug, still absolutely glowing. "Thought so."

...

Lando was still riding the high when he got to the media pen, his race suit unzipped to his waist, curls damp with sweat, and that stupidly charming grin still plastered across his face.

It wasn’t just a ‘first win of the season’ grin.

It was a ‘my girlfriend is here, and I just won a whole-ass race for her’ grin.

The interviewer barely got a word in before Lando pointed directly at you, standing just off-camera.

"Her."

You blink. "Me?"

"Yeah, you!" He turns back to the cameras, nodding enthusiastically. "Let’s just get this straight—I did this for her. Like, entirely. One hundred percent. Full motivation. If she hadn’t shown up, I probably would’ve parked it in a gravel trap on lap ten."

The interviewer laughed. "So, you’re saying she’s your good luck charm?"

"Absolutely," Lando replied, dead serious. "I mean, have you seen her? Look at her."

The camera did not pan to you, thank god. The poor guy running the live feed probably had no idea what to do.

But Lando? Oh, he was just getting started.

"She walked into this paddock today looking like an actual goddess, completely unaware that she is, in fact, the sun incarnate, and people want me to talk about tire degradation? No. I want to talk about her."

The interviewer tried so hard to stay professional.

"You—uh, you had great pace today—"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Lando waved him off.

"Lando, I don’t think—"

"Listen, I need to emphasize something." Lando leaned in, tone conspiratorial. "Do you know how lucky I am? Not only is she breathtaking, but she’s also, like, annoyingly smart. Like, did you know she reads all the time? Real books.Not just memes and Twitter threads like me."

He gestured vaguely, suddenly overwhelmed by his own emotions.

"She doesn’t even realize how much people admire her. But I see it. I see everything. And I just think the world needs to start appreciating her at my level."

"That is… very sweet." The interviewer was visibly struggling to keep up.

"Just had to get that out there."

"Well, congratulations on the win, Lando," the interviewer finally managed, skimming over his list of unanswered questions he had prepared.

"Thank you." He nodded seriously, finally letting go of the mic. "And big thanks to the team, of course."

You rolled your eyes from behind the cameras, suppressing a smile.

...

The internet had seen many things, but no one was prepared for Lando Norris using his post-race interview as a full-blown love letter. 

"Lando’s race pace was great, but his girlfriend propaganda was even stronger."

"THE WAY HE JUST POINTED AT HER IMMEDIATELY I CAN’T."

"Lando Norris said ‘this win is for my girlfriend’ and proceeded to recite a romantic sonnet on live TV. My standards are ruined."

Later, as the two of you curled up in the hotel room, finally away from the cameras, Lando buried his face in your neck with a content sigh.

"You know," he murmured, voice sleepy, warm, full of love. "I really did win that for you."

You ran your fingers through his curls. "I know."

"I meant every word, too."

You smiled. "Don't you think it was a bit much?"

"I don't think it was nearly enough," he said, already half-asleep, grinning like he had never been happier.

[dearlenore]

THE FIRST, FIRST LOVE COMPLEX • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: after revealing the shocking truth of Spencer Reid’s first, first love, the team does as the unsub instructs, retracing his steps all the way to Las Vegas.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears sun dresses and bikinis, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of death, stalking, etc

a/n: i finally wrote part two please don’t hurt me

w/c: 4.8K

PT1

TAGLIST: @miyah-kaulitz @celestial-dome @lqu91s @ningeology @anthropsych @kore-of-the-underworld (sorry if I couldn’t tag u angels🥹💋)

The BAU’s jet touched down in New York just past noon, the sky a dull, unbroken sheet of grey. Heavy clouds clung to the tips of the city’s steel giants, muting the sunlight and casting a somber haze over the skyline. The low hum of the engines faded, but Spencer’s mind continued to race — fast and relentless — like a needle skipping on a broken record.

He sat rigid in his seat, shoulders tight and posture stiff. While the others moved with calm efficiency, gathering their bags and briefing one another quietly, Spencer remained frozen. His fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against his knee, each tap betraying the nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

She’s out there somewhere.

The thought looped through his mind like a mantra — or a curse. Every worst-case scenario unraveled in his head, each one more suffocating than the last. His last memory of you played over and over, taunting him. Your bright smile had been framed by golden sunlight, hair tousled by a lazy breeze as you lounged on a park bench with a book balanced in your lap. He remembered the way you’d tucked your hair behind your ear without looking up, too engrossed in the pages to notice him watching.

She’s safe like this, he had thought at the time. Happy. Warm. Free.

But now? Now you were somewhere in the heart of a city too vast, too unpredictable — a place that swallowed people whole. And Spencer had no idea where you were or what the unsub’s next move would be. That uncertainty clawed at him, tightening his chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts — calm yet commanding. Spencer blinked, suddenly aware that the others were standing near the exit, waiting for him.

“JJ and I will handle this,” Hotch said firmly. “You stay here and go through the evidence again.”

“I should be there,” Spencer shot back, his voice too sharp, too fast. His breath hitched. “If he contacts her, if there’s a pattern I missed—”

“You’re too close to this,” Hotch interrupted, tone steady but unyielding. “We need her calm when we find her, not terrified because you’re pacing like you are now.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. Hotch was right — Spencer knew that — yet the logic did nothing to quiet the gnawing panic threatening to consume him. His mind refused to slow down, cycling through probabilities and variables, imagining scenarios he couldn’t control.

“We’ll bring her back safe,” JJ added softly. Her hand squeezed his arm — brief, warm, and grounding. “I promise.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded, but the tension coiling in his chest refused to loosen. As Hotch and JJ disembarked, Spencer stayed behind, staring blankly at the clutter of files spread across the table.

His gaze fell to the photograph at the top of the stack — your face, mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with warmth. The memory of that moment blurred with his anxiety, twisting the image in his mind. What if this unsub had already—

No.

Spencer inhaled deeply, shakily, and forced himself to refocus. He grabbed a pen, determined to find something — anything — that could lead them to you before it was too late.

The law firm’s reception area was sleek and imposing — marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, towering glass walls that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, and a front desk staffed by a sharp-looking receptionist whose tailored blazer was as precise as her clipped tone. She barely flicked her gaze up when Hotch and JJ approached.

“We’re here to see Y/N L/N,” Hotch said firmly, flashing his badge with practiced ease.

The receptionist’s eyes barely lifted from her computer screen. “She’s assisting Mr. Connelly in a meeting,” she replied flatly. “I can leave her a message.”

“It’s urgent,” JJ pressed, her voice calm yet underscored with quiet insistence. “It’s a matter of her safety.”

The receptionist’s cool façade faltered, her gaze flicking from JJ to Hotch and back again. For a moment, she hesitated, clearly debating whether to push back or comply. Finally, her professional demeanor gave way to uncertainty. “I… let me get her.”

Moments later, you appeared from the hallway — heels clicking crisply on the marble, posture sharp and poised. A sleek blazer framed your figure, lending you an air of effortless confidence. Yet despite your composed appearance, warmth still lingered in your eyes — a warmth that flickered brighter the moment you recognized JJ. She was Spencer’s co worker, the one you were convinced he would be with once you were gone.

“JJ?” you greeted, surprise softening your features. “What are you doing here?”

JJ’s smile was brief, weighed down by something heavier. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

The concern in her voice dimmed your initial excitement, and you nodded, gesturing for them to follow you into a quiet office down the hall. The room was simple — modern furnishings, a tidy desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. As soon as the door clicked shut, JJ’s warm expression shifted to something more serious.

“We believe someone’s been following you,” Hotch said, his voice low and firm. “We have reason to believe your life is in danger.”

Your smile faltered, confusion knitting your brows. “What? Why?”

“We think it’s connected to Spencer,” JJ added gently. “He didn’t want to scare you, but… we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Spencer?” His name felt foreign on your tongue — distant yet familiar all at once. Your expression softened for a brief moment before unease crept in. “I haven’t seen him in… God, years.” You paused, your mind scrambling to piece things together. “Wait… is this about those weird letters I’ve been getting?”

JJ’s gaze sharpened. “Letters?”

You nodded, moving to your desk and retrieving your purse. “I thought they were just from some weird admirer, but… yeah. They’d show up in my mailbox — poems, quotes about angels and music. It was sweet at first, but then they started mentioning things about my past.” Your fingers drifted to the delicate chain around your neck, absently toying with the pendant — a nervous habit you hadn’t shaken. “I figured it was just someone from high school who remembered me.”

Hotch’s expression darkened. He exchanged a grim look with JJ, and the silent weight of their concern settled over you like a cold shadow.

“Those letters are likely from the person targeting you,” Hotch said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blinked, the air suddenly feeling too thin. “This has something to do with Spencer?”

“We believe the unsub’s fixation started with him,” JJ explained carefully. “But somewhere along the way, they became obsessed with you.”

The weight of her words pressed heavily on your chest. Memories of Spencer stirred — late-night conversations whispered across shared coffees, the warmth of his hand on yours when he thought no one was looking, the way his gaze softened when you laughed. He had always been cautious with you — overly protective in a way you didn’t fully understand at the time.

Maybe now you did.

“I need to get my things,” you said quietly, your voice thinner than you intended. You reached for your purse, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt — the glass walls, the polished floors, the endless corridors all seemed too open, too vulnerable.

“We’ll walk you out,” Hotch said firmly, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for the worst.

JJ offered you a small smile — one meant to reassure — but there was no hiding the tension that hung in the air.

The moment you stepped back into the reception area, the city’s distant noise seemed louder — sirens wailing faintly in the background, muffled conversations humming just outside the glass walls. As you walked between Hotch and JJ, their presence was comforting yet unsettling — a constant reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching.

And you had no idea what they were planning next.

Spencer barely looked up when Hotch and JJ returned to the station with you. He was pacing near Garcia’s workstation, phone in hand, scrolling through messages for any missed calls. His fingers trembled slightly against the device, his mind spinning in frantic loops.

When he finally noticed you walking in, relief flooded his face — but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His anxiety kept him rooted in place, shoulders rigid and breath uneven.

“Spencer…” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, yet it broke through the buzzing noise in his head.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Thank God.”

You crossed the room quietly, your steps measured. Your hand found his arm — gentle, barely a touch — yet steady enough to pull him from his spiral.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly against his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to memorize your face all over again. “I should’ve told you sooner — I should’ve kept in touch. I—”

“You’re here now,” you interrupted quietly, your voice steady but tender. “That’s enough.”

Before Spencer could say more, Penelope’s voice broke the moment.

“Spence… you need to see this.”

Her fingers hovered above her keyboard, her usual brightness dimmed beneath a layer of unease. The screen displayed a new email — subject line: “For My Angel.”

With shaky hands, Spencer clicked the message open.

The letter was written in the same looping script as the others:

She saved my life once, your angel did.

Her music was like light — soft and warm — and she never knew I was listening.

She’s everything pure in this world, and you’re tainting her.

I’ll take her away, away from you, and give her the peace she deserves.

She won’t need to suffer anymore.

Attached were two video files. Spencer clicked the first.The screen filled with a sunlit beach — the camera shaky and handheld. You stood near the water’s edge, the breeze teasing strands of your hair loose from their pins. The fabric of your bikini clung to you as you laughed, warm and carefree, before playfully splashing Spencer.

“I’m serious!” Spencer’s voice laughed from behind the camera. “You’re gonna get cold.”

“The water is nice, come on!,” you teased, your smile softer than your words. The sound of your voice — light and fond — was enough to hollow out Spencer’s chest.

The video cut off.

The second file played — a dimly lit restaurant this time. You sat across from Spencer, your fingers slowly tracing the rim of your cocktail glass. Your gaze flicked downward as you stirred the straw absentmindedly, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without lifting your eyes.“Like what?” Spencer’s voice countered.

“Like you’re profiling me,” you said quietly, finally glancing up.

“I can’t help it,” Spencer’s voice returned, quiet and certain. The look on his face — the love in his eyes — was undeniable.

The video ended.

“That’s enough,” Spencer muttered, stepping back from the screen. His chest felt painfully tight, like he couldn’t draw in a full breath.

“Why would they send this?” you asked softly. Your voice didn’t tremble — it barely rose above a whisper — but the unease was clear in your eyes.

“He’s fixated,” JJ said carefully. “Not just on Spencer — on you. He’s convinced that somehow… you saved him.”

“Saved him?” you repeated, your brows knitting together.

“In high school,” Spencer murmured, piecing it together. “The music, the kindness — you must’ve done something that he clung to.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, your fingers loosely fidgeting with the chain of your necklace. “I used to play my flute in the park,” you said quietly. “There was this boy… I didn’t know his name, but he was always sitting alone. I played because… I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d help.”

“That’s it,” Hotch said grimly. “You gave him something to hold onto.”

“And now,” JJ added, “he thinks he’s saving you in return.”

For a long moment, you were silent — your fingers still absently twisting the necklace chain.

“We need to find him before he gets that chance,” Spencer said firmly. His voice was low, but the urgency behind it was unmistakable.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the delicate chain. The air in the room felt heavier than before — thick with unspoken fear — but when Spencer’s hand found yours, you let him hold on.

Quietly, you let yourself believe that somehow, despite everything, you’d be safe.

The morning air was cold — the kind that clung to your skin and sank into your bones — and it carried with it a weight that pressed heavily on Spencer’s chest. He stood beside Hotch and JJ, his fingers twitching restlessly against his side, the unease winding tighter with every breath.

The plan had seemed secure — two officers stationed with you, experienced and reliable. Spencer had reviewed their backgrounds twice, grilling Hotch on their credentials as if he could force some kind of guarantee. But it hadn’t been enough to quiet the gnawing panic in his chest.

He’d argued. Begged, even.

“She should stay here,” Spencer had insisted, voice rising despite himself. “Or— or somewhere safer. A hotel, one with security, or maybe—”

“I just want to go home,” you’d interrupted, your voice quiet but unwavering. “I can’t breathe in here. I need to feel normal again.”

Spencer’s protests had faltered. He’d hated that he understood.

He knew that suffocating feeling — that desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control after fear had robbed you of it. He knew what it felt like to want your space back, to convince yourself that normalcy could be enough to keep you safe.

So he’d let you go — but not without hesitation.

He remembered standing by the station doors, fingers clenched at his sides, feeling like there was something more he should’ve said — something that might’ve changed your mind. When you turned back for him, your gaze softened, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself back.

He’d closed the distance in an instant, arms wrapping tightly around you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your coat like he could anchor you there with him.

“Please be safe,” he whispered into your hair. His voice had wavered, barely audible even to himself.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” you promised, voice soft yet certain. “Bright and early.”

But Spencer had held on just a little longer, as if he knew that promise might be one you wouldn’t get the chance to keep.

The apartment felt foreign — like someone else’s home disguised in your own familiar comforts. The faint scent of lavender still clung to the air, and the pastel throw blankets you’d folded just the night before lay neatly across the armchair. Yet none of it felt real. It was like you were standing in a stage set, where everything looked familiar but nothing felt safe.

You’d brewed a cup of tea — something warm and calming — but your fingers barely touched the mug. It sat untouched on the counter, steam curling lazily upward.

Detective Alvarez and Officer Greene moved with quiet diligence, checking the locks for the fifth time that morning. Their presence should have been reassuring, but instead, it only deepened the unease gnawing at your chest.

“We’ve got this,” Alvarez said, flashing you a confident smile. “No one’s getting in.”

You tried to smile back, but it felt thin, forced. The words didn’t stick.

Your gaze kept drifting to the windows. Each shadow seemed to stretch too far, each silhouette in the corner of your eye felt like someone lurking just out of sight.

You turned on the TV, letting the dull hum of the morning news fill the silence. The voices blurred together — static, muffled — but you kept the volume high, hoping to drown out the noise in your head.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Miss L/N?” Greene’s voice called. “It’s me.”

You frowned, setting your tea down. “Didn’t you just check in?”

“Just want to update you,” he answered. “Everything’s clear outside.”

Something felt off — the words too casual, too light. You hesitated, fingers curling around the door handle. Still, you turned the lock and opened the door just a crack — enough to see Greene’s face.

He smiled, but something was wrong. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes — too tight, too forced.

And then you saw it — the smear of blood just beneath his collar.

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, he shoved the door open. The impact sent you sprawling backward, your shoulder striking the wall and your head slamming against the sharp corner of your bookshelf.

“W-What…?” Your voice barely broke the air, slurred and thin as dizziness clouded your vision. The room spun, shadows warping and shifting.

The man standing above you wasn’t Greene. His uniform hung loose on his frame, and the dark glint in his eyes twisted your stomach with dread.

“Im sorry it had to be this way,” he murmured, voice low and venomous.

The street was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices when the BAU arrived. Spencer shoved past the officers crowding the sidewalk, ignoring the calls for him to slow down. His breath hitched when he reached the threshold of the building.

Two bodies.

Detective Alvarez lay crumpled in the stairwell, his chest dark with blood. Officer Greene’s body was slumped near the front door — his badge still clutched tightly in his hand. Blood smeared the floor like a cruel map of what had unfolded, but none of it mattered.

You weren’t there.

“She’s gone,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely holding together. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. “He took her…”

“We’ll find her,” Hotch said firmly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He has her right now!” Spencer snapped, his voice breaking as he turned sharply toward him. His breath stuttered again — this time more ragged, more desperate. “Right now…”

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was softer as she approached. “We found something inside.”

Spencer barely heard her. His gaze remained fixed on the bloodstains, the smeared footprints leading away from the doorway. His mind kept looping back to the last thing you’d said to him.

“You’ll see me tomorrow. Bright and early.”

But tomorrow had arrived — and you were nowhere to be found.

The living room was a wreck — papers strewn across the floor, cushions gutted and tossed aside, the coffee table shoved halfway across the room. The scent of overturned candles and stale air clung to the space. Yet none of it mattered — not the mess, not the chaos.

What stole Spencer’s breath was the envelope on the coffee table.

His name was scrawled across the front in jagged, uneven letters — the ink pressed so hard into the paper it had nearly torn through. His fingers trembled as he reached for it, dread coiling tightly in his chest.

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was soft, but it barely registered.

With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open. The paper inside was rough beneath his fingertips — thin and cheap, like something torn from a notebook.

“I trusted you to keep her safe. How could you let her suffer like this?

She’s perfect — but she’s broken.

You never even noticed. While you smiled and held her hand, she was starving herself just to stay small enough for you to love her.

She’s an angel… my angel.

I’ll fix her now. I’ll save her from you.”

Spencer’s breath faltered, his fingers tightening around the paper until it crumpled in his grip. His vision blurred as the words seared themselves into his mind.

“What… what does he mean?” Spencer rasped, his voice thin and uneven.

JJ stepped closer, her expression carefully composed yet unmistakably concerned. “Spencer… did she ever mention struggling with food?”

“Yes.” His voice broke on the word. “She’s… she’s always smiling, always full of life…she got better…”

But even as the words left his mouth, memories began to surface — disjointed and sharp.

The quiet way you’d push food around your plate, always insisting you weren’t that hungry.

The faint tremor in your fingers when you were tired — or when you thought no one was looking.

The way your dresses sometimes seemed a little too loose, like they didn’t quite fit the way they once had.

Moments he’d brushed off as nothing — little things that felt insignificant at the time but now twisted painfully in his mind.

You were hurting… and he hadn’t seen it.

“Oh God…” Spencer’s breath hitched, and his knees buckled. He sank onto the edge of the couch, the crumpled letter still clenched in his fist. “I didn’t see it.” His voice broke, raw and strained.

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly, stepping into his line of sight. “This unsub is projecting his own obsession — twisting it to blame you.”

“No,” Spencer choked out, shaking his head. His voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve known… I should’ve noticed.”

JJ knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Spence… you love her. That’s what matters right now.”

But Spencer barely heard her. His mind spiraled, looping back to the last time he’d seen you — the softness in your smile when you’d promised him “bright and early.”

He thought about the way you’d hugged him a little longer than usual — how fragile you’d felt in his arms.

You needed him… and he hadn’t seen it.

“I can’t lose her,” Spencer whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“We’re going to find her,” Hotch said firmly. “But we need you with us — thinking clearly.”

Spencer forced a shaky breath and wiped a trembling hand across his face. He clung to the only thing that mattered now — the promise he silently made to himself as he stared at the crumpled letter in his hand.

He would find you.

He wouldn’t fail you again.

The room was silent except for the furious rhythm of Garcia’s fingers flying across her keyboard. Spencer hovered beside her, too restless to sit. His breath came in shallow bursts, his mind cycling through worst-case scenarios on a relentless loop.

“Come on…” Garcia muttered. “Come on, you sick freak… give me something…”

The seconds dragged painfully on — each one tightening the coil of panic in Spencer’s chest.

Then — ping.

“Got him!” Garcia cried. “A security camera caught him heading toward an abandoned warehouse five miles outside the city.”

Hotch was already barking orders, agents scrambling for their gear. Spencer didn’t wait — he was out the door, heart racing.

The warehouse reeked of mold and rust, the air heavy with dust that clung to Spencer’s throat. The floorboards groaned beneath his steps, each creak splintering the silence. His pulse pounded in his ears — too loud, too fast.

Then he heard it.

A faint sound — soft, stifled sobs.

His chest tightened.

“Y/N…”

He followed the sound, moving faster now. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you — slumped against a metal pole, wrists raw and bruised from the rope that bit into your skin. Your hair clung to your face, damp with sweat, and your breathing was shallow.

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice broke on your name.

Your head lifted weakly. “Spence…”

Before he could reach you, a figure emerged from the shadows.

The unsub.

He was wiry, face gaunt and eyes wild. The knife in his hand gleamed under the dim light.

“You didn’t deserve her,” the man spat, his voice shaking with rage. His glare locked onto Spencer, burning with venom. “You let her suffer, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Please…” Spencer raised his hands, voice tight but steady. “You don’t have to hurt her.”

“I would never! She’s not safe with you,” the man snapped. “She’s too kind — too good — and you didn’t even see how much she was hurting.” His voice wavered. “But I did.”

Spencer’s heart twisted painfully. “I know you believe that,” he said carefully. “But you’re not helping her this way.”

“I can fix her!” the man barked, his hand tightening around the blade.

“By starving her?” Spencer’s voice rose, breaking with emotion. “By scaring her like this?”

The unsub flinched as if Spencer’s words had struck him. His grip faltered, the knife dipping slightly.

“I wouldn’t starve her! I- I’m not like you.” The unsub held his head with his free hand, waving the knife about. It went quiet for a moment.

Then your voice broke the silence.

“Hey…”

Both men froze as you lifted your head. Your voice was soft — weak yet unwavering.

“Hey,” you tried again, a little stronger this time — gentle, soothing, like you were speaking to a frightened child.

The unsub’s gaze flicked to you. His face twisted with confusion. “You… you don’t have to be scared,” he stammered. “I’m saving you.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you think you are.”

Spencer’s breath caught. He wanted to move — to reach you — but he knew better than to push.

“I remember you,” you said, your voice steady. “From high school… you used to sit on the far bench by the fountain.”

The unsub blinked rapidly. “You remember?”

“Of course I do,” you said with a faint smile. “I used to play my flute there… and you’d always listen.”

“You… you played beautifully,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t know what that meant to me. I was… I was going to kill myself that day. But then I heard you playing, and I thought… maybe there’s still something good in the world. You were that something.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” you said softly. “You deserved to find peace… to heal. But this isn’t the way.”

The knife wavered in his hand.

“I know you think I’m broken,” you continued gently. “But I promise… I’m okay now. I’m trying to be.”

The unsub shook his head fiercely. “No, no… you’re not okay. I saw you — barely eating, wasting away. He let you hurt yourself.” His eyes flicked back to Spencer, sharp with blame.

“I know,” you said carefully. “But that wasn’t his fault.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“I was sick,” you explained gently. “The weight loss… it wasn’t my eating disorder. It was my medication.” Your gaze shifted to Spencer, soft and unwavering. “He’s always been there for me. And right now… I need him.”

The unsub’s face crumbled. His fingers slackened around the knife.

“You’ve been carrying this pain for so long,” you said softly. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let me help you now, the way you once helped me.”

The blade clattered to the floor.

“I just wanted to protect you,” the man whispered brokenly.

“I know,” you murmured, eyes kind. “But it’s over now. You protected me.”

The team rushed in, Morgan and Hotch seizing the unsub before he could react. The man barely resisted — his gaze stayed locked on you, his expression crumpling as tears streaked down his face.

“You saved me,” he mumbled as they dragged him away. “You saved me back then… and you saved me now…”

“And you saved me,” you responded.

Later, after you’d been checked over by paramedics, you found Spencer sitting quietly outside the ambulance. His head hung low, wrists encircled by handcuffs — protocol after crossing into the scene without waiting for backup. His fingers twisted anxiously, his breathing uneven.

“Hey…”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. When he looked up and saw you standing there — bruised but smiling — his chest caved with relief.

“You’re okay…” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly.

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Thanks to you.”

“I… I should’ve known,” Spencer stammered. “About the medication… about everything. He was right — I didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t have,” you soothed. “But you’ve always been there when it mattered.”

Spencer swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

“You don’t have to think about that.” Gently, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

Spencer exhaled shakily, eyes flicking downward.

“Do you remember…” You paused, smiling softly. “When I used to play for you?”

His gaze lifted, brow furrowing slightly.

“I’d still play for you someday,” you offered. “If you want.”

Spencer let out a breath — a faint, tired laugh — and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

[i-love-ptv]

Such A Sure Thing ‧*❆₊⋆

Pairing:Boyfriend Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend!Reader

It finally snowed in the Outer Banks, (who would’ve thought?) so what do you do? You spend the day with the Camerons.

Wc: 1,192

Pure fluff!! We got lots of snow the other day soooo ya.

An: This is a little rushed cause i wanted to get it out, so i hope there aren’t too many mistakes 😣 I’m gonna try n be more consistent dw guys! ALSO IM THINKING ABT MAKING A TAGLIST SO LMK IF YOU’RE INTERESTED!

Feedback is always appreciated and welcomed!

Rafe awoke to the sound of screams.

His disoriented state made him merely turn over in bed, in hopes of finding your heated body right next to him. Yet he was met with limp tangled sheets and a cool pillow. The high heat inside the house doing nothing to provide him comfort in his long sleeve shirt alongside his sweatpants—only making him acknowledge the slight sweat that covers him from his chest up.

This made him jump up, the sounds of yelling now starting to register in his mind. His sleepy haze doesn’t allow him to recognize that signature laugh of yours that rings throughout the front lawn.

Rafe’s stride to the bottom of the staircase and eventually to the front door doesn’t miss a beat.

His steps are quick, and filled with urgency as he quickly rips open the already cracked front door.

“Wheez! You’re supposed to be on my team!” Rose yelps with a giggle.

Rafe sees you, alongside Wheezie, Sarah, and Rose, all with rosy faces and snow covering your layered clothing. He looks over slightly and sees Ward standing a few feet away, no doubt trying to avoid being hit with the largely-sized snowballs that the four of you are throwing. —Ward has a slight, yet noticeable quirk of a grin on his face.

Rafe rubs his eye with his gently-formed fist. He recognizes the coat that’s nearly swallowing your frame, it’s his. He assumes that once you noticed the snowflakes falling, you immediately grabbed whichever coat your pretty eyes landed on.

You’re crouching behind a well-constructed snow wall, creating multiple snowballs a minute, no doubt preparing for when Sarah comes running back for more ammunition for her onslaught. Rose is cowering behind her and Wheezie’s poorly created mound as the two youngest Cameron’s continue their attack.

Suddenly, Rose gathers a somewhat-large pile of snow in her arms and launches it at Sarah’s frame. She squeals as she sprints back to you, where she dives into the snow beside you.

“Don’t worry Sar, I’ll cover you!” You shout, before gathering several snowballs and then rushing towards Rose and Wheezie.

Rafe continues to watch on as the mere snowball fight turns into a playful brawl between you and his younger sister. Sarah and Rose join in as well, and Rafe looks at the scene fondly.

In all honesty, Rafe’s never really been for family; mainly preferring to be alone or rarely with his father. But something about seeing you with his family—fitting in perfectly as if you lived here, made his heart pound. He’s never been big for affection, both giving and receiving, at least he thought he wasn’t. Because right now, all he can think about is bundling up and joining you.

You’ve been this beacon of light for Rafe; he doesn’t really understand it, and trying to is harder than it seems. He’s spent so long trying to figure out how you’re different from all the rest; was it the fact that even though you didn’t take any shit from anybody, you’re still endlessly kind? Was it your beauty that couldn’t be matched? Or maybe it was the compassion that nobody has ever shown him—not even his own family—besides you.

He’s awestruck by you, he always is. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, everything leaves him breathless as he tries to calm his beating heart.

“Morning, Ray!” You shout, making him blink. “God—how are you not cold right now?!” You giggle as you try to regain your breath, while also sprinting towards him. Short puffs of air leave your mouth and flow through the wind. Your nose is slightly dark and rosy from the cold, as well as your upper wrist, which is exposed to the freezing snow that most likely rolled down your sleeves.

“Ew dude, nobody wants to see that,” Wheezie groans.

“Yeah, go put on some clothes, loser!” Sarah exclaims.

Rafe pays no mind to them, his main focus being on you peering up at him so beautifully, just like you always do.

Your icy gloves fingers gently push on his chest, “C’mon..Go change so we can make a snowman.” You speak softly.

“Uh-huh..” He mumbles dumbly, and all he can do is smile whilst going back to his room. He rummages through his closet, throwing clothes around haphazardly, desperately searching for at least a sweatshirt and shoes.

After quickly changing into whatever, somewhat warm clothing he could find, Rafe goes downstairs. He opens the front door yet again, but instead of seeing you farther down the lawn, you're waiting patiently directly on the porch.

You push your hands out towards him without a word, only beaming at him as his eyes trails down. In your cupped hands lies a heart-shaped snowball. Rafe can’t help but match your grin.

“Oh, thank you baby,” he nearly whispers, before gently taking the heart and putting it into his jacket pocket.

Rafe swipes the nearby wall-mounted lantern and gathers the snow in his black glove-covered hands. His large fingers attempt to form a heart.

It’s a little extremely disfigured, but you give him a toothy duchenne smile nonetheless.

You thank him before grabbing his arm and dragging him further into the front yard. The boots that you saved up and bought him for Christmas stomp in the snow behind you. He laughs at your eagerness.

Suddenly, you stop, muttering a “Shit! My boot,” before crouching down.

Rafe shifts his gaze down to your form with curiosity, which is very short lived when you toss a quickly formed snowball into his face.

Rafe sputters as you laugh, briefly watching you run away before sprinting after you.

“C’mon! You can't hit me then run away, babe!” Rafe yells, quickly gaining on you.

He tackles you into the snow, you both grunt simultaneously.

“That’s not fucking fair! You have lanky legs!” You squeal as he begins to dig and prod at your sides.

“Yeah yeah, it’s not my fault your stride isn’t up to par like mine.” Rafe smirks triumphantly.

You can’t help but cackle, “You sound so stupid right now!” Rafe then trails his tickling up your body, it’s erratic and uncalculated; all you can do is squirm in the mound of snow.

A shout comes from a few feet away, you recognize the voice—it’s Wheezie. “Hey, lovebirds! We’re going inside to get hot chocolate, you comin’?” She’s standing in front of the door with Sarah; you assume Rose and Ward have already gone inside.

“Nah, we’re good!” Rafe hollers, before continuing to torment mess with you.

“Ow! Fuck, my ribs!” Your tone is filled with anguish, and you jolt up in Rafe’s arms.

“What? What happened baby? Was I too rough?” Rafe’s checking your frame urgently, searching for any sign of an injury.

Abruptly, you use all your body weight to push Rafe onto his back. You straddle him, then grab some of the snow surrounding his head, smushing it into his face.

You stand on wobbly knees as Rafe tries to regain his composure, before taking off towards the backyard.

“Oh—I’m not letting you get away, sweetheart!” Rafe huffs before taking off after you yet again.

[teamatsumu]

kept me waiting. (suna rintarou x reader)

summary: for six years, you have loved no other alpha except suna.

word count: 3397

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, alpha!suna, omega!fem!reader, some angst, smut, typical omegaverse jargon (mating, knotting, scent, slick), oral (fem receiving)

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi @sleepyxxhead @priv-rose

There’s only so long you could have waited.

At 16 years old, you were a budding omega. You had presented recently and were trying to adjust to the changes that came with your secondary gender. You were curious about yourself, and about others as well. In your uncertain new beginning, you met Suna Rintaro.

He had presented as an Alpha about a year ago, and he was more comfortable in his skin than you were. He was brooding and slightly lazy, but endlessly perceptive. Clever. And he smelled to you like a garden you wanted to lay in, surrounded by grass and flowers. He brought you comfort. And your novice omega heart fell in love with him.

The kettle whistled, indicating that your water was ready for a cozy cup of tea. You pour it into a cup, grab your muffin and your tea before settling on the couch. It was evening time and the TV was on, loud cheering emitting from its speakers. You placed your blanket over your lap and then rested your plate on it, finally turning your attention to the screen and the live game that was about to start. You had never once missed a game of Suna’s, after all.

Almost 7 years since you had first met the boy, and to this day, you heart yearned for him. He was your best friend, your most personal confidant. The love of your life, though that fact was not known by him. Your Omega had attached herself to him explicitly, vowed to love him forever, and despite him not returning your feelings, you hung on to the tiniest, withering hope that somehow, things between you two would work out.

The game was an exhilarating one, and in the end, EJP Raijins came out of it victorious. You watched the team celebrate on screen, grinning wide and cheering them on silently. When the camera panned to Suna, your heart squeezed. You shot him a quick congratulations text, asking him how he wanted to celebrate. Suna had informed you beforehand that he would be crashing at yours after the game, since you lived so close to the venue. You had enthusiastically agreed, of course. Any excuse to spend more time with him.

Half an hour later, your phone pinged with a reply from him.

‘Will be back late, sorry.. dont wait up’

You pursed your lips in disappointment before sighing loudly and resigning to an early night. It was fine, you were tired from work anyway, so getting extra sleep will be good. But spending some time with Suna….

He had been so busy lately, with rigorous practices leading up to the beginning of this season. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you didn’t enjoy that fact, nor did your omega. You missed him terribly. You swallowed down your sadness and trudged into bed. It was a familiar feeling when it came to Suna. The yearning and the realization that he wasn’t yours.

When you woke up the next morning, the sun was high in the sky and filtering through your closed curtains. You groaned and cursed softly, not expecting to sleep in so late. Your mood only lightened when you walked into the kitchen and found Suna sitting on the island, scrolling through his phone over a steaming cup of tea. His hair was messy and unkempt, indicating that he just woke up, but the sight of him had your face lifting with a smile.

“Rin!” You greeted, clearing your throat when you heard how hoarse your voice was. “Congratulations on the game!”

“Hey,” His smile made your heart squeeze. “Sorry, did I wake you last night?”

You blinked in confusion. “No?”

“Oh.” He chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. “Good, good.”

You eyed him for a moment, trying to gauge what he meant. You walked toward the kettle that was still going, planning on pouring some of it for yourself too. As you moved past the man, a scent hit your nose and your body stiffened.

Omega.

There was no doubt in your head. It was an omega scent, wafting off Suna in waves and mixing intimately with his own wonderful scent. You froze behind him, nose twitching when you took another deep breath and identified the scent even more distinctly. You didn’t recognize it, but you knew it was omega. And the way it was coming off Suna, focused so closely on his scent glands meant only one thing.

“Why’d you get here so late, Rin?” There was a little tremble in your voice.

Suna didn’t seem to notice, scrolling idly through his phone, distracted. He hummed a bit in question before replying.

“Drinking with the guys.” He drawled.

And then? You didn’t ask. It wasn’t your place. You loved foolishly believing that Suna was your Alpha but he wasn’t. And you couldn’t exactly tell him to not see any omega when you didn’t have any claim on him either. Silently, you left the kitchen, hoping he wouldn’t call after you, walking into your room and closing the door. You leaned your forehead against the warm wood and closed your eyes.

Stupid. Stupid. What right did you have to feel the way you did? Suna wasn’t yours. He could be with anyone he pleased. He could sleep with other omegas. Scent them. Court them. Knot them. Your throat tightened.

So then why did you feel like a wounded animal? Why was your omega whining like she had lost her mate and not some random alpha she had unfairly been obsessed with for so long? In moments like this, you hated your secondary gender. You hated your omega. You hated that you were so in love with Suna that this felt like cheating to you.

However, your hurt was exclusively your own, and you couldn’t project it onto anyone else. Suna was here now, and even though the sight of him made you weep, you still found joy in being around him. You would spend the day with him, and get the closure you needed. Then you would lick your wounds and move on. You had waited long enough.

So that’s what you did. And here you were now, a week later, sitting across from an Alpha you had met just today, listening to him talk about his job and his hobbies while you smiled and nodded. There was an almost bitter undertone to your feelings. Over the days, your sadness had transformed into anger. It was unjustified and not really something Suna deserved, but you still directed it at him. Because he had ruined you for anyone else.

The Alpha before you was a perfect gentleman. He was a friend of your friend’s, and everything she had told you about him was true. He was kind, well spoken, good looking. He knew how to carry a conversation, since he was doing most of the talking while you rolled around in your own head.

But he wasn’t witty. He wasn’t quick and sly. He didn’t have a thin, cutting smirk and narrow green eyes that pierced through you. He didn’t smell like freshly cut grass and cool, open air.

He wasn’t Suna.

After the date, he walked you to the train station, where you claimed you would get on the train home. He gave you a respectful hug and smiled kindly when you said you would call (you wouldn’t call). Then, when he mixed in with the crowd and disappeared, you turned around and walked straight out, beginning to trudge on foot to your home.

Your thoughts were all over the place, your eyes were lined with unshed tears, your breath felt like it was trapped in your lungs. You didn’t comprehend the stupidity behind walking all the way home, and how it would take hours. Your friend texted you, asking about the date. You didn’t reply. Instead, you tapped on that one cursed name that you couldn’t wipe from your mind and sent only two words.

Fuck you.

It took you two and a half hours to walk home. It could have been quicker if you weren’t in heels. After about half an hour of walking in them, your feet began to hurt. You used the pain to distract yourself from the jumble of thoughts in your head, and by the time you got home, you didn’t even want to look down at them. You couldn’t imagine how bad they looked, if the tingling and shooting pains were any indication. It now traveled up your legs and to your lower back, aching all over. At some point, the air nipped cold at your cheeks, and you finally noticed that it was because of the tears that now ran down them.

When you unlocked the door and stepped inside the warmth of your apartment was the first time you seemed to be aware of your surroundings. You froze just inside the door when a large figure blocked the light, making you look up at a scowling Suna.

“Where the hell were you? I was calling like crazy!” His voice was louder than his usual register, and more emotional. You blinked a bit and sniffled. Your skin felt stiff because of the dried tears. Your feet still screamed.

“Why are you here?” Your voice was low.

“I’m-” Suna’s eyes traveled down, and they widened slightly at the sight of your feet.

“What did you- did you walk?”

You sighed and lumbered past him, ignoring the pleading protests of your feet to get the weight off them. You finally sat down on the couch, feeling no better. The pain was still there. You kept your focus acutely on it, trying not to look at the one man who was causing your misery. But he seemed adamant on making himself known, kneeling before you to help take off your shoes. You jerked your legs away. Suna looked up at you, shocked.

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice was cutting.

Something flashed in his eyes. “Let me help.”

“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.”

Suna reached for your shoe strap again. “Don’t be stubborn, omega.”

You felt your blood boil and you finally raised your voice. “Don’t call me that!”

He eyed you for a moment. “What? Omega? Aren’t you one?”

“Suna-”

He glared at you. Glared. A withering look that almost made you shrink. But your emotions were too great. You grit your teeth and didn’t say anything. Didn’t address the fact that you had called him by his last name for the first time in six years.

Suna peeled your shoes off your feet as gently as he could. But it hurt regardless, and you hissed when they finally came off. He ran soothing hands over the tender, angry skin. You tried not to think about his touch, tried not to sink into the feeling. But your efforts only made tears gather in your lash line once more. You eyed his raven hair, his head bent low to look at your feet. He sat cross legged before you, laying light touches on the swollen parts of your feet.

“Why are you here?” You repeated.

“Well, when my best friend texted me a colorful ‘fuck you’ out of nowhere, then proceeded to ignore all my calls, I was understandably worried.”

You sighed and looked away just before he could meet your eyes. He continued. “You wanna tell me what that was about?”

You didn’t reply, pointedly looking away. You cursed at the moment of weakness that caused your lapse of judgment and made you text him. Him showing up was your own mistake.

He exhaled loudly, looking down at your feet that he was still gently massaging. “I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

Your head snapped to him in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropped open. Suna didn’t look up, but his lips twitched into a little smile.

“That’s why you’ve been acting so weird, right? For the last few days? You were pissed and sad that your Alpha slept with another omega.”

Your mind reeled, and you sat frozen as you tried but failed to absorb Suna’s words. Your alpha?

When he looked up, his lips were tilted in a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t do that to you, baby.”

Again, you lurched. You tried to pull your feet from his grasp, to stand up and get away from him, put any distance between you two. Maybe his scent was making you heady. Maybe you were hallucinating. He gripped at your leg, making sure you stayed put.

“You’re- I don’t know what you’re saying.” You rasped.

Suna chuckled before sighing a bit defeatedly. “I wanted to confess in a more romantic way than this but you started being all distant and shit. I can’t see you like this.”

You couldn’t believe it. You had so many questions and not enough answers for the predicament you were in. And Suna’s pretty forest eyes didn’t help keep your head straight either.

“You- what do you mean confess?”

Suna’s hand ran up your bare calf lightly, you felt goosebumps rise on your skin.

“What do you think it means?” He countered in classic Suna fashion. Answering your question with a question. “Telling you that I like you. Taking you out. Courting you. Mating you. The whole she-bang.”

For the hundredth time today, tears filled your eyes. “Rin….”

He watched you, eyes forlorn as you silently weeped. His hand still rubbed comfortingly over your legs. Up and down, slow motions. His touch grounded you.

“You made me wait-” You hiccuped. “-for so long.”

Suna continued eyeing you. He leaned forward to rest his head on your knee. “I thought you knew how much I liked you. I spend all my time with you. I scent your clothes, dammit. I thought you weren’t saying anything on purpose. That you wanted to come to me on your own terms.”

You smacked his shoulder hard. He didn’t even budge. “You are such an asshole.”

Suna chuckled a bit before turning his head and laying a kiss on the side of your knee. The skin tingled. He pulled away only a hair, and his breath hit your skin. A chill ran up your leg. Suna turned his head only slightly, his eyes meeting yours. Your heart skipped. Heat ran down your body, settling at the base of your stomach.

His lips skimmed over the bare skin of your knee. His left hand, placed on your right shin, traveled slowly up your leg until it dipped below the hem of your dress. Your breath caught in your throat. Your core grew damp. Suna’s gaze heated up, and his lip twitched with a tiny smirk.

“I can smell you.”

You bit your lip when his hand traveled up, up, until his skin was meeting delicate lace.

“So wet, omega.” He nipped at your leg. “And I haven’t even done anything. So good for your Alpha. So ready.”

His unoccupied hand hooked under your knee and tugged until your hips reached the edge of your couch, until you were laying back on it. Your eyes didn’t leave him. His words ran straight between your legs, making you clench hard. You bit your lip and looked at Suna with teary eyes.

“Rin.”

You had nothing else to say. Suna let out a breathy laugh and increased the pressure of his thumb on your slit. You gasped.

“Will you be good f’me?” His voice was octaves deeper. “Let me eat out your sweet little pussy?”

His crude language made you moan. Suna finally moved, lips going higher over your thigh until he bypassed your body completely and leaned up to connect his lips with yours. You grasped the sides of his face, kissing him back hard and deep. You poured every emotion into that one kiss, letting Suna lap over your lips hungrily. His scent enveloped you like a comforter, one hand pushing up the skirt of your dress while the other’s movements grew more urgent on your clothed pussy. You were slicking up rapidly. You could feel it run from your hole and down your ass until it landed on the couch. You couldn’t give less of a shit if you were dirtying the furniture. Your brain was rapidly turning into mush as your omega preened under Suna’s attention, his tongue invading your mouth like it was his own and he was only reclaiming it.

“Pretty baby.” He rasped into your mouth. “Good little omega. Get wetter for me. Need to drink all your juice.”

Your face felt like it was on fire, and you whined right against his lips. When he pulled away, you tried to chase after him, already addicted to the high that his lips brought. Suna hummed in amusement and tugged on your panties, pulling them off your ankles. He pressed the fabric directly to his nose and breathed deep. You watched him with half lidded eyes as you bit your lip to hell.

“You smell so fucking divine.” Suna groaned. “Always thought so. Loved cuddling up to you. Being close to you. My lovely omega.”

You moaned again, feeling how you gushed at his words. You didn’t realize you were into praise, but when it came from Suna, it lit a fire inside you. You clenched hard around nothing, now acutely aware of your rapidly building need.

“Rin,” you gasped. “Please. Please.”

“I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.” He shamelessly pried your legs open. You let him. “I’ll take such good care of my omega.”

His first lick was a thick stripe up your open slit, filthy and hungry, before he licked harder and faster over your clit. You gasped at the contact, the urgent relief of finally having stimulation you were craving so much. Your fingers automatically buried themselves in his soft hair, tugging tight at the roots. Suna hummed his approval and suctioned his lips on your clit, lapping and slurping like he was a man starved.

He was glorious at it, eating pussy like it was his last meal, hands holding your thighs apart firmly so his movements were unhindered. Stars burst in your vision and your hips jerked, not sure if you wanted to lean into him or tug away from how intense it was. Your torso undulated and arched, tears ran down the sides of your face and you moaned unencumbered. Suna seemed to enjoy it, because he pulled off with a wet smooch and replaced his lips with his thumb, not leaving you dry for one second.

“So fucking delicious.” His voice had gone scratchy and wrecked. “Good fucking girl. Moan for me, baby. God, I could do this forever.”

You felt something prod at your entrance before two fingers rapidly sank into you to the knuckle, curling hard and rubbing at your walls. You cried out again, not even embarrassed by how wet the noises became, how potent your scent was becoming, you badly you needed to cum on his fingers or you didn’t know what you would do-

His lips sealed over your clit and you were gone.

Suna didn’t even slow his movements as you reached your high. He helped prolong it, sucking harder and pushing his fingers in and out of you, scissoring and curling until your walls felt abused and used beyond belief. You wailed and weeped as you dug your fingers into the couch cushion under you. You had slid so far down the couch that it nearly bent you in half. You tried to close your legs and Suna finally pulled out, kissing over your mound a few times before he leaned up and attached his lips to the skin of your neck, licking and biting lightly over your scent gland, trying to embed his own scent into you. The feeling of him so close to that spot had your mind reeling. You hugged him close.

“Bite me.”

Suna kissed you again. “Not like this.”

“But I love you.”

He chuckled and sucked lightly on your skin until it darkened. “Still won’t mate you on a couch. When I do it, it’s going to be with your cunt full of my knot.”

You flushed and groaned in embarrassment, feeling the way your core pulsed again. Suna laughed and nuzzled your neck.

“Don’t worry. I have a lot of loving to give you before we get there.”

[wosospacegirl]

And they were roommates - part 1

Summary: Y/n gets injured and has to stay in recovery for 8 months. It's a good thing her friend and teammate Kyra is more than willing to move in with her. wink wink

Warnings: mentions of injury; Kyra is a pest and reader is grumpy

Word count: 3.5k

Masterlist

| PART 2 |

..

Y/n’s teammates said she didn’t scream when Millie Bright stepped on her tibia. Beth said she could hear the crack as Y/n’s bone broke in two. But again, Y/n didn’t scream.

Leah said Y/n didn’t cry when the medical staff took her to the infirmary when they touched her broken leg to see where it hurt.

Y/n didn’t show any emotion. It was as if she wasn’t there.

Y/n was unable to answer any of the doctors’ questions when the Arsenal staff went to check her in at Great Ormond Street Hospital. They gave Y/n’s personal information and explained what had happened during the match against Chelsea.

Y/n was now lying in a hospital bed, wearing an ugly hospital gown, as a series of different doctors tried to explain her condition to her.

“It seems like a transverse fracture, miss,” one of the doctors had told her.

“Surgical intervention will be necessary—” said another.

“At least 8 months to full recovery,”

That last voice echoed endlessly in/n’s mind and that’s when she cried for the first time.

..

Y/n’s has been at the hospital for two days now. Her operation was yesterday, and thankfully, she was able to go home, but there was one problem: Y/n had no one to go home to. She has lived on her own since moving to London years ago after she signed for Arsenal.

Y/n was sure she could look after herself. She had been injured before and had managed just fine on her own. She was very independent, self-reliant and—

“Stubborn,” Kyra told her. “You are the most stubborn person I have ever met in my entire life,” the Australian said. Standing in front of Y/n’s hospital bed with her jaw clenched.

“I am not stubborn. I have the legal system on my side, and I’m not letting you break into my house,” Y/n told Kyra, her long-time friend and teammates

Break in?” Kyra said exasperatedly, pressing her palms to her face and dragging them down in frustration. “You’re making it sound like I’m kicking you out of your own house so I can live in it alone.”

“That’s basically what’s happening,” Y/n said, rolling her eyes.

“I’m only moving in with you because you need someone to help you around until you are completely healed.” Kyra took a step closer to Y/n’s bed, softness on her face. “It will be just like when we have film nights, come on’.”

Y/n and Kyra had been friends since the U19 World Cup. When they met again as Arsenal’s teammates, their friendship just grew. They were always at each other’s houses and always found something fun to do after training alongside Alessia or any other girls. Y/n adored Kyra. How could she not? Kyra was sweet and funny, and yeah, sometimes a pest, but Y/n loved her anyway, she was her happiest self when Kyra was by her side. Unfortunately, Y/n wasn’t in a position to be just her usual self. She was injured and didn’t even know if she would be back on the pitch when her recovery was complete.

She was frustrated, and at the moment, Kyra was her punching bag.

“I’m not incapacitated, I can take care of myself, they gave me crutches and everything,” Y/n said, pointing to her new best friends for the rest of the year. The crutches were in the corner of the room, next to the hospital bag Leah packed for her after the team found out that Y/n would be in the hospital for a few days.

“And how will you drive? How will you do your groceries? How will you cook?” Kyra said, trying to make Y/n see the real situation they were in. She needed help, and Kyra was on a mission to be everything Y/n needed right now, even though she was being difficult about it.

“I can take a cab and order takeaway,” Y/n said persistently. “Besides, you can’t even cook! Last time Alessia tried teaching you how to make chicken pasta and you couldn’t even touch the chicken

“Okay, first of all, chicken is gross,” Kyra got up from Y/n’s bed and picked up Y/n’s bag from the floor, along with the girls’ crutches. “Second, I’ll try hard to cook us both good meals! I even bought a cookbook,” Kyra said proudly

“Oh God, you’ll poison me,” Y/n said dryly, pressing the bridge on her nose.

“I will if you don’t get out of this bed and let me take you home. The hospital needs its bed back,” Kyra handed Y/n her crutches and helped her to her feet. It wasn’t the first time the girl had stood up after the surgery, but she still wasn’t used to her new cast. She felt like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.

The cast looked cute, though. The Arsenal girls had come by later that day, and everyone had written well wishes on it, Vic had even draw some flowers near Y/n’s ankle. Kyra also took a lot of time drawing small doodles all over it; the Australian had said it looked sad, ugly and boring before her special touch.

With a hand on Y/n’s back, Kyra slowly urged the girl to take a step in. “Does it feel all right? Do you think we should get a smaller crutch?” She asked, hovering over Y/n.

Y/n looked at the crutches in disgust. “No, their size is fine, I just— I hate this, and I hate this cast, and—” Y/n felt her eyes well up with tears.

Frustration.

Y/n’s body was filled with frustration and pain. Her leg hurt, even though she had been given strong painkillers, and now she was a mess, crying in an ugly hospital gown. Her hair was dirty because she hadn’t had a chance to wash it since the game. Her life was completely chaos. And there was nothing she could do about it.

Y/n was used to being independent. She had moved to London after her eighteenth birthday to play for Arsenal, her first professional club. For the first time in her life, she was without her parents and family, and she genuinely thrived on it. Y/n was pretty much a free bird, she didn’t need anyone, until now.

Y/n felt Kyra coming closer, friendly arms embracing her before she could resist the physical touch. “Shh, it’s okay,” Kyra said to Y/n, trying to comfort her. “You’re in a lot of pain right now, and the situation hasn’t really sunk in for you yet, but once it does, it’ll get easier.”

Kyra was the same age as Y/n, but she was definitely the most easy-going and good-humoured of them, although right now Kyra looked older. Y/n was usually the more mature one, but at the moment she wasn’t. So, she just let her friend comfort her.

“Steph told me that she cried for a whole week when she got injured during that Matilda’s match back in May,” Kyra said.

“Is that an attempt to soothe me?” Y/n asked playfully, lips still trembling.

“I’m trying my best,” Kyra admitted. “I’m better with jokes than support-giving.”

“I think you are pretty good at both,” Y/n replied. “But it’s all right now, no more affection,” Y/n mumbled, cleaning her cheeks away from the tears and pulling away from Kyra’s embrace

Damn, Y/n really needed that hug. Maybe the whole neuroscience community was right when they said that humans needed other humans. Oxytocin released all that.

“Oh, come on, you love my affection,” Kyra teased, a glimpse of her cheeky smile showing.

“No, I don’t.” Y/n huffed.

“Stop lying to yourself.”

“Whatever.” Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. She took a deep breath and looked around the room she’d called hers for the past few days. “Can you get my things please?”

Kyra rolled her eyes playfully. “Oh, asking for my help now, are you?”

Y/n crossed her arms. “If you keep being annoying, I’ll just ask Leah to come over and take care of me.”

Kyra picked up Y/n’s belongings from the hospital’s wardrobe, it wasn’t much, but other players had been kind enough to send gifts for Y/n. “Leah’s a tough love person; you guys wouldn’t last a day living together,” Kyra warned.

Y/n sighed. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I always am,” Kyra said under her breath, taking one last look around the room “I think I have everything,” Kyra said, shifting a load of things in her arms. “I’ve got your bag, the flowers Millie sent as an apology, Beth and Viv’s plushie, Leah’s basket, Alessia’s ballons…”

Y/n bit back a laugh. Kyra wasn’t exactly short, but with all the things she was carrying, she looked like a child drowning in oversized toys and presents.

The two girls left the hospital, and for Yn’s misery, she had to use a wheelchair. Kyra teased her all the way out of the hospital to the car.

..

After a 20-minute drive, Kyra parked her car in Y/n’s garage. It was a sunny Tuesday, and the neighbourhood was quiet. Y/n neighbours were not around at this time of the day—they were busy at work and school— which Y/n was grateful about; she didn’t want any further attention on her injury.

It was already enough having a million texts from her family every 5 minutes asking how she was, she didn’t want her neighbour to worry too. Especially Mrs. Petunia, the old lady who lived across the road. Mrs. Petunia was a sweetheart, but she started to treat Y/n as a child once she found out the girl lived ‘all alone,’ during one of their quick conversations.

When Kyra turned off the car, Y/n was already on a mission to unbuckle her seatbelt and get out of the car, but Kyra was quicker.

“Hey, hey, slow down,” Kyra said, helping Y/n to her crutches against her will. “I can’t have you falling face-flat on the pavement on my first day as your caretaker.”

“I can get out of the car on my own, Ky, thank you very much!” Y/n said grudgingly, trying to get keep her balance on the crutches, but failing miserably. “Okay, I may need your help,” Y/n admitted.

Kyra smiled as if she had won an argument. “See! That wasn’t so hard.” The other girl said, holding Y/n’s elbow, guiding her towards the front door.

Y/n didn’t answer, a forming on her face.

“Don’t start getting annoying now, we’ve barely made it to your house, we’ve got a long way to go,” Kyra said, unloading Y/n’s belongings from her car. “So just try to smile—like this.” She flashed an exaggerated grin at Y/n, showing off her pearly white teeth.

“I’m going to be annoying until this stupid bone grows back, which will take a long time, and that’s why you don’t need to move in with me,” Y/n said, still unwilling to accept the whole arrangement Kyra and the rest of the team had apparently plotted behind her back.

"Will you drop it?" Kyra asked, pulling a large teddy bear out of the car— the one with a ‘Get Better Soon’ t-shirt, courtesy of Katie and Caitlin. “It’s already been decided; I’m staying here until you are completely healed.”

“That’s the problem! Who decided it? It’s my house, it’s my life,” Y/n argued, if she wasn’t holding on to the crutches for dear life, Y/n would dramatically throw her arm into the air.

“Me and Leah decided it when you were—well, you know—catatonic,” Kyra replied, fishing a set of keys from her pocket.

“I was never catatonic! What are you going to say next? That I’m hysterical? Is this the early 20th century?” Y/n said, allowing herself to be melodramatic.

“You do look a bit crazy right now,” Kyra shot back, turning the key in the door.

Y/n wished Millie hadn’t broken her good leg, or else she’d have kicked Kyra right there. So much for five and a half years of friendship.

“Hand on, how did you get my keys?” Y/n asked when she noticed that Kyra was already unlocking the door.

“Leah took them from your locker at the stadium after you went to the hospital,” Kyra explained. “Just so you know, Leah came here yesterday to make sure the doors and windows were locked and to check if you had left the cooker on or not.”

“Leah was here? And she took my keys and gave them to you? And why would I even leave my cooker on anyway?”

“Yep. She was also kind enough to make up your guest room for me to sleep in while I stay here,” Kyra said with a grin, ignoring Y/n’s rhetorical question.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Good to know my house is not my house anymore.”

“It’s our house now,” Kyra teased as she let Y/n pass through the door first, following close behind. “We are roomies!”

“No, we are not,” Y/n muttered.

“Roomies!” Kyra repeated, more enthusiastically

Y/n tried to hold her laughter, but she failed. Kyra looked cute when she was excited. It was Y/n’s first real laugh she broke her leg on the pitch.

Maybe sharing a house with her best friend wouldn’t be so bad after all.

..

Y/n hated sharing a house with Kyra. She wasn’t sure is she could do it anymore.

“Wow, rude! I’m right here!” Kyra pouted.

“Oh, did I say that out loud?” Y/n asked, her voice dripping with false remorse.

Kyra rolled her eyes. “I’m just helping you get down the stairs. Can’t your brain tell the difference between receiving help from a gorgeous friend and feeling threatened?”

Now, it was Y/n’s turn to roll her eyes. “You are so dramatic, Kyra.”

“So are you!” Kyra replied, raising her eyebrows. “At least I got two working legs.”

“That’s low even for you,” Y/n said, elbowing Kyra in the stomach— not hard enough to hurt.

“And now you attack me, what’s next? Hit me with your crutches. Kick me…”

Kyra explained to Y/n all the ways she could hit her, given the circumstances, as they walked down the stairs. Y/n thought them but decided not to act on her deviant ideas—especially after Kyra made her popcorn like the sweetheart she was.

Y/n was stretched out on the couch, the popcorn bowl on her stomach, her bad leg propped up on a pillow in Kyra’s lap as they watched a ‘90s rom-com. Y/n couldn’t even remember the title. The plot was the same though—about a boy and a girl.

“God, I love popcorn,” Y/n said, “I could eat it all day.”

“I can see that,” Kyra smiled. “Just don’t choke on it, I don’t know how to do the Heimlich manoeuvre. Kyra picked up some popcorn and threw it playfully at Y/n’s head.

Always the pest.

Kyra’s love language was an act of disturbance.

“I still don’t know why I put you as my emergency contact,” Y/n said, eating more popcorn and watching as the couple on the screen shared their first kiss.

“Because you love me,” Kyra said smugly without taking her eyes off the screen. “There is no way that was a technical kiss; I can literally see their tongues!”

Y/n squinted at the television. “Yeah, there was definitely tongue there.” Y/n agreed.

Damn, Y/n missed being kissed like that. It had been a long time since she’d been to a club and really seen other people. It was hard to combine a social life with football season. That was probably why most footballers dated within their own circle-- an athlete understood another athlete.

Maybe Y/n should stop looking for a girlfriend in London’s busy nightlife and start looking for one on the pitch.

Y/n stared at Kyra, but the girl was too caught up in the film. Y/n shook her head, trying to get rid of the very strange thought she’d just had.

..

During the first night, Y/n cried. “Stupid fucking leg”, she said through her tears as Kyra at her feet on the bathroom floor, a worried look on her face. Y/n hated crying in front of people, but in the last few days, it had been all she could do.

Y/n had convinced Kyra that she was more than capable of having a bath by herself, she only asked Kyra to get the bath ready for her. At first Kyra didn’t agree, but Y/n was very persistent, so Kyra made her warm bath and left Y/n alone.

Big mistake.

Five minutes after Kyra had closed the bathroom door, she heard a scream. Kyra was sitting out in the hallway like a lost puppy, so It didn’t take her long to get inside the bathroom again.

Unfortunately, the scene Kyra encountered was ugly. Y/n had a white towel wrapped around her body, but she was lying on the floor, tears streaming down her face.

Kyra quickly picked Y/n up from the floor and sat her on the toilet. Checking for injuries. “What happened? Where does it hurt? Did you slip?”

Y/n just nodded through her sobs. “I should’ve had li—listened to you.”

She should, Kyra thought, but she wouldn’t say it.

Kyra didn’t want to leave Y/n alone, but she also didn’t want Y/n to feel that she had no privacy or control over her life, especially when Kyra knew Yn was private about her body.

Y/n was always the one to hide behind her lockers in the changing room when she was putting on or taking off her kit, even around their teammates, who were all more than used to seeing each other in underclothes. Kyra had asked Y/n at one of her girls’ nights why she was so shy about it. Y/n just explained that it was the way she was, and Kyra left it at that

Kyra didn’t know what to say, so she just let Y/n cry on her shoulder. She wasn’t used to seeing Y/n like that. They’d been best friends and teammates for five years now, they’d seen each other on their ups and downs, both on and off the pitch. but Kyra had never seen Y/n this frustrated and angry.

“How about we try again?” Kyra suggested, feeling her heart ache for the girl in front of her. “The water’s still warm; do you want to get in? Or we can wait till tomorrow— it’s your call.”

“I want to take a bath today,” Y/n said. “I still smell like the hospital.”

Kyra smile. “No, you don’t, you smell like buttered popcorn.”

“I don’t think that’s any better,” Y/n murmured.

“It’s not,” Kyra teased. “So, this is my plan…” she continued, saying as if she was planning a football game strategy. “—I’m going to help you into the bath, then you’re going to sit down and I’m gonna lift your leg…you’re already wearing your cast cover, that’s good.”

Y/n couldn’t help but smile, Kyra looked adorable with her furrowed browns and narrow eyes.

“That’s a good plan,” Y/n agreed. “Now help me, please.” Y/n lifted her arms so Kyra could help her off the toilet.

Kyra did so, her strong arms steadying Y/n until she was at the foot of the tub. “Close your eyes,” Y/n said, shyly

It was true she didn’t like being naked in front of people--some people were comfortable with it, but Y/n just wasn’t. It wasn’t rooted in insecurity or anything; it was just the way she was. But standing there with Kyra, Y/n realised she wasn’t as uncomfortable as she thought she'd be. But she wasn’t sure why.

Of course, they had been a friend for years, but she wouldn’t be okay if it was Alessia in the room with her right now. Kyra’s presence just felt different, but Y/n wasn’t sure why.

Maybe the painkiller was messing with the way her brain cells were wired. Which made sense because she was taking ibuprofen, naproxen and hydrocodone. She wasn’t in the right frame of mind.

Kyra held Y/n’s arm with one hand while dramatically covering her own eyes with the other. If Y/n had been paying attention, she might have noticed the way Kyra swallowed hard. “No need to tempt me,” Kyra teased.

Y/n let her towel drop to her feet, feeling secure in Kyra’s strong grip as she lowered herself into the warm bath.

As promised, Kyra carefully lifted Y/n’s injured leg, Kyra’s hand lingering on her cast for a moment too long before pulling away.

The bubbles in the bath concealed most of Y/n’s body, and the berry-like smell scent filled the bathroom. Y/n was sure her skin would be smelling of strawberries until morning.

“Are you comfortable?” Kyra asked, sitting beside the tub.

“Yes. Thank you for helping me—and sorry for all the crying I’ve been doing,” Y/n added sheepishly.

“I always knew you were a softie,” Kyra teased.

Without missing a beat, Y/n splashed water on Kyra’s face.

“Hey! I thought we were making some progress here!” Kyra pouted, glaring at the wet patch spreading across her grey sweater.

“You wish,” Y/n laughed.

..

| PART 2 |

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[fear-less]

₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 what letter? sirius, what letter?

pairing: james potter x f!reader

➥ In which, you never planned on talking to james ever again, not after your last encounter with him. Luckily Sirius saves the day.

an: omg last chapter, and its my fav.... hopefully this convinces some of y'all to watch anne with an e....I LOVE awae. ALSO!! i’m going to start writing all requests in my inbox, send some! i’m gonna start with the oldest then the more recent ones! also, im not ignoring your request if it takes a while😭 i’ll be writing then get stuck on what to do then move onto the next thing… bad habit but😭

Warnings: angst, fluff, this inspired by awae (aka the best show ever), another letter James wrote gets lost ayyyyy, literally that's all…

series masterlist ! - divider creds: i-mmaculatus & dollywons

It was now June, the end of your final year at Hogwarts. The castle, which had been your home for the past seven years, seemed to hum with the bittersweet energy of goodbyes. If you had told your eleven-year-old self that you’d be leaving these halls without James, she would’ve been heartbroken—devastated, even.

Back then, you’d believed in the stories. You’d believed that the boy who made your heart race would be the one you’d leave Hogwarts with, hand in hand, ready to take on the world together. But life had a way of unraveling those childish dreams, weaving something far more complicated in their place.

James hadn’t spoken to you since that night—since you’d spilled your heart out and he’d told you to marry Finn. It wasn’t anger or malice that kept you apart, but a quiet, mutual understanding that too much had been said, and yet not enough to bring you back to where you were before.

You told yourself it was better this way.

Finn was everything a girl could hope for: kind, considerate, and endlessly patient. He never pressured you for answers when your mind drifted during a conversation, never asked why you’d go quiet whenever someone mentioned James. You were grateful for that. But as the end of term feast approached, with the prospect of leaving Hogwarts forever hanging over you, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of everything left unsaid.

James sat at the Gryffindor table, surrounded by his friends, but the usual Marauder energy was dampened. He’d won the Quidditch Cup, aced his N.E.W.T.s, and had offers from the most prestigious Quidditch teams waiting for him. By all accounts, he should’ve been ecstatic. But as he watched you sitting across the Great Hall, laughing softly at something Finn said, James felt hollow.

He’d told himself he was doing the right thing. That night in the common room, when you’d asked him if there was a chance for the two of you, he’d convinced himself that pushing you toward Finn was what you deserved. Stability. A future he couldn’t promise.

But watching you now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made a mistake.

“Mate,” Sirius said quietly, nudging James with his elbow, “you’re staring again.”

James tore his gaze away, his jaw tightening. “I wasn’t staring,” he muttered, though his friends knew better.

“You’ve got one night left,” Sirius continued, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “If you’re going to do something about this, now’s your chance.”

James shook his head, laughing bitterly. “What am I supposed to do? Walk up to her, tell her I’m an idiot, and beg her to take me back? She’s with Finn now, Pads. She’s happy.”

“Is she?” Remus asked quietly, his eyes flicking to you. “Because from where I’m sitting, she looks like someone who’s convincing herself she’s happy.”

James didn’t respond for a while, this was his last chance of seeing her–he couldn’t lose her. 

“You're right. I’m going to see her tonight. I’ll tell her that I missed what she was trying to tell me!” James said, now in a bit of a better mood. 

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

Once night fell, James made his way to your dormitory. He prayed no one but you would be there. Out of your four roommates, he only knew two, and he’d seen them sitting in the common room without you. That meant you had to be in your dorm, right?

The corridors were quiet but not empty. Most of the dormitory doors were open, with people wandering in and out. It didn’t take long for him to find your door—how could he forget it when he’d been inside so many times before?

James stepped in cautiously, but his heart sank when he realized the room was empty. You weren’t there. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. This was supposed to be it—the last time he’d ever get a chance to talk to you—and you weren’t even here.

His eyes wandered to your side of the room. It was unusually tidy, and most of your belongings were already packed away. The only things left were a few scattered pieces of parchment, a quill, an inkpot, and an envelope on the desk.

Before he even realized what he was doing, James sat down at your desk. His hand hovered over the parchment for a moment before he began to write, his thoughts spilling out faster than he could process them.

“Dear… (Y/N),” he murmured to himself as the words took shape. “I’m sorry... I was confused before. I’m not anymore. I love you. –James.

P.S. May I please... have Buddy back?”

James smiled faintly as he reread the last part. Buddy was the stuffed animal you’d gifted him on his birthday before you’d snatched it back after losing a bet. If things didn’t work out, at least he’d have something to remind him of what you two once had. Maybe he’d even pass it on to his future child—if he had one.

He quickly folded the note, wrote your name on it and placed it neatly on your desk. 

 ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You’d spent almost the entire day with Finn, and at first, everything seemed fine. But, as always, the cracks begin to show, and yet another argument erupted.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended, though the bitterness behind it was impossible to hide.

“No, I don’t. No man would if they were in my place!” Finn shot back, his tone defensive, the edge in his words cutting deeper than he realized.

You scoffed, the sting of his accusation hitting harder than you wanted to admit. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to stay away from James,” he said, his voice rising. “Someone told me they saw you two talking alone in a corridor. I know you used to be good friends, but you haven’t spoken in months. You’ve never told me why, so I can only assume the worst!”

“We stopped talking for a reason I don’t even understand myself!” you fired back, your frustration bubbling over, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth.

Finn’s expression darkened, his lips curling into a bitter frown. “Yeah, sure. I totally believe you. He definitely didn’t distance himself because he fancies you. He looks at you the way I do.”

His words were a gut punch, the weight of his jealousy and mistrust pressing down on you. For a moment, you stood frozen, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, you decided you were done dancing around the truth.

“He doesn’t fancy me,” you said, your voice trembling, though you forced yourself to meet his gaze. “And I know that for a fact. Since you want honesty, fine. I dragged James out of that party. I told him…” You hesitated, but the words came spilling out before you could stop them. “I told him how much I love him. That I’d leave you if he wanted me to. And do you know what he said?”

Finn’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, so you pressed on, tears now streaming freely down your face.

“He told me you’re a great guy. That I deserve you. He didn’t even tell me he loved me back.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Finn stood there, his expression unreadable, his jaw set like stone. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, hurt, or simply done. After what felt like an eternity, he turned on his heel and walked out without a word, leaving you alone in his empty dormitory.

You stood there for a moment, stunned, as the weight of what had just happened settled over you. Was this the end of whatever fragile future you’d tried to build with Finn? You didn’t know. All you knew was that the room felt stifling, the air too thick to breathe.

Wiping the tears from your cheeks, you pulled yourself together enough to leave. Sitting here, drowning in your own thoughts, wasn’t going to help. You needed air, a distraction—anything to stop the whirlwind in your mind.

The cool night air greeted you as you made your way to the Black Lake. The walk was long, but with every step, your nerves began to settle. The gentle lapping of the water and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze worked to quiet the storm in your head, if only for a little while.

As you stood by the Black Lake, the moonlight dancing across the rippling water, you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to keep your emotions from unraveling. Finn's words echoed in your mind, but instead of providing any sense of resolution, they left you with a heavier burden of confusion and regret.

You had laid everything bare—your feelings for James, your failed attempt to move on with Finn—and now, for the first time in ages, you felt unmoored. The certainty you’d desperately tried to force, the future you envisioned with Finn, had shattered. All that remained were questions, unanswered and painful.

You closed your eyes, letting the cool breeze wash over you, as though trying to cleanse the ache that lingered in your chest. Your heart still aches for James, despite everything. But what was the point in holding onto hope? He had made his feelings—or lack thereof—clear. And now Finn, the only thread that had tied you to some semblance of stability, was slipping away too.

After what felt like an eternity of sitting there in solitude, you made your way back to Hogwarts. When you reached your dorm, you didn’t bother tidying the mess on your desk. The next person who would stay there would find scattered pieces of parchment, half-used ink, and a neglected quill—unless the house-elves came to clean and dispose of it all.

You opened your luggage, only to realize you’d packed everything, leaving no clothes behind for the night or morning. That’s when your eyes landed on the small stuffed bear. A wave of emotions washed over you at the sight of it. You wiped away the tears you hadn't even realized had been falling. Sniffling, you stood up and made your way to the washroom to shower, hoping the warm water would wash away at least some of the weight on your heart.

Once you were out of the shower, the thoughts continued to swirl in your mind. After a long pause, you decided to write to James. You didn’t think you could face him—not after he rejected you, not when your emotions were still raw and all over the place.

Dear James, Since we are parting ways, perhaps forever, I feel I must unburden my heart. You are the fond object of my affection and my desire.  You, and you alone, are the keeper of the key to my heart.  Please don’t be alarmed--I don’t expect your favor--but I can’t, in good conscience, not reveal myself.  I’m not engaged--nor will I be--unless, it’s to you, James.  It always has been and always will be you.

With love, (Y/N)

PS: Here’s Buddy, in case you want him. I don’t think I can keep him without crying whenever I see him.

As you finished the letter, you sat there, staring at the words that held every ounce of your vulnerability. Your hands trembled as you carefully folded the parchment and slid it into an envelope. For a moment, you hesitated. Doubts surged in your mind—was this the right thing to do? What if he never read it? What if this only made everything worse?

But deep down, you knew it was the only way to find closure. You couldn’t carry these feelings any longer, locked away inside. This letter wasn’t just for him—it was for you too, a way to finally release the emotions that had weighed you down for so long.

You reached for Buddy, the small stuffed bear that had once brought you so much comfort. Seeing him now only reopened old wounds, but at the same time, he reminded you of the love you had for James—the love you still had, even though it wasn’t returned. You hugged Buddy tightly one last time, letting a few tears fall before tucking him into the package with the letter.

You had considered waiting until morning to deliver it, but the thought of sleeping on it felt impossible. You needed to let go of this weight before you could rest. So, once all your roommates were asleep, you slipped out of the dorm and made your way to James' room. The dorm was empty, just as you'd expected. Whenever there was a holiday, the boys would often roam the grounds late into the night, returning well after curfew.

You placed the package—Buddy and the letter—gently on James' bed. You glanced around the room, the usually cluttered space now oddly quiet and foreign. Standing in it alone, you couldn’t shake the feeling of how much had changed. With a final, shaky breath, you turned and left, the door clicking softly behind you as you disappeared into the darkness.

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

It was nearing three-thirty in the morning when the boys finally returned. Sirius stumbled in, clearly drunk beyond belief, while Remus went straight to the shower, and Peter collapsed into his bed, too tired to think. James, however, stood frozen in his doorway.

His eyes were locked on a small brown-covered package resting on his bed. Confusion washed over him as he approached. He quickly tore it open, finding a folded piece of parchment with his name written in your handwriting—and Buddy.

His chest tightened with anger. "Oh, really, (Y/N)? You couldn’t even face me? World class!" His voice was laced with frustration as his eyes flicked from the bear to the letter. All he could focus on was how you'd read his letter and now returned Buddy.

You actually gave Buddy back? He remembered you promising, no—vowing—never to part with it, no matter what. Yes, he'd asked for it, but this… this was more than just a simple request.

Without thinking, James ripped the letter apart. His fists clenched around the torn pieces as he made his way into the empty common room. In a fit of rage, he threw the scraps into the fire.

As the flames flickered, a sudden thought struck him, and his stomach dropped. “What if... oh, shit!” he muttered, cursing himself. What if you had come to speak to him, only to find he wasn’t in the dorm, and in desperation, wrote that letter? What if it was your way of telling him that you felt the same, that you regretted everything, and that you still cared?

But now, it was too late. The letter was gone, burned to ash.

James stood frozen, clutching the remaining pieces of the letter in his hands, the ink smudging as he frantically pieced together the broken words:

Parting ways... Don't... Heart... Finn... Engaged... Don't love... Alarmed... Not... Alone... Forever...

What was all of this? Engaged to Finn? You just met him, for Merlin’s sake! And why would you tell him that in the letter? Did you want to make him feel worse, to confirm that you had truly moved on?

The sound of a door creaking open snapped him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Remus stepping into the room, his expression one of quiet surprise. With Sirius and Peter asleep, James saw no reason to keep this to himself any longer. Remus was always the one who could make sense of things, the one who could calm him down when nothing else could.

“Remus, don’t go back to sleep, please," James blurted, pacing in frustration. "I’ve got breaking news! That night at the party? Forget it. Turns out (Y/N) doesn’t love me after all. She wrote me a letter explaining it—and told me she’s engaged to Finn!”

Remus paused, looking at him with wide eyes. “You told yourself—and us—that you would get over her. If she’s really engaged to Finn, then... let’s start now.”

James shook his head, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t, Remus.”

“You can, and you will,” Remus said firmly, his tone softer but still resolute. “Once you’re over her, you’ll be able to move on. It’ll be a new chapter, James—one without her in it.”

James’s face twisted in pain. “I want to be happy, Remus. I just can’t. (Y/N) is marrying the man of her dreams, and that man isn’t me.”

Remus sighed, stepping closer to his friend. He knew James too well, and knew how deep this went. “Let’s go to bed,” Remus said gently. “We’ve got an early morning ahead of us. Maybe you’ll have a chance to speak to her tomorrow? Tell her—and the others,” he added, gesturing toward Peter and Sirius, “maybe they’ll have a better plan for you.”

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

You were on the train now, staring out the window as the platform slowly filled with students saying their last goodbyes. You were ready to go home—or at least as ready as you could be. Ready to return to your parents, who still thought you were with Finn. The truth of your relationship, however, was far murkier. You and Finn hadn’t officially broken things off, but the silence that followed your last argument felt louder than any words could. It was obvious, even if neither of you had said it out loud.

The weight of everything sat heavily on your shoulders as you watched the scene outside. Friends hugged tightly, some with tears streaming down their faces, while others exchanged laughs and promises to write over the summer. There was a bittersweetness to it all—a kind of closure, even in the goodbyes. But you didn’t feel that closure. Instead, you felt like you were caught in a loop of unresolved emotions and unanswered questions.

You’d managed to find an empty compartment. It wasn’t hard when you were one of the first to board while everyone else lingered, reluctant to leave the castle behind. The quiet was what you needed—time to think, to breathe, to let the ache in your chest settle.

Diana, who's your best friend and practically your sister from how close you two are and your friends had offered to sit with you, but you told them you wanted to be alone. They understood, of course. They always did. You’d confided in them about what had happened with Finn, and while they’d tried to offer their support, you knew this was something you needed to process on your own. They couldn’t fix what was broken—not with Finn, and not with James.

The hum of the train as it prepared for departure filled the air, a low, steady rhythm that somehow felt comforting. You leaned your head against the cool glass of the window, watching as more students climbed aboard . You envied the lightness in some of the students—their laughter, their certainty about who they were and where they stood with the people in their lives.

For you, everything felt like it was in limbo. The argument with Finn had left you reeling, unsure of what came next. And then there was James—the boy who had once been your closest friend, who still lingered in your thoughts even after months of strained silence.

You sighed, closing your eyes for a moment as the train gave a soft lurch, signaling the start of its journey. Home felt both too far away and far too close.

The train began to pick up speed, the platform slowly fading into the distance as the familiar rolling hills of the countryside came into view. You opened your eyes, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The quiet of the compartment wrapped around you like a fragile cocoon, but your thoughts refused to settle.

James. His name echoed in your mind like a song you couldn’t quite forget. You hadn’t seen him at the station, though you’d looked for him instinctively. The habit was hard to break, no matter how strained things had become between the two of you.

You thought back to that day in Finn’s dorm, where everything had shifted. The weight of your confession to Finn, the raw honesty, and the pain that followed. But it wasn’t Finn’s face you pictured now—it was James’s. His messy hair, his lopsided grin, the way his hazel eyes lit up when he laughed. And the way those same eyes had avoided yours for months, the distance between you growing wider with each passing day.

You shook your head, as if the motion could clear your mind. It didn’t. Instead, it only made the ache in your chest deepen. The truth was, you missed him. More than you cared to admit, even to yourself.

It wasn’t just the friendship you missed, though that alone had been a loss. It was the way he’d always been there, the way he could make you laugh even on your worst days, the way he’d look at you like you were the most important person in the world. Somewhere along the way, things had changed, and you weren’t sure if you could ever get back to where you’d been.

The train rattled along the tracks, the countryside blurring past the window. You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could ward off the coldness that had settled deep in your chest. For a fleeting moment, you wished James were here, sitting across from you like he used to. You could almost hear his voice, teasing you about something silly, his laughter filling the space between you. But the compartment was empty, and the silence felt heavier because of it.

You leaned your forehead against the glass, the cool surface grounding you. Maybe this summer would give you the space you needed to figure things out. Maybe time apart would help you understand what you really wanted, and what you were willing to fight for. But as the train carried you further away from Hogwarts, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the answers you were looking for weren’t waiting for you at home—they were somewhere back there, tangled up in the boy you couldn’t stop thinking about.

You closed your eyes again, letting the rhythmic motion of the train lull you into a state of uneasy calm. The journey home had only just begun, but you already felt like you were carrying the weight of an entire year’s worth of emotions with you. And no matter how far the train took you, there was one thing you couldn’t seem to leave behind: the hope that somehow, someday, you and James could find your way back to each other.

A knock startled you awake. For a fleeting moment, you hoped it might be James, but when you opened the door, it was Diana. Despite your insistence on wanting no company, you never minded hers. You mustered a small smile as she entered.

“So,” Diana began, sitting across from you, “you wrote him a letter saying you still love him?”

“Yes,” you replied softly, avoiding her gaze.

“And he hasn’t talked to you?”

“Mhm.”

“And you called it off with Finn?”

“Well...” You cleared your throat awkwardly. “I still need to, but he despises me now. Once I get home, I’ll owl him. He’s... not exactly happy right now.”

“Because of the fight?” Diana’s tone grew sharper. “I know you lied to us. It wasn’t about your parents, was it? If you want to tell me the real reason, just say it.”

You hesitated, your throat tightening. “I... I ruined it with him. He got mad about James, and I snapped. I told him what I told James at the party. He didn’t even say anything; he just stood there, then left. We haven’t spoken since. I haven’t even told my parents yet—I don’t know if he’s told them.”

“Wow...” Diana’s expression was a mix of disbelief and frustration. “And James hasn’t said anything? You went through all that struggle, and he’s just blatantly ignoring you?”

“I know! But maybe I shouldn’t have told him how I felt again. Remember what happened at the party?”

Diana softened, reaching out to touch your hand. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I can’t imagine being in your situation.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore,” you mumbled, though the lump in your throat betrayed your words.

“Of course it matters!” Diana said firmly. “Finn demanded the truth and then got mad when you gave it to him? That’s not fair!”

“Well, at least I won’t be engaged to him anymore.”

“When did he pro—” Diana started, but her words were cut off as Sirius suddenly barged into the compartment.

None of you had noticed him outside, and you had no idea how long he’d been listening.

“How much did you hear?” Diana demanded, her eyes narrowing.

“Enough to know that (Y/N) is no longer with that Finn bloke,” Sirius replied with a grin that was far too smug for the situation.

“Well, if you’d listened more, you’d also know—” Diana began again, but Sirius interrupted her too.

“(Y/N), have you even tried to speak to James about this?!”

“Had I had the opportunity, I would have,” you shot back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “In fact, I went over—”

“You’ve had every opportunity!” Sirius exclaimed, cutting you off again. You stared at him, then at Diana, who looked just as shocked as you felt.

“Admit it,” Sirius said, his voice rising. “You’ve been smitten with James since the moment you two met! The clues have been everywhere! And don’t deny that you were completely beguiled by him at the party—even though you were dating some random bloke you barely knew!”

“That’s not—” you started, but Sirius plowed on, his words tumbling out in a rush.

“Then you drag James out of the party, demand to know how he feels about you, and give him all of thirty seconds to decide your entire future!”

“Well, that’s because—”

“And worst of all,” Sirius thundered, ignoring you, “you callously ignored the letter James wrote to you, where he told you he loved you!”

If confusion were a person, it would have been you at that moment. You exchanged a bewildered look with Diana.

“What letter?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Even Sirius looked thrown off. “What do you mean, ‘What letter?’”

“Sirius,” you said more firmly, standing now. “What letter?”

“The letter was the whole reason he stopped talking to you!” Sirius snapped. “He put one in your luggage—slipped it into a pocket—and then left another on your desk yesterday!”

You blinked, your mind racing. “Which pocket? I don’t use most of them, and I left everything on my desk at Hogwarts—it was just extra parchment. Why didn’t he just tell me?”

“How am I supposed to know?” Sirius said with a shrug. “But what are you waiting for? Go find James! He’s crying like a bloody baby—that’s the only reason I came to find you. Took me five minutes to track you down!”

You nodded quickly and scrambled to your feet, your heart pounding like a drum. You knew exactly where James would be. After sharing the same train compartment for seven years, you could find it blindfolded, even in your sleep.

Without hesitation, you hurried down the train, determination and nerves tangling in your chest like vines. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the narrow corridor, your mind racing ahead.

Then you froze.

James’ laugh drifted through the crack in the door—warm, familiar, and effortless. It was the kind of laugh that made the world tilt, like gravity had shifted just enough to pull you toward him. The sound wrapped around you, igniting a fire in your chest and a tremor in your hands.

You pressed a shaky palm against the cool surface of the compartment door, drawing in a deep breath.

This is it.

With a steadying exhale, you slid the door open. The soft creak barely registered over the hammering in your ears.

“James,” you began, your voice trembling but determined. “Can we… could we talk? Please. If that’s okay with you?”

James froze mid-laugh, his body stilling like a snapshot in time. His gaze locked onto yours, wide-eyed and searching, as if trying to confirm you were real. Slowly, he nodded, his brow creasing in quiet confusion, curiosity flickering behind his eyes.

You stepped inside and let the door click softly shut behind you, the faint sound reverberating in the small, enclosed space. Here, at the back of the train, there were no prying eyes, no curious ears—just the two of you and the fragile weight of the moment.

For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt electric, thick with unspoken words and barely restrained emotion. James watched you carefully, his gaze tracing your face as if committing every detail to memory.

Your chest tightened, the words caught like a stone in your throat. You’d waited too long, carried this too far. But you couldn’t falter now.

Swallowing the lump of fear, you took a step closer, and then another, until the space between you vanished completely.

You weren’t sure who moved first—if it was him, or you, or maybe both of you at once—but the distance dissolved like it had never been there at all. His hands found your waist as yours slid up to cup his face, and then his lips were on yours. The world outside the compartment disappeared in a rush, the hum of the train fading into nothingness.

It wasn’t frantic or hurried. It was soft, almost tentative at first, like neither of you could quite believe this was real. But then, the kiss deepened, and with it came a flood of emotions—relief, longing, and something you didn’t dare name just yet.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless. James’ cheeks were flushed, and his glasses were slightly askew. His lips curved into the smallest, shyest smile you’d ever seen from him. It was a look you wanted to commit to memory.

But the weight of why you were here—the reason you’d sought him out—pressed against your chest, demanding to be spoken to.

You took a deep breath, looking James in the eye as you began. “Sirius told me about the letters. The one in my luggage, the one on my desk… I didn’t even know they existed. I never read them.”

James blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief. “You… you never read them?” he repeated, his voice breaking slightly.

You shook your head, your chest tightening as you stepped closer to him. “No. I only found out about them because Sirius barged into my compartment and told me everything. He said you hid one in my luggage, and the other was on my desk, buried under a pile of parchment I never cleaned up. James, I had no idea.”

James ran a hand through his hair, his face clouding with frustration and regret. “Merlin,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “All this time, I thought you knew. I thought you read them and just… ignored me.”

“Why would I ignore you?” you asked, your voice trembling. “James, I didn’t know because I didn’t even think to look. And the letter in my bag—I didn’t even realize there was a hidden pocket until Sirius told me.”

James stared at you, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he managed, “I wrote them because I didn’t know how else to tell you how I felt. I thought if I put it on paper, it’d be easier to say everything I couldn’t say to your face.”

“James, I didn’t read them, but you need to know something,” you said, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you. “I wrote to you too. I wrote you a letter and left it on your bed with Buddy.”

His expression shifted, his brows knitting together in a mix of guilt and realization. “The letter with Buddy,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I… I tore it up.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and your heart sank. “You… tore it up?” you asked softly, your voice breaking.

James nodded, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I was angry,” he admitted, his tone thick with regret. “I thought you’d moved on, that you didn’t care anymore. I saw Buddy, and I just… I lost it. And when I saw you’d written me a letter instead of talking to me in person—well, I just… I thought you were giving him back to me because you didn’t need him anymore. I thought you were telling me that you were done with me, that you’d let go. So, I tore it up without even reading it.”

You stared at him, your heart heavy with the weight of the misunderstanding. “James, I wasn’t telling you that I was done. I… I was just too scared to face you. After what happened at the party… when you told me to marry Finn… I didn’t think I could bear hearing you reject me again. I didn’t think I could face you after that.”

James' face softened, his brows furrowing with understanding. “I never meant for you to feel that way. I thought I was doing the right thing, telling you to marry Finn, but it wasn’t because I didn’t care. I was trying to push you away, trying to convince myself that it was better if you were happy with him. I couldn’t bear to see you hurting, but instead, I just made it worse.”

You shook your head, your voice catching. “I didn’t think you wanted me, James. You told me to marry Finn, and you didn’t even give me a chance to tell you how I felt. I thought if I wrote the letter, maybe that was my chance to say what I couldn’t say face-to-face.”

James’ breath hitched, and he stepped toward you. “I was wrong. I should have listened to you, should have seen that I was the one hurting you. I was so confused. I didn’t want to lose you, but I didn’t know how to tell you that I felt the same.”

“James, that letter wasn’t about moving on. It was about you. I told you everything—how I felt, how I couldn’t be with Finn because my heart wasn’t his to have. It was yours. It’s always been yours.”

James’ breath caught in his throat as realization washed over him. “You… you said that?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes. “I told you that I loved you. That I’ve always loved you, no matter how much I tried to deny it. And I gave you Buddy because I didn’t think I deserved to keep him anymore.”

James’ face crumpled, and he took a shaky step toward you. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For tearing up your letter, for hiding behind mine, for not saying what I needed to say.”

You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. “We both made mistakes, James. But I’m here now. And I’m telling you everything because I don’t want to waste another second pretending I don’t care.”

James reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw and unguarded. “I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ve been such an idiot for not saying it sooner.”

You let out a shaky laugh, relief washing over you like a tide. “Well, you’re saying it now. That’s all that matters.”

He kissed you then, the world falling away as the weight of years of miscommunication and doubt finally lifted. His lips were warm and familiar, and when he pulled back, both of you were breathless and flushed.

“We’re terrible at this,” James said with a small, rueful laugh, his hands still resting on your cheeks.

“We really are,” you agreed, smiling through your tears. “But we’ve got time to figure it out.”

James grinned, his eyes shining with hope. “Together?”

“Together,” you confirmed, your voice steady and sure.

James kissed you again, slow and tender, as if he was savoring the moment. The warmth of his lips, the familiarity of his touch—it was everything you had wanted, everything you had longed for but been too afraid to claim.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, breath shaky, both of you flushed from the rush of emotions. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything that had been left unsaid finally settling between you in a peaceful, unspoken understanding.

“I don’t know how we got here,” James said softly, his voice hushed, as though he was still trying to piece everything together in his mind. “We both made so many mistakes, (Y/N). I hurt you, and I never meant to. I’ve been a coward, hiding behind my letters, my words... not telling you the truth when it mattered.”

You shook your head, gently cupping his face in your hands. “James, we both let fear dictate everything. We were both too scared to face the truth. But we're here now, right? That’s all that matters. We don’t have to figure it all out right this moment. We just have to start somewhere.”

James looked into your eyes, his gaze intense, as if he was memorizing every detail, afraid that if he blinked, the moment might slip away. “I love you, (Y/N),” he said again, this time with complete certainty. “I’ve always loved you.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you laughed softly, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I love you too, James. I always have. I was just too afraid to believe it.”

James smiled, a real, unguarded smile, the kind that made his entire face light up. “So... do we get to be happy now?” he asked, his voice filled with hope.

You nodded, the warmth of his hands still holding your face. “Yes,” you whispered. “We get to be happy. Together.”

For a long time, neither of you moved, just stood there in the quiet, the weight of everything finally lifting, as if all the confusion and misunderstandings had just melted away.

James let out a soft laugh, breaking the stillness. “I’m not perfect, (Y/N),” he said, his thumb gently brushing the tear on your cheek. “But if you’ll have me, I’m willing to try.”

You smiled through your tears, your heart full to bursting. “I think we both need to try, James. And we will. Together.”

He kissed you one last time, and this time, it wasn’t hurried or filled with desperation. It was a kiss that held all the promises of a new beginning. The kind of kiss that said, we’ve found our way back to each other.

And when you pulled away, you both stood there, smiling through the tangled mess of emotions that had, somehow, become beautiful in their own way.

enjoyed? check out my navigation

taglist!!! @daemontargaryenwhore , @ellitheflower , @lolalleins , @happycatanxie , @somwhereonwenus , @reneeblack6230 , @doiejwi , @spidermansfangirl , @mallowsweetie , @trulyyoursniki , @luvv-danielle , @strollnstroll , @joeytribbiani18 , @mimisamisasa , @noihatemyself , @ravisinghs-wife , @moonymeloncholymoney , @evangelquill , @hisparentsgallerryy @watchmerora , @accioxtina , @akanmizuki-blog-blog , @pottersdeer , @lovelyteenagebeard , @adri4na , @yeolliedokai , @mlnscloud , @heinmypocket , @lalalandincraz , @arey0usirius , @froggiedragon , @riotrose8 , @miyo-0oo , @iloveremmy , @coolerthananicecubeeee , @littlelunatica , @iheartelira , @mesii2221 , @sadie-bug7 , @sumlovesjude , @glennussy

[gf2bellamy]

early seasons spence has me in a chokehold so i kinda have a request for you idk if it makes sense but yeah anyway (please dont tell me its obvious im a yapper ill cry)

ANYWHO

secret relationship au im imagining, earlyseasons!spencer x genderneutral/fem!bau!user (doesnt bother me but im trying to be considerate, im a girl but it really doesnt matter)

basically im thinking like the reader gets kidnapped on a case and spence is FREAKING OUT like lack of sleep, pacing constantly and being really set on finding the unsub freaking out.. and when he finally finds the reader in their state hes like that mix of relieved and absolutely appalled at the readers condition (im imagining all beaten and bloody and stuff idk how graphic you wanna make it). hes all ditsy when hes untying their binds and carrying them out of the place since hes so scared for them. the rest of the thing is kinda hotch calmly telling the reader how freaked out spence was and then im thinking like them comforting spencer afterwards and saying all the ‘its not your fault’ and ‘im okay now’ and its so fluffy it rots all our teeth (but i guess it would also be angst) IDK IF IT MAKES ANY SENSE IMSORRY

anyway remember to drink water and take care of yourself

call me some random emoji cause ill probably be here a bunch

- 🐚

captured — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader having bruises, reader being tied up, mention of having a terrible headache, a/n: thank you so so much for your request and your request makes perfect sense don't worry !! i loved the idea and i'm looking forward to your next requests 🐚 <3<3<3 i hope i did your request justice !!!

Spencer didn’t know where you were. No one did. That thought pounded through his skull, looping endlessly as he nursed what had to be his fifth coffee of the day. He hadn’t slept—not even a minute—and the caffeine barely registered.

The coffee tasted like ash, bitter and lifeless. Not that it mattered. All it was doing was keeping him on his feet long enough to find you.

He should have seen this coming. He should have known the unsub would target you. You fit the profile perfectly—he had pored over the details a hundred times, retracing every step the team had made.

And yet, when it mattered most, Spencer had let his guard down.

And now you were gone. Missing. Maybe worse.

The thought sent a fresh wave of nausea rolling through him. His guilt was unbearable.

But it wasn’t just guilt, wasn’t just worry for a teammate.

It was something deeper, something he wasn’t allowed to show, not in a room full of profilers.

Because this wasn’t just about an agent being taken.

This was about you.

The person he had been secretly slipping away with after hours and the person whose hand he had held in the darkness when no one was looking.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

He should have stopped you. You should have never been the one to go on that stakeout alone, even if it was routine. Even if you’d assured him you’d be fine. The memory of your casual smile as you walked out the door stabbed at him like a knife.

“It’s just for a few hours, Spence,” you’d said with that soft lilt in your voice, the one you used when you were trying to put him at ease. The one that undid him every time.

He’d smiled back, pretending to believe you, but his stomach had tightened even then. He should have insisted on going with you.

And now—God, now—he didn’t know if he would ever hear that voice again.

It was a small mistake—one that was tearing him apart.

He hadn’t even realized he’d been gripping the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to let go, staring blankly at the case file in front of him. It was no use. He’d already memorized every detail, every piece of evidence. Nothing had led them to you yet.

But it would. It had to.

Spencer rubbed his eyes, exhaustion clawing at him. His entire body screamed for rest, but the idea of closing his eyes—even for a moment—felt impossible. His mind was too full of you.

The burning in his eyes was unbearable, but the ache in his chest was worse.

Everyone on the team was worried about you—how could they not be? But they were also worried about him. And they had every reason to be.

They thought his reaction was because the two of you were close, because he was the type to carry the weight of every case like a personal failure. But it was more than that.

He wasn’t just losing an agent. He was losing you.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening around the desk once more.

He stared at the evidence board in front of him, the faces of the victims haunting him as he tried to force his brain into profiling mode. But every time he looked at their photos, all he could see was you.

Your smile. Your eyes. The way you looked at him.

His chest tightened painfully, and he dug his fingers into the desk again.He needed to focus.

“Reid.”Hotch’s voice broke through his frantic thoughts.

Spencer’s head snapped toward the doorway where Hotch stood, his expression unreadable as always. “We’ve got a lead,” he said, stepping inside.“Where?” Spencer asked.

“An abandoned warehouse on 14th and Grant,” Hotch replied evenly, though the concern in his eyes was clear.

Spencer turned back to the board, his mind racing as he analyzed the new information. Within seconds, he made the connection. The location fit the unsub’s pattern, his profile—it was possible.

It was enough.

Spencer shot to his feet without another word, practically bolting out the door. The rest of the team exchanged quick glances before following him.

He didn’t care if he looked reckless. He didn’t care if they saw how desperate he was. He had wasted enough time already.

Derek barely had time to react before Spencer climbed into the passenger seat, his breathing uneven.

Derek glanced at him, concern flickering across his face as he started the engine. “Reid—”

“Just drive,” Spencer snapped.

Derek didn’t argue. He knew better.

The SUV tore through the streets, Derek driving faster than protocol allowed. But he didn’t care. He knew Spencer would bite his head off if he slowed down, and frankly, he couldn’t blame him.

Spencer’s knee bounced restlessly as his eyes darted to the GPS screen, counting down the seconds until they arrived.

The second the car came to a stop in front of the warehouse, Spencer threw open the door and bolted.

“Reid, wait!” Derek’s voice rang out behind him, but it was no use.

Spencer didn’t slow down. He couldn’t.

His pulse roared in his ears as he burst into the building, gun raised, breath ragged. His rational mind screamed at him to slow down, to wait for backup, to clear the scene carefully—standard protocol.

But protocol didn’t matter right now.

The dim lighting inside cast long, eerie shadows along the walls. The air was thick with dust and something metallic—rust, maybe blood. His stomach turned at the thought.

His grip on his gun tightened as he moved swiftly, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Room after room, door after door—empty.

Panic coiled in his chest, squeezing tighter with each dead end. His mind flashed with worst-case scenarios.

He shoved them down. He couldn’t think like that.

Then, he reached the last door.

Spencer barely took a breath before forcing it open, gun at the ready.

And then—

His stomach dropped.

There you were.

His voice cracked as he called out your name, his heart pounding in his chest. He rushed toward you, his gun immediately lowering as he took in your state.

His stomach twisted at the sight of you—unconscious, slumped forward, your wrists tightly bound to the arms of the chair. The dim lighting highlighted the bruises and cuts on your face, the sight of them sending a jolt of raw panic through him. For a brief, gut-wrenching moment, Spencer feared the worst.

He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they moved to your neck. His fingers pressed gently against your pulse point, but for what felt like an eternity, there was nothing.

His mind raced. Was this it? Was this how it ended?

Then—

There it was.

A faint, steady beat beneath his fingertips.

Relief crashed over him like a tidal wave, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Spencer’s lungs finally let him take a full breath. He leaned forward, forehead nearly touching yours as he whispered shakily, “Thank God. You’re okay. You’re okay.”

His hands moved to your face, cupping it gently as he tilted your head up to get a better look at you.

When your face came into full view, his breath hitched.

Bruises marred your cheekbone and temple, a thin line of dried blood trailing down from your hairline. Spencer’s heart clenched so tightly he thought it might break. He bit his lip, trying to keep it together, trying to maintain some semblance of control

One single tear slipped down his cheek as he softly brushed a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch as gentle as if he were handling glass.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m here.”

“Morgan!” Spencer’s voice cracked, raw with emotion, as he yelled.

Seconds later, Derek burst into the room, gun in hand, his face hard and alert. “Reid, I just cleared the—” But the moment his eyes landed on you, his words died in his throat.

Derek cursed under his breath, his gaze shifting between you and Spencer, before asking about your condition, his concern palpable as he rushed to Spencer’s side, holstering his gun.

“Alive,” Spencer barely managed to choke out the word, his voice trembling. “Pulse is steady, but we need to get out of here.”

Morgan nodded, his jaw tightening as he quickly pulled out his knife to cut through the ropes binding your wrists.

Spencer’s hands were already on you, one cradling the back of your head, the other resting gently on your arm. His thumb stroked soothing circles on your skin.

The motion was familiar, a small gesture he used to comfort you when you were restless after nightmares, when he needed to remind you—remind himself—that you were safe.

He hoped it would work now, that somehow, it would bring you back to him.

Morgan worked quickly, slicing through the restraints. As soon as your wrists were free, Spencer carefully pulled you into his arms, holding you close against him.

His breath hitched as he whispered your name, lips near your ear. “It’s me. You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

Your body felt so limp against him. He could barely feel his own limbs—his exhaustion was a distant thing compared to the need to keep you safe.

Derek’s voice broke through his daze, placing a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “Let’s move.”

Spencer nodded. As he moved, one arm tightening protectively around you.

As they made their way outside, the sunlight hit Spencer’s face, but he barely noticed.

All he could focus on was you—the bruises and cuts that were on your skin, the way your body felt too light in his arms. His heart clenched at the thought of how much pain you must have endured, how much suffering had been thrust upon you, all because of the job.

He had promised you that he would protect you, that he would keep you safe. And now, he felt like he had failed you.

Two hours later, after one heated argument with the paramedics, Spencer had insisted on riding in the ambulance with you. He had refused to let you be alone, not for a second.

Now, you were lying in a sterile hospital bed, an IV drip hooked up to you, the soft beeping of machines a constant reminder that you were still here—still alive.

Spencer, on the other hand, was slumped in an uncomfortable plastic chair. His body contorted in a way that he knew he would regret later, but he didn’t care. His legs were stretched out, but his back was hunched, his neck bent at an awkward angle.

You slowly opened your eyes, blinking as the bright overhead lights made everything blur. The room was unfamiliar—hospital white with the sharp scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

The pain hit you almost immediately—sharp and unwelcome—making its way through your head and down your body. You winced, biting your lip to hold back the whimper that threatened to escape.

The pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to the weight of everything that had happened.

The fear, the physical pain, the overwhelming sense of helplessness, it all crashed down on you like a tidal wave. But beneath it all, something else made itself known. The hum of machines, the soft beeping of your pulse, the sterile scent of the hospital room.

You slowly became aware that you were no longer in that dark, cold room, bound and at the mercy of the unsub. You were safe now.

And with that realization came relief.

You weren’t dead. You hadn’t been forgotten or abandoned. The unsub hadn’t fulfilled his plan.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they began to fall. You lifted your hand to your face, wiping them away quickly, but more kept coming. You couldn’t stop them.

Your eyes scanned the room, and that’s when you saw him.

Spencer.

He was there, slumped in the chair beside your bed. His exhaustion was unmistakable. His hair was messier than usual, not gelled back.

You sat there quietly observing the boy you had come to love so much.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened, and you turned your head to see Hotch step in. His usual stern expression softened when his eyes met yours, and for the briefest of moments, you could see the relief in his gaze.

“Hi, Hotch,” you mumbled weakly, offering a small, tired smile.

Hotch stepped further into the room, taking in your condition. "How are you doing?" His voice was softer than usual, an underlying concern lacing his words as he slowly closed the door behind him.

"My head is killing me," you replied, your voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. Your hand instinctively went to your temple, massaging it gently, but it did little to alleviate the pain.

Hotch nodded understandingly. He glanced at Spencer briefly, noting the way he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Hotch’s eyes lingered on Spencer for a moment longer than necessary, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he knew more than he was letting on.

It wouldn’t surprise you; Hotch was perceptive in ways no one else was, and your relationship with Spencer hadn’t exactly been subtle all the time.

He cleared his throat before speaking again. "We got him," Hotch said. "The unsub... he's in custody."

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. The news felt like a balm to your soul.

You’d been terrified that the danger hadn’t truly passed, that the man who had done this to you would still be out there, free to hurt others. But now, you could finally breathe.

He was behind bars, where he belonged.

"Thank you," you whispered, your body finally relaxing a little, your tension ebbing away with the knowledge that the man behind your nightmare was locked away.

Hotch’s gaze softened, though his face remained stoic as always. “He was worried sick,” Hotch said, nodding toward Spencer. “He didn’t sleep. He was looking for you the entire time.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, your breath catching as you shifted your gaze from Hotch back to Spencer.

You could see the toll the search had taken on him. You fought the urge to reach for him, to run your fingers through his hair and wake him up just so you could see his face, to remind yourself that he was real, that he was here.

The face that had been your lifeline during the long days of captivity. It was that face, the one you’d thought of in the darkest moments, that had kept you sane.

Hotch seemed to notice the way your gaze lingered on Spencer, and for a moment, his usually unreadable face softened.

He didn’t say anything, but you could tell that he knew.

Spencer stirred slightly in his sleep, making a soft sound as he shifted. His body tensed before relaxing, the quiet movements of someone who was waking from exhaustion.

Hotch glanced down at Spencer, then back at you.He gave your arm a gentle squeeze—one that was light enough to not cause you any pain—and you looked at him.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Hotch said quietly. He gave you a small nod before stepping back.“Thanks, Hotch,” you mumbled, your voice still weak, but filled with genuine gratitude.

The door clicked softly behind him.As if on cue, Spencer slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times as the light seemed to hurt him.

His eyes immediately locked onto yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the relief, the exhaustion, the quiet joy of seeing you alive.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, as if he didn’t quite believe it himself.

His eyes searched your face, his expression tightening as he took in every little detail.

Spencer never liked to admit his feelings. He never said the words, but you felt them in the way his eyes lingered on you, in the way he never once left your side.

You knew what was hidden beneath the surface, even if the world didn’t.

"Hi," you mumbled back, trying to offer him a small, weak smile. The effort was exhausting, but you didn’t want him to see just how badly you were hurting.

As you shifted to sit up a bit, the sharp pain in your head and limbs made itself known, and you couldn’t stop the soft groan that slipped from your lips.

Without a second thought, Spencer stood up from his seat, stepping closer to your bed, but he didn’t reach for you immediately.

"How are you feeling?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, cracking slightly. His eyes scanned over you—lingering on the bruises and cuts that were on your skin.

His breath caught in his throat as his gaze flickered from the fresh marks on your body to your face, and for a split second, it seemed like he couldn’t look at you without some part of him breaking.

"I’ll be fine," you said, your voice strained as you did your best to sound convincing, but the words didn’t do much to reassure him.

You could see it in the way he flinched, his hand immediately running through his hair—trying to distract himself from how visibly shaken he was by the sight of you in pain.

Spencer Reid, who always had an answer for everything, who always had control, was falling apart.

He leaned forward slightly, as if wanting to touch you but unsure if he should.

“Spence,” you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with reassurance. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

But Spencer’s gaze remained on you, his body tense, and his hands flexed, still not knowing where to go. His lips parted again, as though to say something, but it came out only as a soft breath.

His fingers hovered near your arm but didn’t touch.

It was like he was afraid of hurting you more. You could see the guilt gnawing at him. It was written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, his voice barely audible. “I should’ve been there. I should’ve—" His words faltered, and he cut himself off.

"Spence," you said slowly, your voice soft but insistent. You reached out and grabbed his hand, your fingers curling around his gently.

His grip tightened around your hand, but it felt shaky. The words suddenly spilled out.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve known. I should’ve known you could be in danger and I—” His voice cracked, and the rest of the sentence died in his throat. His breath hitched, and it was clear he was trying to hold back tears.

But they came anyway, pooling in his eyes, spilling over and leaving tracks down his pale face.

Your heart clenched at the sight of him—this was the man who had stayed by your side, refused to leave even when his mind told him he couldn’t handle it anymore.

The man who, despite everything, was still so gentle with you, so protective, and yet, here he was, blaming himself for things beyond his control.

"Spencer, stop," you said softly, your voice full of concern for him “Please, stop.”

His eyes remained downcast, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I should have," he murmured under his breath, barely loud enough for you to catch.

His voice trembled, breaking on the words. "I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve made sure you were safe. You're hurt... you're in the hospital because of me."

Your heart broke all over again. He always did this to himself, carried the weight of everyone else’s pain as if it were his own.

"No, no," you whispered urgently, doing your best to push through the lingering pain in your head as you squeezed his hand tighter.

The effort sent a sharp pulse through your skull, but you forced yourself to focus, to hold on to him. "Spence, it wasn’t your fault. Don't ever think that," you said firmly, your voice filled with all the care and strength you had left.

"Listen to me," you continued, the words coming from the depths of your soul. "You did everything you could. You were there. You found me. You're the reason I'm alive, Spencer. If anyone should be sorry, it’s the man who did this to me, not you." Your words were soft.

Spencer’s breath hitched again, his face contorting. He looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him together.

You took a slow, steady breath, forcing yourself to speak through the exhaustion. "You’re not the reason I’m here, Spence," you said, your voice full of the truth you wished he could feel deep inside himself. "You’re the reason I’m going to be okay. You always are."

Your words seemed to reach him, just enough to keep him from falling apart completely.

"Promise me something," you said, your voice soft but unwavering. "Promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself. It’s not on you. It never was."

He nodded slowly, his hand tightening around yours in return.

“I promise,” he whispered, though it felt like he was still trying to convince himself more than anyone else.

"Come here," you said softly.

Without a second thought, Spencer leaned forward, his body folding into yours as he gently buried his face in the crook of your neck, his arms sliding around you with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

His breath hitched as he adjusted, trying his best not to press too hard, too recklessly, worried about hurting you. His arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

When he finally pulled back, there was a small smile on his face that wasn’t there before.

You smiled gently, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your fingers lingering on his skin.

"I’m okay," you whispered, your voice tender, just for him. "I’m really okay, Spence."

He leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for just a second longer than usual, before pulling back with a contented sigh. "I’m so glad you’re here" he murmured.

You squeezed his hand tightly, smiling at him.

He pulled the chair closer to your bed, never letting go of your hand, settling into it with a deep breath. He was still physically exhausted, emotionally drained, but he didn’t care.

All that mattered was that you were here.

[amirasainz]

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl ♥️

The Nurse and her Racer

The sun was barely peeking over the horizon as Yn hurried through the bustling paddock of the Monaco Grand Prix. The air was thick with the scent of fuel, burnt rubber, and the faint tang of espresso from the hospitality suites. Ferrari’s scarlet banners fluttered in the morning breeze, and the hum of engineers fine-tuning the cars filled the air. Yn, as always, was in the thick of it, her medical bag slung over her shoulder and a warm smile on her face. She was the heart of the Ferrari team, the one person everyone turned to when they needed comfort, care, or just a listening ear.

But today, something was off. Charles, their golden boy, was missing.

“Where’s Charles?” Yn asked, glancing around the garage. The usually lively Monegasque driver was nowhere to be seen. Lewis, leaning casually against a counter with a cup of tea in hand, raised an eyebrow at her.

“Didn’t you hear? Poor Charlie’s down with the flu,” Lewis said, his voice tinged with amusement. “Fred decided to bench him for the weekend. Can’t have him passing out in the car, can we?”

Yn’s heart sank. Charles had been looking forward to his home race for weeks. She knew how much it meant to him. “Is he okay? Has anyone checked on him?”

Lewis smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Funny you should ask. Fred’s sending you to his apartment to take care of him. Seems like you’re the only one he trusts to handle our precious Charles.”

Yn blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Me? Alone? At his apartment?”

Lewis chuckled, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Oh, don’t look so nervous. It’s just Charles. Besides, I think he’ll be thrilled to see you. He’s been giving you those puppy eyes for months now.”

Yn rolled her eyes, though her heart skipped a beat. She and Charles had always shared a special bond. He was sweet, kind, and endlessly charming, and she couldn’t deny that she had feelings for him. But she had never acted on them, and neither had he. It was an unspoken thing, a quiet understanding between them.

“I’m just his nurse,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered slightly.

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “Sure you are. Just don’t forget to take care of Leo too. That dog’s more protective of Charles than Fred is.”

---

An hour later, Yn found herself standing outside Charles’ sleek, modern apartment in Monte Carlo. She took a deep breath, smoothing down her scrubs and adjusting the strap of her medical bag. Before she could knock, the door swung open, revealing a very sick-looking Charles. His usually bright eyes were dull, his hair messy, and his cheeks flushed with fever. He was wearing a loose hoodie and sweatpants, looking far from the confident F1 driver the world knew.

“Yn?” he croaked, his voice hoarse. “What are you doing here?”

“Fred sent me,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “You look terrible, Charles.”

He managed a weak smile. “Thanks. I feel terrible.”

Behind him, Leo, Charles’ dachshund, trotted over to Yn, wagging his tail excitedly. She bent down to scratch his ears, earning a happy bark from the little dog.

“At least someone’s happy to see me,” she teased, straightening up and giving Charles a gentle smile. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.”

Charles groaned but didn’t argue. He shuffled back to his bedroom, Leo following closely behind. Yn took in the apartment as she followed him. It was spacious and modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Mediterranean. But it was also surprisingly cozy, with photos of Charles’ family and friends scattered around, along with a few racing trophies.

She helped Charles into bed, fluffing his pillows and tucking the blankets around him. He watched her with half-lidded eyes, a soft smile on his face.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured.

“It’s my job,” she replied, though her cheeks warmed at the way he was looking at her. She busied herself with taking his temperature and checking his vitals, her touch gentle and professional.

“You’re burning up,” she said, frowning. “Have you taken anything for the fever?”

Charles shook his head. “I forgot.”

Yn sighed, rummaging through her bag for some medication. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

He chuckled weakly. “Maybe. But you’re here to take care of me, so I’ll be fine.”

She handed him the pills and a glass of water, watching as he swallowed them. Leo jumped onto the bed, curling up at Charles’ feet and giving Yn a look that seemed to say, I’ve got this.

“You should rest,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

Charles hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “Will you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?”

Her heart melted at the vulnerability in his voice. “Of course,” she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Charles shifted slightly, making room for her. Before she could protest, he reached out and pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her neck. Leo wiggled closer, pressing himself against her side.

“Charles—” she started, but he cut her off.

“Please,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. “Just for a little while.”

Yn’s resolve crumbled. She relaxed into his embrace, her hand resting lightly on his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath her palm, and she could feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Leo let out a contented sigh, his tail thumping against the blankets.

For a while, they lay there in silence, the only sound the soft ticking of the clock on the wall. Yn’s mind raced, torn between her professional instincts and the feelings she had been trying to suppress. Charles’ arms around her felt so right, so natural, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same way.

“Yn?” Charles’ voice was barely a whisper, drowsy from the medication.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for being here. It means a lot to me.”

She smiled, her fingers gently stroking his hair. “Always, Charles. Now go to sleep.”

He hummed in response, his grip on her tightening slightly. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and she knew he was asleep. Leo let out a soft snore, his little body rising and falling with each breath.

Yn stayed there, her heart full, knowing that this was where she was meant to be—right by Charles’ side, taking care of him, loving him. And maybe, just maybe, he felt the same way.

---

The rest of the weekend passed in a blur. Yn stayed with Charles, nursing him back to health and enjoying the quiet moments they shared. By the time the race was over, Charles was feeling much better, and the sparkle had returned to his eyes.

As they stood on his balcony, watching the sun set over the Mediterranean, Charles turned to her, his expression serious.

“Yn.” he said, taking her hand in his. “I need to tell you something.”

Her heart raced, but she nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I… I really like you. More than just as my nurse. You mean so much to me, and I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as she smiled up at him. “I like you too, Charles. More than you know.”

He grinned, pulling her into a tight hug. Leo barked happily, wagging his tail as if he knew exactly what was happening.

And in that moment, Yn knew that her life was about to change in the best way possible—with Charles by her side, and Leo as their loyal protector.

[snowseasonmademe]

Further, Faster, Harder.

word count: 7,747

warning ‼️: a LOT of smut (multiple positions), biiiigggggg age gap (20 years)

paring: boyfriend lewis x black female reader

summary: Lewis wanted to make you feel extra special on your (shared) special day.

note: this is a long one yall, but lewis and i are the same zodiac so i wrote a little 🎶birthday sex🎶 fic. he just so happens to be almost exactly 20 years older than me and apparently i like old men so i couldn’t pass this up! i hope you all enjoy, and ofc tell me what you think ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The low, throaty purr of an all-black Ferrari SF90 Stradale echoed through the crisp January evening as you glanced out the passenger window. The car felt alive beneath you, its engine a symphony of power that hummed through the leather seats. The London skyline shimmered ahead, a sea of lights that seemed to stretch endlessly, while the glow of the dashboard bathed the sleek interior in an ambient red hue. Despite the chill in the air outside, warmth bubbled in your chest. It was your birthday—your mutual birthday—a twist of fate that had felt oddly serendipitous from the moment you and Lewis first discovered it.

He shifted gears with practiced ease, his hand briefly brushing the edge of your thigh. “So” he began, his voice smooth and teasing, “did you really think I’d let us spend our day any other way?”

You snorted, pulling the caramel-hued coat tighter around you, not for warmth but because his presence always seemed to steal the air. “Oh, absolutely not. I fully expected flashy cars, a private dinner, and you trying—very unsuccessfully, might I add—to outshine my birthday with yours.”

Lewis let out a low, rich laugh that filled the car, his dimple appearing in the dim light as he stole a quick glance at you. “Please. Let’s not pretend it’s a competition. Everyone knows the better Capricorn here its obvious.”

You raised an eyebrow, biting back a grin. “Obvious? That’s a bold claim for someone who just hit 40. You’re practically ancient now.”

He shot you a mock-offended look, his British accent sharpening with playfulness. “Ancient? Forty’s the peak of my prime. Haven’t you heard? I’m like fine wine.”

“Yeah, fine wine that’s been aged a bit too long” you teased, your laughter dancing through the space between you.

“Chill” he warned, a wicked smile tugging at his lips as he smoothly turned a corner, the Ferrari responding like a predator stalking the night. “This ancient man just might leave you walking home.”

“Walking home? In this coat?” You gestured dramatically at your outfit. “You’d be doing London a favor. People need to see me.”

“True” he admitted, his grin widening. “You do look stunning. But I think we both know you’d rather freeze than miss this ride.”

You leaned back in the plush seat, letting your fingers trail over the soft leather armrest. “I don’t know. Your little Ferrari phase might’ve won me over. For now.”

He let out a sharp laugh. “Little Ferrari phase? Tell that to the team—they’d love that description.”

The playful banter carried you through the streets until the car finally pulled to a stop in front of a riverside restaurant that practically screamed elegance.

Inside, the restaurant felt like stepping into another world. The glow of candlelight flickered against the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that danced on the polished hardwood floors. The Thames flowed serenely outside, its reflection catching the city’s twinkling lights.

The maître d’ greeted you both with warmth, though his polite smile lingered on Lewis just a little too long for your liking. You shot him a knowing glance, which Lewis met with a raised brow and an amused smirk, as if to say, You’re jealous.

“Only the best for the birthday queen” Lewis declared as he pulled out your chair, his voice dipped in that velvety British lilt that always made your stomach flutter.

You tilted your head at him, feigning disappointment. “And here I was thinking you’d forgotten the tiara.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Not forgotten. Just saving the best for later.”

The dinner unfolded like a dream. Each dish was a masterpiece, from the perfectly seared scallops to the rich, velvety dessert that melted on your tongue. The wine was as smooth as the conversation, which flowed effortlessly between the two of you, laced with wit and the kind of intimacy that could only come from two people who knew each other down to the smallest detail.

“Seriously, though” you said, swirling the last of your wine in the glass. “How does it feel being forty? Do you get senior discounts now?”

Lewis set down his fork, leaning back in his chair with an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll have you know I’m still younger at heart than you. But if senior discounts include free wine, I might consider it.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Free wine or not, you’re officially in ‘bee keeper’ territory now.”

“And yet here you are” he shot back, his tone sly as he rested his chin on his hand, “celebrating your big 2-0 with me. What does that say about your taste, love?”

You bit your lip to stifle a laugh. “That I have a thing for men with ridiculous levels of confidence.”

“Ridiculous confidence is just another way of saying I’ve got good reason.”

Somewhere between dessert and the end of the second bottle of wine, Lewis leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I’ve never spent a birthday like this before.”

You raised a brow. “What, you mean being roasted by someone half your age?”

“No” he said with a soft laugh, his gaze locking with yours. “I mean, spending it with someone who makes it unforgettable.”

Heat crept up your neck as the words settled over you. For once, you were grateful for the low lighting, knowing he’d catch the blush on your face if the room were any brighter. “You’ve got good lines, Hamilton. I’ll give you that.”

He smirked, his dimple reappearing. “And here you thought I was ancient.”

The drive back to his place was quieter now, the low hum of the Ferrari’s engine filling the silence as the city lights smeared into a kaleidoscope of golds and whites against the window. You watched the world rush by, your cheek pressed lightly against the cool glass, your mind swirling with the events of the evening. Lewis’s hand rested on the gear shift, his thumb occasionally brushing against your knee, a small but grounding gesture that sent tiny sparks up your spine.

Lewis had a way of making silence feel intimate, like you were sharing a secret only the two of you could understand. He’d crack the occasional joke, his British accent wrapping around his words in that smooth, teasing way of his, but he also seemed content to just be with you, letting the moment stretch without feeling the need to fill it.

“I’m just saying” you broke the silence, a playful lilt in your voice, “you’ve got way too much energy for someone turning 40. Should I be worried you’re one of those guys who lies about his age?”

He glanced at you, his lips quirking into a smirk. “Love, if I were lying, don’t you think I’d say I’m younger? What kind of idiot would round up to 40?”

You bit back a laugh. “Fair point. Still, you’ve got that youthful glow. Should I be looking for a fountain of youth around here?”

“Funny. I was going to say the same about you,” he quipped, his eyes flicking toward you briefly before returning to the road. “Though I think the real secret is being around me. I have that effect, you know.”

“Ah, yes” you teased, your voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Sir Lewis Hamilton, F1 driver, philanthropist, anti-aging elixir. Truly a man of many talents.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and effortless. “Don’t forget humble. That’s the most important one.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the grin tugging at your lips. The kind of banter you shared felt as natural as breathing, a testament to how far you’d come in the past year. Last year, you’d been strangers, exchanging polite birthday messages in a group chat. Now, almost a year into your relationship, celebrating this day together felt nothing short of surreal.

When the car finally pulled into his building’s private garage, you followed him up to his penthouse. As soon as you stepped inside, the soft scent of amber and cedarwood and cinnamon greeted you, enveloping you like a warm hug. The space was immaculate but still inviting, every detail reflecting Lewis’s refined yet cozy taste. The floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glittering London skyline, but your attention was drawn to the setup near the fireplace: a nest of plush blankets and pillows, their edges catching the soft glow of the flames, and a small black box wrapped neatly with a satin ribbon sitting in the center.

“Planning to smother me with luxury tonight?” you teased, slipping off your coat and draping it over a nearby chair.

He shot you a sidelong glance, his lips curling into that signature dimpled smile. “Only if you let me.”

Crossing the room, he picked up the box and handed it to you with both hands, his tone softening. “Happy birthday.”

You sank down onto the blankets, crossing your legs as you carefully untied the ribbon. The room seemed to hold its breath as you lifted the lid, revealing a delicate gold necklace nestled inside. The pendant was sleek and minimalist, the numbers 2040 shimmering in the firelight—your ages this year, intertwined in a way that felt both simple and profound.

You ran your fingers over the numbers, the cool metal warming under your touch. “Lewis…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you looked up at him, emotions you couldn’t quite name rising in your chest.

He knelt in front of you, his hands steady as he unclasped the necklace. “I wanted you to have something to remember this year by” he murmured, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Our first birthday together. The first of many, hopefully.”

The necklace was cool against your skin as he fastened it around your neck, his fingers brushing against the nape of your neck in a way that sent a shiver through you.

“Cheesy” you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly. “Really cheesy.”

He leaned back, a slow, confident smile spreading across his face. “You love it.”

“Maybe” you admitted, your lips curving into a soft smile. “You’re still ridiculous, though. You know that, right?”

He tilted his head, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Only for you, love. Only for you.”

And in that moment, as the firelight danced across his features and the weight of the necklace settled warmly against your chest, you knew this was a birthday you’d never forget.

The crackle of the fire filled the space as silence stretched between you, comfortable and unspoken. He reached out, his fingers brushing along your cheek with a tenderness that made your breath catch. The air between you felt charged, thick with something unnameable yet impossible to ignore. He didn’t speak, but his gaze said everything. It was the kind of look that promised a night you’d carry with you long after the embers of the fire died out.

Wordlessly, he offered you his hand, pulling you to your feet. Your bodies moved in sync, a slow dance as he guided you away from the cozy setup near the fireplace. The city lights spilled across the polished floors of the penthouse, casting soft, flickering reflections. The world outside felt miles away, as if time had bent itself around the two of you, creating a space that existed only for this moment.

When you reached the edge of the couch, he paused, his hand slipping from yours to settle lightly on your waist. The tension between you buzzed like a live wire, your breaths shallow and synchronized as you stood inches apart. He reached up, his thumb brushing against the gold pendant resting at your collarbone.

“This suits you” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, deep and velvety.

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “You’re biased” you teased softly, though the words came out shakier than you’d intended.

His lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Damn right I am” he said, his fingers trailing from the necklace to the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

And then, finally, he kissed you

The first kiss was thoughtful, like he was savoring every second of you. His lips were warm, soft, yet firm in their intent, coaxing a response that set your nerves alight. The faint taste of wine lingered on his tongue as he deepened the kiss, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck while the other settled firmly on your waist.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, your lips tingled from the contact. The smirk that spread across your face was full of mischief, your eyes glittering in the dim light. “You know” you began, your voice sultry but teasing, “I’ve never had birthday sex with an old man before.”

Lewis stilled for half a second, then let out a deep, throaty chuckle, his dimple flashing in a way that made your pulse skip. “Old man?” he repeated, his voice dripping with mock indignation. “You’re really leaning into this, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “I mean, forty’s practically dinosaur age. Should I grab your reading glasses before we get started?”

The laugh that followed was low and dangerous, his grip on your waist tightening as he tugged you flush against him. “Keep that up y/n” he murmured, his tone dropping to a husky rasp that sent a shiver down your spine, “this so-called old man is about to ruin you.”

Your grin widened, your fingers trailing along the line of his jaw. “Bold words for someone who’s practically collecting a pension.”

He responded without hesitation, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dipped even lower. “You’re about to love this ‘old man dick’ sweetheart.”

You laughed a bit then your breath hitched in your throat, your teasing façade faltering for a split second. Before you could come up with a retort, he claimed your mouth again, the kiss harder this time, more insistent. His hands explored your body with a practiced precision that made your skin hum in anticipation.

When he lifted you effortlessly into his arms, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist. “Pretty strong for a grandpa” you teased breathlessly, but your voice cracked with laughter as he spun you around, his mouth pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to the curve of your neck.

“You talk a big game” he shot back, his words muffled against your skin, “but let’s see if you can handle me”

By the time he carried you into the bedroom, the world beyond those walls didn’t exist. The room was bathed in soft streaks of silver light from the city below, the faint hum of life outside muffled by the thick glass of the windows. But the only thing you were aware of was him—the heat radiating from his body, the controlled strength in his movements, the way his touch left trails of fire wherever his hands and lips explored.

The bed was impossibly soft beneath you, though you barely noticed as he leaned over you, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that stole your breath. His hands moved with a tantalizing slowness, fingers skimming along the hem of your dress before sliding it up, inch by inch, until you felt the cool air against your skin.

“You look stunning” he murmured, his voice reverent but laced with heat as his eyes roamed over you. “Better than I deserve, really.”

You arched a brow, your lips curving into a smirk. “Glad you’re finally admitting it.”

He let out another low chuckle, the sound vibrating through you as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Smart mouth” he murmured, his voice dark and teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up.”

And just like that, words became irrelevant. The moments following were a blur of heat and sensation, a symphony of whispered confessions and breathless laughter that gave way to moans and the sound of tangled sheets. You both lay on the bed bare and craving each other beyond measure. His fingers traced a feather-light path down your collarbone, causing you to shiver despite the lingering warmth between you. He followed that trail with his lips, kissing each spot softly before moving lower. You arched into him, your nails raking gently across his back as his mouth found the sensitive curve of your breast.

His touch was both commanding and tender, guiding you with a confidence that left no doubt he knew exactly how to unravel you. His tongue swirled around your nipple, the teasing flick a jolt of electricity straight to your core. A gasp escaped you, your fingers tangling in his braided hair as he lavished the tender bud with attention. His hand mirrored the action on your other breast, kneading with just the right amount of pressure.

As he continued his sensual care on your breasts, his other hand wandered lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. His fingers parted your folds, stroking through your slick heat with agonizing slowness. You moan in relief as you finally felt the touch in the place you’ve been wanting all night.

"Shit y/n you’re so wet for me already” he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. His fingers continued their teasing rhythm, circling your clit but never quite touching it directly. The taunting motion had your hips lifting helplessly, searching for more contact. “Gotta give my best for my birthday boy” you say with a teasing smile on your face

"Mmm, seems like someone's eager tonight" he teased breathlessly, your fingers tightening their grip in his hair. Arching again, you pressed harder against his teasing fingertips, desperate for relief. "Well stop teasing and fuck me already" you demanded, your voice thick with desire.

A dark chuckle rumbled through his chest as he broke away from your breasts, his eyes meeting yours with an intense, knowing gaze. "How dare you talk to the birthday boy like that?” he chuckled mocking you, finally pressing directly against your clit, making you gasp. "I have plans for you though. I can’t let you get away with making fun of all night baby.”

"And what plans would those be?" you managed to ask between panting breaths, your body winding tighter with each skilled movement of his fingers. He didn't answer with words, instead capturing your mouth in a searing kiss as his fingers continued their expert dance.

His tongue slid against yours in a mimicking what his fingers were doing below, making you moan into his mouth. Then, suddenly, he slid two of his thick, tattooed fingers deep inside you, his thumb still circling your clit.

The dual sensations had your back arching off the bed, breaking the kiss as you let out a loud moan. The feeling making you almost salivate "Oh god” you gasped, your body clenching around his fingers, desperate for more. "More…” you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need more..."

He complied with a wicked grin, pumping his fingers faster and harder, the wet sounds of your pussy filling the air as he drove you closer to the edge. "Like this baby?" he growled, his forehead pressed against yours.

"Yes” you exhaled, your body trembling as he hit that perfect spot inside you. The wet sounds of your arousal turing you on more, —if that was even possible — your body craved even more of him. "Uuh but It's not enough” you wailed, writhing beneath him. "I need you, not your fingers” you say grabbing his shoulder. He chuckled darkly, slowly pulling his fingers out.

He didn’t make you wait another second, his movements efficient as he stripped away the last barriers between your bodies. Each piece of clothing fell to the floor in a whisper, leaving him bare before you—a vision of strength and heat. His hands returned to your thighs, firm but tender as he guided them around his waist, his touch igniting sparks across your skin.

The anticipation was almost unbearable, the space between you charged with unspoken hunger. His body hovered over yours, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left you breathless. He softly brushed his hands along your thighs, lined himself up with you, his thick length brushing against your dripping entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

When he finally thrusts forward, the world seemed to shift. One powerful motion had him burying himself inside you, stretching you in a way that stole your breath. Your back arched instinctively, your body surrendering to the sensation of being completely filled. The exquisite pressure was both overwhelming and perfect, a mix of fullness and connection that sent shockwaves rippling through you.

“This better?” he rasped, his voice thick and gravelly, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he pulled back just enough to make you ache for more, only to stroke back in with a slow pace that left you trembling.

A choked moan escaped your lips, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself against the onslaught of sensation. “Oh yes” you breathed, your voice barely a whisper, but the desperate edge in it said everything.

Lewis tilted his head, a smug grin curling at the corners of his lips as he watched your reaction. “You feel so good baby” he murmured, his hips setting a steady rhythm. Each thrust was felt like a piece of heaven, his movements slow enough to let you feel every inch of him, but powerful enough to leave you breathless.

The way he fucked you was relentless, the friction and heat building with every thrust. His body was pressed tightly to yours, his heavy, hot body brushing against your chest with each motion, his breath hot against your neck. The room seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you, wrapped in a haze of heat, desire, and the raw, primal connection that tethered you together.

As he drove deeper, his grip on your hips tightened, his thumbs pressing into your soft skin as if anchoring himself in the moment. “Look at me” he demanded, his voice low and commanding. “I want you to look at me while I fuck you”

Your gaze locked with his, the intensity in his dark eyes making your pulse quicken. Every thrust sent ripples of pleasure through you, the rhythm building as he took you higher, each movement precise, unrelenting, and filled with purpose.

“Does that feel good?” he asked again, his voice rough and laced with amusement as he pushed deeper still, watching the way your body arched to meet his.

“Perfect” you managed to gasp, your nails raking down his back as he buried himself fully inside you once more.

Your voice broke into a raw, unrestrained scream, your nails carving crescents into the taut muscles of his back. Each thrust sent a wave of sensation through your body, igniting every nerve like a live wire. Lewis gripped you with unrelenting force, his fingers digging into your flesh as though he never wanted to let go. His pace was punishing and purposeful, each stroke a calculated attempt to claim every inch of you.

The slickness of your arousal coated his dick, allowing him to move in and out with sinful ease, his deep, guttural groans echoing your breathless cries. His chest brushed against yours, the heat of his skin matching the fire coursing through your veins. “Feel that?” he rasped into your ear, guiding your hand to you lower abdomen. “You feel where I am inside you y/n?” You could feel him beating at your insides underneath your hands, leaving you dizzy.

You gasped, your body tightening around him at his words. But then, a bold thought slipped from your lips before you could stop it. “I wanna ride you.”

His movements stilled for a heartbeat, and then a wicked smile curved his lips. “I love it when you take control” he murmured, his voice filled with equal parts admiration and desire. Without hesitation, he grabbed your waist and flipped you onto him with fluid ease, his strength sending a thrill down your spine.

Before you could catch your breath, you were astride him, your thighs pressed against his hips as his dick filled you completely. The angle was new, deeper, more intense, and it stole the air from your lungs. His hands found your breasts, warm palms cupping the sensitive curves. His thumbs teased your nipples, the gentle pinch sending shocks of pleasure down your spine.

“Go on” he said, his eyes dark with need. “Show me what you’ve got.”

His words spurred you on, your hands bracing against his chest as you began to move. The muscles beneath your fingers flexed with each thrust as he met your rhythm, his body rising to match every roll of yours. The friction sent waves of heat cascading through you, and the soft, slick sounds of your bodies moving together only added to the intoxicating haze of the moment. You couldn’t believe how wet you are, soaking both of the lower extremities with each thrust out.

His hands slid from your breasts to your waist, guiding your movements but leaving you firmly in control. “There you baby” he groaned, his voice ragged. “Take your dick. It’s all yours.”

Your head tipped back as you found your pace, the pleasure building higher with each roll of your hips. Your long hair cascaded down your back, brushing against his hands as they roamed over your curves. His eyes roamed your body, drinking in the sight of you like a man starved.

“Damn” he muttered, his grip tightening on your waist. “You’re so fucking sexy like this.”

You smirked, leaning forward just enough for your lips to hover near his ear. “I know” you teased and winked, your voice breathy but still laced with confidence.

Lewis chuckled, his hands sliding lower to grip your hips again, the movement sending sparks racing through you. “Cocky tonight, huh?” he challenged, him grinding sharply to meet you, making you cry out, shutting you up.

You threw your head back once more, your long hair tumbling in waves down your back, glinting in the dim light as it swayed with your every movement. You rolled your body with an urgency born of desire, rising and falling as you took him deeper than ever before. Each motion sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, a delicious mixture of control and submission as you rode him with abandon.

Lewis’s hands were strong on your waist, his grip possessive as he guided your movements. He met your grinding with powerful thrusts of his own, his body rising from the bed to drive deeper into you, each stroke aimed with precision that left you trembling. The thickness of his dick stretched you in all the right ways, hitting that sweet, devastating spot inside you that made your vision blur.

A whimper escaped your lips, followed by a breathless moan, your sounds blending with the wet, rhythmic noises of your bodies colliding. The heady scent of sweat and sex filled the air, mingling with the sound of his raspy breaths and your own needy cries.

“Faster” you panted, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

“Faster?” he repeated, his tone laced with mischief as one large hand left your waist and came down on your ass with a sharp smack. The sting rippled through you, blending seamlessly with the pleasure pulsing in your core, making your lower body jerk forward involuntarily. “Yeah baby” he teased breathlessly, his other hand sliding up your spine, grounding you. “Show me how bad you want it.”

Your body responded instinctively, moving with even greater speed. Your breasts bounced wildly with every rise and fall, catching his dark, hungry eyes as he watched you lose yourself above him.

“Ahh yes” he groaned, his dick throbbing inside you, pulsing in perfect time with the frantic rhythm of your bodies. His forehead glistened with sweat, his curls damp and clinging to his temples as he strained to meet every furious motion of your hips. The connection between you was electric, every nerve alight with pleasure and the sheer power of his presence beneath you.

Another sharp slap landed on your ass, making you gasp and cry out. “Fuck, you feel so good like this” he muttered, his hand immediately sliding to your lower back, pressing you forward as his other tangled in your hair. With a firm tug, he pulled you down to meet his lips in a bruising kiss.

The moment your mouths collided, the intensity between you flared brighter. His tongue slid against yours, his kiss just as commanding and relentless as the way he filled you. You could taste the taste of your lips on his lips, feel the tension in his jaw as his teeth grazed against your bottom lip, nipping just enough to make you gasp.

The heat of his chest against yours, the strength of his hands controlling your movements, and the way his body seemed to melt perfectly with yours—all of it was too much and not enough at the same time. The world narrowed to the two of you, the bed creaking beneath your combined weight as you pushed each other further, faster, harder.

“Uh- Fuck- Ah-“ he groaned against your lips, his voice raw and raspy.

“Look at you, riding your dick” he rasped, his voice low and raw as he pressed his forehead to yours, his lips brushing against yours with every labored breath. “Shit” curse fell from his lips like a confession, a whisper, the heat in his gaze burning into you.

He continued to fuck you, mirroring your movements to create the ultimate pleasure, thrust for thrust, the relentless rhythm sending waves of pleasure crashing over you. His fingers dug into your hips with such force you could feel the delicious pressure biting into your insides, a possessive mark you knew would linger long after this moment. “Harder” he growled, his voice thick with need and dominance.

The command sent a spark through you, your body responding instinctively. Letting out a desperate whimper, you adjusted your angle, planting your knees more firmly against the mattress for leverage. You began to slam down on him with every ounce of strength you could muster, taking him deeper with each thrust, the sensation of his dick filling you, driving you wild.

The room filled with the sharp, rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin, a symphony of raw passion that echoed in the air around you. Your cries mixed with his groans, creating a harmony of pleasure that left no space for anything else. His thick length hit all the right spots inside you, the perfect angle making stars burst behind your tightly closed eyelids.

“Yeeaahh there you go” he groaned, his voice a mixture of awe and desperation as his hands tightened their grip on your ass, guiding your movements. “That’s it baby, just like that.

But then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, he shifted. With a sudden, fluid movement, he flipped you onto your stomach, his strength effortlessly handling your body like it was meant to be molded beneath his touch. The cool sheets met your flushed skin, contrasting with the fiery heat coursing through your veins.

Pulling your hips up, he positioned you on your knees, presenting your ass to him. A dark, appreciative growl rumbled in his chest as he took in the sight before him. “Such a perfect view” he murmured, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass, spreading you wide as he admired the way your glistening entrance twitched with anticipation.

The moment of teasing felt like an eternity. His dick, still slick and throbbing, brushed against your folds, the tip barely pressing into you before pulling back. Each pass sent a shiver down your spine, the anticipation coiling tightly in your core.

“Lewis” you breathed sound a plea that you couldn’t hold back. Your voice trembling with need, and murmured as your face a pressed into the mattress.

He chuckled darkly, his hands gripping your back firmly as he finally aligned himself with you. “I know baby. I’ve got you.”

“You feel so fucking good” he groaned, his voice thick with need as he pulled back slowly, only to slam back into you with even more force.

His strong hands grounding you as he pulled you closer, guiding the rhythm of your bodies. The new angle shifted something deep inside you, igniting a fire that spread through every nerve. Each powerful thrust sent waves of pleasure radiating through your body, leaving you breathless and trembling.

The mattress beneath you dipped with every movement, your breasts brushing against the soft fabric as if it, too, responded to the intensity between you. Your fingers fisted the sheets in desperation, the cool texture a stark contrast to the heat building between your entwined bodies. The air was thick with the sounds of your connection. You reached your hand behind you to touch him, and feel even more connected as he filled you completely, over and over again.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, bouncing off the walls and blending with the raw rhythm of your bodies. Each powerful thrust sent a jolt of electricity through you, the intensity building with every movement. The warmth of his body against yours, the sound of his ragged breathing, and the unrelenting pace all combined to set your senses alight.

“Yes, just like that” you gasped, your voice trembling with urgency as your body tightened around him, instinctively pulling him deeper. The delicious pressure and friction threatened to make you cum then and there, a tantalizing ache pooling in your core as you teetered on the edge of release. The sheer intimacy of the moment wrapped around you, pushing you closer to the brink with every heartbeat.

His hand slid around to find your most sensitive clit, his fingers skillfully matching the rhythm of his relentless movements. The instant he touched you, a surge of pleasure shot through your body, your breath catching as the tension within you coiled tighter. The precise pressure and timing were too much to bear, every nerve alive and burning with sensation.

The world seemed to fall away as you tipped over the edge, a wave of pure ecstasy crashing over you. Your body shaking uncontrollably, your inner walls clenching and pulsing around him in perfect harmony with the pleasure consuming you. He didn’t falter, fucking you fiercely, extending your orgasm, his movements guiding you through every second of the overwhelming climax.

His release finally hit, a deep groan tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt, flooding your insides with his warmth. The sensation of him pulsing inside you sent a shiver down your spine, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of your own climax. Slowly, he collapsed on top of you, his weight settling over you like a comforting blanket, grounding you in the moment.

His breaths were hot and heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin with every exhale. He nuzzled closer, his arms curling around you protectively as though he couldn’t bear to let go. “That’s my favorite position you know” he murmured, his voice low and husky, tinged with the remnants of his pleasure.

You chuckled softly, your fingers threading through his damp hair. “I figured. You get a pretty nice view from back there.”

He grinned against your skin, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. But then he paused, his hands beginning to roam over your curves with a possessive, thoughtful touch. His fingers traced the dip of your waist, and the swell of your hips.

“I think” he started, his voice trailing off as he shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at you. His gaze was soft but smoldering, a wicked gleam dancing in his dark eyes. “I think we need to try something new.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Oh? You’ve already got me questioning my ability to walk tomorrow, and now you want to add something else to the mix?”

His laugh was low and rich as he sat up, pulling you along with him. The ease with which he maneuvered your body made your heart race, and before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, your arms looping instinctively around his neck. His large hands settled on your waist, pulling you flush against him so that your bare skin pressed together.

“Have you ever done reverse cowgirl?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, though the intensity in his gaze gave away his excitement.

You hesitated, the memory of past attempts flickering in your mind. “Yes” you admitted, your voice softer now, “but I didn’t like it before.” You avoided his eyes momentarily, not wanting to disappoint him.

His thumb brushed soothing circles over your side, his touch gentle as he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. “But you haven’t tried it with me” he said, his voice warm and confident, laced with a promise you couldn’t ignore. “Trust me, it’ll feel good. After I’m inside you, lean forward and grab my ankles, okay?”

His reassuring tone made you relax, the corners of your mouth lifting in a small, trusting smile. “That sounds kind of funny,” you teased lightly, “but I trust you, so I guess we can try it.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you deeply, the kind of kiss that left no room for doubt. As his lips moved against yours, his hands slid down to grip your body, the promise of something exciting lingering in the air between you.

With a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted your body effortlessly, turning you until you were straddling him in reverse cowgirl. Your knees sank into the soft mattress as you leaned forward, just as he instructed, your fingers brushing his ankles for balance. The new position stretched your muscles in an unfamiliar but exhilarating way, your body arching beautifully as you adjusted.

“Good baby” he purred, his voice molten as his hands slid up your thighs, his fingers sprawled out. His grip was firm yet gentle, guiding your movements with unspoken confidence. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, heat pooling low in your belly as you began to move, rocking your hips experimentally. The sensation of his dick filling you from this angle was different—intense, consuming, and deeply satisfying. You could feel every vein, ridge and curve. Slowly at first, you rose and sank onto him, each downward thrust drawing a low, guttural sound from his throat.

From behind, he had the perfect view, and he was mesmerized. His eyes rolled over the curve of your spine, the way your hair spilled down your back like a silken waterfall, and the hypnotic motion of your pussy taking him in, again and again. “Goddamn” he murmured, his voice thick with awe and lust, “just look at you.”

He couldn’t help himself, his hands roaming over your waist and back before sliding back to cup the roundness of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart slightly, his thumbs grazing your skin as he watched himself disappear inside you, the sight driving him wild. “Fuck” he groaned, his grip tightening. “Your ass looks incredible like this.”

The raw appreciation in his tone made you move more, confidence growing with every word of praise. You rolled your hips, adjusting the angle to take him even deeper, and the effect was immediate. His sharp inhale and the low curse he muttered sent a thrill through you, spurring you on.

“You feel so damn good” he rasped, his voice rough with desire. His warm hands traveled up to your waist, wrapping around you firmly as he began to meet your movements with upward thrusts, burying himself even harder and deeper. The slick sounds of your bodies moving together filled the room, accompanied by his low groans and your breathy moans.

“Fuck fuck fuck “ he growled, his voice breaking with raw need. “I can’t get enough of this pussy.” His hands returned to your ass, spreading you wider to take him fully, the sight of your stretched entrance swallowing his girthy length repeatedly making his restraint fray. “This feels so fucking good oh my go-“ you moan out, gripping his ankles.

The angle, the intensity, the way his hands guided you—it all combined into a dizzying blend of pleasure that left you utterly undone, completely lost in the rhythm you shared. His words were a heady mix of filth and reverence, fueling the fire building deep within you.

He moved with an intensity, his pace quickening as he drove into you hard, each powerful thrust echoing through your body. The rhythmic sound of your bodies meeting filled the room once again, a heady mix of his labored breathing, deep groans of pleasure, and the unmistakable slickness of your shared desire. His grip on your hips tightened possessively, his fingers digging into your skin as if anchoring himself to the moment.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum so deep inside you” he growled, his voice rough and low, thick with need. The promise sent a shiver through you, igniting something primal as you moved together, his hips rising to meet each of your movements in perfect synchronization. “Keep going like that, yes” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Your body obeyed instinctively, the rhythm growing more urgent as the tension between you built. The impact of your bodies meeting sent so much pleasure through you, your chest heaving as your breasts moved with every motion. The heat between you burned hotter, his body taut beneath yours as his control began to stray. You could feel him getting closer with every deep, purposeful thrust, his need pushing you both toward the inevitable.

“Take it all baby. Fuck, I wish you could see how good you look right now” he growled, his voice rough with a mix of desire and command. His eyes locked into you as he watched your body move against him, the sight of you bouncing on his dick driving him to the brink of madness. The way your tight walls clenched around him was almost too much, pulling him deeper into a haze of pure, unrelenting need.

He felt your release building, the way your body trembled and tightened betraying just how close you were. “Not yet” he murmured, his voice strained, though it was as much for himself as it was for you. He was holding on by a thread, the fire in his core threatening to erupt. Truthfully, he’d been on the edge since he got you into this position, but he refused to give in just yet. He wanted to savor every second, knowing there were still so many rounds to come.

He leaned forward slightly, his lips brushing your ear as he rasped, “Keep going Y/n. Don’t stop. I know you can”

The raw command in his tone sent a shiver through you, spurring you on.

His hands moved over your body eagerly, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your sides as if anchoring you to him. He explored every inch of you with reverence and hunger—tracing the curve of your thighs, squeezing your waist, sliding his hands up to press against your stomach as if trying to pull you closer, impossibly close, onto his throbbing dick. His breathing turned ragged, his words dissolving into guttural grunts as he fought to hold back, desperate to let this moment stretch out just a little longer.

Finally, with a raw, loud, groan of pleasure, he gave in to his climax, his body shuddering as his release overtook him. His dick pulsed deep inside you, each wave of ecstasy pouring into your trembling pussy. His arms locked around you with a possessive intensity, holding you firmly in place as he emptied himself into your eagerly waiting depths, refusing to let even an inch of space separate you.

For a moment, time stilled. His chest heaved against your back, his ragged breaths hot against your skin as he stayed buried inside you, savoring the aftershocks of pleasure that rippled through both of you. His grip on your waist softened slightly, shifting into something more tender, his hands brushing over your skin as though grounding himself in the intimacy of the moment.

He pressed his face into your hair, the scent of you pulling a low, satisfied hum from deep in his chest. “Damn” he murmured softly, his lips grazing the back of your neck as he nuzzled closer. “I fucking love you, Y/N,” he confessed, his voice laced with both affection and raw desire.

His arms remained wrapped around you, holding you close as the heat between you lingered, neither of you willing to break the connection just yet.

Time washed away, each moment blending into the next until you collapsed against his chest, your skin slick with the lingering heat of passion. His arm wrapped around you, his fingers lazily tracing soft circles along your back as you rested your head against him. His heart beat steadily beneath your cheek, a soothing rhythm that grounded you in the aftermath of the whirlwind you’d just shared.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips warm and gentle. “Best birthday yet?” you asked, your voice low and slightly drowsy but still tinged with that familiar mischievous edge.

He let out a satisfied hum, nuzzling against him. “Definitely. Though I’ve decided—next year, I’m getting my gift first.”

Your soft laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt the vibration as much as you heard it. “We’ll see about that, love. You might have to pop a few viagra next year.”

You couldn’t help but grin, your eyelids growing heavy as the warmth of his body and the sound of his voice lulled you to the edge of sleep. “Viagra or not , now you’re stuck with this old man.”

“And I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you murmured, your voice a soft promise as he held you close, the city lights casting a gentle glow over the two of you.

[puck-luck]

evening embrace | jack hughes

warnings: oral (m! & f! receiving) aka 69 BABYYYY!!!!! whiny jack, silly jack, established realtionship af, very domestic pairing: jack hughes x fem!reader request: "jack hughes coming home from practice or a game all grumpy and frustrated and just ranting endlessly about whatever is pissing him off so u just casually decide to give him head mid-rant. without a word you just start palming him over his pants while he’s mid sentence and he’d be like “baby, what are you doing?” and you’d casually make your way to your knees with a shrug and say “you’re stressed, seem like you could use some relief” and once you’ve got his dick out and you’re about to bring it to your lips you’d say “you can continue with your ranting baby, promise i won’t get distracted” with an innocent little pout i-" wc: 4423

Jack had a bad day. The Devils just had their first few preseason games and Jack, although he felt ready to get back into his normal routine, feels like his shoulder injury from last season is still a little tender. He can’t pinpoint the exact moment that he snapped, but he thinks that he blacked out around the time when he missed a pivotal pass that resulted in a breakaway and goal in the game today. He’s never been so angry after a game– and this is just preseason.

He bursts through the door to your shared apartment, already ranting. 

“This is shit,” Jack complains, dropping his bags in the doorway and kicking off his shoes. 

“What’s shit, Jacky?” You ask from the couch, wrapped up in a blanket and reading a book. Now that he’s home, though, you set the book down and give him your attention.

“I’m not playing good enough,” Jack huffs out, frustrated and annoyed. “It’s my stupid shoulder. I’ve rehabbed it, I’ve gotten it fixed through surgery, and I still feel like I’m not playing at 100%.”

“Aw, honey, come sit,” you say, patting the cushion beside you. 

Jack stalks over, collapsing onto the couch cushions and pulling you onto his lap. He kisses you hello before going back to his ranting. 

“I knew I needed to work more on my wrister before the game,” he says. “But Keefe wanted us to run drills at camp so that we could be better all-around.”

You hum when you need to, but Jack’s just complaining and pouting. He had a tough day and wants to get all of his negative thoughts out, knowing that you don’t mind listening to him when he has problems.

“And I appreciate being a good team all-around, you know,” Jack continues. “But there should be times during practice when a guy can go work on his own shit, which will make the team better overall once he’s perfected the skill.”

“Maybe you can talk to Nico about that,” you murmur, tracing the letters on Jack’s shirt. 

“I don’t want to be that guy,” Jack grumbles. “It’s a team sport. If Keefe wants us to practice as a team, then that’s what we’ll do. He’s the coach.”

You nod absentmindedly, adjusting yourself on Jack’s lap. Your hand continues to pet over his covered chest as he talks. His muscles are defined; it’s clear that he put in the work during his time off. You know he did, actually. You’ve watched his body swell and gain muscle mass over the summer and you’ve been able to see the changes up close and personal.

But not this past week: training camp started and Jack has been so tired and stressed out that he’ll come home, eat dinner with you, and collapse into bed with nary a makeout sesh anywhere. He’s been too tired to get off with you, although you know it relaxes him and helps him keep his mind clear, so you haven’t pushed.

Yet, as he talks about his day, you can’t stop thinking about how much better this would be if your lips were wrapped around his dick.

Your hand drops to his lap, palming his length over his shorts and interrupting Jack’s sentence.

He catches your wrist. “Baby, what are you doing?” Jack asks. “I’m talking to you.”

You blink up at him innocently, moving from his lap and sliding down to the ground. You situate yourself prettily on your knees, right between his thighs. Again, you touch the front of his shorts, rubbing the area like you’re giving him a handjob over his pants. “You seem stressed,” you tell him, simply. “Like you could use some relief.”

Jack’s mouth is agape, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I– um, yeah, I mean, I guess I’m stressed,” he replies, agreeing with you with an additional nod.

“Let me help,” you offer, cupping his bulge with your hand before leaning in to brush a fleeting kiss against the growing tent. You mouth along for a moment before bringing his waistband down, revealing his tight boxer-briefs. His semi is much more noticeable in just the underwear, straining more against the fabric as he grows harder. You fit your lips over the tip of his cock and suck slightly, through his shorts, just to make Jack jump.

“Yeah,” Jack agrees, touching the back of your neck hesitantly. He moves like he’s still confused and not quite sure what’s happening.

“Keep talking, baby,” you say to him as you pull his length out of his underwear and start to stroke it. You press a kiss to the crown of his cock, then pull back. “I’m listening. I promise I won’t get distracted.” You blink up at him through your eyelashes, watching countless emotions pass over Jack’s face before you kitten-lick over his slit and hum in approval. 

“It’s just hard,” Jack says, his eyes still wide and blown because of the shock that came over him when you made your bold move. “To, uh–”

He trails off, gesturing helplessly as your tongue traces the veins on the underside of his cock. You hum, bobbing your head in a commiserating, blatantly sarcastic nod. You know what you’re doing to him. You know that Jack goes boneless whenever you suck him off, that he promptly loses his words when you gag on his cock. 

So, you pull away from him. You let your spit pool where it lay while your lips were around him– able to use it as lube as you pump him, blinking up at him like you’re unimpressed. “C’mon, J. I thought you had things to be frustrated about.”

“I do!” Jack exclaims, finding his words after your mouth parts from his body.

“Oh, you do,” you repeat, a smug little smile on your face. “So tell me about it.”

“I– well– it doesn’t matter now,” Jack whines, his hips twitching under your calm palm. 

You furrow your brow and tilt your head to the side. “It doesn’t?”

Jack covers his face with his hands and makes a frustrated noise.

“Well, if that doesn’t matter, then why am I doing this?” You ask, feigning complete confusion even as you continue to stroke him. Jack has obviously gotten side tracked– and the relief of your mouth is like a wet rag on a dry erase board: it wipes everything completely clean and fresh. “I thought I was offering you something sweet to make up for your bad day.”

“You are, just– stop stopping!” 

You move your head from side to side with each word in your response: “You can’t make me!”

At a stalemate, Jack deflates. He frowns to himself, then pointedly at you. You’re still stroking him, just teasing him, waiting for him to sweetly ask you to continue until–

Jack pulls you up onto the couch and takes your place, sinking to the ground on his knees with his pants and underwear pooling around his ankles. He doesn’t bother to take his clothes off before he touches your leggings reverently with a light ghosting of his fingertips. He brushes a sweet kiss against the inside of your thigh as he touches you, but the sweetness and teasing doesn’t last very long.

“How was your day?” Jack asks with a smirk and another kiss to your covered skin. He pulls at the waistband of your leggings, dragging them down your legs in a totally obvious way.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” you warn.

“Not doing anything,” Jack teases. 

“Don’t lie to me, Jack Hughes.”

“Full name,” Jack notes offhandedly. He licks his lips and rubs his thumb along your slit, still covered by your godforsaken panties. If he’s going to do something, he had better do it. “Just giving my baby a taste of her own medicine,” he adds.

“My day was fine, thank you very much,” you retort.

Jack hums, fiddling with the edge of your panties, the part of the underwear that’s covering his favorite part of you. “What’d you do?” He asks.

“I showered,” you say.

“Without me,” Jack adds. You don’t have time to berate him for acting like a fuckboy– not when he starts mouthing over your hipbones until he finds the waistband of your panties. He takes the band between his teeth and drags the fabric down to meet your leggings. All the while, he stares up at you with his own wide, blown, horny eyes. 

“And I had breakfast, then I worked for a while, then I got lunch with my coworker like I told you about last night–” You continue, but Jack interrupts, pulling away from your bare cunt.

He pouts a bit. “What coworker?” Jack asks. “Who was it again?”

You muster the courage to glare at him. Jack just grins, his thumb sweeping through your folds like he hasn’t got a care in the world. 

“Sadie,” you remind him. “The new girl in accounting.”

“Oh, Sadie,” Jack drawls, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “How could I forget about Sadie?” He smiles at you briefly to show that he’s messing with you, then nears your mound. “What did you eat?” He asks, just before replacing his thumb with the tip of his tongue, pride written all over his face as you take a deep breath.

“We got those Mediterranean bowls you like,” you say. You don’t tell him that there’s one in the fridge waiting for him.

“Without me,” Jack repeats, sounding a little more forlorn than the first time. Who knew that showering without your boyfriend would be less titillating than a Mediterranean bowl from that place down the street?

Regardless, you still don’t tell him about your little surprise in the kitchen.

“Without you,” you agree. “I can’t always be with you, you know.”

“Mhm, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever had to go through,” Jack says, using his thumbs to pull your lips apart so he can really dig in and lavish your cunt. Jack drinks up the gasp that leaves your mouth when his tongue twirls against your clit, then drops lower to press against your entrance. Jack presses a kiss against your entrance before his tongue really works into you, rendering him quiet.

You know he expects you to continue speaking, just as you expected him to continue. One thing you’ve always been better at than Jack is compartmentalizing– you swear it comes with the territory of being a woman compared to being a man– but you’ve missed this so much that you don’t care about his gloating that will come later. 

“Jack, come–”

You interrupt yourself with a breathy gasp, hands flying to his hair. Jack has always loved when you tug at the brown waves adorning his head, so the heady look in his eyes when he looks up at you is no surprise. It’s also no surprise that your gasp has Jack flattening his tongue and showering your cunt with attention.

You had meant to ask him to come back up onto the couch, wanting him to be comfortable, but Jack doesn’t seem to care. You still want him to fill your mouth. There’s a trace of his salty precum on your tongue and the absence of his cock on the muscle leaves you writhing. 

He eats you out messily, getting your juices all over his lips, cheeks, and chin. When he pulls away to catch a breath, you admire how his chest heaves with the effort to fill his lungs before diving back in and the way he licks his lips. You grip his hair, tugging slightly to get his attention, and then Jack’s disheveled baby blues are back on you. He smiles dopily, moving to wrap his lips around your clit, but before he can, you speak.

“Come up here,” you implore, tugging at his hair again. 

“Wanna stay here,” Jack replies, succeeding in his efforts to reconnect with your core this time. 

Despite the shockwaves flying through your body at his powerful suction, you remain steadfast. You’re even able to string a sentence together that has Jack pausing: “Please, J, wanna suck you too,” you complain.

It isn’t long until Jack thinks of a joke to refute you. “Baby, I’m 86, not 69.”

“Jack,” you complain, tugging his hair again indignantly as he laughs against your cunt, enjoying his own joke. “Not funny.”

“Very funny,” Jack mumbles, fitting a finger inside of you and thumbing over your clit in the absence of his mouth. You’re grinding down against him now, not nearly full enough or satisfied enough. Jack’s smirk tells you that there’s more coming. “You want to have my cock in your mouth so bad that you’ll do your least favorite sex position on the couch?”

You groan. Of course he remembered the conversation he walked in on when you had your girlfriends over a couple of months ago– a lengthy, very detailed, very philosophical conversation about which sex positions are practical and impractical, as well as what places are more practical than others. 

You don’t suck Jack off as he eats you out often. It’s not something you ever really feel the need to do, even though Jack has admitted to loving the way you’ll moan against his cock and rock back into his mouth like you’re unsure which is better. The reason you don’t do it often, though, is that you can rarely finish like that. And Jack, being the doting, pussy-drunk boyfriend he is, would rather have you in a position where you’ll come all over his cock or his face rather than struggle to make it to your destination.

As for the couch, you’ve always thought that it’s more fun to ride Jack and distract him from whatever he’s watching on the TV, or for him to bend you over the edges of the furniture to pound into you from behind.

But today– today, you’re confident that you can finish. It’s been over a week since Jack felt like doing anything and you’re needy. You’re not ashamed of it, either– you love your boyfriend and the passion shared between you both is enough to steam up the windows of the apartment. It’s no secret that Jack does everything he can to make you feel good.

Which is how you’re going to convince him to get back on the couch and fill you completely, please you from both ends until you’re boneless and smothering him with your cunt– “The ideal way to die,” according to Jack, and all of his friends who insisted he was right when he dared to bring up sex at one of the parties on the lake house the previous summer. 

“Jack,” you say, simple and plain. You lean forward on the couch, reaching down to cradle his face in your palms. Your hands get sticky with your own slick, but it’s no big deal. After all, you’d already touched Jack’s dick, so it’s not like your hands are clean. You press a fleeting kiss to his nose, making Jack grin widely. “Wanna sit on this pretty face,” you tell him. “While I gag on your cock.”

“Mm, yeah?” Jack asks. The way he perks up is laughable: if he was a dog, he’d be wagging his tail. “Gonna come in my mouth while I come in yours?”

You shiver at the thought of a simultaneous orgasm– your own warmth and relaxation taking over your body while Jack fills you up. You nod slightly, biting your lip to hold back a needy whine. Your eyelashes flutter as you watch Jack stand from his spot between your legs. 

He lays on the couch, his head resting on a throw pillow for some extra leverage. He makes himself comfortable, and it’s a little silly that both of you still have your shirts on, but Jack sticks out his tongue and waves you forward. The position makes you laugh, combined with his antics, so you make a silly move of your own. 

You crawl towards him, across the couch, trying to look like Sophie in Mamma Mia while she and Sky sing ‘Lay All Your Love on Me,’ but there’s no music playing. It’s just you and Jack and your soft little giggles, which are eventually quieted by a sweet kiss and a swipe of Jack’s tongue against your own. You can taste yourself on him and he can taste himself on you, which has Jack smiling into the kiss. His teeth clink against yours for a second, then he pats your hip and you pull away.

“Come have a seat, baby,” Jack invites, unable to wipe the grin off of his face. You shake your head and avert your eyes, blushing a little bit at how giddy you’ve made him with just a few kisses, some attention to his cock, and access to your pussy.

“Forgotten all about your bad day?” You tease.

“It turned out okay, I think,” Jack replies with a wink. He keeps his hands on your body as you turn, then line yourself up with his mouth. You’ve got the perfect view of his cock in this position, standing up and red for you, just waiting for you to lean forward and welcome him into the warm wetness of your mouth.

Jack hasn’t waited to admire you. He’s already sloppily mouthing at your lips, sliding his tongue against your clit. He has his arms looped around your thighs, hands planted squarely on your ass. He grips your cheeks and spreads them so that he can pull you back further and work his tongue inside of you. For your hesitation, he gives your clit a little nip to encourage you forward. It doesn’t hurt, but it does surprise you, and you let out a hushed yelp. Jack giggles before returning to your entrance, prodding at you.

You bend forward, laying across Jack’s body and holding yourself up by laying your forearms on his abdomen. Your left hand pets over the skin on his hip while your right holds his base steady. You gather some spit in your mouth before letting it drip onto his slit. The fluid drips down his cock, but you’re determined to replace your spit with ropes of his cum.

You take him in your mouth as far as you can, moaning when his tip nudges the back of your throat. He twitches in your mouth, involuntary but welcome. You love when he’s unable to control his reactions, doubling down on his enthusiasm at your core. 

You can feel yourself dripping all over Jack’s face. His hands are strong on your hips, pulling you back to grind against his mouth. Taking an arm from around your thigh, he brings his fingers back to your core, sliding two inside of you while he focuses on your clit. 

He’s so messy and he keeps making slurping sounds because he’s so into it, which is completely not sexy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You treasure the moans and hums that follow the unattractive slurping– Jack’s voice has grown high-pitched and needy, completely intoxicated by your taste.

You imagine him now, cheeks flushed just as pink as yours. Hell, his lips are probably swollen and the same shade of red as his tip. 

You bring a hand up to move your hair to one side of your head, the strands brushing Jack’s thigh and tickling him slightly. It’s necessary for you to give this blowjob your full attention, and you can’t have your hair getting in the way now, not after you’ve been missing Jack’s cock for a full week.

No, you’re just as drunk as he is, moaning and gagging and humming. You pull out all the stops– leaving his cock to kiss over his balls and suck at the skin while you pump his member. Jack’s always enjoyed that extra touch, his hips jumping uncontrollably into your space for the second time tonight.

“Wanna fuck my face?” You ask, words coming out in a rush. 

Jack keens beneath you, holding you closer. He pumps his fingers inside you quickly, working a third into your hole and curling his knuckles until he finds your sweet spot, making you moan wantonly. His hips are moving again, wiggling beneath you until you bring your lips back to his tip. You press a kiss against his slit before opening your mouth as wide as you can, hollowing your cheeks against his shaft until Jack starts to move.

He’s quick like a jack-hammer. His movements are twitchy and shallow because, as you’ve said time and time again, Jack has never been the world’s greatest multitasker. He’s able to perform well on the ice, very athletically minded and capable, but when his mind gets all foggy and sex-crazed, he’s completely helpless. 

He chases his pleasure wildly. He continues to make his sweet, pretty whimpers against your pussy. His tongue flicks over your clit as fast as he can manage while also fingering you and fucking into your mouth– he’s working overtime and his chest is heaving with harsh breaths. You take it, even rolling your hips against his fingers to try and help him out. 

You’d feel bad about making him do all the work, but you’ve known since the beginning of your relationship how Jack feels about making you come: he loves it. It’s better than his own release. He always wants you to come over his tongue or make a mess all over his cock or fingers.

“Baby, baby,” Jack whines against your clit, his lips brushing the nerves as he talks. “Fuck, gonna come, please, please–”

“Uh-huh,” you hum, the best response you can give with your mouth stuffed with his cock. The vibrations send Jack over the edge and he lurches beneath you, pulling his fingers from your hole and replacing them with his tongue. He switches, putting his thumb on your clit and rubbing furious circles until you’re writhing above him.

You’re able to swallow a mouthful of his cum before you have to squeeze your eyes shut and focus on your own orgasm, milliseconds away from breaking down the dam inside of you. You pull off of Jack’s cock and pant above him, continuing to stroke him through his climax. 

Your eyes are a little teary from the ecstasy coursing through your veins, fueled completely by Jack’s rapid movements and equally frequent muffled pleas. He can’t stop begging you to release all over his face, even with his tongue inside of you. You can’t focus on what he’s saying, but his voice is wrecked and bordering on distressed. That’s how bad he needs you to come, how badly he needs to make you come.

His jaw has got to be aching by this point, having eaten you out for so long, but you’re so close.

You sit up a bit, just enough that you can place your hands on his muscular thighs and grind back against his face. Your hips are quick, messy, and inconsistent. “Jack,” you cry out, your breath leaving you like a hard fall to the ground knocking all the air from your lungs.

“Yeah, yeah,” he encourages, his tongue flicking over your walls.

You come harder than you ever have like this– maybe harder than you ever have in general. Jack holds you against him and laps at your release, despite the pleasure causing your hips to jerk and try to escape. You lose track of yourself, feeling completely gone. There’s a chance you’ll have to wash the couch cushions later, with the way you’re spreading slick over Jack’s face. It feels endless, your orgasm, and you think Jack may have actually made up for a week of nothing in just one night. 

He licks over you until there’s nothing left for him to taste. His hair has gone wild, eyes bright but groggy and hazy at the same time. You’re sure you look the same, unwilling to find yourself in the mirror across the room when you roll off of Jack and find a shaky footing on the floor. Your shirt is damp with sweat, as is Jack’s. He lifts the neckline to wipe the lower half of his face, dazed. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, placing a hand over his heart. His eyes look up at you, a slight smile lifting the edges of his lips. “That might be the closest I’ve ever gotten to dying from your pussy, baby.”

You laugh at that, running your fingers through your hair. “I think we both need a shower,” you say with an easy smile. 

Jack yawns. “Then bed?” He asks. 

“If you don’t fall asleep on me right here,” you reply, nodding at his body as it lounges on the couch. You thought you were bad with going boneless– Jack seems to have sank into the cushions. The sight is hilarious– your boyfriend, completely love drunk and smiling up at you like you’re an angel, with his shirt still on but no pants and no underwear. His dick has softened against his hip, the cum you didn’t swallow drying against his skin. “With your dick out and all. Any burglar would run the other direction.”

“You don’t think he’d be impressed?” Jack sits up just enough to look at his length. 

“Maybe not in this state.”

“I’ll just have to explain to him that my girl fucked me so good that I couldn’t move anymore,” Jack ponders with a shrug. He laughs to himself, eyes hooded but blinking slowly at you.

“Well, you did come first,” you agree. You reach out and take his hands, dragging him up to a sitting position, then up to his feet. 

Jack stumbles into you, petting over your rat’s-nest of a head of hair and pressing a series of kisses all over your face.

“Gross, gonna have to do extra skincare tonight,” you pout, pushing him away. 

Jack continues making kissy noises as you pull him towards your shared bedroom, depositing him in front of the shower so that he can start the water while you grab new clothes for the both of you and go to the bathroom. 

He feels you up in the shower until you’re both laughing and covered in suds, unable to keep your lips from the other person’s for longer than a couple of minutes. He makes his hair into a shampooed mohawk just to make you giggle again. His displeasure from earlier in the night is completely gone, and you couldn’t be more glad. 

notes: this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written, so i hope y'all enjoyed!!

[distantdarlings]

ACROSS YOUR SKIN // t. nott

RATING: R / 2.6K WORDS

Theo Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* During a Quidditch practice, you accidentally harm Theo and you both learn something new about him.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! Sub!Theo, Dom!reader, Oral sex (male giving, fem receiving), consensual hitting, heavy kissing, language, Quidditch injury, fem reader (lmk if I missed something) (not proofread)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Sweat - ZAYN

- - -

The entirety of this practice had shot by like a knife through air. You could feel the air slicing across your body, penetrating your Quidditch uniform.

The darkened clouds overhead danced along the horizon, concealing the golden sun from the pitch. Your eyes scattered across the field in an attempt to locate the Seeker.

In a flash of green and black, a robed bolt of lightning shot across the pitch, heading downward toward the smallest glint of gold. The Snitch.

You shot your head up, and just as you did, a Bludger sped around the edge of the arena, heading straight for him. You clenched your jaw and angled your broom toward the speeding bullet.

“Blaise!” you shouted over the whoosh of the brooms around you. The boy’s dark eyes found yours quickly.

“Head that off!”

Despite Blaise’s position on the team, he caught sight of the flying Bludger and raced off toward it once he realized you wouldn’t catch it in time.

Today's game was a sort of scrimmage for the Slytherin team to practice. Your team often did this instead of running drills like the Gryffindors. Your teammates found they were better if they practiced the way they played—and you’d have to agree. The game got your heart racing, not stupid drills.

Just as Blaise reached the Bludger, he caught the edge of the heavy object with the tail-end of his broom, using its vortex of built-up speed to send the small ball hurtling toward you.

You gripped your bat, and just before it collided with your arm, you swung wildly. The force of the Bludger hitting your bat sounded like thunder.

You watched as it slung off in the direction of the opposite team’s Quaffle.

You admitted that in the heat of the game, you didn’t consider that the opposite team wasn’t really that; it was your team pretending to be another.

“Watch it! Sorry!” you shouted.

Theodore Nott was in a spiral towards the ground, chasing after the Quaffle Berkshire missed, when the Bludger clipped the end of his broom.

His broom stuttered at the impact and sent him circuiting in the opposite direction. With a deepened yelp, he was thrown violently through the air.

“Theo!” you shouted. You gripped the handle of your broom and pushed it toward the ground. Your hair whipped wildly around you as you rocketed toward the boy who now lay collapsed against the damp sand.

Just before you reached the ground, you pulled up and lept off of the wood, running to gain your balance on the uneven ground. You sped toward the motionless boy, trying to keep your footing.

“Theo!”

The game above you had ceased, and other teammates began to drop behind you, trying to reach the two of you.

You dropped down to your knees beside him and laid your body across his. Your gloved hands gripped his shoulders and shook him roughly, trying to stir some consciousness, but there was nothing.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, fretting endlessly. You pressed your cold hands to his face in an attempt to shock him awake. Nothing.

“Fuck, Theo! Wake up, wake up, wake up!”

You were shaking him and shaking him and—

“THEO!” You brought your hand down across his face swiftly, skin meeting skin in a fiery clap.

Theo’s eyes shot open with a small gasp. A deep sigh of relief pushed from your lungs, and you leaned your forehead against his in a moment of weakness.

Your skin pressed against his, the beads of sweat intermingling like a crown of frost. Your gloved fingertips were gently against his cheeks. Both of your lips were parted, breaths heavy and relieved.

“I wonder if you’d ever do that to me again, bella,” his raspy voice purred against your ear.

“Ugh!” You wrenched yourself away from him, relief turning to annoyance. Of course, he’d take this moment to say something sexual.

“Alright, that’s practice! Everybody get washed up—I’ll get Nott to the infirmary.”

With that, a few of your teammates helped Theo toward the pitch’s exit, and the rest of you headed back for a cold shower.

***

It was a Friday evening which meant that all of your roommates were out for the evening—flitting about Hogsmeade, studying in the library, or whatever. You’d been invited out, but you were unbelievably sore from this afternoon’s practice. Be it because you’d pushed your body as hard as it could go during the actual practice or because you’d practically dove off your broom to get to Theo, you didn’t know. Either way, you were taking an early night.

You were, anyway, until you heard a knock at your door.

At first, you’d just assumed it was one of your roommates checking in for the night, but you were sure you hadn’t locked the door.

You rolled over and faced the thick wooden door, waiting for another knock, just in case you’d imagined it. You didn’t want to get up if you didn’t have to—especially after you’d already gotten so comfortable.

Another knock came to the door, this time a bit quicker and rougher.

You suppressed a sigh and yanked your covers back, headed toward the door at the end of the room. Whoever it was had better have a decent excuse for interrupting your rest. Every step you took felt like a dagger shooting up your legs and back.

The minute your fingers wrapped around the door handle and pulled it back, a tall figure pushed past you and into the room.

“Hey, what—” you began to protest before a voice interrupted yours. It was the same rasping, deep voice from earlier on the Quidditch pitch—one you knew all too well.

“Please, bella, let me stay,” he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t get you out of my head.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. This was Theo. The two of you had been on the same Quidditch team since you were eleven, you knew everything there was to know about each other. Except how badly he apparently wanted you, it seemed.

“Theo, I—”

“Please,” he spoke, eyes wide and wanting. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Just let me have you—just this once.”

“We can’t do this…we’re in the same house, on the same team, we’d just fuck everything up!” you tried to reason with him. There were a thousand reasons why nothing romantic should ever happen between you and Theo and zero reasons why they should, yet…the way he stared at you with such desire imprinted in his oceanic eyes had your knees weak.

“Please, I will do anything to have you,” he said. His voice cracked beneath the weight of his desire, the volume little more than a pathetic whisper.

And just as you were about to turn him away for the final time, he sank down to his knees just before you. His hands reached out for you, asking wordlessly to touch you. When you didn’t pull away, his shaking fingers made contact with your bare legs.

One arm curled around one leg, and the other pushed between your thighs. With begging strength, he pulled himself to you, pressing his shuddering, parted lips gently against your flesh. The feeling of his hot breath against your skin sent chills across your body.

Your eyes fluttered for a fleeting second as you imagined the possibilities—ones of you tangled within the sheets and devouring every inch of his body.

“Please,” he practically whined the word, his breath hot and panting against you. His hands clutched your legs endlessly, his lips across your skin, your fingers curling in his hair. You didn’t really recall doing that. Fuck.

“Okay, Teddy,” you whispered. His head shot up quickly, and his eyes searched yours. He looked in disbelief as if he hardly believed you’d ever say yes.

“But you do everything I say.” You removed one of your hands from his curls to trace the knuckles down the length of his cheek.

“Yes, bella,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of your hands on his skin.

His breath caught in his throat as your next words hit his ears. His eyes glanced up at you only for a moment before he was slipping his trembling fingers beneath the fabric of your night shorts.

His touch felt like fire along your flesh, melting and scarring everything it touched. Your head tilted back slowly as he worked the clothing down your legs, his movements slow and methodical.

Just as soon as they were on, your shorts pooled on the floor around your ankles, and Theo pressed his nose to your core, eliciting an electric response from you.

Your fingers tightened in his curls as the tip of his nose bumped against you. It was clear from his slowed breathing and caressing lips that he wanted to touch you badly. But still, he listened.

When giving instructions, you had told him to pull your bottoms down and to place himself just before you but not to touch you yet. You wanted him to beg even more. You loved how pathetic he sounded.

“Baby,” he whispered against your skin, hot breath flowing down your legs. His pale eyes stared up at you with desperation leaking around the edges. His eyebrows furrowed deeply, begging you to allow him to touch you. His fingers practically vibrated along the edge of your skin, every other shudder forcing him to come into contact with you.

“What do you say, Teddy?” you breathed, your eyes fluttering shut.

“Please…,” he whispered, his fingers curling tightly into the fabric of your nightshirt. “How many times shall I say it? I’ll say it a thousand times if I have to.”

“Just once more, then you can touch.”

“Please, my love.” His voice was soft and cracking. The words he chose made your head spin, making you wonder what kind of feelings he was truly harboring for you. Were they purely sexual or perhaps something more? You weren’t sure. It was a question for another day.

“Touch me, Teddy.”

With a shuddering exhale, he pressed his mouth to the core of your body in a hot, languorous motion. At the feeling, your fingers returned to their station in his hair, pulsating against his scalp. Your head rolled back against your shoulders. Your throat strained against the flesh of your neck, sending sparks of sound down through your chest at every moan that exited your lips.

He destroyed you sweetly from the outside in, feasting on you like fruit in the summer. His desperation to touch you, to taste you, to fuck you was pulsing through him like a bullet. Your legs began to shake beneath the feeling of his lips on you.

When he realized your knees had begun to shake, he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pushed you up and over onto your bed.

As your back hit the length of your mattress, a soft gasp left you as you realized his lips had never left you. He had never pulled away from you despite the motion. He had never pulled away, and your end was rapidly approaching.

“Close,” you whispered to the air. At the word, Theo’s hands clutched around your hips tightly, pulling you even closer to his mean mouth. A yelp escaped your lips at the sudden intensity of his tongue. Nothing could have ever prepared you for the feeling of the boy beneath you.

His eyes refused to leave you. They resembled that of a predator in the wild feasting on his prey, with no regret of what he was consuming. He could have eaten you whole right now, and you would not have felt any less pleasure.

Your fingers wrapped into the duvet beneath you, pressure increasing with each second. The breaths entering and exiting you increased heavily as your body skated closer and closer to the edge.

A small groan from Theo’s mouth sent shockwaves up the length of your body. The fuzzy feeling pooled in your head at the base of your skull and neck. You weren’t going to last much longer.

You glanced down to warn Theo that he would have to move away when you registered what the boy beneath you was doing. His eyes, now peacefully shut, refused to falter despite his body's motion.

His hips rolled roughly into the edge of your mattress, pushing pleasure through the rest of his body. His eyebrows began to knit into a rough line just as you began to tip over the edge of your mind. Your head rolled back against your pillow, Theo’s mouth showing no mercy despite the pleasure he was now giving himself.

You could barely stand to hold onto the comforters above you anymore; the only thing you could bear to grip was Theo’s honeyed curls, and with each tug to the delicate strand, he’d release another moan against you.

In a second, you fell over the edge, cascading into an overwhelming high that rose your body away from the bed. No matter how far into it you were, Theo refused to slow down and moved you through the whole moment, never relinquishing his mouth’s movements.

You finished with a cracking groan and shuddering legs. The weight of Theo’s hands against your thighs barely kept them from rising off the bed.

He chuckled evilly, a mixture of slick and spit running down his chin and neck. His lips were swollen and reddened, begging to taste your mouth.

He began to crawl up the bed towards you, but you stopped him with a foot placed delicately on his chest. You shook your head weakly and angled your head towards the obvious problem that had blossomed beneath his trousers. A lazy smirk spread across his lips.

“Finish,” you demanded, your eyes heavy and lidded, your lips parted and panting. The sweat from your exertion bled down your neck and between your breasts.

“Please, bella, let me touch you—”

“No, you’ve touched me enough,” you whispered. “Finish yourself in front of me.”

He swallowed thickly, the motion of his throat sending a shiver across your arms. He was the perfect specimen of a man, you could hardly stand it.

And when his hands dropped to separate the button and zipper of his pants, you could have come again. His hands slid across his slick stomach and pressed against himself.

His eyes screwed shut, and a slight hiss left his lips at the sensation. There was something so empowering about watching him do anything you told him to. It felt absolutely perfect, and you never wanted to stop.

His free hand rose to his face and slid the remaining sheen from his mouth across himself, the scent of you mixed with the consistency had him very quickly rolling his hips into his fist. He groaned against the feeling, bracing himself on the mattress just above you.

His eyes could barely hold yours, yet every time they fluttered shut, you laid a light slap to his cheek.

“Keep your eyes on me, Teddy,” you whispered. The skin on his face was becoming redder by the moment, but every time your hand came into contact with his cheek, he seemed to get closer to his climax. You never would have pegged Theo as someone who wanted to be hit by his partner, but it seemed to be working wonders for him. He was pathetic and begging for more after two or three hits. It felt perfect.

“That’s it, Teddy, that’s it, baby,” you whispered against his swollen lips. “Take it.”

And within a few moments, he was groaning and releasing himself against his hands, and you were pulling his lips to yours by his hair and devouring him just as he’d done to you.

Tag List: @lilymurphy03, @mypolicemanharryyy, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch

[wizzdot]

*short fic alert* (fic under page break)

Hear me out. Is this….John Price?!

The 141 get home late from a mission, Johnny and Gaz go straight to the showers and Simon slinks off to wherever it is he winds down after a tough few days.

You have been sat on the proverbial bench for the past few weeks with a bullet wound to the shoulder. While rendered useless to the team, you decide to take up a new hobby. So far, the boys have been lab rats for the taste tests of whatever concoction you pull from the oven.

The burnt cookies (that you’d forgotten to put eggs in) that Kyle had whined about almost breaking his perfect teeth. Johnny managed to gobble them up and didn’t seem to understand what the problem was, leading Simon to joke that the man had no taste buds.

Or the time you accidentally used Salt instead of Sugar in the Victoria Sponge cake. Kyle subtlety threw his slice in the bin while you weren’t looking making sounds as if he had enjoyed in. Johnny ate it, making it look so delicious that you were getting confident that your baking skills were finally improving. Simon took a slice back to his room and in the privacy of his own bed, took a bite, and immediately spat it down the toilet. “Christ Almighty, that fuckin’ twat really doesn’t have taste buds” he cursed.

You perfect your skills over the next couple of weeks, with Johnny and Kyle remaining endlessly supportive of your new venture. But the entire time, John avoids your baking attempts.

“Need to watch my weight, love”

“Wish I could have a bite, but I’m on a diet, sweetheart”

“Can’t afford to pile on the pounds at my age, Dove”

They are John’s favourite excuses. You won’t admit it, but it makes you sad. You want to make all of your boys happy. Also, he isn’t even that old for gods sake.

Simon knows that the Captain is avoiding your god awful attempts. But even Simon notices that your skills are slowly improving. He keeps sneaking cupcakes and cookies into his room and this past week, especially, they’d been… alright. Well - apart from the horrifically deformed attempt of decorating a cake like Yoda. It looked like a slimy goblin with wonky eyes - but it tasted ok.

So picture this, they get home from a three day long mission. You’d missed your boys. You’d left your most recent cake on the kitchen counter before going to bed. You climb out from your bed when you hear their tired footsteps heading down the hall.

You poke your head out of the door. Johnny and Kyle come over and give you a soft hug. “Christ, you boys stink” you say. “Fuck off” Kyle laughs, before stripping himself of his shirt “gonna hop straight in the shower anyway. See you in the mornin’, yeah?” he asks. I nod and watch as he leaves towards his room.

Johnny stands, watching Kyle retreat. “I smell even worse than him, hen” he says, trying to shove your head into his armpit. You fight him off and shoo him down the hall.

Simon walks past and gives a small nod, “you might want to go and see Price. He made a beeline for the kitchen” he grumbles, continuing on his way casually.

That comment puts you on edge. Is John hurt? Is he looking for you? You quickly slide on your fluffy slippers and shuffle down to the kitchen as quickly as you can.

The scene that greets you is the last thing you expect to see. The Captain, in a wide stance, leaning one hand on the counter, devouring your Cake (the best one you’d baked so far!!!) with just a single fork. He’d polished off at least half of it, showing no signs of slowing down.

You can’t help but giggle at the scene. “Is it good…?”

“Fuckin’ hell, Love. It’s delicious”

The blush that erupts over your cheeks is immense.

“That was supposed to be shared..” you mumble.

“Not in a sharing mood” he says through a mouthful of cake.

“It’s rude to chew with your mouth open, Captain” you joke.

“Teach me some manners then, sweetheart” he teases, stabbing the fork into the top of the remaining quarter of cake before crowding into your personal space.

“Cakes almost as sweet as you” he whispers into your left ear before leaving the kitchen with a smug smile as you stand frozen in place.

“Oh, I’ve forgotten something!” He mentions from down the hall before turning back and snatching the cake box from the counter. He pauses on his way out, pecking you on the cheek and heading to his office as if that was totally normal behaviour.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t stand touching the spot that he’d kissed for half an hour after he’d left.

Your phone interrupts your frozen state. It’s a text from the group chat.

………..

Johnny: “Kyle, d’ya think Cap told her how he feels yet?”

………

Johnny: “c’mon ya cunt, don’t ignore my message. I know your out the shower I can hear you laughin through the wall”

………

Simon’s voice bellows throughout the hallway “wrong fuckin’ chat, you moron” followed by Kyle cackling and Johnny swearing loudly.

You’re still standing in the doorway of the kitchen, in shock, when the door to John’s office opens.

“Guess you saw that, eh?” he asks, sheepishly.

You nod your head, zoning in on a piece of icing on the corner of his mouth. As if on instinct, you reach up and wipe it with your finger, sticking it into your mouth, before freezing again, realising what you’d just done.

Johns eyes follow your finger, hungrily.

“If you wanted to taste it, you could’ve just asked, love”

[blythesarchives]

Rinse Cycle.

summary: Bucky pulls his arm from the dishwasher and you love how warm it is.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | TB*!Bucky | Fingering | Dirty talk | Swearing | Groping | Nipple play | Teasing | Orgasm denial (you do finish in the end hehe)

a/n: Thunderbolts* trailer has me feral af. I have so many ideas I want to write, but this is a start. I didn't mean for this to get so long but maybe that's just Bucky pulling more passion out of me. I need him. We don't know how he's going to act in the movie so I just sort of winged it from what the trailer provided. Unedited. ;; wc: 5.8k

It was chore day. You hated chore day.

The monotony of it all felt suffocating, an endless cycle of tedious tasks that seemed to pile up endlessly. Dishes stacked in the sink, laundry overflowing from the hamper, bathroom in dire need of scrubbing, kitchen counters cluttered with remnants of meals past, and trash threatening to spill over - it all felt like an insurmountable mountain of responsibilities.

The weight of these mundane tasks pressed down on you, a constant reminder of the adulting you'd been avoiding. But there was no escaping it any longer; you had procrastinated to the very limit of what was tolerable.

You tried not to be too hard on yourself about the state of things. Both you and Bucky struggled with mental health and that often made seemingly simple tasks, like washing dishes or tidying up, feel overwhelmingly difficult. You both understood this struggle and did your best to help one another out. You developed a system and worked together, splitting household chores as a team when possible. But you both had your days where you couldn’t contribute as much, so it was up to the other to carry it.

With a heavy sigh, you began the dreaded process by gathering the scattered laundry. Your movements were deliberately quiet as you crept into the bedroom where Bucky was currently taking a heavy nap. His face, usually etched with worry lines, appeared peaceful for once. You couldn't help but pause for a moment, taking him in, his features and how beautiful he was to you. It was a stark contrast to the terrorized nights you'd both endured, filled with his restless tossing and turning.

Thankfully, the relentless nightmares he suffered from had become less frequent since you'd started sharing the bed. It had been a slow process, watching him migrate from the cold, hard floor, to the slightly more comfortable couch, and finally to the warmth and safety of your shared bed.

You often slept with him before his migration, napping on the floor during the night or on the couch while he remained on the floor. You both laid together on the couch, but you also slept separately. Now, you were just glad he had finally moved into bed with you.

He was curled up in bed, his form a picture of peaceful slumber. His messy hair framed his face, giving him an endearing, boyish look. His mouth was slightly open, soft breaths escaping in a gentle rhythm, and his metal arm was absent from his body. It wasn't an uncommon thing, as he occasionally removed it when he slept, he said sometimes it feels better without the weight of it straining his back muscles when he laid down. Bucky really only did this when he felt truly safe and secure in his surroundings, aka, only around you and in your shared home. The missing prosthetic wasn't on the bedside table where he usually placed it, so he must be cleaning it.

You gathered the scattered laundry from around the room so you could leave him to his nap, creating a neat pile in your arms. Making your way to the laundry area, you passed the kitchen and saw the rinse cycle on the dishwasher, figuring his arm was in there. You threw the dirty clothes into the washing machine when you reached it, setting it to run. There was a load of dry clothes waiting to be dealt with, so you folded these items and set them aside for later. Your next task took you to the bathroom, where you began the process of cleaning and tidying. You finished scrubbing just in time to come out and see Bucky standing at the dishwasher.

Bucky looked absolutely precious when he woke up, despite his usual brooding when you fawned over him so sweetly, his tousled hair framing his face in a messy halo, and his eyes still heavy with sleep. His expression was one of endearing drowsiness that only comes from a deep slumber. When his gaze finally focused on you, a flicker of realization crossed his features. In an adorable attempt to appear more presentable, he quickly turned to the sink, fumbling slightly with the faucet before running his hand under the cool stream of water.

"Hey doll..." he mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep for longer than an hour." His hand continued to run through his disheveled hair, attempting to tame the unruly strands. The water caused his dark locks to stick up at odd angles, somehow making him look even more endearing. "Guess I needed it more than I thought..." he added sheepishly, a small, apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You've been pushing yourself so hard lately, Bucky. Your body was probably crying out for a break," you replied softly, your voice filled with understanding and affection. You made your way around the sleek granite counter, each step bringing you closer to him. A warm smile spread across your face, your eyes twinkling with amusement at his disheveled state and hurried attempt to tame his hair. He decided to grow it out a while ago, he liked having you play with it, and his shorter hair didn’t feel as satisfying when your fingers carded through it.

"So..." you began, your tone taking on a playful lilt. "I see you put it in the dishwasher again, huh?" A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you gestured towards the kitchen appliance, your eyes dancing with mirth. It was a recurring joke between the two of you, one day he forgot to tell you about his arm and you were shocked to find it in there.

He opened the dishwasher and pulled out the bottom rack, his eyes immediately drawn to the peculiar sight of a metallic arm nestled beside two off-white ceramic plates. The sight of the advanced prosthetic among mundane kitchenware was both amusing and slightly absurd to you. "Do not tell me you ran a whole cycle and there were only two plates in there..." You groaned softly, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief coloring your voice. Your reaction elicited a low, rumbling chuckle from him, the sound warm and slightly mischievous.

"Maybe." Bucky's response was accompanied by a playful smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He reached into the dishwasher and carefully retrieved his steaming vibranium arm, the advanced metal still radiating intense heat from the cleaning cycle. The heather black surface of the arm was a striking contrast against his skin, with intricate gold accents peeking through the articulated plates, creating a mesmerizing interplay of light and shadow.

As he deftly maneuvered the prosthetic towards his shoulder, the air seemed to hum with anticipation. The arm's sensors flickered to life, bathing the immediate area in a soft, ethereal violet glow. Bucky aligned the arm with his shoulder socket, and in one fluid motion, it locked into place with a satisfying click. The plates of the arm began to shift and recalibrate, the movement reminded you of a living organism adapting to its environment. You remembered once you had made the comparison to a caterpillar squiggling across a leaf.

He threw his arm in a quick, fluid motion, the circular movement causing a sudden surge of heat to radiate through your core. The soft grunt that escaped his lips as his arm swung through the air didn't go unnoticed by you. You found yourself moving closer to him without any sort of cause, your body responding instinctively to the simple action.

The arm still retained the warmth from the cycle it ran through, you could feel the radiating heat even from a short distance away. Vibranium was notorious for holding and distributing kinetic energy, this also applied to heat and cold. Unable to resist, your fingertips delicately grazed over the smooth, metallic surface. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the temperature of the arm in comparison to your cooler skin.

Bucky's piercing gaze followed your every movement, his eyes immediately drawn to the telltale flush that had begun to spread across your cheeks. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he observed your reaction.

"Ah...what's wrong, sweetheart..." he murmured, his voice low and husky, carrying that unmistakable teasing tone that you had come to recognize all too well. It was a tone that never failed to set your heart racing, a prelude to the passionate encounters that often followed. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, you shuffled in place and felt your legs squeeze together for some kind of friction.

"Nothing..." you huffed out, your voice much quieter than anticipated, barely above a whisper. "Your arm is just... so warm. It feels nice…"

"Does it?" he inquired, his tone a mixture of curiosity and amusement, the gentle lilt in his voice made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

Your mind began to wander, racing with vivid thoughts of how his arm would feel against your body. You imagined his strong hand tenderly caressing your back, his fingers tracing delicate patterns as they ran down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The mental image continued, his touch ghosting over the curve of your ass, his hands gently massaging your thighs, kneading away any tension and replacing it with a tingling sensation that spread throughout your body.

Or simply Bucky holding you close, his warmth enveloping you completely when you felt a little chilly, providing not just the physical comfort you craved from him but also a sense of safety and belonging, something you had always struggled with before you met.

He had done all of that countless times before, yet for some reason, with the arm radiating a warmth significantly more intense than its usual room temperature coolness, a deep, tingly sensation began to stir deep within your core. You found yourself swallowing hard, your gaze slowly lifting to meet his.

You guided his hand towards your neck, Bucky's eyebrow raised ever so slightly at your action. But, he wasn’t stupid. He unfurled his palm, allowing his fingertips to caress your skin with a delicate touch. The feather-light contact sent shivers down your spine, once he felt your body give him that little shiver, he encircled your throat with his fingers, maintaining a loose yet unmistakably present grip. His voice was low and husky, leaning down a bit until his lips grazed the shell of your ear. "What do you want, babydoll?"

"I...want...to feel your hand." You rasped in response, your voice thick with desire. A wave of heat coursed through your body, pooling between your legs as his voice sent shivers down your spine. Your body responded to him instantly, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you shuffled closer to him, your hands splaying across his broad chest. The fabric of his shirt did little to mask the warmth radiating from his skin, and you found yourself growing more desperate with each passing second, craving the feeling of him close to you.

Bucky chuckled, the low rumble in his chest vibrating against your palms. His scruff tickled your cheekbone as he leaned in, laying a hasty but tender kiss to your temple. The brief contact left your skin burning, yearning for more, like a drug being given and suddenly taken away. His metal hand moved down your body with agonizing slowness, the fucker did it on purpose to tease you more. He gently teased the sensitive skin just above your shorts, his fingers dancing along the waistband before sliding beneath your top.

While your skin was feverish, the touch of the very hot vibranium felt electrifying against you. Normally, the touches from his hand would tickle, raising goosebumps in their wake from the cold metal. But now it felt incredibly comforting and arousing all at once. The warmth spreading through your body was addictive, a delicious heat that you couldn't get enough of. He continued caressing you with a gentle and possessive touch, you arched into his hand in response, silently begging for more.

You couldn't suppress the soft whimper that escaped your lips as his hand continued its tantalizing journey across your abdomen. His fingers danced along your skin, deliberately brushing against your sensitive sides, making you quiver. His trail was agonizingly slow, but his touch ascended, finally reaching the delicate area just beneath your breasts. Your breath was caught in your throat, and he stopped moving his hand completely, having it instead rest still on your skin and the area turning a bit red from the heat.

"You want more?" His voice, low and husky, cut through the tension-filled air. His icy blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing through to your very core. There was amusement dancing in those glacial depths as he observed your flushed face and quickened breathing. He was clearly enjoying the effect he had on you, reveling in the way your body responded to his touch. Bucky was always super cheeky when it came to making you like this, he took great pride in turning your legs into Jell-O.

You weren’t able to form coherent words, your mind clouded thickly with desire. His mere presence was intoxicating, and the light caresses he had bestowed upon you were enough to reduce you to that quivering mess he was so eager to see. You were putty in his hands, desperate for more of his touch and he had barely begun.

Already, you were teetering on the edge of losing all self-control.

"Bucky, please, I can't handle this teasing anymore," you whimpered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your breath had become increasingly rapid and shallow as waves of adrenaline coursed through your body, setting every nerve ending alight with anticipation. The mere thought of his hand, that powerful, yet gentle hand, exploring your most sensitive and intimate areas made you feel increasingly wet.

Bucky's fingers found the hem of your top and he paused for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for permission. At your almost imperceptible nod, he began to lift the fabric, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of your skin. The cool air of the room kissed your newly exposed flesh, adding to the sensory overload you were already experiencing. He pulled the garment completely over your head and carelessly tossed it aside, where it landed in a forgotten heap on the floor.

Now bare from the waist up, you felt a moment of vulnerability as Bucky's intense gaze roved over your exposed chest. His stormy blue eyes darkened with desire, drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if committing it to memory. The weight of his stare ignited a fire deep within you that threatened to consume you entirely.

Bucky's hands slowly and deliberately roam upwards, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your skin before finally reaching your breasts. He gently cups them in his large hands, beginning to massage and caress them with a tender yet passionate touch. Bucky's ministrations quickly begin to urge you on, your legs flexing together to create some kind of pressure between your legs.

The vibranium hand was still hot, it distributes those waves of heat through your body in a much gentler fashion than how you’ve seen in other circumstances. You’ve seen his arm break through concrete, crush otherwise impossible to damage objects, choke the life out of aliens. And here he was, treating your body like precious, tender treasure with the same limb.

You can feel your skin tingling …the dichotomy between his two hands - one warm flesh, one hot metal - adds an extra layer of sensory stimulation. A feather or an ice cube couldn't compare to how he made you feel.

The pure captivation in Bucky's eyes made the butterflies in your belly swarm even more, how he eyes your breasts makes you want to pull him in and push them against his face. His movements become more focused when he senses your desires, kneading and massaging with a rhythm reminiscent of a contented feline. The gentle yet insistent pressure of his fingers elicits a soft, involuntary moan from your lips.

Unable to resist the opportunity for a bit of playful teasing, you murmur breathlessly, "Mmm... you learned from Alpine?" The reference to his beloved white ragdoll brings a flicker of amusement to Bucky's intense gaze. He responds with a dramatic eye roll, clearly torn between exasperation at the interruption and appreciation for your attempt at humor.

"Shut up..." he growls softly, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. The playful admonishment is accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his hands, your eyes widened as you let out a gentle mewl.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, but he doesn't kiss you fully, no.

Bucky Barnes is the master of teasing.

He maintains his playful demeanor, reveling in the way you squirm and moan for him. That signature cocky smirk of his spreads across his lips as he watches you shuffle and attempt to press closer, seeking more contact. "Ah, ah... patience, doll. Stay still for me," he commands, his voice low and husky with desire.

"Bucky..." You drawl out his name, elongating the syllables into a desperate whine. Your body trembles with need, silently begging for more of his touch. You're acutely aware of his penchant for teasing, knowing all too well that he's unlikely to give in to your pleas so easily.

If anything, your desperation only seems to fuel his determination. Knowing Bucky as you do, he'll draw this out, savoring every moment of your mounting desire until your legs buckle beneath you.

His fingers begin to tease your sensitive buds, eliciting those exquisite sounds he so deeply adores from you. Those needy, desperate noises that eloquently convey how incredibly good he makes you feel, encouraging him to continue his ministrations. His skilled fingers pinch lightly, gently tugging and rolling, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your right breast is noticeably warmer and more flushed from the recent contact with the hot metal, though it didn't cause any discomfort or burning. The sight of your reddened, sensitive skin makes him groan softly under his breath, his desire for you growing rapidly.

"Ugh...look at you. You're drivin’ me crazy," Bucky whispered, his voice husky with desire. He nudged his knee between your legs, effectively pinning you in place. Your back pressed firmly against the cool counter, leaving you delightfully trapped between the unyielding surface and Bucky's warm, solid body.

"Please, don't tease me anymore..." You begged softly, your voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and desperation. You didn't truly expect him to relent, but a small part of you hoped that he might show mercy. Your plea, however, only served to amuse him, eliciting a low, throaty chuckle that sent shivers down your spine.

His thumbs continued their torturous dance, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the very peaks of your sensitive buds. Each touch sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, making you gasp and squirm. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your chest further into his skilled hands, silently begging for more despite your earlier words.

You were already teetering on the edge, your composure crumbling with each passing second. You always liked to think you were more hardy against him but…damnit could he get you to break. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he had reduced you to this quivering mess, and he had barely begun. His touch had been confined to your breasts alone, yet you felt as though your entire body was on fire.

"I've got you...m'gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart..." His voice was low with a promise that made your heart race even faster. With a fluid motion, he grasped your hips and turned you around, pressing your back firmly against his broad chest. The heat of his body seeped through you, adding to the inferno building within you. His hands, those wonderful, torturous hands, began a slow, teasing journey down your body, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake.

Slowly, he pushed your underwear down, as the fabric inched its way to your mid-thighs, he paused, his eyes drinking in the sight before him. Sticky strands of your excitement formed delicate bridges between your core and the fabric. The underwear continued its descent, finally coming to rest just above your knees, leaving you exposed and trembling.

"God, look at you," he breathed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Just from me handlin' you a little, you got this wet for me?" Bucky whispered directly into your ear, his hot breath fanned across your skin, his scruff tickled your sensitive flesh as he spoke. The slight abrasion only served to heighten the ever-growing need you felt in your core.

He tilted his head closer to you, lips barely grazed your temple as he placed teasing kisses there. Suddenly, his knee moved, gently but firmly knocking against your legs. The silent command was clear, and you found yourself widening your stance, your body responding to his unspoken desires.

The tension that had been building within you reached a crescendo. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a whine - a needy, desperate sound. Your voice so thick with desire, managed to break through those desperate noises, "Bucky..." you pleaded, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. "Please," you repeated, your body trembling with the effort of restraining yourself. "I can't take it anymore..."

The scorching metal continued its relentless journey across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. Your body quivered involuntarily as it inched closer to your most sensitive area. The heat radiating from your cunt rivaled that of his arm, but nothing could have prepared you for the jolt that surged through you the moment his fingers made contact with your intimate folds. The sensation was so intense that you barely managed to stifle a scream.

"Bucky!" His name escaped your lips in a breathless gasp as his skilled fingers found their target with unerring precision. They danced teasingly over your bundle of nerves, easily locating the center of your pleasure and lavishing it with gentle, circular motions. Each swirl of his fingertips sent waves of loud ecstasy coursing through your body. Your sensitive bud throbbed and pulsed under his expert touch, responding eagerly to every caress. The flood of need that washed over you was so potent that you could feel it trickling down your inner thighs.

Bucky’s fingers ventured lower, drawn to the source of your wetness and he probed your entrance. He held you still as he swiftly slid two fingers deep inside you. The sudden intrusion into your velvety depths caused your eyes to roll back in your head, overwhelmed by the sensation of his still very hot fingers inside you. You let your head fall heavily onto his shoulder, a loud, unrestrained moan escaped your lips as his fingers began a gentle yet insistent rhythm, pumping in and out of you with a practiced ease.

"That's it, sweetheart..." Bucky let out a deep, guttural grunt of pleasure as he listened to your soft whimpers and moans. His voice was thick with his own desire as he continued, "How's that feel, hm? My fingers exploring every inch of this needy little hole of yours. You were practically dripping before I even laid a hand on you, weren't you?" His skilled fingers deftly navigated your cunt, searching for that one spot that would drive you wild.

Suddenly, his fingers found that elusive sweet, spongy spot deep inside you and curled up against it. The sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You couldn't help but let out a desperate, keening mewl as your hips instinctively bucked into his hand, seeking more of that friction. But your eager movements only resulted in Bucky withdrawing his fingers slightly, denying you the intense stimulation you craved.

"No, no, doll... stay still for me," he rasped into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin and sending shivers down your spine. "I know you can do that. Be good…" His voice was a horny mix of command and encouragement, leaving no room for argument.

His fingers resumed their steady movements after seconds of stillness, but now they purposefully avoided that sweet spot that had you seeing stars just moments ago. The deliberate teasing had you trembling with need, but you weren’t shocked by it. Bucky loved watching you like this, he wasn’t satisfied unless you were shaking and begging through your pretty tears. He had you caught between the desire to obey and the overwhelming urge to chase your pleasure.

The Wakandan metal radiated an intense, penetrating heat that seemed to seep into your very core, like having smoldering coals nestled within your body. It didn't burn, of course - the sensation was far more nuanced than that. Besides, if his steaming arm burned you, he wouldn’t ever put it on your skin.

It instead felt like an overwhelming surge of warmth, akin to the comforting embrace of a steaming bowl of soup on a cold winter's day. The heat consumed you, leaving you feeling inexplicably full and satiated. You tried, your fervent attempts to remain still were failing, the mounting pleasure proved increasingly difficult to resist. He was acutely aware of your struggle, reveling in the power he held over you.

Your body cruelly betrayed you as your hips instinctively jerked upward, responding to the touch of his fingers as they grazed your most sensitive spot deep inside your cavern. Bucky, surprisingly, permitted this small transgression…but he was far from ready to grant you the release you so desperately craved.

He continued to curl his fingers relentlessly, expertly manipulating your body until he could feel the telltale tightening of your inner walls around him. Your voice, thick with need and barely above a whisper, managed to form the words, "I-I'm close, Bucky I...-"

Just as your body tensed, poised on the very edge of ecstasy, Bucky abruptly withdrew his fingers, denying you the climax you had been building towards. The sudden loss of stimulation made you release a pained, desperate cry from your lips, a sound that reverberated with raw frustration and unfulfilled desire. You attempted to crane your neck, seeking to make eye contact with him, silently pleading for mercy.

He was so unfair.

"Not until I say, baby...you know that," he whispered against your ear, his fingers thoroughly coated in your essence. You caught sight of the glistening strands of your unmistakable arousal dripping from his hand. The sight made you blush deeply, a mix of shame and excitement coursing through you as you whined softly, your body instinctively squirming against his other arm that held you firmly in place.

"Please...I need to..." you started, your voice trembling with need, a shiver running through your body as you felt the sudden loss of his warm, skilled fingers against your sensitive flesh. The absence of his touch left you aching, yearning for more, trying to get closer to that hand just inches away from you.

Bucky let his hand return to your folds, deliberately spreading your arousal across the delicate skin. The slow, purposeful movement of his fingers sent more addicting pleasure through your body. He began to tease your precious clit once more, his expert touch reigniting the fire within you.

His fingers warmed the pink flesh to a deep, blushing red, each caress bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy while still keeping you teetering on the brink of release. He did just enough for you to feel those shocks, but not enough to push you over.

You couldn't contain yourself, your passionate cries echoing through the room with such intensity that you were convinced your neighbors would surely lodge a complaint later. You didn’t really care, and neither did he. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding desperately against his hand as he expertly pleasured you.

His organic hand slowly traced its way down to your entrance, teasing and tantalizing with feather-light touches, then plunged deep inside you, curling over and over against your g-spot. His metal fingers continued their relentless assault on the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between your slick folds, your clit at the mercy of his ministrations.

His voice was so deliciously deep and husky with arousal, it cut through the haze of your pleasure as he spoke to you. "You gonna finish for me, doll?" he growled, his own hips now moving in tandem with yours, the friction adding another layer to your mounting pleasure as you felt his hard cock grinding against your ass. "Hm? You gonna make a mess on my hands?"

The raw need in his tone, combined with the skillful ministrations of his hands, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your climax rapidly approaching, a tidal wave threatening to crash over you at any moment.

You felt an overwhelming surge of sensation wash over you, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it all. Your mouth fell open, ready to cry out in ecstasy, but at first, only a soft, breathy whine escaped your lips. Every muscle in your body tensed, your inner walls clenching tightly around his skilled fingers.

His hand continued its relentless assault, moving in circles around your sensitive bud, alternating between gentle pinches and teasing tugs. Your vocalizations grew louder and more desperate when he pinched your clit, his gentle tugging made the blood rush straight to it, the sensitivity increasing.

The climax washed over you, your passionate cries for him echoing through the empty kitchen. His name tumbled from your lips in a frantic mantra, your voice raw with need. Tears of intense pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes and your legs gave way beneath you, unable to support your weight any longer. But he was there, strong and steady, holding you up as you shattered in his arms.

"That's it, baby," he murmured encouragingly, his voice a low, seductive rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go for me. Don't hold back. I want to see you make a mess, make a fuckin’ mess for me..." His words were a siren song, coaxing, commanding you deeper into the throes of ecstasy.

Bucky's touches never ceased, fingers working tirelessly to prolong your pleasure, pushing you higher and higher until you thought you might lose your mind. What felt like mere seconds stretched into an eternity of blissful agony, your body alight with sensation, trembling and arching against him as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Your vision blurred as tears pricked your eyes, cascading down your cheeks while you completely soaked his fingers. The intensity of the sensation overwhelmed you, causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. As waves of pleasure coursed through you, your mind went blank, consumed by the sheer ecstasy of the moment.

As your cries died down, your orgasm began to subside, having run its course through you. Your once rigid body slowly relaxed, muscles unwinding one by one, mirroring the gentling of his touches. He held you securely by your hips, his strong arm providing much-needed support to prevent you from collapsing. Even with the counter in front of you, you weren’t sure if you could even stand right now.

The aftermath left you in a state of blissful delirium. It felt utterly incredible, as if you were floating on cloud nine, your senses still reeling from the intense experience. You remained dazed, barely able to process the lingering sensations coursing through your body. Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers, the movement eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

His touch became so tender and affectionate, traced a path along your skin as he placed gentle, reverent kisses on the back of your shoulder and the nape of your neck. The warmth of his breath caused goosebumps to rise all over your body as he murmured words of praise against your skin. "So good for me...so perfect, babydoll. You did so good for me," he whispered, his voice held soft adoration and satisfaction.

"I... I can't... feel my legs," you managed to say, your voice coming out in a raspy whisper as you struggled to catch your breath. Your chest heaved with each labored inhale, the exertion of your intense orgasm still evident in your flushed cheeks and trembling limbs.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck where his lips were pressed, sending a shiver down your spine despite your exhaustion. His gentle hands supported your weight, helping you regain your balance until you were able to stand somewhat steadily on your own, though your legs still felt like jelly beneath you.

"My bad, doll," he replied with a cheeky grin, that familiar smug smile spreading across his face as his eyes roamed over your disheveled form. There was a glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he took in the sight of you, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you. His eyes lingered on the places where his metal hand had touched, tracing the patterns of blotches and handprints that now adorned your skin in various shades of red from the heat of the vibranium.

"S'pretty, you know that?" he whispered, his voice low and husky. His eyes raking over your body with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished. His gaze held vibrant, burning embers of lust that were still very much alive, but also a deep well of affection and love that made your heart skip a beat.

Bucky leaned close to you, his eyes softening as he gazed into yours. He caressed your cheek with his organic hand and gave you a tender, lingering kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest. Your hands were still slightly trembling from your overwhelming release, but they found their way to his cheeks. Your thumbs traced delicate circles on his cheekbones, savoring the feel of his skin and scruff beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself melting into his embrace. The world faded away until there was nothing but the two of you, you cherished the moments like this, when it was just you both enjoying a sweet moment together. No worries, no stress, no fear. When Bucky finally pulled away, that familiar cheeky grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes with mischief and affection.

Your eyes narrowed in response, growing suspicious thinking about the many possibilities he could be up to. "I gotta wash my arm again," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the plates of vibranium still coated thickly with your orgasm.

Your cheeks flushed and you groaned softly, rolling your eyes. "Put the pan on the stove this time," you replied, your voice equally soft but tinged with playful exasperation. "I am not hand washing that thing."

Thanks for reading - em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[callsigns-haze]

hi, I was wondering if you could do a one shot, where the reader and tyler are storm chasers, but the readers ill and tyler makes her sit this chase out so she can get better. so she watches the live stream, when boone shows the tornado and it looks really bad, when suddenly the camera cuts and the reader can't get a hold of tyler or anyone else. you can pick the ending, and you don't have to do it. thank you x.

Unanswered

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Y/N anxiously monitors a severe tornado chase from the sidelines due to illness, fearing the worst when the live stream abruptly cuts off, only to be relieved when Tyler, her partner, returns safely.

Chapter Warning: Descriptions of illness, anxiety, and intense storm danger, including a brief moment of panic.

The rolling plains stretched out endlessly under a steel-grey sky, the air thick with the tension of an impending storm. Y/N sat in the passenger seat of their truck, her usual excitement for the chase dampened by the persistent ache in her chest and the fever that refused to break. She had been trying to shake off the flu for days, but it clung to her like a stubborn cloud.

Tyler, her partner in both storm chasing and life, shot her a concerned glance as he steered the truck down the dusty backroads of Tornado Alley. They’d been tracking a supercell all morning, the energy between them usually electric during these chases, but today it was different. The worry in Tyler’s eyes had grown more intense with every cough she tried to stifle.

“Y/N, you’re in no shape to be out here,” Tyler finally said, his voice firm but gentle. “I need you to sit this one out and rest. You can follow the chase on the live stream, but I can’t focus if I’m worried about you.”

She wanted to argue, to insist that she was fine, that she could push through. But the truth was, she felt awful, and the thought of being a liability to the team gnawed at her. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Okay,” Y/N agreed, her voice raspy. “But you have to promise me you’ll be careful. This storm looks like it could be a monster.”

Tyler gave her a reassuring smile, leaning over to press a quick kiss to her forehead. “I promise. I’ll keep you updated, and Boone will keep the live stream going so you won’t miss a thing.”

He pulled the truck to a stop near a small diner at the edge of town, where Y/N would wait out the chase. As much as it pained her to let Tyler go without her, she knew it was the right decision. She grabbed her laptop and settled into a booth, her eyes already glued to the live stream feed.

The storm was already gaining strength as Tyler and the team pushed deeper into the heart of Tornado Alley. The sky darkened ominously, and the wind began to howl, whipping dust and debris across the road. Boone, their seasoned cameraman, narrated the scene for their live stream viewers, his voice steady but tinged with excitement.

Y/N watched the stream intently, her pulse quickening with each update. The camera captured the swirling clouds, the lightning flashing in jagged arcs across the sky. The radar showed the supercell tightening, the classic hook echo indicating a tornado could drop at any moment.

Suddenly, the feed shifted, and Boone's camera zoomed in on the horizon. A dark funnel began to descend from the clouds, twisting and turning with terrifying speed.

“There it is!” Boone’s voice came through the speakers, the adrenaline evident in his tone. “We’ve got a tornado on the ground, folks. It’s a big one!”

Y/N’s heart pounded as she watched the tornado touch down, tearing across the open fields with a ferocity that made her stomach churn. The massive twister seemed to devour everything in its path, growing larger with each passing second.

Tyler’s voice crackled through the feed, giving commands to the team as they maneuverer to get a better position. But just as the team closed in, the camera suddenly jerked violently, the screen filling with static. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as the stream cut out entirely, leaving her staring at a blank screen.

“Come on, come on,” Y/N muttered, frantically refreshing the page. But the stream refused to return. She grabbed her phone and dialled Tyler’s number, her fingers trembling with fear.

The call went straight to voicemail.

“No, no, no…” Panic began to claw at Y/N’s chest as she tried Boone’s number, then the rest of the team. But every call went unanswered, the dread growing heavier with each failed attempt.

She could barely breathe as she stared at her phone, the silence around her deafening. Every second felt like an eternity. Images of the storm, the twisting tornado, flashed in her mind, and all she could think about was Tyler out there in the path of destruction.

Y/N’s mind raced, torn between the urge to jump in the truck and drive out there herself, and the knowledge that she was in no condition to help. But sitting here, doing nothing, was unbearable.

Just as she was about to give in to despair, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Her heart leaped into her throat as she saw Tyler’s name flash on the screen.

“Tyler!” she answered, her voice choked with emotion. “What happened? Are you okay?”

There was a brief pause, and then Tyler’s voice came through, slightly shaky but alive. “Y/N, I’m okay. We’re all okay. The tornado got too close, we had to take cover. Boone lost the camera when we were scrambling to get to safety.”

Y/N exhaled a shaky breath, tears of relief streaming down her face. “I was so scared, Tyler. I thought… I thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Tyler said softly, his voice filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to scare you. We’re safe now. The tornado’s moved on, and we’re regrouping. We’ll be back soon.”

She closed her eyes, trying to calm her racing heart. “Just come back in one piece, okay? No more close calls.”

“I promise,” Tyler replied, the sound of his voice steadying her. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

Y/N held onto the phone long after the call ended, her heart still pounding but slowly settling back into a more normal rhythm. The storm was still out there, but knowing Tyler was safe brought her a sense of calm she hadn’t felt all day.

Hours later, the door of the diner swung open, and Y/N looked up to see Tyler walking in, looking tired but unharmed. She rushed to him, wrapping her arms around him tightly, the relief overwhelming her.

He held her close, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I should have kept you updated.”

She pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a small smile. “I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

Tyler cupped her face in his hands, his eyes full of love and concern. “Let’s get you home. You need to rest, and I need to take care of you for a change.”

Y/N nodded, feeling the exhaustion hit her all at once. But now, with Tyler by her side, the fear and worry of the day seemed to fade into the background. They had faced the storm and come out the other side, and now all that mattered was that they were together.

As they left the diner, the storm clouds were already beginning to clear, the first hints of twilight breaking through. The danger had passed, and with it, a new appreciation for the quiet moments they could share, far from the chaos of the chase.

Requests for Tyler are open be free to send in as much as you wish!

tagging some:

@senawashere

@saviorcomplexrry

@cevansbaby-dove

@saynotononsense

@missdottie

@willowisp7

@taorislover94

@eloquenceinpurple

@86laura11

@rosiahills22

@jessicab1991

@kmc1989

@shanimallina87

@eternalsams

@teen-antisocial

@katiemcrae

[madeofstardust17]

So what really bothers me about this season was how they reducer every single character to their most basic cliches, when in previous seasons they were so much more than that. Hear me out:

Luther was made into this happy-go-lucky, dumb himbo, when in reality, he's a guy who takes stuff seriously, who does his best to take care of everyone, and has emotional depth. They took that away from him. He's smart, even if they try to make it out like he isn't. They reduced him to just endless positivity and a pretty body (and even that they turned into a joke, giving him an ape body again and ignoring all his trauma related to that).

Diego was reduced to this useless, bitter, suburban dad, who thinks he's owed more than he has. In reality, he was so excited to be a dad. He's a good detective, he's empathetic, he has this sensitivity that he tries to hide but shines when he talks to others. More than anything, he's a provider, he thrives when he has someone to protect, to care for.

Allison has always been a badass, and a good mom. They made that shine, but she was so much more than that. She was complex, and endlessly optimistic, fighting for what was right. She was a good sister, and they made her bitter about that too.

Klaus was reduced to just humor, and not even well done. His little adventures used to mean something for him, and to the plot. They just made him a whore and did nothing for him. The only good thing I will say was that they took his addiction seriously for once. Still, he was useless to the plot, when once he was the key they were all missing.

Five. Oh my fucking God. They did him the most dirty. He would come off as aloof and uncaring, but underneath it, we all understood he loved his family more than anything, that he did everything in his power to protect them. They reduced him to that facade, they made him cold and selfish, willing to hurt his sibling just for his own personal gain.

With Ben, they spent the entire past season making him into this guy who was really rubbish at being the bad guy, who wanted a real family deep down. They reduced him to this asshole who spent the entire season swearing up and down that the umbrellas where not his family.

With Viktor, they tried to make him this cool, confident, independent (apparently womanizer?) dude who gave zero shits about his family. WHEN ALL HE EVER WANTED WAS HIS SIBLINGS' RESPECT. HE WANTED TO BE PART OF THE TEAM. And then they proceeded to make him work??? With his abusive dad???? Who suddenly cared???? And he ignored the rest of his siblings until the last possible minute.

Lila was always the cool, independent, secure woman, who didn't really need a man. They spent two seasons assuring us that she could be on her own just fine, but Diego completed her. He was the perfect person for her, bc he could give her what she craved, a family, people she could rely on. Instead on continuing that, finding a way to balance her family and a job (or something) to let her be something more than just a bored suburban mom, they made her into this insecure woman in her marriage, who just tosses it all aside for FIVE. Who is so incompatible with her that is not even funny.

If you've read this entire rant, congrats, you have my respect.