#it's been a really long while since I've written anything so i'm really happy to be back!

[ponyregrets]

I wanted to write about Buck and Eddie going in the ocean and I'd written most of it before I thought to check what the weather in LA is actually like right now (look, I'm in New England, I just think of it as Warm down there, okay?) and I decided to go with it anyway. as @frightfullytreeish said, get chilly, idiots

(806 coda, 1900 words, also on AO3)

"Hey, what brings you joy?"

Eddie is expecting some waffling in Buck's response. Maybe some suspicion. It's a weird thing to ask, obviously. Joy isn't a word he uses much, isn't a go-to. But even if what makes you happy is a more normal question, it's not right. He needs something deeper.

And of course there's the Tommy of it all. Buck hasn't exactly been mourning or anything, but he's obviously down. It wouldn't be unreasonable for him to say that nothing is bringing him joy at the moment. It's not a particularly joyful time.

But Buck doesn't hesitate, doesn't question. He just says, "The ocean," and doesn't even ask why Eddie wants to know.

"Really?"

"Yeah. I never saw it until I left Hershey. We never went to the beach or anything when I was a kid. The first time I saw it, I fell in love. It was the best thing I'd ever seen."

"I didn't know that."

Buck shrugs. "Doesn't come up that much. And I guess I always think I'll get used to it? But it's amazing every time. I never get tired of it."

He should have known, right? They've gone to the ocean together. Or--well, they've had calls near the water before. That guy who got struck by lightning. The shark.

The tsunami.

But they've never just gone. Buck has never tagged along with him and Chris on any of their trips, and he and Buck have no reason to just take a beach day together.

Joy doesn't need a reason, right? He can just do it.

"Cool," says Eddie. "Let's go."

"Now?"

"What else are we doing?"

It hasn't been a problem, exactly, their lack of things to do. It's just kind of new, the way they're hanging out in the last week. Usually they have Chris, or girlfriends, or boyfriends. They have some reason to stop being together, and now they just…don't. And Buck just keeps on coming over, hanging out on Eddie's couch, in his space, like he can't bear to be in his loft now that Tommy isn't there.

Or something.

"You got some trunks I can borrow?" Buck asks.

"Are we swimming?"

"You want to go to the beach and not swim?"

Most of the time, that's what he does. When Chris was younger he'd get in the water, but the last few years it's been Eddie supervising while Chris does his own thing far enough away that it doesn't look like he's being supervised.

But Chris is in Texas. And, yeah, it's November, but Buck doesn't seem to care.

"I'll see what I've got," he says and finds he has two pairs of trunks in good enough shape that he's not embarrassed about anyone wearing them. Small miracles.

He throws the bigger pair to Buck and then goes to change in his bedroom. Buck will be doing the same thing in the bathroom, not for the first time, but he's never been changing into Eddie's trunks before. Did Ana ever wear anything of his? Marisol didn't. Buck might be the first person since Shannon.

As long as they fit, it's fine. Not a big deal at all.

They take Buck's car, the podcast he's listening to about the issues with the keto diet resuming as soon as he turns it on. Hen has gotten tired of explaining why his diets might be a problem herself and is outsourcing, which Eddie can't blame her for, but he doesn't find the resources nearly as interesting as Buck does. He already knows he doesn't want to do keto.

"You don't need to cheer me up, you know," Buck says, about halfway to the beach, without bothering to pause the keto thing. "I'm doing okay."

"I know."

It's mostly true. Buck has seemed fine with the breakup. Not happy, but not heartbroken either. He's been a little quiet about it, more so than Eddie was expecting. All he'll say is that Tommy initiated it, but he understands why.

"I'm trying to be happier," he tells Buck. "For me."

"Is that a thing you can try? Like, aren't you just happy or not?"

"If that was true, the ocean wouldn't bring you joy, right?" He lets out a breath, his stomach tied in inconvenient knots. "Someone pointed out that when I had the choice between something that would make me happy and something that wouldn't, I picked the one that wouldn't."

Buck mulls this over for a long moment. "I always figured that's because you're more mature than I am." It's only half a joke.

"Yeah, that's one way of looking at it." His breath shudders more this time. "Anyway. I'm not doing that anymore. I'm looking for things that bring me joy. So I figure if the ocean does that for you, maybe it'll do it for me, too."

"I hope so."

They set up like Eddie would with Chris, towels and belongings planted in the sand, the only difference that they left their phones in the car since no one is staying behind. He keeps his back turned as they shed the layers of clothing they have on, but when Buck hands him a tube of sunscreen, he has no choice but to stare at the expanse of bare back. The motions are familiar, nothing he hasn't done a thousand times for Chris, but…

Well, he's never done it for Buck.

Buck makes him turn around so he can return the favor, a much less familiar process. These days, he usually leaves his shirt on.

But he knows Buck's hands. They're familiar, all heat and callus. Careful, incongruously so. Buck looks like he's built clumsy, someone who can't do delicate work, and maybe he knows that too. Like happiness to Eddie, precision doesn't come naturally to Buck. He has to put the effort in, and he does. Eddie's skin lights up with every stroke of Buck's hands, so he's sure that Buck gets every inch.

And then he keeps going a little longer. Just to make sure.

"Okay," says Buck at last. "We're good to go."

Eddie is expecting Buck to run into the ocean like an overgrown puppy, all bright enthusiasm despite the chill, but he's cautious. He dips a toe in, then his foot, then the other. He walks in slowly enough that Eddie overtakes him, even though he's not running. He's just eager.

"The first time I went into the ocean, I was in Virginia Beach," Buck explains without making Eddie ask. "It was May, and I thought it would be warm enough, it was a hot May. But I ran in and it was so cold. I ran right back out."

"Goes to show," says Eddie.

"What, exactly? I know how the water's going to be today. It's cold."

The water is probably around the same temperature as it was in Virginia Beach in May. Eddie shivers, but doesn't stop, not until he's up past his knees. He smiles at Buck, who's still just letting the waves lap his toes. "Yeah, it's nice anyway. It's hot out."

"Not hot enough."

"It's fine."

He's in up to his ankles now. "You're not getting the joy, though."

"I am."

"Eddie."

"I'm getting used to it."

"You're not supposed to get used to it. You're supposed to be be making choices that make you happy right away, right?"

"I am happy," he says again, and it doesn't feel like a lie. "It's nice, there's no one else here. And it's not cold enough for us to get hypothermia."

"Are you sure this isn't just for me?" Eddie cocks his head, and Buck clarifies, "For my benefit."

"Should it be?"

Buck kicks at a wave. "He said I wasn't ready. Tommy. That's why he broke up with me. I asked him to move in with me, and he broke it off instead."

"So he's an idiot," Eddie says. "Always knew there was a chance, but I was hoping I was wrong."

"Is he, though? Was he wrong? I didn't really want him to move in. I just wanted…" He huffs. "I want to be done with this, you know? I'm ready to be with someone. And I think it could have been him."

It's not like getting shot, or even like getting punched. It's like a bullet or a fist going past him, close enough to graze the skin. Close enough that he's thinking about how much it could have hurt.

"But that's shitty, right? Like, how long could I have kepg going just because I didn't have a reason to break up with him? He was…fun. I liked him. I liked feeling like I'd figured it out. Like that was the last piece. I like guys too."

"Maybe it was," Eddie says. The water is lapping against his legs, the surf gentle. He's used to the temperature where he's submerged, but it's only halfway up his thighs. Every time the droplets splash higher, there's this shock of sharp little pinpricks.

He's so fucking happy.

"Maybe that was the last piece, but that doesn't mean Tommy is it. Maybe you're ready, but you're not ready for him."

"I'm just tired," says Buck. "I'm tired of waiting for someone to want me enough, you know? I'm ready to settle."

"You shouldn't," says Eddie. "You shouldn't be with someone just to be with anyone."

"You can build it," he argues, like Chris angling for a later bedtime or more video games before homework. "Love. Like you and Shannon did."

Nausea roils his stomach. "We didn't. It wasn't like that."

"I know it wasn't perfect, but you two were working on it. You were going to--"

"She wanted a divorce. Before she died. That was one of the last things she told me. We weren't going to have another kid, we weren't going to get married again, we weren't going to be together." He's not crying, but in that way where he is very aware that he's not crying. Where Not Crying is currently defining his existence. "I think we could have been friends," he says. "And maybe we could have figured it out. Been together again, made it good. That's what I told myself. And that's…easy."

"Easy?" Buck asks, in a small voice. Like Eddie is telling him a fairy tale he wishes could be true.

Which Eddie is, actually.

"If she was the love of my life and I lost her, then that was it. No one else would ever measure up. Nothing else could ever be as good. It was never going to work."

"But she wasn't?"

"Maybe she was. Or maybe--" He's Not Crying. "Maybe I don't just get one love, or even just one life. Maybe it doesn't have to be about finding her again. It can be about finding someone new. Someone who…"

He chokes then, the words dying in his throat. Buck is dazzling in the sunlight, his eyes as blue as the sea, his expression open, waiting. His whole existence focused on Eddie.

Eddie would marry him today. Eddie would marry him tomorrow, Eddie would marry him yesterday. Eddie would tie himself to Buck in any way Buck could think of, in every way, with wills, with contracts, with mortgages, with handcuffs, with string.

"Someone who brings me joy," he finishes.

"Joy," says Buck. He looks over the horizon, smiles, shakes his head.

Eddie's chest is too small and too big. He's never had so much in him.

"I've never had that," he muses. "Someone who makes me feel like the ocean."

"Like the ocean," Eddie says. "Yeah."

[justapoet]

a key on the chain (take it with you and run)

“Annabeth Chase,” the man repeated, as if it meant something more than just a random name. “Isn’t that why you chose this house?” “Why, on Earth, would I pick a house based on whether or not this Annabeth Chase was my neighbour?” Percy asked. “To catch the cat!” the man explained, and Percy sincerely laughed. “What cat?” Percy asked, now wondering if he had drunk something that tasted bad or a bit out of the ordinary. He must have been sleeping, having those weird dreams some people claim have meanings but, in the end, were just a bunch of thoughts squeezed together in a juice jar. “The one with the key." OR, Percy wants a new beginning back where he came from. He moves to New Rome, a quaint neighbourhood in New York, where every single man seems to make a life out of chasing a yellow cat with a key around its neck. Whoever catches it, apparently, won't be denied the prize they all seek: Annabeth Chase's — the most beautiful woman around — hand in marriage. Percy doesn't get it, and much less wants to engage with such activities or with the mysterious woman. But it's a bit harder when she lives just next doors, and the yellow cat becomes a faithful companion of his.

Read it on Ao3

It was ironic, honestly, that he was standing at the door of his new house in New Rome, a quaint neighborhood in New York, New York, after he had decided to sell his house and get the hell out of the simple neighborhood he lived in Rome, Italy, for so many years. Ironic, to say the least, because Percy hadn’t even registered how the place was called before he had set foot back in the United States, his life all packed up in a bunch of luggage and Ms. O’Leary, his loyal companion, by his side.

And he should have registered it, probably, because it would be a responsible thing to do. But in the hurry he found himself in, and the crisis that was the catalyst for the sudden, brutal change of life and routine and choices, Percy didn’t think of much before buying the house and getting on a plane to sign the papers and get his keys.

Now, there he stood — in front of a small, dainty house, with brick walls and a wooden front double door and a large windowsill that gave it all a sweet, home-like air. It was the perfect definition of cozy, the front lawn mowed, and some flower bushes making it look even more graceful than he had first thought it’d be. The place seemed to come from a picture, those beautiful illustrations on books about fairies and magic and hope, and Percy wondered it that would be enough to settle his unsteady heart and calm his troubled mind.

Because the place was beautiful, and yet he couldn’t see or feel the hope of new beginnings that so many people had told him it would bring; he was standing in front of what now was his house, the boxes and furniture already inside for him to organize and distribute as he would like, and Percy could only feel tired. Not from his travels, not from having to put everything to a place — but he was tired, overall, and the weight of his choices and the paths he’d walked seemed to rest over his shoulder.

He was back in New York, and there was nothing really there for him. Not anymore, because he had decided to travel the world so many years before and, at some point, he had stopped keeping in touch with everyone he left behind. His mother, father, stepfather, stepmother, half-siblings and friends — he hadn’t talked to them in years. Long, long years that seemed to now taint his past and shadow his face and cloud his memories of what it was like to be with them, to be there.

And maybe being back should be inspiring. Perhaps being again in north American territory should give him the hopes and the energy to reach out and try to find them as soon as possible; but all he felt was dread. Dread, and dreadful fear that he had lost that part of his life — the one that made him who he was — forever, and because of his terrible choices and the terrible feelings that had settled in his chest so long before.

He was staring at his house, and Percy wondered how long it could take for him to feel at home.

Because it once was home to be in New York, and he had forgotten how it felt. It once was home to never belong anywhere, traveling around and meeting new people and meeting new cultures and faces and languages, until the moment there was nothing but emptiness and the everlasting feeling of missing someone, something, somewhere.

His family, and everything they meant. He feared their anger, despite knowing that was what he deserved, after all. After so long, after so much pain he was sure he had caused them through the years he never even gave a sign of life.

New beginnings should be scary, yes, and ultimately exciting.

Percy was simply terrified.

Ms. O’Leary, on the other hand, seemed thrilled about having new places to discover. Her tail hadn’t stopped moving from the moment they got out of the taxi — who charged him an absurd amount of money upon seeing the dog, but that was quite alright at that point — and Percy had opened the gate that matched the fence circling the property. She had barked and set off to run around, and Percy couldn’t help but chuckle.

At least one of them was excited enough for both.

Percy sighed, taking the key to his front door so he could finally come in and see the mess he’d have to face and make more of soon enough until he could properly relax and rethink every single step of his life. Ms. O’Leary had already made her way to the backyard, somehow, and he could hear her barking at something — probably nothing at all —, chuckling a bit more at his best friend’s happiness on stretching her legs.

He shook his head, rolling his eyes fondly at the mental image of Ms. O’Leary simply running in circles around the area he was yet to see. Then, he looked up again at the doors, and inhaled deeply.

And his dramatic entrance to an empty house as a metaphor for his empty life was rudely interrupted before he could even fit the key in the door.

“So, you’re the lucky one?” someone spoke behind him, and Percy snapped his head in the voice’s direction, turning his body around as well, key still in hand. A man stood behind his fence, a heavy terracotta coat hanging from his shoulders, a suit underneath it and a black Panama hat tucked to his head a bit too much. His face wasn’t sympathetic, and instead he stared at Percy as if he was a bug the man desperately wanted to step on.

Weird. To say the very least.

“Uh— Hello?” Percy greeted, unsure of what to make of the situation. “I beg your pardon; ‘the lucky one’?” he frowned, and the man seemed to snap out of whatever it was that crossed his mind.

“My apologies. Welcome to New Rome,” the man spoke again, now taking a few steps to walk past the open gate and offer his hand in greeting. When he was close enough, Percy, still incredibly confused, shook the man’s hand.

“Percy Jackson,” he offered. “Thank you.”

For the welcome. Not for whatever it was that had happened before.

“Luke Castellan,” the man replied in earnest, his handshake firm before Percy let go of it. “First time in New York?” he asked, and Percy couldn’t quite pin down what it was that seemed so off about the sympathy in his tone.

“In a couple of years, yes,” Percy limited himself to say. Then, his curiosity got the best of him. “What did you say about me being ‘the lucky one’, may I ask?”

Luke’s smile seemed to tighten. Percy decided that it was best to be careful.

“The house,” Luke said. Percy frowned.

“Why? Is it better than the others?” he asked, looking back at the house behind him. When he looked at Luke again, the guy had an eyebrow raised.

“It’s beside Annabeth Chase’s house,” he spoke again, his tone implying that the fact was somehow obvious. Percy was sincerely beginning to think the conversation couldn’t possibly get weirder.

Rookie mistake.

“Who?” Percy could only ask, tilting his head to the side.

Luke frowned, then. Now, he seemed genuinely confused. Percy wanted to say that he had no right to — what, on Earth, was that man talking about?

“Annabeth Chase,” Luke repeated, as if it meant something more than just a random name.  “Isn’t that why you chose this house?”

Percy’s face was probably odd to look at, now that he was sure it was completely contorted with his bewilderment. His mouth was slight open and twisted, and he couldn’t narrow his eyes more before completely closing them.

“I chose the house my realtor offered me,” Percy said. “Why, on Earth, would I pick a house based on whether or not this Annabeth Chase was my neighbor?”

“To catch the cat!” Luke explained, and Percy sincerely laughed.

“What cat?” Percy asked, now wondering if he had drunk something that tasted bad or a bit out of the ordinary. He must have been sleeping, having those weird dreams some people claim have meanings but, in the end, were just a bunch of thoughts squeezed together in a juice jar.

“The one with the key,” Luke spoke again, and Percy could really wake up right then. He moved his arms and hands in exasperation, completely lost, and shook his head, eyes wide as he tried to understand what the man could possibly be talking about.

“Do you seriously not know?” Luke asked, and he seemed truly surprised. Percy would need an analgesic for the building headache on his temples.

Percy shook his head in disbelief yet again.

“Man, I just got back from another continent. I do not have the most single idea of who the hell Annabeth Chase is, what a cat and a key mean or how the house I now own has to do with it.”

Luke stared at Percy, who just stared right back as he tried to get his point across. After the better part of a minute, the brunette man seemed to have accepted that the newcomer really didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, and his gaze turned apologetic.

“Okay, then. I’m sorry, man,” Luke spoke, putting his hands in the pockets of his coat. “It’s just an ongoing competition for Annabeth’s cat and their key.”

Percy frowned again.

“Competition?” he asked. Luke nodded.

“It’s a thing we have around here,” he began, and Percy tilted his head. “The house beside yours belongs to Annabeth Chase, the most beautiful woman in the neighborhood. Dare I say, and any other person, the most beautiful woman in New York,” he explained, and something in his tone, again, seemed to put Percy on edge. Luke looked at the house he was talking about, the glint in his eyes with something much more distorted than what someone might mistake for affection. “Every single young man in the neighborhood had offered her their hand in marriage, and desperately wanted to wed her,” he told him, and Percy visibly winced. Luke didn’t notice.

Marrying someone for looks? Asking for their hand in marriage because they look pretty?

The discontentment was clear over Percy’s face. He was definitely going insane.

“She refused one by one, and yet they came back to ask her again. Expensive gifts, poems, songs; they tried to convince her with everything, anything they could buy and hand her,” the man continued, and Percy felt a pang of sympathy for whoever the woman was. What a tragic thing, to be seen as one more object those men could be handed and pay for. “One day, though, Miss Chase grew tired of all men knocking on her door and proposing ridiculous things. So, she made a challenge — whoever caught her cat and the key on the cat’s neck, would not be denied her hand in marriage. Since then, there’s been a whole thing trying to catch the animal: cages, traps, the most unhinged plans seen. No one could ever catch it.”

A wave of satisfaction rolled in his ears, and Percy made his very best not to let it trespass to his expression. He sympathized with the woman, and somehow was intrigued by her presence and the plan she had made — it was odd how she knew that the cat wouldn’t be caught, and yet a high risk to take if she didn’t want any of those men by her side.

Something, Percy thought, that no one could possibly blame her for. One needs to be pathetically vain to try and win someone’s heart as a prize, and not ever think about treasuring it as it should happen. And agreeing to go after a cat instead of just, perhaps, asking this Annabeth out and trying their luck by being normal people? Percy didn’t think that he would like a single soul in the neighborhood.

“They stopped coming to her house,” Luke carried on, taking Percy back from his thoughts and judgements. “And, to this day, everyone tries to catch the yellow cat with a hanging key and earn her love,” he concluded, and looked at Percy again, who was trying his best not to roll his eyes in front of his new neighbor. Those men could be trying to earn anything, but not her love. “We were all curious, then, as for who had taken the house closest to hers.”

Percy blinked, shaking his head.

“I have nothing to do with chasing cats and hanging keys, man, I can tell you that much,” he said. “I just got the house.”

“We all see it,” he said.

“And I would much rather the accusation stopped, Mr. Castellan, for I have no intention to add ‘trapping a cat’ to my routine,” Percy spoke, a little more serious. “I have nothing to do with this odd contest of yours, and I intend to keep it that way,” he explained.

Luke seemed a bit convinced. And a bit too smug for Percy’s liking.

“You’re a first, then,” the man said, and Percy arched an eyebrow. Luke sighed. “My apologies for the accusations, Mr. Jackson. The subject just tends to get on our nerves.”

“I figured,” Percy said. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Castellan; I’ve had a long day.”

The man nodded.

“Of course. Have a good afternoon,” he complied to Percy’s farewell, touching his hat and then turning around to leave the property. Percy watched him go for a few seconds, and then decided that it was too much to process standing at his doorstep.

He was intrigued, to say the least, about the whole scenario he had just been presented to. A woman with whom he couldn’t help but sympathize, being chased and wanted like some sort of prize for someone’s ego and pride. A cat that seemed to outsmart a whole neighborhood — though, after the whole story, Percy couldn’t believe it was that hard to do it —, and a bunch of grown adults who didn’t have anything better to do but to watch every person’s moves and doubt their smallest intentions.

Amazing. And he thought he’d find some peace by being back at his childhood town.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[mydarlingclaudia]

I’m still coming back to you

note : divider is from @/aquazero. I've never written smut before, plus this is probably ooc, so I'm sorry if it's not the best. I based this off of She's My Collar by Gorrilaz. since this is smut mdni.

wc : 1.3k

desc : you and Leon have something special, neither of you would trade it for anything. smut!! - oral (f receiving), more focused on Leon's pov, fwb (kind of??), Leon being kinda head over heels for you, a little bit of angst, not proofread, fem!reader, wrote this with DI!Leon in mind

Leon thinks he might be in love with you. You’d always welcome him into your home, or he’d welcome you into his. You helped take the stress away from his work and made him forget that everything was out to get him. The two of you weren’t boyfriend and girlfriend, but he knew damn well that he was yours and you were his.

It was routine. Leon would come back from a mission, wash up real quick, make his way to your apartment with a gift for you in his hand, and you’d be there waiting for him, like you usually were.

He’s been doing this with you for a while now, he’d met you at a bar in D.C. a few years ago, a one night stand turned into the two of you continuing to run into each other whether at the same bar or anywhere else in the city, and that led to more nights of the two of you passed out in his bed or yours, wearing nothing but love-bites and blankets. He liked you a lot more than he’d anticipated, he liked doting on you a lot, too.

Leon coming home from a mission wasn’t the only time he’d see you. He had a busy schedule, you knew that, that was the pretty much the only thing you knew about his job besides it being doing dangerous things for the government, but he’d try to see you once every couple of weeks at the very least. His arrival wouldn’t always be a surprise, he liked taking you out to dinner almost as much as he liked having sex with you. Leon did his best to plan dates with you, they weren’t ever anything really mind blowing, usually just dinner dates or him taking you shopping. Leon liked watching you try on dresses, he liked sharing a bottle of wine with you, he liked spending some money on you.

He couldn’t stay away from you, and you couldn’t stay away from him, he could die and still find a way to get back to you.

Leon never asked for your number, he hardly used his phone for anything outside of reading the news and work, he figured that if he had your number, he’d never put his phone down. Of course, that didn’t keep you out of his mind all day long. And it’s not like him not having your number made him unable to ever see you, he knew where you lived, he knew your work schedule. If he was to drop by your house and you weren’t there for some reason, he could just leave a note taped to your door telling you to come meet him at his apartment.

Leon also thought that if he got your number and ended up losing his phone on a mission and it got into the wrong hands and they somehow found out about you, then things wouldn’t end good for either of you. That’s why after he joined the DSO he hasn’t been in an actual relationship, as much as he longed for one, he knew he couldn’t risk it. You were the closest he could get to that, he’d never really be able to date you, but you seemed happy with what the two of you had. Marriage and kids probably wouldn’t be his scene, anyway. And even if his relationship with you was able to get that far, he couldn’t just leave you home alone with a baby for weeks at a time, he’d feel horrible about it.

You’d never really talked about it, you’ve joked about it a few times, but there wasn’t really any significance behind them. It’s better that way.

Leon was lucky that you were his, even though it wasn’t official. He could pretend his life was normal for a few nights when he was with you.

The nights where he felt the most normal, was when he had his head buried between your thighs after he cooked you steak in the comfort of his apartment.

He’d just come back from California, as always, he didn’t say much about the mission other then it was more complicated then it should’ve been. Leon had told you that he went to the store and bought everything he needed for steak, all you needed to do was go home with him, which you were more than fine with. You always loved his apartment, it was comfy and smelled like him, you’d left a few of your own things there over the years. You knew what was going to happen when he knocked on your door, sometimes after missions he just had this look to him that told you he needed your help de-stressing, you were always willing to help.

Your back is pressed against Leon's bed while your hips are supported by his hands, your thighs rest on his shoulders, occasionally squeezing his head while he kneels between them. A string of shaky pants and whines fall from your mouth as he continues to eat you out, your grip on his hair tightens as you buck your hips against his face.

One of his hands leaves your hip to press down on your stomach, keeping you still against his mouth. Leon pulls away from you, pressing his face against your thigh and biting it gently.

"Stay still, like I told you." Leon mumbles softly, pressing down on your stomach a bit harder, the hand that had remained on your hip slips down to hold the underside of your thigh.

"C-Can't-" You whimper, weakly digging your heels into the back of his ribs to try and bring him closer once again.

"You can't?" He teases, raising an eyebrow and pulling further away from you slightly, to which you whine at. You removed your hand from his hair and sat up on your elbows and huffed, Leon only chuckled softly and reached up to place a hand over your chest, pushing you back down. Leon let his hand slide down over your breasts that were spilling out of the bra he hadn't bothered to take off of you after he covered your chest with soft indents of his teeth and hickeys, his hand returned to your hip before he attached his mouth back to your aching sex, sucking roughly.

Your thighs tightened around Leon's head again, refusing to let him go as your back arched ever so slightly off the bed so you could grind against his mouth. This time, he didn't pull away or scold you about keeping still, he just gripped your hips tighter and pressed his face against your cunt, lavishing attention to the sensitive flesh.

Leon always tried his best to savor you, even though you've done this together countless times. He loved the noises you made for him when he found the right spot to suck on or grind against, his memories of moments like these with you are what got him through tough missions, along with knowing that he'd get to do this all over again with you when he got home.

Your hand finds its way back into Leon's hair, he grunts against your flesh, giving your thigh a light slap as he pulls his head a few inches away, his breath fanning across your cunt.

"I know you missed me, but be patient. I've got you, I promise." He reassures you before he drags his tongue slowly up your slit, listening to you as you moan.

Your grip in his hair only tightens as you rock your hips again, feeling his tongue delve deeper to eat you out more thoroughly. He always did this; the teasing. You loved it.

Leon's down there for another five minutes before your orgasm washes over you, by the time he's done licking you clean, he's already gotten his belt buckle off and his pants unzipped, trailing wet kisses up your body before his lips meet yours. He'd never get tired of this, even if he does it one thousand more times, he'd do it happily. He's got you, and you're the best thing life has ever thrown his way.

[guiltyasdave]

a long time coming

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

summary: You were supposed to go to a concert with your best friend. You end up going with her dad instead.

word count: ~1.1k

tags/warnings: best friend's dad!Dave, fluff, allusions to smut, huge age gap, able-bodied reader, no use of y/n, please be warned: Dave has inappropriate (though reciprocated) thoughts about his daughter's best friend - if that makes you uncomfortable, don't read

a/n: daphne @sizzlingcloudmentality and i were freaking out about those new photos of pedro, and because daphne apparently wants me dead, she said that it's giving bfd!dave who's at a concert with you and also provided me with a snippet that still has me in a chokehold and that's part of this story now. i am already experiencing heavy brainrot because i'm going to the eras tour in three (3) days and this was the final nail in my coffin tbh. i should be working on my dress, but instead i did this. the most self indulgent shit i've ever written lmao, please enjoy <3

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs for fic updates and find my whole masterlist here :)

dividers by @saradika-graphics <3

“Please, daddy? Please?” 

Dave sighs, rubbing a hand over his forehead. Molly’s hoarse voice keeps pleading with him before it dissolves into a fit of coughs. 

With a groan, she lets her head fall against the pillows, wide eyes still trained on him. 

“No one else wants to go, and I can’t let her go alone, I’d feel terrible. Please?” 

She pouts at him, knowing fully well that her father doesn’t deny her anything when she looks at him like this. 

“Fine. If you’re sure that she’s okay with it?” 

“She is! I already asked her.”

Dave cocks a brow at his daughter, earning himself an exhausted but triumphant grin. 

“Don’t look at me like that. It will be fun!”

Admittedly, Dave really has much more fun than he expected when his daughter all but begged him to accompany her best friend to the concert that she wanted to go to herself before she got sick. 

He knows most of the songs, has been witness to you and Molly singing along to the music while dancing through his kitchen often enough. It’s not bad music by any means, and the show is nothing short of spectacular. 

It’s not the reason he’s enjoying himself so much though. He’s barely watching the show, eyes only occasionally flicking towards the stage. 

His gaze is fixed on you, has been since before the show even started. Watching you interact with other fans, beaming smiles and giggles, eagerly exchanging bracelets, excitedly cooing at the especially pretty ones. 

Meeting your eyes when you turned to him, not able to suppress his own smile at the sparkle in them. Suppressing the flicker of something in his chest when your fingers wrapped around his wrist, tugging it closer to put a few bracelets on him as well. You don’t seem to notice the faint blush that’s rising up in his cheeks at the unexpected touch. 

He’s watching you bouncing on your feet seconds before the show starts, snaps a few photos of the pure joy on your face without you noticing. Just to send them to you later, having enough experience from being the father of two daughters to know how much you’ll love them. After that, he’ll delete them from his own phone. Of course he will. 

He’s watching you dance, your body moving to the beat of the music, your lips forming every word. Your silhouette shimmering with the lights reflecting off your dress. It’s mesmerizing. You dance with the girls beside you sometimes, shouting lyrics at each other. Other times, you turn to him. He doesn’t protest when you take his hands, starts moving with you without a second thought, starts singing the words that he knows along with you. You’re laughing, your eyes shining with pure happiness. It’s intoxicating, and he wants more, wants all of it, wants to be part of that happiness. He doesn’t remember the last time he smiled this wide, the last time his body felt this light. 

It takes a long time, longer than it should, until he remembers why this is bad. Until the weight comes crashing back into him. Until he remembers that he shouldn’t feel like this with you. 

You’re so much younger than him. His daughter’s friend. His daughter who asked him to come here with you, because she trusted that you’d be safe with him. 

Your brow furrows when you catch his eye and notice the change in his expression. No. He wants you to enjoy yourself, doesn’t want to be the reason for any kind of worry for you right now. He allows himself to drink in your energy right now, to let a smile grow on his face again. 

There’s no harm in indulging just for one night. Just a little bit. No one has to know. Least of all you. 

So he keeps singing with you, keeps letting you move with him. Keeps watching. 

It’s easy, being with you, talking to you. Effortless in a way that he’s not used to. 

It’s just because you’re at his house more often than not, going wherever Molly goes. It has to be. 

But it’s different, your giggles ringing out in the confines of his car, not mixed with his daughter’s, the sound that he knows. And he’s the one who’s elicited those laughs from you. 

"Explain it again, please. You’ve glued every single of these stones onto your dress?" He laughs and gives you another once over, glad he can disguise his inappropriate ogling with an appreciating glance. Act like he’s studying the intricate, shimmering patterns on the fabric. Not the way your tits are straining against the low cut over your chest. Not the way the skirt has ridden up your thighs, exposing a new inch of bare skin. "Great job, sweetheart. You look good. The dress looks good, too." 

He wonders how the dress would look bunched up around your waist. Or on the floor of your apartment. If your skin is as soft as it looks in the dim shine of the red light he’s stopped at. How it would taste under his tongue. The sweet sounds you would make when his teeth dig into you. 

You breathe a thank you and bite your lip at the compliment, and his cock twitches with interest. Wrong, wrong, so wrong.

He has to be imagining the way that you keep glancing his way, stealing looks when you think that he doesn’t notice. Wishful thinking on his part. 

He pulls up in front of your apartment building, killing the engine and turning towards you. You’re already facing him, more shy than you’ve looked all evening. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say softly, lips pulling up into another smile. “I’ve had a great time. I— I hope you did too.” 

His hand lands on your thigh before he can actively think about it. A soft gasp escapes you, but you make no move to back away from his touch. 

“Trust me, I did.” 

He doesn’t intend for it to come out as low and breathy as it does. Teeth dig into your lips once more. Your contemplative gaze burns into him. 

You inch closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his face. 

Wrong. He swallows thickly, forces his grip off of you. You blink, eyes growing wider, the growing tension’s fog lifting from you. Clearing your throat, you sit up straighter. 

“Good night, sweetheart.” 

He needs you to leave this car. Right now. 

You nod, shakily bidding him a good night as well. 

He watches your retreating silhouette, finally able to exhale deeply when you enter your building. 

He’s fucked.

comments and reblogs are love and make my day every single time <3

[k-slla]

It'll always end the same

(just look at this fucking guy��...I can't get him out of my head...)

A/N: Well, hii, I'm back! Hopefully the muses came to stay for good now ;) It's been a while since I've written anything and this idea was something that just came to me today, and now it's fully written down and I'm happy with it..I hope you'll like it too!

All mistakes are mine!

Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mention of drugs, hair pulling, rough sex, unprotected PinV, implied blowjob, dirty talk...I hope I didn't miss any, if I did, feel free to correct me:)

Word count: 1.5k | My Masterlist

ENJOY!

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn't stay away from him. Even when you knew it would always end up the same way, you doing your walk of shame at 4am, all fucked, shaking and weary, he always managed to pull you back in.

Ever since you started to distance yourself from him, you quickly realized it would not be easy. He was like a drug. If you'd be asked to pick one specific to describe him?

Heroin.

Extremely addictive. Dangerous. Lethal.

“You just can't stay away from me, can you, sweetheart?” He panted roughly into your ear as he kept ramming his cock so deep into you, it made you moan so loudly, that all the sounds echoed in the room around you. Possibly the whole floor of his apartment building could hear you, but neither of you really cared about that little detail.

So here you were again - at his apartment, pushed against the wall as he took you from behind. You couldn't even force yourself to answer him, only sounds coming out of you were the desperate cries as he got you nearing yet another climax. You had lost count on how many times you had orgasmed already. But you loved it. Maybe a little too much. It had started to feel like getting fucked into oblivion by him was the only way you'd be able to cum. Even if you wouldn't admit it out loud to yourself(or to him), you knew it was the only way you wanted to cum.

Because you tried. Every time that you said it would be the last time with him, you had tried to forget him. But of course no one came close to him. No man was comparable to him. You knew it well, but still you gave your best to get him out of your system. But it all came crashing down each and every time. So you always ended up craving another hit of the most addictive drug you knew. Soldier Boy.

“How long was it this time? Two weeks? That's gotta be a new record for you, doll…” He cooed mockingly behind you, harshly pulling your head back so you'd be forced to look him into his eyes. “And yet you came crawling back to me. Pathetic.” He hissed as he looked at the total mess you already were.

He released your hair quickly and you immediately leaned your head forward against the wall for some support. Your legs were just so close to giving up. Your whole body was close to giving up.

“I-I.. please.. I..I need a break…can't.. can't take it..” you whined out when he suddenly yanked your hips back towards him after your body instinctively started to search a way out from him.

“You need a break? You can't take it, huh?” He repeated your pleas, with a hint of warning in his voice. You knew he wouldn't listen to you. He almost never did. “I can't give you a break, sweetheart. Do you know why?” He stopped moving inside you for a moment, words leaving his lips in hot gasps as he pulled your back against his chest. He gave you a chance to breathe and you knew it meant that he was expecting a serious response from you.

You breathed deeply in and out, shuddering moans leaving your wrecked body with each exhale while you rested against his warm body. You took a moment to gather a coherent thought to answer him. “Because…mmgnh…because I came to you?”

Soldier Boy pulled himself out of your oversensitive and trembling cunt and turned you around to face him.

“That is exactly right, doll…you came to me. And you always come here with one thing in your mind, don't you? I'm just giving you what you're searching for, aren't I?”

His eyes took in the completely disheveled state you were in right now. You were teary from the overwhelming pleasure he has given you for the past few hours already. Your hair was stuck on your sweaty forehead and your lips were red and swollen from biting back your moans and taking his bruising kisses. He ran his thumb lightly over your mouth as you stared up at him with wide eyes.

When he saw that you were in no condition to answer him further, he just continued talking, his voice low and almost threatening. “You always come to me. And you know, you goddamn know that you're the only one I lose control with. The sounds you make…the sight of you so…so ruined by me…they get me higher than any drug known to man…”

He stroked your cheek lightly for a second, looking into your eyes…almost apologetically. But then his eyes flashed darkly and he grabbed onto your jaw roughly, making you wince in pain.

“You know what I need to hear, when you can't take it anymore, doll. And you know that this is the only way to get me to stop. But you know better than to use that without cause, don't you?”

His eyes roamed over your face, now a knowing glint shining in them. A slow smirk appeared on his face before he continued. “But you don't really want me to stop…Is that why you haven't used it yet?” His other hand dug into your hip, squeezing the soft skin as he pulled you flush against him again.

He let go of your jaw and then you realized you held your breath the entire time he was talking to you. Your chest heaved as you gasped for air. You stood there against the wall, trembling, as Soldier Boy took a step back to get a good look at you.

“Are you just toying with me? Is this a game for you, sweetheart?” He then asked seriously.

A cold shiver ran through your core as you saw the look in his eyes. “No! No, I'm not…toying with you.”

Soldier Boy squinted his eyes at you. “Oh, so then were you lying, sweetheart?” Eyeing you down like a predator would do to his prey, he started to close the distance between you again. “Because you know I definitely won't tolerate that.”

“No! I wasn't…I was just—” You tried to justify yourself to him, but the words died on your lips as you slowly realized that there was no way for you to squirm out of the situation you got yourself into. “I just needed a little break..”

“Hmpf…” Soldier Boy hummed, seemingly lost in thought as he stared down your body. Looking at the little beads of sweat on your forehead, the way your lips trembled as you were heavily breathing. His eyes then traveled further down your neck, admiring all the hickeys and little bruises from his not-so-gentle touches. His hands moved onto your waist, squeezing a little before his right hand quickly found its way between your legs. His fingers brushed lightly over your sensitive clit, a mocking smile creeping onto his lips as soon as he saw you jerk at the gentle caress he gave you.

“Okay, doll…you've taken a lot tonight…” he said after a moment of silence. His fingers were still rubbing your clit, drawing out lewd moans from you. “I'll give that little pussy a moment to rest…but just so you know. I don't need a break, so we'll just have to find another useful purpose for you, won't we?” He teased you with a sickly sweet voice, slowly bringing his hand upwards, pushing his fingers past your plump lips, giving you a taste of yourself.

“Mmm…that would feel good…that filthy little mouth of yours…” He was speaking so quietly, it seemed like he was trying to convince himself to give your mouth a chance to pleasure him, even though he knew well enough about your blowjob skills, having experienced them firsthand multiple times before.

“On your knees, sweetheart. You know what to do.”

You let out a small whimper, feeling like you were not ready for it yet. “Please…just give me five more minutes…please..”

His fingers locked in your hair, and he chuckled, sound coming out all sinister all of sudden. “No, doll. You either stop everything or you get down on your knees.”

Seeing he'll get no reaction out of you this way, he yanked on your hair harder, gritting the words as he spoke. “Will you say the word? Do you want this to stop? Answer me.”

You knew your little tantrum had pissed him off already, so you shook your head softly. “N-no..”

He took a step even closer to you, grabbing your chin to turn your face up to his. “Then. Get. On. The. Goddamn. Floor. Doll. Now.”

He grabbed your shoulder and pushed down to your knees, pulling up your face. “Eyes on me, sweetheart…”

He stepped closer to you, his feet planted on either side of your knees, while he looked down at you with a smile, guiding his throbbing cock towards your lips. “Be a good girl now…open up that pretty little mouth wide for me…”

You knew you were in no position to talk back to him, so you did what he asked.

The night was still young and you knew it would take a good couple of more hours before you would get the desired hit to soothe your addiction that is called Soldier Boy. Then you'd be free to leave, pretending once again that this was the last time you came searching for him.

A/N: Thank you for reading! Feedback/reblogs are appreciated! 🫶

Taglist: @jackles010378 @nescavaneck @cevansbaby-dove @deanwinchestersgirl87 @winchesterwild78 @anundyingfidelity @suckitands33 @waynes-multiverse

[spidey-x-male-reader]

can you pls do a hobie brown x Male reader? Like yk how every Spider-Man has like a Gwen or an mj and all the other spiderman ask hobie like “what abt you do you have a gwen or mj?” And he introduces his bf to them?

Pairing: Hobie Brown (Spider-Punk) x male!reader

Requested: yes / no

Warnings: ///

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! I'm finally getting back into the mood to write again. This is the first x reader I've written since a long time but I'm always happy to get requests to better myself

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

MASTERLIST

“Aaand MJ and Mayday are finally back home” Peter said when walking back into the main hall to look at his team members. “But she really liked finally meeting all of you. Even you, Miguel.”

Hobie looked over at Miguel with a slight smirk, watching how Miguel clearly seemed unhappy with this whole situation. But it wasn’t like he could stop Peter at this point. He brought his daughter to work here so why not his wife too? At least for a visit. 

“We’re not going to make a habit out of getting visitors here, understand?” Miguel spoke in a stern tone. 

“I think we should do quite the opposite. Get more visitors”, Peter grinned, now finally turning to Hobie. “I mean you haven’t brought anyone over yet. You got a MJ or Gwen?”

Hobie let out a scoff. Most people seemed to be having a MJ, or even a Gwen, even if that one seemed to be working out less. He still shook his head. “No MJ or Gwen. I have a (y/n).”

Miles now also moved closer. “(y/n)? Who’s that?”

Apparently this was a community meeting now since Gwen sat down with them too. “Are we talking about (y/n)? He’s Hobie’s boyfriend. The absolute coolest really. We played the drums together one time and–”

“You got a boyfriend? How didn’t we know that before?”

Hobie shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

“You gotta invite him.”

“Didn’t you just hear how I told you that there shouldn’t be more visitors.” Miguel clearly looked annoyed with his colleagues.

“Well now I really have to get him.”, Hobie smirked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You walked into the compound looking around, dozens of spider-people walking around everywhere. “You really didn’t overdo it, Hobie” you grin, while walking next to him. 

“When have I ever overdone anything, love?”, he smirked at you. “We’re almost there.”

“Gwen’s there too?”

“Gwen, Miles, Peter, Miguel, Pavitr probably. They have all been excited. Well most of them. I don’t think Miguel ever gets excited.”, he looked over when he realised you were slowing down a bit. “You don’t gotta be nervous. They’ll love you. And if they don’t it’s their loss”

You nodded, but still grabbed his hand before you two entered the room together. It was almost a comfort to have him this close. And it was almost a comfort that he didn’t seem to mind. He never said anything about it, he didn’t judge you for anything. 

The only person you recognized in the room was Gwen who immediately ran over to you. 

“(y/n)! Good to see you!”, she grinned, giving you a classic fistbump. “Come on. You gotta meet the rest”, she said, pulling you along.

“Hey Gwen. Try not to steal my boyfriend.” Hobie just chuckled, just walking after you two. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to you stealing everyones attention wherever you went, even if you didn’t mean to. He couldn’t quite blame anyone for being fascinated by you either. 

Every day he looked at you, he fell in love all over again. You once asked him if he didn’t get tired of that one point but he had just shaken his head before saying ‘How could I ever get tired of you?’

And now all of that proved itself true again. You, Pavitr, Gwen and Miles had hunched over in a corner, snickering about something for the first part of your meeting. He was glad you got along with everyone so quickly.

With Peter it was easy too, even if the amount of Baby pictures he tried to show you was almost concerning. You handled it well though. And then it was time for the big boss fight. Miguel, who had menacingly stood in the corner the whole time, watching closely so you didn’t touch anything.

“If you manage to keep him under control I don’t have anything against you being here from time to time.”, Miguel simply said.

“I don’t keep him under control. No one can do that, trust me.”, you grinned, looking over at your boyfriend. Sure he was chaotic, constantly getting the both of you in trouble but honestly? “I wouldn’t have it any other way”, you lightly patted Miguel’s shoulder before moving back to Hobie. 

“Already done with meeting everyone?”

“You told me there was a cafeteria.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

[allgoodnamesrgoneee]

Hi! I was the anonymous requester who you said your new fic coming out forever my heart sounds like! If possible could you make it separate so I’ll have more to read! Also if you could add Kylian being her first everything like even kiss!

This is the longest fic I've written up to date and I'm beat. Sorry it came out a little later than I planned.

Love Heals

Masterlist

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 — request: «Ok please make this long again but maybe something with Kylian where reader had a really hard life working full time sometimes overtime and multiple jobs with an abusive family while going to school like her sister would bully her, mom abuse her and dad was neglectful and her jobs were terrible too like she has burns from working fast food and him being emotional and shocked because she is so happy all the time and her finally deciding to tell him after a long time like something like a fight or something like he proposes to her makes her tell him and how she is scared to trust him and tells him shes looking to get married»

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — Kylian Mbappé x you

𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 11.k

Warnings! ANGST!! Abuse, abusive family, injury, violence, burns, referencing to past hurts, depictions of violence, insecurities, anxiety, trauma, self-conscious reader, anxious reader FLUFF! lots of comfort, protective Kylian, he would kill for you, mild smut at the end, unprotected sex, soft sex, soft Kylian

The restaurant was busier than usual tonight.

Every table seemed to fill as quickly as it was cleared, and you found yourself darting between the kitchen and the dining area without a moment to catch your breath. The clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices blended into a chaotic symphony around you.

The only thing you could do to get the orders done on time was to run. Your feet were aching in pain, you were so tired you felt like collapsing to the ground. Your hands were shaking, you were holding three plates in one hand.

Despite the ache in your legs and the fatigue weighing down your shoulders, you pushed forward. You had to.

This is how your typical day went— gruesome, tiring, a relentless cycle of exhaustion that demanded everything you had to give.

As you hurried past a table, a customer’s voice cut through the chaos, harsh and dismissive.

“Hey!” the man shouted, “You messed up my order again.”

You froze, the plates of food suddenly too heavy to hold. Your heart sank as you turned around to face the angry customer. You immediately recognized him. Sam.

He had come to the restaurant a few weeks ago and tried to flirt with you. You turned him down, and ever since, he had made it his mission to make your life a living hell.

He comes in every day and just harasses you, knowing you can't really do anything about him because he's a customer.

You're usually good at handling the situation, most of the time just letting him run his mouth. Mostly just insults and catcalls. You endure it. But he's been ordering drinks all night, and the restaurant is packed.

Using all the patience you could muster, you took a deep breath and made your way to him. “I apologize, sir. What seems to be the problem?”

“I said you messed up my order, bitch,” he growled.

You flinched at his tone, feeling the familiar sting of shame. But you kept your composure. “I apologize for the inconvenience. May I know what you ordered so that I can correct the problem?”

Before you could take note of his order, he stood up. “Fuck you,” he sneered. He threw the glass of liquid at you. The strong alcoholic smell tells you that it's whiskey.

The cool beverage soaked your clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth of the burns you received earlier from the grill. You didn’t even notice the pain anymore, the stinging sensation was normal now.

“Get m-me a new... new drink!” he continued. His voice grew louder, and you could hear his slurred words. Drunk.

You could feel eyes on you, but you tried not to look anywhere. The customers and the waiters were all staring. You felt the hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

"Excuse me." You heard a man's voice from the table next to Sam's. You looked over. A tall, handsome man was looking at you with concern.

He was seated with a group of friends, all of whom had stopped their conversation to watch the unfolding scene. The man stood up, his presence commanding immediate attention.

"Is there a problem here?" he asked, his voice calm yet firm. His eyes, kind yet resolute, met yours for a brief moment before shifting to Sam.

Sam sneered at the newcomer. "This doesn't concern you," he slurred, his words barely coherent. "This is between me and her."

The man stepped closer, his posture unyielding, his body shielding you from Sam's view. For some reason, you felt safe with him here. "It does concern me. You're being abusive, and that's not acceptable."

Sam's face twisted in anger. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he spat, trying to push the man away. But the man didn't budge.

With a calm yet authoritative voice, the unnamed man responded, "I'm someone who won't stand by and let you treat her like this." His tone was steady, unwavering, and it seemed to cut through the drunken haze clouding Sam's mind.

Sam glared at him, his drunken bravado faltering. "Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" he challenged, though his voice wavered slightly.

The man glanced around, noticing the restaurant manager approaching with what seemed to be a concerned look. But you knew better.

Richard’s never cared for your well-being or any of his employees, for that matter. He was a money-hungry man who only cared about the restaurant’s reputation and how much money we were bringing in.

Working for him was a nightmare, but you had no choice. This was the highest-paying job you had and the only reason why you could pay your tuition for the semester.

He approached quickly, his eyes flicking between Sam and the newcomer, assessing the situation.

“Is everything alright here?” Richard asked, his voice tight. His eyes were piecing daggers at your form, and you subconsciously cowarded into the man standing next to you.

“Actually, it’s not,” the man said, turning to Richard. “This customer has been harassing your staff. It needs to stop.”

Richard’s expression hardened, though he managed a tight smile. “I see. I’ll handle it from here.” He glanced at you, a warning in his eyes, before turning to Sam. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Sam’s drunken rage flared again. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m a paying customer!” He shoved his chair back, nearly toppling it over, and lunged at Richard. But before he could do any more damage, the stranger intervened, stepping between them with practiced ease.

“Let’s not make this any worse,” the man said calmly, placing a firm hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’ve had too much to drink. It’s time to go.” As he said that, two men from the table he was previously sat at stood up to join him, their presence reinforcing his authority. Sam looked between the three men, his drunken bravado quickly dissipating into defeat.

Richard, seizing the moment, nodded curtly. "I'll call you a cab," he said, signaling to one of the other waitstaff to assist. Sam, now subdued, allowed himself to be led away, grumbling under his breath but offering no further resistance.

The tension in the room slowly dissipated, and you felt your shoulders sag with relief while your stomach turned with dread. Richard was going to make you pay for this. For losing a customer. For causing a scene.

The tall, handsome man turned back to you, his expression softening. "Are you okay?" he asked gently, his eyes scanning your soaked clothes and the fatigue etched on your face.

You nodded, though your voice betrayed you with a slight quiver. "Yes, thank you. I’m sorry you had to get involved."

He shook his head, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. "Don't be. No one should have to deal with that alone. I'm Kylian."

"Y/N," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," Kylian said warmly, his eyes never leaving yours. He was about to say something else when Richard interrupted.

"Y/N I need to speak with you, now," Richard barked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Kylian must've seen the fear in your eyes because he stepped closer to you, almost shielding you from Richard. Your heart fluttered at his gesture but you knew what would happen if you didn't listen.

You reached out a shaky hand and tapped him on the shoulder, your eyes silently communicating that you were okay. He stared at you for a second analyzing your features before nodding slightly and stepping out of the way, making you face Richard again.

Richard’s eyes narrowed at the interaction, wondering How you knew Kylian Mbappé. But decided not to say anything. He looked at you. "Go change your clothes. Meet me in my office in 10 minutes."

You nodded looking at Kylian one more time before scurrying away.

****

Kylian watched you leave, a sense of unease settling in his stomach. Something about you tugged at his heart, drawing him in.

He had first noticed you when he came in. You were a small, maybe 5'0. Your hair was dark, but he could tell it was dyed, your natural color peeking from the roots. You had soft eyes and full lips that seemed to curve into a smile every time you took an order. Your uniform hung loose on you, he could tell you were thin, but not in a healthy way. He had to do a double-take when he saw your name tag.

Y/N.

For some reason, it causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach. He decided then that before the night ended, he would talk to you. Charm you. Get your number.

He spent the whole night watching you as you bustled around the restaurant, taking orders and delivering food with a grace that belied the chaos that seemed to surround you.

And then he saw Sam. The way he talked to you, the way he treated you, made Kylian's blood boil. He had been about to intervene when you came over to Sam’s table, and it was then that he noticed your arm.

Peaking just out of your sleeve was what looked like a burn. It was red, fresh. The sight made his heart clench. What happened to you? Did it hurt?

When Sam started yelling at you, Kylian knew he couldn't stay seated anymore. He stood up and had to fight the urge to punch Sam in the face when he threw a drink at you.

The restaurant bustled around Kylian as he watched you hurry away. Without thinking, his feet moved to follow you, but Hakimi caught his arm. "Hey, where are you going?"

"I just... I need to make sure she's okay," Kylian said, his voice filled with concern.

His friend raised an eyebrow but nodded, letting go of his arm. The look on Kylian's face was unlike anything he had ever seen. The pure concern in his eyes was so heavy that it took him back. He had never seen such desperation in the man. All to follow you.

Kylian nodded and made his way towards the back of the restaurant, following the path you had taken.

Meanwhile, in the small staff restroom, you stood in front of the mirror, trying to steady your breathing. The whiskey-soaked uniform clung to your skin, and the cold, damp fabric made you shiver. But the chill didn’t compare to the icy fear that gripped your heart.

Richard was going to be furious. You had to figure out how to calm him down before it was too late. You pulled off your uniform and began to change, your hands shaking as you tried to button up your spare shirt. You were so tired. Your body felt like a weight was pressing down on it, making it impossible to move.

A knock at the door startled you out of your reverie. “Hello, are you okay? Do you need any help?” a deep voice called out.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks as you realized it was Kylian. You quickly finished changing and opened the door, revealing him standing there, concern etched on his face. His eyes softened as he took in your appearance, still damp from the spilled drink but now clad in fresh clothes.

"Hey," he said gently, eyes scanning your figure for injuries. "I wanted to make sure you were alright."

You managed a small, grateful smile, touched by his genuine concern. "Thank you, I'm okay," you replied softly, though you couldn't hide the lingering unease in your eyes.

He nodded, his expression serious yet comforting. "Is there anything I can do?" Kylian asked, his tone sincere.

Before you could respond, a sharp voice interrupted from behind him. "Y/N, my office. Now." It was Richard, his impatience palpable.

You glanced nervously at Kylian, who met your gaze with a look you couldn't decipher. You forced a weak smile before hurrying past him towards Richard's office.

****

Kylian stood rooted to the spot, watching you disappear down the hallway. His stomach twisted with worry. But then he heard Richard’s voice, his words barely concealed by the thin office door. Kylian felt a knot of anger in his chest as he heard Richard berate you.

You were fired.

Kylian clenched his fists, barely controlling the urge to barge in and set Richard straight. But he knew that would only make things worse for you.

As soon as he saw you leave Richard’s office, he made his way over to you. “Are you okay,” he repeated. It's all he seemed to ask you since you met him. It made your heart flutter how much he cared. Even if he didn't know you.

You looked up at him, your eyes red and puffy from crying. He felt his chest clench with regret. If he had known Richard was going to fire you, he would've never left you alone. “yeah, I'm fine, ” you sniffled, forcing a smile.

He reached out, gently brushing a tear from your cheek. Your skin was soft, delicate. You froze at his touch and he quickly removed his hand.

Contrôle toi, mon vieux, c'est pas le temps. He scolded himself.

The air became awkward as you stared at each other. His fingers itched to touch you again. He cleared his throat breaking the silence. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked, his voice low. You shook your head.

“No, I’ll be okay.”

Kylian sighed. He couldn't leave you like this. “Can I at least drive you home?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

You hesitated, your instincts telling you to refuse, but the exhaustion in your body won you over. "I... I guess that would be okay," you murmured.

Kylian's face brightened with relief. "Great. Let me just grab my things."

As he walked back to his table to collect his belongings, you took a moment to steady yourself. Tonight had been draining, emotionally and physically, and the idea of spending a few more moments with him was strangely comforting.

You didn't know what to make of Kylian's attention, but right now, you would enjoy every bit you could get.

Kylian returned quickly, his friends giving him knowing looks as he walked away. He led you to the door, a protective hand gently guiding you out of the crowded restaurant.

****

The car ride was quiet, with the only sound being the soft hum of the music playing from the speakers. You couldn't help but stare at Kylian as he drove.

He was handsome. Tall and lean. His skin was dark, a soft brown. His eyes were brown, the deepest you had ever seen. He had nice lips and a sharp jawline.

He looked back at you every now and then, checking that you were still there. The gesture made a warmth bloom in your chest.

Never had anyone stood up for you the way he had. A complete stranger at that. Even though you had just met, and it was stupid of you to get into a stranger's car and let him drive you home. You had never felt more safe than in this moment. With him. Beside him.

You wanted him to keep driving, take you far away from everything.

The halt of the car jolted you out of your trance. Kylian looked at you, his eyes soft. "We're here," he said. "Is this your house?"

You nodded, not wanting to get out.

Kylian got out of the car and walked around to open the door for you. He took your hand, helping you out, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You didn't want him to let go. "Thank you for everything," you said softly, shyly glancing up at him.

He smiled, his lips curving up and his eyes twinkling. "Anytime Y/N."

And with that, you turned around and made your way to the house.

****

Kylian watched as you disappeared behind the front door. His chest felt heavy, his thoughts consumed by you. He missed you already.

He had never felt this way about someone before. The way you made him feel was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He felt a strange pull towards you, a feeling he couldn’t explain. All he knew was he wanted to spend more time with you. He wanted to talk to you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to hold you.

Kylian made his way back into his car, starting the engine and pulling away from your house. His mind was whirling with thoughts of you.

Just as he pulled into his driveway he remembered something. He never got your number.

****

It was weeks before you would see him again.

This time at the bookstore you worked at. He walked in with a teenager by his side. And judging by the uncanny resemblance between the two, you could tell they were brothers.

You felt your stomach drop at the sight of him. Before he could notice you, you quickly fixed the scarf around your neck where your father's handprint lay fresh and prayed to God your concealer was thick enough to mask the bruise on your face.

You busied yourself behind the counter, stealing glances when you could. They were in the school supplies section, browsing. His brother was animatedly discussing something with him, his gestures mirroring Kylian's in a way that was both heartwarming and bittersweet for you.

You smoothed your scarf nervously, a habit that now concealed more than just your attire, hiding the marks you hoped no one would notice.

As they approached the checkout, Kylian looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

Your throat felt dry and your knees grew weak. The stare he was giving you was an intense one. One that made butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You stayed like that for a while. Just staring at each other. His brother stood beside him oblivious to the unspoken exchange, chattering on excitedly.

Then he smiled. It was a gentle smile, one that made you feel warm. He began to walk towards you leaving his brother behind to do more browsing and approached the counter. Your heart pounded in your chest and your mouth felt dry.

"Hi," he said, his voice soft. His eyes searched yours, looking for something. But you didn't know what.

"Hi," you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper. He leaned forward on the counter, his body angling towards you in a way that felt like a secret. You felt his scent surround you. It was spicy and musky. Your chest fluttered in response.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he said, his voice filled with a longing. Your heart skipped a beat. The tone of his voice, the way he was looking at you. It was almost overwhelming. Never had someone regarded you with such care, such intent.

You felt like a flower being basked in the warm sunlight for the first time.

You managed a small smile. "Yeah, me too," you said, your voice small.

He smiled back. Your stomach clenched. You love his smile. Love the way it made you feel safe, wanted.

He looked like he was about to say something when his brother interrupted him, holding a stack of supplies. "Kylian, come pay for this," his brother said. Kylian nodded, reaching for his wallet.

As he began to unload the stuff from his brother's arms onto the counter, his gaze locked with yours again. He didn't speak but instead held your eyes with an intensity you couldn't understand.

You managed to break the contact by looking down and started to ring up the items.

When you were done and Kylian had paid, his brother thanked you. His smile was sweet and genuine. Kylian looked at you, his eyes searching yours.

You felt like he was trying to say something, but he didn't speak. Instead, he reached out and took one of your hands in his. His palm was warm. You felt a shiver run down your spine at the contact.

"Can I have your number?" he asked, his voice filled with hope. You felt a warmth spread in your chest at his words.

You froze at his words. No one had ever asked you for your number before. At least, no boy.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. The idea of giving out your number both excited and terrified you. Did you really want to be his friend? As your stepmother always said you tend to bring more harm than good into people's life.

And Kylian was such a good person.

Could you really burden him like that? Suffocate him with your baggage. You weren't meant to be loved. Clearly. After all even your own father didn't want you. Why would he?

You knew that once he got to know the truth about you he would run for the hills. You didn't want to get attached to him only for him to leave you. Heck, you could already feel yourself tearing up at the thought.

But then, looking into Kylian's earnest eyes, you saw something different. Something you both desperately craved. The need to be loved. To be seen.

Slowly, you nodded, your heart racing. "Okay," you managed to say, your voice barely audible but filled with a newfound resolve.

Relief washed over Kylian's face, followed by a soft smile that lit up his features. He's so beautiful, you thought. He handed you his phone, the screen already lit up with the phone app open. With trembling fingers, you entered your number, feeling nerves twisting in your guts.

"Thank you," he said sincerely as he took back his phone, typing a quick message to ensure your number was saved. Your phone pinged beside you, the screen lighting up with the message 'Hi.' from an unknown number. You couldn't help but smile.

Unbeknownst to you, Kylian saw it. You were the most beautiful woman he had ever met. And he's met a lot of women. It was no secret to the world that Kylian Mbappé was a heartthrob, sought after by many.

But in that quiet moment at the bookstore counter, he gave himself to you. Mind, soul, and hopefully if all goes according to his plan, body.

He was yours.

He emptied out the space in his heart and placed you there, a refuge from the stormy world you knew too well. It scared him what he was ready to do for you. After all, he didn't even know you.

And yet, in that instant, everything felt right. His instincts, usually so finely tuned on the field, told him that you were worth the risk.

As he glanced at his brother, who was waiting impatiently by the door, Kylian knew he had to go, yet he couldn't bring himself to leave just yet.

"I have to run," he said reluctantly, his voice tinged with regret. "But I really want to talk to you more. Can we meet sometime?"

His question once again made you hesitate. But looking into his soft brown eyes made you melt. So you decided right then that you would enjoy his company for as long as he wanted you and would mourn his loss when he would eventually leave.

You nodded, unable to hide the smile that crept across your face. "Sure," you managed to say, feeling a rush of excitement and nervousness.

"Great," he replied, his smile widening. "I'll text you."

With that, he squeezed your hand gently before turning to leave with his brother, who was now calling him urgently. You watched them walk away, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside you—hope, disbelief, and a hint of fear.

As the door closed behind them, you leaned back against the counter, replaying the brief encounter in your mind. Could this be real? Was this some sick prank your stepsister was playing on you?

The last thought wasn't far-fetched considering all the other horrible things she had done to you. But for once you hope with all your might that it wasn't.

You glanced at your phone, seeing his message still displayed. The word "Hi." seemed to hold so much promise.

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be happy.

****

The weeks that followed were amazing.

Every time your phone buzzed with a message from Kylian, your heart skipped a beat. He was surprisingly persistent, often texting just to check in, share something funny, or ask about your day. Each conversation felt like a lifeline, a small escape from the turmoil of your daily life.

It felt good to have someone care.

You met Kylian a few more times after that encounter at the bookstore.

He would invite you to charming little places tucked away in the quieter parts of the city, where the two of you could talk for hours without interruption. Where you could forget the bad shit in your life and simply enjoy his company.

Kylian was easy to talk to, his presence soothing and his laughter infectious. He listened with genuine interest when you spoke, his eyes never leaving yours as if you were the girl person in the world. The only thing that mattered.

He introduced you to a side of life you had never known—A life you had only ever dreamed about. A complete contrast to the coldness you were used to. A glimpse of what could be if you dared to dream.

But as much as light Kylian brought into your life, doubts gnawed at you.

How long until he left you? How long until he saw the bruises you couldn’t hide? The pain you couldn't mask?

You feared the day he would look at you with pity or, worse, regret. Each time he texted or called, a small part of you braced for disappointment.

But that day never came.

Instead, he surprised you. Time and time again. Like right now.

You stood outside the bookstore, your breath fogging up in the cool evening air. Kylian had texted you earlier, asking if you could meet him after your shift.

His messages were usually funny and easygoing, but this one had a sort of seriousness that made you nervous.

As you waited, you replayed last night. He had Facetimed you late into the night, just to chat about nothing and everything. Like you usually did, but something was different that time. He was flirting with you.

At first, you thought it was just your imagination. How could Kylian Mbappé possibly have a crush on you? But as the night wore on and the playful glint in his eyes and compliments got more and more obvious, you couldn't deny it anymore.

Not with the way he looked at you through the screen. The way his voice softened when he said your name—it all pointed to one undeniable truth.

One you were too afraid to face.

"Hey," a familiar voice called out, snapping you out of your thoughts.

You turned to see Kylian's head peeking out of his G-Wagon, waving at you. His smile was as bright as ever, making your heart race.

"Hey," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the butterflies in your stomach. You walked over quickly, excited.

As you approached the car, he opened the passenger door for you, always the gentleman. "Hop in," he said, his tone cheerful but with an undertone of something more serious.

You settled into the seat, the warmth of the car contrasting to the chilly evening outside. Kylian glanced at you, his eyes lingering on your face a moment longer than usual. "You okay?" he asked, his voice softening.

You nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah, I'm good. Just a bit tired from work."

He seemed to accept your answer, though his eyes still held a hint of concern. "I thought we could hang out at my place," he said, starting the car.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Sure," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flurry of emotions within you. You had never been to his place. The idea of spending time at his place felt both thrilling and intimidating.

The drive was filled with easy conversation, Kylian telling you about his day at training and a funny story about Hakimi and Ousmane. You laughed at his stories, feeling more at ease with each passing minute.

It wasn't long before you arrived at his apartment, marveling at the modern building towering above you. Kylian led you inside, his hand resting lightly on your lower back, a touch that made your skin tingle.

His place was spacious and elegant, filled with personal touches that made it feel warm and inviting. You noticed photographs of his family, friends, and teammates scattered around, giving you an intimate glimpse into his life.

"Make yourself at home," he said, smiling as he gestured to the living room. "Want something to drink? Water, juice, maybe some tea?"

"Tea please," you replied, settling onto the large plush couch. You watched as he moved to the kitchen, his movements fluid and graceful. It was hard to believe that he was real sometimes. You felt lucky that you got to know him like this. See him like this.

When he returned with two steaming mugs, you accepted yours gratefully, wrapping your hands around it for warmth. He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat from his body.

"So," he began, his tone casual but his eyes serious. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something."

Oh, no.

Your heart skipped a beat, anxiety creeping in. Was this it? Was this him leaving you? Telling you he didn't want to be friends with you anymore?

But instead of delivering bad news, Kylian's expression softened, his gaze gentle yet determined. "I've really enjoyed getting to know you," he said sincerely, his voice quiet in the cozy ambiance of his living room. "And I want to be honest with you."

You held your breath, unsure of where his words would lead.

"I like you," he continued, his eyes never leaving yours. "More than just as a friend."

Your heart pounded in your chest, disbelief evident on your face. What?

"I've been thinking a lot about us," he confessed, his voice steady but filled with emotion. "About you. And every time I do, I realize how much I care about you. Want to be with you." He reached out, gently holding your hands in his large ones.

Your mind reeled, trying to process his words. Did he really mean what he was saying? Or was this all some cruel joke?

You glanced at him, your eyes meeting his, searching for any hint of it being a lie. But all you saw was sincerity. The same sincerity you had come to know from him.

He truly believed what he was saying. But how?

"What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. Your chest fluttered at the thought of him liking you romantically.

"I mean I want to be with you," he said simply, his eyes holding yours. "As your boyfriend if that's something you want too."

Your heart pounded harder at his words, and you felt a rush of emotions flood through you—surprise, joy, and a lingering trace of fear. The idea of someone like Kylian wanting to be with you romantically seemed almost too good to be true.

"I... I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly despite your efforts to steady it. You looked down at your hands, unsure of how to process your feelings.

Kylian squeezed your hands gently, his touch reassuring. "You don't have to say anything right now," he said softly. "Take your time. I just wanted you to know how I feel."

His words were comforting, his presence grounding. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze once more. "I... I like you too," you confessed, "But... I don't know if you should." Your voice was shaky as you whispered the words.

Kylian's brows furrowed at your words.

"Why shouldn't I?" he asked gently, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. His concern was evident in his eyes, but there was also a determination that showed he would be easily dissuaded.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking. "Because... because I'm not... I'm not who you think I am," you admitted quietly, feeling vulnerable. "There are things about me... things I haven't told you."

Kylian listened attentively, his expression softening as he waited for you to continue. "I have a lot of baggage," you explained, choosing your words carefully. "And... and sometimes things happen that... that I can't control." You glanced down, unable to meet his gaze. "I don't want to burden you with my problems."

He was silent for a moment, processing your words. When he spoke again, his voice was steady, soft, loving. "You're not a burden," he said firmly, lifting your chin gently so you had to meet his gaze. The intensity in them made your heart beat faster. "Whatever you've been through, whatever you're facing... you don't have to face it alone." His eyes searched yours. "I care about you," he continued softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "And I want to be there for you, in whatever way you'll let me."

Tears welled up in your eyes. "But... what if... what if you find out things about me and you..." Your voice broke, the fear of rejection clawing at your heart. You couldn't lose him. Not with how well he treats you. How he makes you feel. You need him.

Kylian's expression softened even more, his eyes desperately trying to convey the deep affection he felt for you. "I'm not going anywhere," he said gently, his words filled with conviction. "I want to know all of you, Y/N. The good, the bad, everything." He paused, giving you a moment to absorb his words. "If you'll let me."

You searched his eyes, finding only sincerity. You were so used to people lying to you that you had become a master at sniffing it out. But his eyes held no lie. Only truth. A truth that made your heart explode.

Maybe, just maybe, this could be real. A chance at happiness you never thought possible.

"I... I want to try," you said finally, your voice wavering. You cleared your throat and repeated, "I want to be with you."

A smile spread across Kylian's face at your words. Yes, he thought doing a little victory dance in his head. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands still gently holding yours. "Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you for giving us a chance."

The stare between the two of you grew heavy, a longing for something more.

As if sensing your thoughts, Kylian's eyes dropped to your lips, his gaze lingering there a moment before moving back to meet your eyes. "May I kiss you?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of his lips on yours. "Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible but dripping with need.

Without hesitation, Kylian leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that felt like coming home. It was a slow, tender kiss that sent shivers down your spine and made your heart flutter in your chest. Your first kiss.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in him, your hearts beating in tandem.

When the kiss ended, it left you breathless, Kylian smiling against your lips. "You're mine now," he whispered, his voice filled with affection. "And I'm never letting you go."

****

The warm air from the heater greeted you as you walked further into your house. You were just coming back from the library after completing a group project that was due next week.

It had gone well, despite the stress the people you were working with brought you.

Your mind wandered briefly to Kylian, as it often did now whenever you found a moment of peace. You guys were official now. And every moment has been nothing but pure bliss.

You finally felt like you were starting to understand what happiness was.

You closed the door behind you sighing with relief, grateful for the warmth after enduring the cold at the bus stop. You missed the first bus and had to wait for the second one in the freezing cold. All you wanted now was to get into bed and text Kylian until you feel asleep.

You were taking off your shoes when you felt it. A hand yanking the back of your hair, pulling your head backward. You tried to scream but a slap silenced you.

"Thought you were smart, didn't you?" your stepmother spat, her voice filled with malice. "Thought you could fool us? You whore!" She let go of your hair, giving you a hard shove. You stumbled backward, landing on your hands and knees.

"So this is why you've been coming back home with that stupid smile on your face every day. You're fucking Kylian Mbappé," she hissed, her eyes blazing with anger.

Your heart sank.

How did she know? Had your stepsister told her? How did they find out?

You had to get out of there or they would...

You scrambled to your feet, ready to run, but a kick in your stomach sent you falling back down. Your stepmother loomed over you, her eyes wild with rage. "You fucking slut!" She kicked you hard in the ribs. "You little whore!" She kicked you again, making you double over in pain. "You will regret ever looking at him," she threatened as she continued to beat you. You were powerless against her kicks and slaps.

She stopped finally, panting. "Get up," she snarled, her voice filled with hate. "Now!"

You struggled to get up, your body screaming in pain. Your stepsister was watching you with hatred in her eyes. She was holding your phone. The same phone that had the lock screen image of you and Kylian from a recent outing. His arm was around your shoulders, both of you laughing at something silly he had said.

The picture had been taken by a fan who had asked to take a photo with Kylian. But she had noticed him put his arm around you, and instead of asking for a selfie, she had snapped a photo of the two of you instead.

It was your favorite picture, something you looked at whenever you needed to be reminded that all of this was real. That you weren't dreaming. That someone like Kylian truly cared for you.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes as you watched your stepsister throw your phone on the floor, her heel stomping on it.

The screen shattered under her heel.

You wanted to cry, but you were too scared. You had seen the anger in your stepmother's eyes. You knew you would be dead if you cried.

"You'll pay for this," your stepsister sneered, glaring at you with all the hate in the world.

You yelped as your stepmother grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back. "You'll learn your place," she snarled, her breath hot against your ear. "And we'll teach you."

A whimper escaped you as she dragged you toward the basement, your stepsister following close behind.

You knew what was coming.

Your heart raced with fear as they dragged you towards the basement, the familiar dread tightening your chest. Each step hurt you as they dragged you down them. They would leave bruises that would last weeks. You know this from experience.

Your mind raced looking for a way out, but finding none. There never was. But for some reason, you held out hope.

The basement door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit room that smelled of dampness and decay. This was where they often took their anger out on you, where their punishments lurked in the shadows, waiting to be inflicted.

You trembled as they shoved you forward, the concrete floor cold against your hands and knees.

"Please," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. But your stepmother's grip on your hair tightened, silencing any further plea. The air thickened as they circled around you. Like vultures. Predators.

And you were the prey.

"You think you're better than us," your stepsister spat, her face contorted with venom. "Fucking him just because he's famous. Pathetic. He doesn't want you anyway, look at you."

You bit back tears, fighting the urge to scream, knowing it would only provoke them further. Her words stung more than the cuts on your body. And your mind started to believe her.

Maybe she was right.

Pain seared through you as another blow landed. In the haze of torment, you closed your eyes, desperately clinging to the memory of Kylian's warmth, his gentle words.

His face, his smile, the way he defended you against the world. You would miss him.

You knew this was the end. You could feel it.

Your body was numb and you were dipping in and out of consciousness, the pain and fear overwhelming. As darkness threatened to consume you, memories of Kylian flooded your mind.

You recalled the first time you met him, how his genuine kindness had shattered the walls around your heart. The quiet moments stolen between you, where he'd hold your hand and promise you a future where no one could hurt you. Leaving sweet kisses on your lips.

You'll miss his eyes the most, you think. Those deep, comforting eyes that always saw through your pain and whispered hope into your soul. Even now, battered and broken, he's all you can think of.

As darkness closed in, you clung to the image of him, willing yourself to survive for him, for the promise of a better tomorrow he represented.

Despite the agony, a faint smile flickered on your lips as you drifted into unconsciousness, imagining his arms around you, shielding you from the cruelty of the world.

****

Kylian was a man of instinct.

It's why he dominated on the field and off. His senses were sharp, attuned to the slightest shifts in energy around him. Never missing the slightest detail.

That's why, when he hadn't heard from you all evening, a knot of unease twisted in his gut.

You had always texted him after getting home, no matter how late. It was a routine for you. And you were a very routine-oriented person, so he knew you didn't forget.

As the hours ticked by without a word from you, Kylian's concern grew into a gnawing worry.

He replayed the events of the day in his mind, recalling your smile as you parted ways after he'd dropped you off at the library. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to his lips, but it did little to ease his growing anxiety.

He had offered to pick you but you had declined. You could tell he was tired from training and you didn't know when you would be done. So you told him you would take the bus instead and promised to call him.

He tried calling you, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. Panic began to creep into his chest, tightening with each unanswered ring. He paced his living room, his mind racing through possibilities, none of them pleasant.

Finally, unable to wait any longer, Kylian made a decision. Grabbing his car keys, he headed out into the freezing night, his thoughts consumed with finding you, needing to ensure you were safe.

The drive to your house felt agonizingly long. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, urging the car to move faster. When he finally pulled up outside your home, a chilling sense of dread settled over him. Something wasn't right. At all.

He approached the front door cautiously, his heart hammering in his chest. The warm glow of light spilled out from the windows, contrasting sharply with the darkness that seemed to loom over the house. Kylian hesitated for only a moment before reaching out to knock.

No response.

His knocks grew louder, more insistent, but still, no one answered. Frustration and fear surged within him as he contemplated his next move. With a surge of determination, he tried the doorknob, praying it would yield. To his relief and horror, it did.

As he stepped inside, the silence of the house enveloped him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N? Mrs. Y/L/N?" he called out, his voice echoing through the hallway. No reply came.

The uneasiness deepened with each step he took further into the house. Every room he checked yielded no sign of you or anyone else. That is, until he reached the basement door.

A chill ran down his spine as he slowly opened the creaking door, revealing a scene that shattered his heart and ignited a rage unlike any he had ever felt. There you were, battered and bruised, huddled on the cold concrete floor.

Unconscious.

Kylian's world froze as he took in the sight before him. His heart shattered into a million pieces at the sight of you, vulnerable and broken on the basement floor. Rage surged through him, raw and primal, as he knelt beside you, gently brushing a strand of hair from your bruised face.

"Y/N, baby" he whispered, his voice choked with anguish and disbelief. "What have they done to you?"

His hands trembled as he carefully lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest. The bruises on your skin, the cuts that marred your once vibrant spirit, filled him with a fury he could barely contain. Tears blurred his vision as he held you close, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, though he knew you couldn't hear him in your unconscious state.

He doesn't remember when or how he called the ambulance, but he did.

All he could focus on was you, your safety, your well-being. The minutes waiting for help felt like an eternity, his heart pounding with fear.

When the paramedics arrived, Kylian reluctantly let them take you, his hands lingering on yours as they wheeled you away. He couldn't bear to leave your side, but he knew he had to. He had justice to seek for what had been done to you.

He would make sure they rot. They would burn for what they did to you.

Hours passed in a blur of interviews, statements, and waiting. Kylian refused to rest, his mind consumed with thoughts of you, praying silently for your recovery. He felt powerless, haunted by the image of your broken form in that basement, unable to protect you when you needed him most.

Finally, a doctor approached him with news. You were stable, physically battered but stable. Your ribs were broken and there were numerous bruises and cuts. Burns covered your arms but the doctor said they were old.

The burns he had seeen the first time he met you.

With each word that exited the doctor's he felt himself get weaker and weaker.

Just what have you been going through? And how had he not seen it? He felt like a horrible boyfriend. He had promised to protect but he failed. He failed you.

Kylian stayed by your side as much as the hospital allowed, holding your hand, talking to you, silently willing you to wake up and tell him that you would be okay.

He had called his mother the first night he stayed at the hospital. He knew he would have to leave you to answer police questions and the only person he trusted you to was her.

She was beside him the second he called. She knew something was wrong. He couldn't hide it anymore.

He had broken down in his mother's arms. Telling her everything.

She listened and didn't interrupt him once. She hugged him tighter, kissed his cheek, and whispered 'I'm proud of you' over and over. Then she sat next to him, waiting for you to wake up.

****

The first thing you felt when you woke up was his hand in yours. You blinked, disoriented, trying to recall what happened, but your mind was hazy and clouded. One of your eyes was swollen shut, making it hard to see clearly.

Pain radiated through your body, each breath sending sharp stabs through your chest. You groaned softly, the sound catching Kylian's attention instantly.

"Y/N," he whispered, there was a tremble to his words. "You're awake."

You turned your head towards him, your good eye focusing on his tear-streaked face. His fingers tightened around yours, as if afraid you might slip away again.

"Kylian..." Your voice was weak, barely more than a rasp, but the relief in his eyes was palpable.

"Shh, don't try to talk," he murmured, gently brushing his thumb over the back of your hand. "You're safe now. You're in the hospital. Everything's going to be okay."

You tried to nod, but the effort was too much. Instead, you squeezed his hand lightly, a silent acknowledgment of his words. Kylian's gaze never left your face, his eyes filled with love. Anguish.

The weight of your suffering was etched deeply into his features. He wished he could take your pain away. Switch places with you. Shield you. Protect you from all this. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I should have been there. I should have known."

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, but the pain and exhaustion were too overwhelming. Instead, you gave his hand another gentle squeeze, hoping he understood.

Kylian leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if trying to transfer his strength to you. The quiet hum of the hospital room, the distant beeping of machines, and the rhythmic pulse of your heartbeat were the only sounds, grounding him in this moment.

His mother, who had been silently watching from the corner of the room, approached with a soft smile. "She's awake, Kylian. That's a good sign," she whispered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Kylian nodded, though the tightness in his chest didn't ease. He was grateful for his mother's presence. Her calm strength a lifeline in this sea of chaos. She had always been his rock, and now she would be yours. Extending that strength to you.

She turned to you and softly introduced herself, "Hi, Y/N. I'm Fayza, Kylian's mother. You're safe now, darling. We will take care of you. You just make sure you get as much rest as possible."

You managed a faint smile, your eyes tearing up at the warmth and kindness in her eyes. For the first time in your life, you felt the love of a mother.

Her words washed over you like water, drowning you in the security that only a maternal figure can make you feel. The tears that you desperately tried to hold in spilled over, tracing silent paths down your cheeks.

Fayza reached out, gently wiping them away with her palm and you found yourself leaning into her touch. But she didn't seem to mind. The room, despite its clinical sterility, seemed a little less cold with her there.

The days that followed were a blur of medical treatments and police interviews. Kylian stayed by your side.

He was there every moment he could be. Fayza took turns with him, ensuring you were never alone. Bring you food that she made and making sure you have everything you need. Especially love.

The police investigation moved forward, and Kylian was relentless in his pursuit of justice for you. He spent hours with the authorities, providing every detail he could remember, every scrap of evidence he could find. His determination was fueled by the image of you in that basement, a memory that haunted him and drove him forward.

Throughout your recovery, Kylian's teammates and friends offered their support. You were scared to meet them at first, afraid they would hate you for dragging their friend into your mess.

But they loved you. Becoming super overprotective and treating you like a little sister. They visited the hospital often, bringing flowers, cards, food. Anything you wanted.

Physical therapy was the hardest.

Your body was broken, to say the least. Fractured collar bone, multiple broken ribs, a bruised lung, and a concussion that seemed to cloud your thinking.

Everyday was a battle a war within yourself.

Kylian was your constant companion through it all, encouraging you during the grueling sessions, holding your hand when the pain became unbearable.

It was weird at first having someone care for you like that.

But Kylian made it easy.

He learned your routine, anticipated your needs, and cheered your small victories as if they were monumental achievements. His love and patience never wavered, even on your toughest days. He was your anchor.

The worst of it was when he saw your scars for the first time helping you get ready for a bath.

He had been so careful, so gentle, as he helped you undress, but the moment his eyes fell on them, his breath caught in his throat. The sight of them, a cruel testament to the pain you had endured, tore at his heart.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling suddenly exposed, vulnerable under his gaze. Ugly. He was the first guy to see you like this and you hated how this bruised body was all you had to offer. But he didn't mind.

In fact that was the moment he realized he loved you.

His fingers traced the lines of your scars, as if to erase them. To erase the horrible past that caused them. "You're beautiful," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Every part of you."

You blinked back tears, overwhelmed by his words. "I don't feel strong," you admitted softly, your voice trembling.

Kylian cupped your face gently in his hands, his eyes locked on yours. "You survived," he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "That's strength, Y/N. You're here, fighting every day. That's what matters. And if you can't be strong, let me be your strength. Let me protect you. Let me love you."

You froze at his last sentence.

He had never said those words to you and neither have you to him. Your heart leaped in your chest at the raw honesty of which he said.

This time you didn't hesitate, didn't ponder.

You'd know for a while now that you loved him. How could you not? When he was the man that you prayed for. Your rock, your refuge, your protector, your lover. You loved every inch of this man and Finally. Finally you could tell him.

"I love you too, Kylian Mbappé."

He held you close that night, placing kisses on your shoulder as he held you from behind whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

****

Two years later...

You stood in front of the window, watching the tranquil view. The girl who reflected in the glass looked nothing like the girl from years ago. Your smile was radiant, your eyes sparkling with a happiness that only true love could bring.

Kylian had proposed to you six months ago, after the trial was over. Your family had been found guilty. Turns out your stepmother and sister were on the run. They thought they killed you that night so they fled, along with your father.

The thought of them being okay with just leaving your corpse to rot in the basement made your stomach turn every time you thought about it.

You shook the thoughts away. you weren't about to let them ruin your day. not anymore.

Your wedding was small. A private ceremony with close friends and family. You had chosen a beautiful vineyard as the setting, overlooking rolling hills and sun-kissed grapevines. The familiar scent of roses and freshly cut grass filled the air, mingling with the laughter of your guests.

The afternoon sun bathed everything in a warm, golden glow, casting long shadows that danced along the paths between rows of vines.

Kylian stood at the end of the aisle, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that still made your heart skip a beat. He wore a classic black tuxedo that accentuated his tall, athletic frame. Looking absolutely amazing.

You really married him.

Ethan walked you down the aisle. The two of you had gotten really close after Kylian had officially introduced you. He considered you family, a big sister. Someone he could come to for advice, which he often did. He was super protective sometimes rivaling Kylian.

Which was saying something.

Ever since Kylian found you in that basement, battered and bruised, he felt this urge to always be by your side. This urgent need. It scared him sometimes, how much he loved you. But he wouldn't have it any other way.

You were his whole world. The love of his life. His last love. The reason his heart beats.

As Ethan placed your hand in Kylian's, the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everyone in a warm, golden light. Kylian looked like he was glowing. You will never forget that view for as long as you live.

Now that you were closer, you realized he was crying. You smiled at your groom, feeling the weight of your love for him in your chest.

Kylian's eyes locked on yours, love pouring out of them. You knew he would love you for all eternity. And you loved him the same. You were home.

"I love you," you whispered softly, looking into his eyes.

Kylian's lips curved into a sweet smile, his voice filled with emotion. "Je t'aime, mon âme."

The officiant pronounced you husband and wife, and Kylian swept you into a passionate kiss, the cheers of your guests fading into the background. In his arms, you felt whole, complete.

And you both knew that no matter what came next, you would face it together. You had found each other in this chaotic world, and nothing else mattered.

The feel of arms wrapping around your waist pull you out of your daydream as soft kisses are placed on your shoulder. You lean back into Kylian's embrace, smiling as his lips travel up your neck.

"What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?" he asks, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

You turn around, meeting his eyes.

"Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you," you reply honestly. "About how much you've changed my life."

Kylian's arms tighten around you. "You're the one that's changed my life, Y/N. You're my reason for living." He tilts your chin up, capturing your gaze. "And I promise you, mon amour, that I'll love you until the day I die. That I'll make you happy for all eternity. Je t'aime." He seals his promise with a burning kiss.

The type that leaves your skin burning and heat pooling between your thighs.

His arms around you grow tighter as his kiss grows deeper. Soon he's walking you backwards to the bed. You fall on your back with a laugh but it's silenced by another kiss.

He starts to take off his shirt. You can barely think straight at the sight of his abs. Even after two years of having him to yourself you still get weak in the knees. Your panties already damp from that kiss.

His lips start traveling south as he pulls up the shirt you're wearing(his), exposing your body to him. The softness of the bed comforts your back as his heavy form press more into you. You gasp into his wet mouth, feeling his covered hardness press against your thigh.

His hands push up your shirt and massage the softness of your tummy on his way up to your covered breast. He backs from your lips to look at your fluttering eyes. “Can I?” his voice deep with lust and adoration for you, no matter how many times the two of you do this, he’s never lost the habit of asking.

“Always,” you whisper against his swollen lips, pulling him back into your lips. He lifts your shirt over your head and unclasps your bra, rubbing his thumbs over your harding buds. You moan from the contact into his mouth, a soft groan from his throat in response.

“Kylian,” your voice goes up an octave from the fire of his touches.

“Trésor,” he responds, kissing down your chin to your neck, placing soft kisses into your supple skin. “Je t'aime.”

His fingers slip down to the hem of your panties, pulling them off in one quick motion. He kisses down your belly, placing light kisses all the way down to your inner thigh. You whine, spreading your thighs in invitation.

“Patience, my love,” he chuckles, his breath fanning over your covered heated core. “I want to make you come on my tongue.”

Your eyes flutter close at his words.

He tugs your jeans and underwear off, discarding them somewhere in the spacious hotel room.

His grip is tight on your thighs as he gets down so he's at eye level with your cunt. He groans at the sight, wet and inviting.

A treat.

He places a soft kiss on the folds before taking in as much of you as he can into his mouth. He's good, really good. Your body arches and twitches with every moan ripped from your throat.

He's messy too, with loud slurping and quick inhales mixed with groaning coming from between your legs. You get louder as a coil begins to tighten in your gut, feeling his lips wrap around your clit, sucking it feverishly.

"You taste so fucking good baby. Mhm, love this pussy. Love you." He whispers against your folds. The vibrations send sparks flying throughout your whole body. You can feel yourself getting closer.

A white heat floods your senses as the coil snaps, reaching your toes as you spasm. Kylian drinks up every drop, getting drunk on your taste, chuckling as you push against his head to get him away.

He sits up, chin glistening with your arousal eyes locked on yours, and wipes the excess off with the back of his hand, smirking down at you with lust-blown eyes. “You’re so fucking pretty like this, mon coeur,” He leans down and kisses your neck, nibbling on your skin, making you gasp and whimper.

“Kylian,” you whimper as he presses your leg against your chest. His smile flatters once again, the indents of his nails on your skin now noticeable. He hovers over you, his body covering yours, your small frame drowning in him.

His hand trails down and your eyes follow. He wasn’t small by any means of the word, very much the opposite. Girthy, long, and beautiful. You love every inch of him.

You place your hand against his jaw, bringing his attention to your face. Flushed, teary-eyed, lips puffy and bruised. “Please, I need you,” you whisper, voice already showing signs of another orgasm. Just the thought of him inside you was enough.

He leans down and kisses your nose, pressing his forehead against yours. And with a nod, his weeping tip pushes past your folds and is embraced by soft, clingy gummy walls.

He groans at the feeling, kissing away the tears of pure pleasure that break from your lashes at the intrusion. “You're so tight. Feels so good. Putain,” he whispers into your ear, holding you close as he pushes in. His towering form shadows the lights from your eyes, the difference in size making your head dizzy.

He lets out a startled moan as his hips slam into yours, listening to your guttural moans. “Merde, breathe, breathe baby,” he coos, massaging the tensed muscles of your stomach and hips.

You’re not a virgin by any means but with him, it always feels like the first time. It could have been his size, it could have been that he was the only man to have you. Or maybe, it was because this connection meant more than sex.

You're enveloped in his love. This is otherworldly. Nothing could ever make you feel like this. Feel this good. Nothing. No one.

You giggle and that giggle turns into a laugh, Kylian staring confused, eyebrow-raising.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh but I’m just so in love with you,” You smile, rubbing his arms and pulling him closer. And you mean that with every fiber of your being. You never thought you'd be here. In the arms of the man you love. The man who loves you. It's bliss.

“I love you,” you say again to his shocked face, nothing but the truth in your eyes. You wiggle your leg out from under him and wrap them around his waist, heels tapping his toned ass. Kylian shivers before engulfing you in his embrace, tucking his face into your hair.

“Say it again,” he whispers, rocking his hips into you.

“I love you,” you groan, bliss shooting up your spine. His pace was slow, deep.

“Again,” he hisses, you said it again and again and again, with each time his thrust increases. His breathing is shallow and the wet sounds of your bodies echo through the room. Your poor neighbors. “I love you,” he chokes out through his pants and moans.

The heat of his body invades yours and you feel like you're melting into each other. Sweat from his chest drips onto your lashes and you blink it out, moans bouncing off the walls as his pace quickens, more forceful, slamming into that spot deep inside of you.

“Ohmygod,” you squeal, “Kylian–I-” he slams his lips into yours swallowing all of your sounds. His voice pitches up as his moans increase, breathing heavily onto your face.

His pretty face scrunches up as a loud grunt rips from his mouth, the warmth being dumped inside of you sending you over, clamping down on him harder, gaining a wince from him.

He places his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged as he stares into your eyes before collapsing onto you, spent and satisfied. His weight comforting, grounding.

You lay there for a while, you rubbing his back as he places kisses on your neck and whispers praises in your ear.

And to think that you would have this forever, have him forever. The thought brings a smile to your lips and you kiss his shoulder.

This man was your everything. your love, your protector, your soulmate. you were his world, his heart beating only for you. He healed you with his love.

Your Kylian.

-Bianca🌻

[frickingnerd]

truth or dare?

pairing: leo valdez x gn!reader

summary: after a kiss during a game of truth and dare, leo starts to avoid you. when you confront him about his reasons, he reveals to you that he's been worried you don't reciprocate his feelings...

tags: angst with a happy ending, wholesome fluff, confession, idiots to lovers, leo & reader are both dense, worries about unrequited feelings, leo & reader share a kiss

leo had been avoiding you like the plague, ever since the two of you had shared a kiss during a game of truth or dare. your friends all knew that you had been crushing on him for quite a while and were attempting to help you. 

and for a moment, it did seem like it was helping. kissing leo was one of the best things that had happened to you in the last few months. he seemed so into the kiss, yet ever since that night, he had been avoiding you. he didn't reply to your messages, he turned around when he saw you outside and he barely even looked at you anymore! 

it really seemed like all hope was lost. like you had ruined things between the two of you by kissing him. but you still hadn't given up! you were determined to go all in and confront him! either he gave in and told you what was going on or he'd tell you to leave him alone and you could at least draw the line there and move on. 

"leo!"

you spotted the boy outside on a bench, calling out for him. when he heard your voice, he jumped up, ready to turn around and leave, but you had already grabbed his hand by then and stopped him from leaving. 

"please, stop ignoring me…"

you sighed and looked down at your hands, before letting him go and taking a step back. 

"stop ignoring what's going on between us…"

you could swear you could see leo's face go red as he quickly turned away from you. 

"there… there's nothing going on between us, y/n. we just kissed once at a party, we really don't have to pretend like there's anything between us now!"

you stood there quietly, looking at him. the bold and flirty leo you knew seemed gone. the boy in front of you seemed rather timid. this wasn't the leo you knew! 

you took a deep breath. 

"there is something between us. at least… something that i feel" you were making things sound so complicated. "what i mean is… i like you! a lot… and i really liked the kiss. if you liked it too, then please don't hide it from me, leo…"

leo stared at you, the surprise being written on his face. he hesitated, opening his mouth multiple times to say something, but always just closing it again and staring at you. 

"then, at least tell me you aren't interested in me… if i know you don't like me that way, then at least i can move on…"

"no–!"

finally, leo had opened his mouth. and all it took was to threaten him to move on. seems like he really did not like hearing that…

"i– fuck!"

leo ruffled his hand through his hair, seemingly frustrated with himself. perhaps because he couldn't find the right words. or maybe something else entirely. 

"i do like you that way! i really do, y/n! seriously, i've liked you that way for a really long time!"

you couldn't help but smile as leo admitted his feelings to you. finally, he had said it! 

"i'm just… i'm an idiot. i didn't think someone like you would go out with someone like me. you're way out of my league and when we kissed that night i just– i felt stupid for getting my hopes up and tried to just ignore you until my feelings for you would go away again…"

you gently took leo's hands again, intertwining your fingers. he looked up at you surprised, not expecting such a soft gesture from you. 

"you weren't the only one getting their hopes up that night. i was really hoping something more could happen between us, but then you ran away and i never got to tell you how i feel about you… until now"

you tilted your head, softly smiling as you began to close the distance between leo and you. 

"but… maybe we can start over? forget what lies in the past and try again. perhaps… with another kiss?"

leo stared at you, unable to believe his luck. you were so close now that your lips almost brushed against his, yet you had stopped moving. if he wanted you, he'd have to make the next move.

"this time i'll do things right, i swear!"

and finally, leo closed the gap between the two of you and your lips met again. only this time you knew that he'd stay after the kiss and that there were many more kisses that would follow…

[thewritingofspencerrose]

mclaren masterlist : masterlist

New Addition

Lando Norris x OC Inspired by Mclaren surprising Lando with the puppies! I've had this in the drafts for a while, but was lacking a lot of writing drive lately, so we'll see if this gets me back into the groove!

The week began as they always do when we're just beginning the summer break.

Lan and I, lazying about the condo in the morning, simply enjoying each others company, before he is called off to MTC and I hop online for my asynchronis classwork.

It's our routine that I love so much, no matter how chaotic, before we take off on whatever adventures he has planned for us for the next few weeks.

Today was different though.

I spent the morning sick as a sailor, Lan holding my hair back and wiping my forehead with a damp towel. That is, until he had to go in to the MTC for a filming session, one he had convinced the uppers to allow Max to film for a Quadrant day in the life. His hesitance was written all over his face, but with a bit of convincing and the promise that I would invite a friend over, I was able to coax him out the door.

"It sounds like you've had a long morning," Kelly sighs with a frown, sitting across from me. When I had called her up, she and P were more than happy to come keep me company. There may be nearly twelve years between us, but from the moment Max and Lando introduced the two of us, it was easy to bring Kelly into my life as the elder sister I so dearly wished for as a child. And now she's here, her daughter's head fast asleep on my lap as I card my fingers through her hair.

"It's just that I am so rarely sick that to be this sick is more annoying than anything," I try to explain, "We're supposed to leave to travel with Martin in a week and I just can't keep being ill, my least favorite thing in life is feeling like I'm not up to my usual speed."

Kelly's eyes light up a bit, glazing over in a look of recognition. "Have you had any other weird symptoms lately? Anything you should keep in mind if you call the doctor?"

"Just some extra tenderness and I've been exhausted, but it's been a long few weeks with the double header and triple header nearly back to back," Its an explanation, one all of the girlfriends have discussed while sipping drinks over the weekends away.

The older of the two can't help but smile, "Dahlia, how about we run to the corner store and see about a test or two?"

A test? A test!

Oh my God.

"Baby? It's me!" Lan's smooth voice follows click of the door. He's always so loud while out and about, but home, with me, he's so soft.

It's why he's so good with kids at the track.

With Leo and Roscoe and Simba.

With me.

"In the kitchen, love!" In the kitchen with a bag that will change everything.

And there's a yip. A tiny little bark that has my brows furrowing and thoughts leaving my head.

"Lan? What was that noise?" Feet tapping against the ground, I can hear his approach as I step away from the cutting board, the yipping sound continuing. "Okay Lan honestly, what is that-"

It's his rounding the corner that cuts off the all the thoughts that have been spiraling through my head since Kelly, P and I took our little adventure.

He has a dog. In his arms. A little one that is squirming every which way, a collar the color of his race suit around its neck.

Lan has a hesitant smile, the same one he had when he asked me out way back when, and the same one I wasn't expecting to see today. "Surprise?"

My hands find him hips with little thought, staring him down. "Lando Norris, why do you have a dog?"

"I was hoping she could be the newest member of our family?" Oh he's in for something else in a minute or two.

She's is adorable, all happy and squirmy as she rests in whats basically the size of Lan's palm. It's why I move towards him, taking the little thing into my arms and letting her lap at me. "Where did you even find her?"

"Mclaren promo video for a shelter, I spent the morning with dogs and she just really seemed to like me! Stayed in my lap the whole time! So I couldn't just let her be taken back when I knew we could offer her a home!" He's stepping closer, breathe gently fanning over my head as he scratches the pups, his eyes meeting my own with a softness I wasn't expecting. "I know I can't commit to a real kid for a few years, but I was thinking that she could take that place in the mean time."

"About that-" I begin, knowing now is the only right time to mention it. "You know how I was throwing up all morning? And for the last few weeks?"

Theres a spark, the light recognition of an idea in his head, but all he does is nod.

"Well, I had Kelly and P over today while you were out, and we got talking as we do, and she suggested that I take a test."

"A test?" He's piecing this all together.

"A pregnancy test."

"And?" Tears are pooling in his eyes, and while we've discussed kids, we've never discussed the possibility of kids this early, while he's at the peak of his career. "You can't just leave me on a cliff hanger like that, Babe."

"What do you want the answer to be?"

"Babe," This may be the one time in Lando's life that he's stern out of bed.

"It was positive."

There's a pause, the longest of my life, if it wasn't for the fact it was only mere seconds before his arms are wrapped around me, nearly crushing the puppy between us who's only thought is to continue yipping happily. "Lan, baby, I'm going to need something verbal here."

His eyes are meeting mine again, tears trailing down his cheeks as his million dollar smile shines. His hands are still planted on my hips, keeping us close. "You could not have said anything to make me happier than I am right now," and there's so much emotion behind each and every word that I can't help but begin to cry as well. "We're having a baby!"

I can't help but giggle at his joy, "We are! And we have a puppy!"

His lips meet mine, before coming down and meeting the dogs head, nearly bouncing out of his skin. "This is perfect babe, we'll be able to train her and by the time baby Norris is born she'll be ready to be her best friend!"

"Her?"

"I'm calling it now," He states as if it's a matter of fact, curls bopping on his head as he moves. Our lips meet once more, smiles making it awkward like our teenage years, but with so much joy it feels infectious. "Oh my God I need to call Carlos!"

"You what?" There is no way Carlos is the one on his mind right now.

"I have to tell him that Pinon has a new friend! And I'm going to be a dad! He can stop making jokes about me being a child!" He may just be more enthusiastic about this than the baby or the dog. But he's Lando, and I'll give him a time for it later, because seeing him this enthusiastic is a sight too good to miss.

[bamsara]

A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

[enchantedflameandflower]

Gavin (Karl Urban) x reader!

Fireside confessions, cuddling and you finally get in those big, strong, muscly, hot arms!

Summary: When you started working at the lumber mill, you couldn't help but instantly fall in lust with the strong, quiet younger brother. But you're determined to keep it professional, until one work trip suddenly changes it all.

co-written with CheshireCatSmile

@kus-babygirl @shirley-girly @jynx15 @everchar-of-the-shire @scraftsku35

@deathlesun @billybutcherxyou @butchers-girl @hippo2211

karl urban masterlist

direct link to part 1

Part 4

Gavin chuckles affectionately at your ask about dinner and searches through his bag, pulling out some packets with the name of some new hightech backpacking adventure company. "Been wanting to try these for awhile...let's see...would you like the gourmet beef stew or the um...old fashioned chicken and dumplings? Or there's beef lo mein if you're feeling like Chinese...or...turkey chili?" He hands you a couple of the pouches to look at, his strong fingers brushing against yours.

You can’t help grinning. “Actually they all sound good. I’ll do the chicken and dumplings tonight.” He nods and grabs the beef stew for himself, then props them on the fire in a particular way to heat. He sits right next to you and you shift a little so your leg is just pressing against his.

He seems to notice. "The temperature is dropping a lot quicker than I would have figured for this early in the season. Are you gonna be warm enough tonight?" He presses his thigh a little more firmly against yours but when you glance over he’s concentrating on the fire.

But you can feel the heat radiating from him and it’s wonderful. He’s right, though, it is getting cold. “I brought a thermal and an extra sweatshirt, so…I hope so. I mean, I’m sure I’ll be okay. I’ve slept in worse places,” you smile at him.

Gavin turns to look at you, dark eyes swirling with emotions and unanswered questions at your admission. "I'll try to make things as comfy-cozy as I can out here for you,” he gives you a warm look. “After all...you're doin’ me a big favor comin’ with me. Jack and I really need things to fall in line with this for the business and...I really need Jack to know he can count on me." His voice trails off.  "I'm sorry....I didn't mean to...you're just easy to talk to."

“It’s okay.” You want him to be able to talk to you about anything. “I’m really happy to be here, for you and the business. I want you guys to be successful. I believe in what you’re doing, trying to cut responsibly.

“But I think Jack already does know he can count on you,” you add, watching while he takes the pouches out of the fire and sets them to cool in front of you. 

"I hope so. I have a lot to make up for," he says so softly you can barely hear him. He hands you some utensils and opens your packet for you then does the same with his own. He smiles and taps his packet against yours like a toast. "Moment of truth," he chuckles.

After a few bites, what he said niggles in the back of your mind, and you glance over at him. You hope the question isn’t too much, but you truly want to get to know him better. “What really did happen last year? I’ve heard murmurs here and there but everyone is pretty quiet about it. Was there…really a dragon? Why are people upset with you?”

"There was really a dragon,” he answers, meeting your gaze then looking away. “I....well I had some hair-brained get rich quick idea and I went off half-cocked without takin’ anyone's feelings into account. I wouldn't listen to anyone, I was so full of myself... Almost lost the people I care about most in the world and turned something amazing into a nightmare for everyone. I've had a long time to think about it since then. I can't believe how blind I was to everything that really mattered." He shakes his head and pokes the fire with a stick sending a small plume of sparks into the air.

You can feel his mood has plummeted and now you feel guilty for bringing it up. You chew your bottom lip for a minute thinking. You know he can be impatient sometimes, and gets caught up in excitement when he has an idea. Clearly he’s always hoping to prove himself to his older brother, so you can see how he could’ve made a mistake like that. “I’m sorry,” you murmur. “I shouldn’t have said anything. But I think your brother sees how much thought you’ve put into your work since then. He knows how much you care for him.”

“I wonder if my nephew will ever really trust me?” he muses, still staring into the fire. “That little kid has more courage than most of the grown men I hang with." Gavin shakes his head and stares off into the distance for a moment. Then, coming back to himself, he looks at you. "Oh hey, I forgot. I brought some cornbread from the diner."

It’s an obvious shift away from the subject and attempt to lighten the mood, and you’re grateful. He rummages in his pack and pulls out a tin. "Should I warm it a tiny bit?"

“Sure, that sounds really good.” You know which diner he means and it’s the sweet kind of corn bread, almost like a dessert, and you actually love it. “That was the first place I ate when I got this job. A special treat.”

"Yeah, their food is the best." He opens the tin and sits it just so at the edge of the fire. "You know...I think I may have seen you there that evening," he says softly, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as though trying to gage your reaction. "It was still pretty warm out and you had that pretty yellow sundress on..."

“Yes that was me,” you blush a little again, but smile. “How embarrassing to be caught taking myself on a date,” you laugh. “Going out all alone.” You take a bite from your chicken dinner then reach for a corner of corn bread, popping it in your mouth.

"Not embarrassing at all,” he grins. “But a sweet, smart, pretty girl like you should never have to go to dinner alone if ya don’t want to. We...um...we may need to fix that." He reaches to break off a little piece of cornbread himself. 

His leg feels warm where it presses against yours. His heat is addicting and you can’t stop yourself from wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped up tight in his arms. Your heart flutters at his compliments. They’re hard to believe but nice to hear. “How would we fix that?” you ask him even though your heart is racing with anxiousness.

"Well...I was thinkin’...you might like to go out to dinner with me sometime. Well...that is...if you wouldn't feel uncomfortable going out with your boss to dinner and...maybe a movie? I mean...I'll understand if you have reservations about… About mixing your work and private life but..."

Your heart flutters wildly again and your smile grows wider. You can’t believe this is actually happening. Even though the entire thing makes you nervous, you can’t help but want it. “I’d really like that a lot, Gavin. If you don’t think Jack would mind.” You finish the last bite and just then a breeze comes through the trees, making them rustle then making you shiver.

He sees you shiver and tosses a little more wood on the fire then scoots over and puts his strong arm around you pulling you into his side. "Definitely going to be cold tonight but I think I have the tent set up nice and cozy so we should be okay."

You almost give a soft little moan when he pulls you close but you manage to stop it. “Th-thank you,” you murmur. It feels so good for him to even care like this, and he feels good against you, but your heart is really racing now. “My um…my last relationship didn’t go well, and it ended really badly so if I seem anxious, that’s why. But I like you, Gavin. I just wanted you to know.”

"I like you too. I want to really spend time getting to know you. We can take it slow...no pressure. I've always rushed headlong into things in the past and...that hasn't really served me well." He pokes at the fire some more with his free hand but keeps his arm firmly around you as the chill settles in a little more a the first stars wink on above the treetops.

The crackling of the fire is soothing and his hand starts to rub your arm idly as he holds you. It’s more comfort than you’ve felt in a really long time. Without you realizing you start to drift off.

What feels like only a moment later, your eyes flutter open and you feel movement and strong arms holding you against a warm solid chest. Is someone carrying you? Then it comes back to you in a flash...you had started to drift off near the fire. Oh my! Was Gavin carrying you ...you startle and a soothing, low male voice is telling you to hush...that everything is okay. Then you feel the fat raindrops on your face...

You blink for a moment then open your eyes all the way and you can just barely see Gavin’s eyes in the darkness as it starts to rain. He crouches down right next to the small tent and carefully sets you slowly on your feet when he sees you’re awake. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry Gavin! I didn’t mean to fall asleep like that. You didn’t have to carry me...”

Gavin’s answering smile is so warmly affectionate, you feel like you might just throw yourself at him here and now. "No worries Sleeping Beauty,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “I really didn't mind. I just need to close up the big pack and put it up a tree. I'll be right back. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable and I'll be back in a few minutes. He brushes your hair back from your face gently and looks into your eyes for a moment then turns to take care of the pack.

Next up: A shirt and some jeans are coming off and makin’ out tent style! Let me know if you want a tag! Thank you so so much for reading and for your likes, comments and reblogs, they mean the whole world to me!

Part 5

karl urban masterlist

[neoarchipelago]

And they were Roommates (part 6)

A/n: ok here's a little warning. First from now on i'll take a bit longer to publish because ... work. It's also slightly shorter than usual

second i've realised that i had completely forgotten that Keller is the last name of the character Alex. So i do want to underline that it is not in fact alex Keller.

third, thank you so much for the love you have given to this story, it warms my heart. I hadn't written in a long time and i was afraid to post anything. I'm really happy that you guys like it.

Fourth, thank you so much for the little ideas you send me, they're very helpful. I apologise if I fon't translate the full idea into the story but i try to add any little thing you send my way.

fifth, you are entirely allowed to fucking hate me.

Warnings: as usual, cursing, violence, mentions of death.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

"(Y/N)". 

You smirked.

"Yes?" You questioned, glancing back as you sat at the counter in the kitchen. 

"What time is it?" He asked from the couch. 

"It's 7pm" you answered. 

You smiled down at your computer. (Y/N). You had heard him say your name more than a couple dozen times today. Since you both told each other your real names, he had seemed to chant it non-stop. At any little question or situation. 

"Y/N." 

You rolled your eyes. 

"Yes Simon?" You chanted sweetly. 

A few seconds ticked before he answered. 

"I have to tell you something." He answered, tone serious. 

You paused your current activity to turn in your seat towards him. He was looking back at you. 

"I have a Mission scheduled." He warned. 

"Oh. Alright." You answered cautiously. 

"I won't be here for a while." He announced. 

"For… a while?" You frowned. "How long?" 

"Around 2 months." 

You swallowed, looking away. You didn't exactly know how to react. Obviously he had missions. You found yourself in a mix of sadness, worry and frustration. 

"Y/N." 

You looked up at him. By the look in his eyes, you felt like he was going to ask if you were ok. And you didn't want to answer that. 

"Why do you keep calling my name?" You asked. 

He remained silent. You stood up walking to the couch letting yourself fall next to him. He closed the file on his lap, red letters stamped on it. 

"Simon ?" You pushed. 

"I don't." He defended. 

"Simon." You scolded kindly. 

He groaned, looking away. 

"How will you know if I'm addressing myself to you?" He debated. 

"We literally are the only two people here." You chuckled. He ignored it. 

You sighed, shrugging. You turned to the TV letting yourself enjoy the time you could spend with him. The tv played with whatever show was on as you started to think about something to order for dinner, too tired to cook. 

"I like it." 

You blinked. 

"Hm?" You questioned, turning to him. 

He raised his hand, turning your head so you looked at the tv instead. 

"I said. I like your name." 

"Oh. Really? It's nothing extraordinary though." You said blushing a bit. 

"I was curious. After a few weeks. About your name." 

You tried turning your head to him but he repeated his move, groaning annoyingly.

"It's… delicate…" he praised. 

You felt your heart rate quicken. He.. liked your name. 

"So… you like how it sounds?" You asked. 

"Pretty much." He said matter of factly. 

"Alright." You nodded. 

"I like… that it's your name."

You turned your attention back to the TV, your mind unable to process anything after what he had just told you. 

"I.." you started after a long minute. 

"I like when you say it…" you said in a low voice. 

The rest of the evening was spent very calmly. As per contrast to the rest of the week. 

You sighed, grabbing your things to head out. Simon had been spending more and more time at the base. He had been preparing with the squad, preparing gear, tactics and training harder.

You could feel it. He had progressively grown colder. The ghost taking its rightful place, ready to hunt its target. You could feel him being careful around you, his mood had a drastic change and it seemed he tried to keep you away. 

You tried to give him the space he needed. But you grew more and more worried and sad as the days passed. 

You walked out of the door, walking down the apartment complex. 

You stopped and cursed as soon as you walked outside. 

"Hey Sparrow! Ready?" 

"Soap. What are you doing here?" You asked, obviously already aware of the answer. 

"Price asked me to come pick you up on the way to the base." The sergeant answered with a smile. 

You rolled your eyes. Walking to him he opened the passenger seat for you. You thanked him, sitting and buckling your seatbelt. You watched the man skip to his side and get in. As you started driving to the base you asked. 

"How is he this morning?" You asked. 

"Well. Murderous." He smirked. "He's been training with some recruits coming along on the mission this morning and I think he's making them regret ever enlisting." He laughed. 

You sighed. His mood had been becoming more and more sour. Not necessarily because he didn't want this mission, but mostly because he was entirely focusing on his target. The thought made a shiver down your spine. 

"I don't think I'll be of help this time." You said. 

Price had been asking you to come by the training sessions or after meetings to try and soothe his moods, but the closer the day of departure arrived the harder it became. 

"Ah, don't worry. We're used to it. He's not entirely bad. As soon as he'll be in the field, he'll be the LT we're used to." He said. "We, the squad. I don't think you've seen him like that. But not sure… he wants you to." He said with a smile your way. 

You bit your lip. Did you want to see him like that? A part of you did want. Another felt anxious at the thought. 

The rest of the ride was spent in small talk. The closer you got to the base the more you could feel your body fall into a stressful state. 

When soap parked in front of the training grounds, you walked out before entering the warehouse, the first thing you heard was the sound of people talking. The place had been rearranged as a training ground. Various dummies, people sparing at each other on mattresses. 

Soap dragged you towards the rest of the squad a bit further from the rest. 

"Here's our little bird." Price smiled. 

You sighed but threw him a weak smile. You turned your head to the closest training mat. A breath caught in your throat. He saw fighting. With a man that surprisingly was a bit taller than him, also wearing a mask, though much looser. You watched the punches and kicks being thrown. They weren't holding back. Suddenly Ghost body slammed his opponent to the ground, the sound echoing. You flinched. That must have hurt. 

"Don't worry, sparrow. They're used to it." Price tried to reassure you. 

"Sure… if you say so. He seems to be fully into it." You commented. 

"He is." 

"I don't understand captain. Soap said it's usual for him to behave like this before a mission. Why do you want me to show up everyday?" You asked, turning to him. 

He put a hand on your shoulder, walking you a few steps away from the rest of the squad. 

"This time is a bit different. He seems. Frustrated." 

"I don't think my presence helps." 

"It does a bit. Though I know it's getting harder for you to deal with his mood. Today especially. The departures date was moved. We leave in 48h." He said with a sorry look. 

You took a moment to process the information.

"It's not hard to deal with it. I'm just sensing it's being more and more useless. He's getting frustrated at me." You answered honestly. 

"I don't want you two to fight. You don't have to go see him." 

"I'll try. One last time." You replied with a soft smile. 

He nodded. You turned back to Ghost. The fight was over, his opponent walked away, slightly limping and rubbing the back of his neck. You walked towards him. 

"You ok?" You asked lowly. 

"Ah, ja, I'm ok!" He answered the taint of accent on his words. 

You smiled, continuing your path towards the man readjusting his gloves. 

"Hey." 

He stiffened, looking back at you. 

"Why are you here?" 

Ouch. You smirked at him. 

"Price asked me to come check something for your mission." You lied. 

He nodded. His chest heaved, his breath had quickened from the physical exercise though he didn't seem out of breath.

"Will you be home for dinner?" You asked. 

"I don't know." He answered in a cold tone. 

You could hear, Price started to walk up to you too very slowly. 

"I can keep a plate for you if-" 

"Sparrow. I'M BUSY." He barked, the sound echoing. A dreadful silence stood in the whole place. Everyone had stopped talking.

You flinched. Not enough for the others to see but he had noticed. The sound of small talk started again, probably under Price's glare.

"I'm sorry Ghost." You tried. Standing your ground hands behind your back. 

"Lieutenant." He corrected coldly. 

Price had finally reached the both of you. 

"Fine." You spat back, the staring match now showing off both of your frustrations. 

"Do you need anymore help captain?" You asked, not dropping your gaze from Ghost. 

"No sparrow. Thank you and I apologize for-" 

"It's fine. If lieutenant Riley wants to be a dickhead that's on him." You said, visibly angry and visibly taunting the man. 

You turned around walking to the rest of the squad. 

"You good?" Gaz asked.

"I'm perfect. I'll see you guys another time." You said with a smile towards them before exiting the perimeter. You took a deep breath outside. Fuck. What was wrong with him? The behavior had changed so drastically. A week ago, he was chanting your name in every sentence. Now he refused to even say it. He was cold. It was hard to hide the fact it was hurting. You were trying to see his point of view too, but you missed his old self. 

You closed your eyes for a second. You had work to get to. So you did. 

You had stalled. A lot. It was very late. You didn't need to be at the base. You could have spent the day working from home. Fuck you had finished all your work. Yet it was 9pm. And you were only turning the key in the lock to the apartment now. 

You didn't want to fight again. You didn't want to fight before he left. You dropped your things on the ground and fell face first on the couch. The house was silent. Dark. It felt odd. You turned, grabbing a pillow and hugging it. You closed your eyes. Several minutes passed by before you heard his door open. You sat up as he walked into the living room. 

You shared a look. He seemed annoyed. His new signature mood.

"What?" You spat. 

"Don't." He warned. 

"Don't what?" You replied in the same tone. 

"Don't be a brat." He said. 

You laughed coldly. 

"I'm not the one being a brat Simon." 

"Lieutenant." He corrected it once more. 

You rolled your eyes. 

"Why did you pass by the training grounds again?" He asked. 

"Because Price asked me to." You answered honestly. 

You stood up walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. He stopped you halfway, grasping your arm. It wasn't soft but he was still careful not to hurt you. 

"Sparrow. Don't come insult me in front of my men." He said in a serious tone. 

"I didn't. I came to ask you something. You fucking yelled at me." You answered. 

"I have other things to do other than giving you attention." He scolded. 

"I didn't ask for attention." You replied, taking your arm back and crossing them over your chest. Fury growing in you.

"Y/N."

"Oh, we're back on a name to name basis?" You asked sarcastically. 

He frowned. You were pushing his buttons. Unfortunately for both of you, he was too. 

"Sparrow. You and I are not-" 

"What? We're not friends?" You asked, interrupting him. 

He stood there, silent. 

"Is that what you're going to say?" You started now letting your anger finally out. 

"Are you going to push me away again? And then leave without saying a word?" You continued your tone slowly rising. 

"Are we going to fight until you leave and then you'll come back as if nothing happened? Fuck Simon! It looks like you're doing this on purpose!!" You ended. 

And suddenly it hit you. Like a shit ton of bricks.

"You are…" you said in a whisper. 

He turned away. 

"You are! You're doing it on purpose. You're making us hate each other before you leave on missions." You said, incredulous. 

"Y/N stop." He warned in a tone that promised repercussions. 

"Why? Why are you doing this?" You asked, stepping closer. 

He seemed to think for a minute. 

"I'm a soldier. I go out there. I kill and I very possibly… get killed." He explained. 

You frowned in confusion. He groaned in annoyance. 

"I might not come back." He said abruptly. 

"I know that. So what? You think making me hate you is what…? Going to make it… feel ok?" You asked. 

He looked straight at you. 

"My death isn't something that deserves mourning." 

You blinked. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Anger spoke volumes. Actually it moved fast too. You didn't exactly know how you grabbed the pillow from the couch and started hitting him with it. 

"SIMON, FUCKING RILEY, DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN." You punctuated every word with a hit. 

He groaned. You were really hitting his last nerves. 

"I care! I fucking care! It's not up to you to decide if I should or not!" You said, this time tears prickling at your eyes. 

He noticed. You hit him harder trying to hide it from him. He grabbed the pillow, snatching it from your grip and throwing it somewhere in the room. He grabbed your wrists making you back up against the wall. 

"Calm down." He tried, his voice slightly calmer. 

"No! Fuck Simon!" You scolded. 

You stared at each other. 

"Lieutenant Simon ghost Riley, you better come back to me." You whispered. 

He didn't say anything. He leant forward, letting the top of his skull mask rest on your forehead and hissed a fuck. Your breaths mixing together. 

"If we hate each other. We have nothing to lose in this situation. We shouldn't have…been friends in the first place." He explained in a whisper.

"Do you hate me?" You asked in a whisper too.

His grip on your wrists tightened. He didn't answer. 

"If I don't come back. You're going to have to deal with it." He answered coldly. 

He let go of your arms, stepping back as you looked at him, eyes wide in shock. He simply turned around. And walked out of the apartment.

You bit your lip closing your eyes. God. He was stubborn. You were hurt once more. Even if you knew he didn't mean it. In his stupid attempt to spare you from being hurt, he ironically hurt you. 

You took a deep breath. You wanted to sleep, forget this whole discussion. You wanted to roll into your blankets. So you did, and you let sleep take you. 

That morning, you had gotten up with very little motivation. You had realized quite quickly he had not slept home. You tried to go about your day but your mind kept running back to him. Was he really going to leave with saying goodbye? 

The hours ticked and the more the realization settled in. He wasn't coming back. You decided to go to the base in the afternoon to drop a report. You had met with the squad, avoiding talking about their lieutenant. You told them goodbye, threatening to go find them if they don't come back. They had announced they were leaving late in the night, the departure being changed again. 

You were going to miss them. You had started to get used to their presence. To enjoy their company. They had grown on you. 

You walked home pretty late. Feeling devastated by your roommate's behavior. You wanted to see him. Talk to him. Hug him before he left. But it wouldn't happen. The thought making you want to cry. 

You walked into your apartment. The silence felt horrible. You dropped your coat over the couch, slowly walking to his bedroom. A shy knock on his door was heard. It was the only thing heard. Nothing. Your hand reached for the doorknob slowly. Turning it, you opened his door. Empty. He wasn't there. 

You turned around, feeling the need to go back to your bed. You froze. Your door was open. You frowned, slowly walking into your room. You noticed a bag on your bed. You approached, sitting next to it. You opened it, taking out the soft object inside. 

You stared at it. Tears rushing down your cheeks. It was a squish-able round plush. Of the grim reaper. It was black, with a cute skull for a face. You hugged it. 

Knock knock knock. 

You looked up. Holding the plush, you stood, walking to the door. You opened it. 

"Hi! I'm… Sergeant Hansen… I'm your new neighbor… are you ok?" 

You stared at the man in front of you.

He wasn't going to say goodbye.

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tags:

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[soapisahimbo]

Their S/O Already Has A Kid - 141 (+Alejandro & König) Edition

Anonymous asked: Your work is god tier, absolutely slaying rn. I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you are... hear me out- can I please get the mw2 boys with an s/o who already has a kid? How would they interact with the kid?

So I wasn't entirely sure on what angle to approach this from, but I've written this as if reader has been a single parent who has worked with 141 for a while (not necessarily a soldier), the other parent isn't really in the picture and the kid is somewhere around 4-5 years old. I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but I sincerely hope you enjoy!

warnings: none! couldn't find a good gif to use though :(

John 'Soap' MacTavish:

From the second he finds out you have a child, way before there's even any suggestion that you will one day be a couple, he's on a mission to become The World's Best Uncle. It's like he's participating in a competition that no one else signed up for - he wants to be your kid's absolute favourite and he'll be damned if anyone else tries it. Will frequently ask you about the kid; "how're they doin' in school?", "do they have friends to play with?", "what do they want for Christmas?", "are they growin' well?", and even checks up with you to see if they need new clothes or anything. He will always have something for them for their birthday or Christmas and will happily say to you, "this is from Uncle Soap, all right? Take pictures when they open it, I wanna see how they like it!"

He has a natural desire to look after the people around him, and since he considers you a close and fast friend, he'll want nothing more than to help you out if he can. The closer you grow, the more he gets the urge to prove himself worthy - to prove that he'll be good to you and that you can trust him - and it's a sentiment he keeps long after you get together. You and your child become like a family to him, and it's a family he's keen on keeping.

The two of them will be like two peas in a pod. He'll play around with them near constantly, tell them stories from his job (adjusted to be more child-friendly) and teach them how to play football. He asks them about school, helps them with homework and he will happily treat the kid as his own. You're the love of his life and this child is his best little friend. He loves you both dearly and it fills him with immense happiness to have you two to come back home to once you live together. If he's available for it, he'll go with you guys to events and theme parks, and hopefully longer vacation trips. He doesn't ever expect them to call him "dad" (although if it were to happen, it would probably have him sobbing uncontrollably), he's just happy to be with you, and to be The World's Best Uncle Soap.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley:

It's worth mentioning that he'll be hesitant to get any closer to you than necessary at first, not because of any sort of disdain towards you or towards kids, but because of who he is. Simon has been through some terrible shit, and his work consists of doing even more terrible shit, and so he thinks that being any sort of role model to a child is way out of his range.

This doesn't mean he doesn't care, though. When you first get to know him, he seems cold and aloof and he doesn't seem to show any particular interest in you. What with you being on his team though, and him knowing that you're a single parent, he might approach you with the intent of at least showing some sort of support, whatever support he might be capable of showing.

He'll get something for the kid, like a stuffed animal or some sort of toy, but he doesn't hand it to you personally; he'll leave it somewhere where he knows you'll find it, like on your desk if you have one, and pretend like nothing happened.

He wants to keep his distance, but he can't deny the strange urge to look after you. It starts slow. He never asks, but he'll listen when you tell him about your child; how they've been doing lately, what you've done during the weekend, something funny they did or said. At first you might think he's ignoring you, but then one day he hands you a little trinket and tells you it's "for the little one, figured they might like it."

Growing closer and realizing that he has feelings for you is a complicated ordeal for him and he tries to keep it locked away deep down, but he's unable to stop himself for some reason. Once together, he cares greatly about you and your child, even if he might not always know how to show it.

He makes an unspoken promise to never let anything harm either of you, and so he keeps you under the radar as best he can. His team might know that you're together, but that's as far as they're informed. You won't hear much from him while he's out on missions, and he rarely mentions you or your kid to anyone, keeping any information about you sealed up tightly in the back of his mind, and if anyone asks he'll only give short-clipped answers, if he even bothers to answer in the first place. It's all to keep you safe.

With you, though, he's much more loving and gentle than others would even guess he's capable of. If you live together, he'll pick your kid up in his arms when he gets home and plant a gentle and loving kiss on your lips in greeting. Never raises his voice at anything if one or both of you are near, even if he's aggravated or annoyed. He plays ever so gently with your kid, even if they're play-wrestling and he's tossing them around because he's incredibly aware of his strength, and he sits patiently and quietly while they doodle on his arms or even his face and tells them bad (child-friendly) puns to get them to laugh. You and the kid are practically the only ones that get to see him smile.

His own childhood was incredibly traumatizing, and he tries his damnedest to make sure that that doesn't bleed over onto you or the kid, even if it means that he has to step away for a while. He's working on it, you might just need to give him some time. If this is as serious as he thinks it is, he wants to be the absolute best that he can be for you.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick:

He is oh, so gentle with your child. He's the dude that calmly and casually follows your kid around to make sure that they don't get in trouble while they explore. He's done it since the first time they met, and he still does it now, only interfering when they're headed somewhere they shouldn't be, or when they turn to him to play or talk. The type to offer to take care of them so that you can rest or focus on other things, and tells you "it's no skin off my nose" when you tell him that he really doesn't need to. He lets the kid approach him rather than try to get them to interact with him, and it's because of this exact mindset that kids usually love him. If they want to hug him, he'll happily wrap them up in a big and warm hug, but he's not going to convince them to because kids deserve their own bodily autonomy just as much as any adult.

He's one of those people who just magically makes kids fall asleep even when they're in that "I am dead tired but I refuse to sleep for some ungodly reason so I'm just gonna scream and cry at everything"-state, and it baffles you every time, but you're certainly not complaining. He has this air about him that is just very calming, and he makes both you and your kid feel immensely safe just by his presence alone. He starts out as just a close and caring friend, and the transition to more than just friends to an actual couple is a smooth one; one day you just kiss and you're not even surprised. It feels natural to have him around and when you see him interact with your child, it's like he's supposed to be there. You can't imagine anyone else, as if whatever empty space was there had been Gaz-shaped all along.

Gets your kid to laugh delightfully without even trying, wipes their tears gently and kisses their cheeks when they've scraped their knees or bumped their head, listens intently when they talk, even if they're just speaking nonsense ("but of course, all superheroes are from Norway."*) and will absolutely not laugh when they call Soap a dumb stinky poopyface.

Despite his calm demeanour though, Gaz is still a soldier, and very well-trained one at that. Should anyone approach you or your kid with the intent to harm you or threaten you, rest assured that he will not just let that slip by. He would give his life to protect both of you without even a hint of hesitation.

*based on an actual conversation I had with one of my nephews

Alejandro Vargas:

He doesn't care what anyone says, doesn't care what anyone thinks, doesn't care about what the kid looks like or how old they are, he is Dad™ now. Will wholeheartedly claim your child as his own and fight anyone who questions it. What the hell do you mean they look nothing alike, that's his fucking kid, are you blind?

He's so eager and willing to help, even long before you start dating. Takes any chance he gets to invite you and your child over, be it for food, for movie nights, to go to the park, or simply to talk. Before you know it, he has clothes and toothbrushes dedicated to both of you at his place, reminding you again and again that his door is always open for you; no need to even knock.

Let's be real, as generous and charming as he is, it's his sincerity that has you falling for him. He offers to take care of the kid while you rest, or to come over to clean up your home (Rodolfo might join as well, partly because of his goodhearted nature, partly because Alejandro roped him into it), and he looks you deep in the eyes when he tells you that his family is your family, be it Los Vaqueros or his own blood relatives. It's how he confesses to you as well, telling you that even if you don't reciprocate, he'll still be there for you.

If you didn't know any better, you yourself would start to question whether or not Alejandro is somehow the actual father. It's like they have some sort of telepathic connection, almost. The only one who knows that kid's moods and mannerisms and habits better than him, is you. He works with you like a team to make sure that you're always on the same page and make sure that you know that he only ever wants the best for you and the kid. Teaches them Spanish if it's not already their native language, and if they happen to pick up a curse-word from somewhere, he'll be horrified (kid said "puta" once and you thought he'd have a heart attack).

Much like Ghost, he'll keep you under the radar to keep you safe. Sends letters and gifts in secret when he's deployed, and now has a stronger determination than ever to stay alive. He doesn't ever want to imagine that one day might be the last he'll ever see you, so he'll walk through hell and high water to make sure he will return to you.

König:

He doesn't really know how to handle kids, but he sure does try. He is huge compared to this tiny little human - his calf alone is almost the same size as the entire child - so he tries to shrink himself down as much as he can. They might be a bit intimidated by him at first, but once that passes he is practically given the role of a human jungle gym. He stays alert, making sure that he's able to catch them should they fall off, and as awkward as he might feel, he would never let this little one come to harm. When you tell your kid to leave him be or be gentler with him, he quickly assures you that it's no problem and that he doesn't mind it at all; thinks it's quite fun actually. Before you know it, this tiny being less than a quarter of his size will be like his little sidekick, and it's honestly the funniest thing you've seen.

He's nervous around you though, not only because it's your child, but because over time the harmless little crush he's had on you grows stronger and stronger and stronger, and he's not sure how to handle it. When he tells the kid to be good to you, it's partly directed towards himself as well, as if he's telling himself to look after you. The idea of holding the child in one arm and you in the other fills him with such warmth that it almost catches him off guard. You're the one who tells him how you feel, and it kickstarts a full avalanche of stumbling words out him, because he's trying to find the right way to tell you that he feels the same and that he wants to be a part of your life.

He will be incredibly gentle with that child - he'll fuzz over the tiniest little bump or bruise or scrape, even if they're not bothered by it in the slightest. Picks them up very carefully while they can pull and tug and jump on him with all the strength their little body can muster without him ever budging - play-wrestling and tickle fights will be very carefully done because he would hate to accidentally hurt them. Loves teaching them German if they don't already speak it, and much like Alejandro, he will practically see his life flash by his eyes if they ever happen to learn a curseword from somewhere - especially if they accidentally picked it up from him.

Will keep any semblance of violence away from you and your child to as far of an extent as he can, but if anything happened to either one of you, he'd crush the skulls of everyone involved with his bare hands, that's for sure.

[i-willstealyourtoes]

Could u possibly write a Hunter x Reader where the reader is friends with Cid so Hunter immediately assumes they're a horrible person, when in reality they're just a caretaker for their twin siblings and are just trying to get by

I've been thinking about this for days now and I'd love to see it written out (my writing is horrid lol)

I'm so sorry this took so long, I've been rlly tryna push though my lack of motivation 😭

Hunter with caretaker!Reader

- When Hunter firsts sees you in the bar, it's easy for him to assume that you're, well..

- Just as much of a good person as Cid

- And for that reason, he keeps contact to a minimum

- Only talking to you when needed, answering in short, cold sentences when in a conversation with you

- He especially keeps careful when with Omega

- Of course, she can handle herself, but he doesn't want her interacting too much with Cid, let alone anyone like her

- This keeps on for a while, until he has to leave Omega at Cid's again

- When he comes back, he's greeted by a surprising image

- Omega was happily chatting away with you, and you were reciprocating just fine

- He doesn't immediately trust you, but it certainly interests him

- Ever since then, Omega had been trying to convince Hunter that you're actually a great person

- Until one day, it's late and he finally decided to talk to you

- "You're good with kids.."

- He would start off, almost with a tone of surprise in his voice

- You're a friend of Cid, how can you be good with kids?

- But then you explain about how you have to work for Cid to provide for your younger siblings

- And he feels

- Kind of horrible, to be honest

- Here he was, assuming you were a bad person, when you were almost like him, just trying to get enough money to provide for your family

- He doesn't really apologise, since you didn't know what he thought of you, but you can feel him warm up to you after that

- He lets Omega talk to you whenever, if anything, he prefers when you two are together than Omega just staying back at Cid's alone or with anyone else

- He'll talk to you more openly, occasionally asking you for advice on how to handle kids

- Most importantly, if he gets any spare money (which is rare, I know), he tries to give it to you

- "Here. As thanks for watching over Omega when we're gone."

- He wants to support you more, since he knows your struggle, but he can only really give you a little money

- I feel like he wouldn't immediately try to romance you, since he's busy with work and family, and you're busy with work and family

- But he keeps the idea of you two in his mind, as some sort of comfort when he sleeps

- When they find Pabu, Omega immediately suggests they bring you and your siblings along (Hunter was already thinking of this before Omega even suggested it)

- And since they're already freeing themselves from Cid, they could do it again...

- So they do, and let you and your siblings settle down on the island

- It's... so much better than the living conditions on Ord Mantell

- Plus, now Omega gets to meet your younger siblings and hang out with them!!

- Hunter doesn't say anything, but it warms his heart to see Omega with other kids, watching them play with you and him sitting back

- He still doesn't want to confess to you, since he still has things to do

- But moments like these, he feels at home, having you with him and Omega and the other kids happy

- Maybe after/during S3, he gives a very awkward confession, even though at that point you're unknowingly dating already

- But he wants to make it official, so you two can settle down on Pabu comfortably

[itsjustrosee]

Part 2 for stranded please😔 that call made me lose my mind tbh😔😔thx<3

yes of course I will make a part two!! I really just wanted to say thank you for all of the support on the first part, I'm really happy that you guys liked it <3

I've never written anything as um- graphic- as this before, so if it's bad I'm sorry

But since yall asked, here it is

Stranded pt.2 (Minho x fem!reader)

Pt.1, Pt.2

Context: Go read the first part, that will explain everything (u could read this as a one shot tho I guess)

Warnings: cursing and lots of smut 😖

Word count: 2.8k

! I proof read but there might still be spelling mistakes !

As Minho hung up the phone you couldn't wait to pull his lips back on to yours. Once he did so, he quickly put his phone back in his pocket and turned all of his attention back to you. You drew towards him again, putting your chest right up against his, eliminating any previous space you had from each other.

Your lips merged onto each others again and it resulted in a long, hungry and desperate kiss. You felt heat radiating off of Minho's body as you continued to put your hands all over him. He did the same as he kept his left hand on your ass to keep you propped up on the wall as he continued to kiss you. His other hand found it's way up your thigh, inching higher and higher up. You could feel yourself throbbing between your legs, and eventually you started to become more and more desperate for Minho.

You moved one of your hands to the back of his neck and the other traced down Minho's defined chest and eventually to his lower mid drift, and you gently slipped your fingers under the waistband of his sweatpants. You could feel him grow even harder between your legs because of the sudden contact.

The tension in the room was thick and heavy and you could sense that you were both longing for even more of each other.

"Wow someone's a little eager, huh?" Minho said breathlessly while pulling away from the kiss. The deep rasp in his voice sent shivers down your spine and you couldn't help but feel even more turned on by him.

"Oh shut up Minho." You say while panting. I mean, you'd be lying if you said that you weren't eager, and you'd also be lying if you said you hadn't woken up after dreaming about moments like these with Minho for months.

However, you had always chided yourself for thinking about him in such a way. But why would you even want to admit that you had a crush on the guy who enjoyed making fun of you?

Still no matter how wrong you thought it was, you knew deep down that he was the only boy at your school that you had ever felt any sort of attraction towards. Something drew you to him and you were just so used to denying it and how you felt about him. But now, after admitting out loud that you liked him, it felt as if a pressure in you that was building up by the day had finally disappeared. You didn't even know how long you had been waiting to say it but when you did, it just felt right.

Minho on the other hand didn't have to try and convince himself otherwise. He knew that he liked you, but he could never find the right way to tell you. He was always worried of how you would react if he did. If you would laugh at him or tease him, or if you wouldn't even take him seriously, if you would just think he was joking with you. The thought of ruining any chance of talking to you again, even though the only talking you guys did included insults and teasing the other person, scared him regardless. But he could only avoid telling you for so long. He knew he would end up breaking and saying something to you one day.

After sharing another brief kiss you pulled away from Minho again, "Come on, let's go up to my room." You said while unwrapping your legs from his waist and putting your feet back on the floor, holding his hand in yours as you led him upstairs and into your room. You entered your room and Minho walked in after you, closing the door behind him.

You took off your tights and Minho stepped forward, helping you take off your shirt. He crashed his lips onto yours once more and you had one hand on his chest while the other was futzing with your skirt, desperate to get it off.

Once you had stripped off your remaining pieces of clothing, you remained only in your bra and underwear. Once of your hands traveled lower again and you began to pull down on the waist band of Minho's sweatpants once more. He soon got the hint and pulled down his sweatpants, leaving him in only his boxers. Articles of clothing were scattered around the floor as you and Minho stood close to the edge of your bed. He continued to kiss you as you palmed him through his underwear, causing him to exhale a soft moan as you did so.

You drew away from Minho, one hand lingering on his chest as you dropped down to your knees. You used your other hand to pull down Minho's boxers and they loosely fell to his ankles as his cock sprung out, hitting his stomach. Beads of precum glittered his cock as you took his length in your hands, steadying yourself by removing you hand from his chest and placing it on his upper thigh.

Very quickly, you had to mentally prepare yourself for what you were getting yourself into because Jesus, he was big to say the least.

You could hear Minho's breathing hitch as you slowly began rubbing him up and down, thumb gliding over his tip softly as you looked up at him. "Who's eager now, hm?" You say in a seductive tone that makes Minho's mind spin. You hear him let out a scoff in response.

You let out a giggle as you bring your head closer, littering kissing on Minho's cock as you licked him up and down. He groaned quietly and flung his head back, taking one of his hands and putting it on the back of your head. He tugged at your hair as you kept kissing and rubbing his length up and down, changing your pace from fast to slow in order to tease him slightly.

He moaned once more, "You're really never going to stop teasing me, huh?" He said with a soft chuckle while pulling his head back up, allowing himself to look at you. He was making a joke but it was obvious that he was desperately waiting for you to give him more.

"I'm not teasing you Minho." You said in an innocent voice before pausing, "Just tell me what you want me to do."

"Oh- come on. You know what I want you to do." He says while continuing to let out soft moans due to you to licking him up and down, taking his tip in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it before pulling away once more.

"Maybe I do. But I want to hear you say it." You say while grinning up at him. You knew you were being a bit unfair to him but you just loved seeing him act like this, the way he turned into putty at your touch. I guess you could say you finally liked having some power over him, after he was the one teasing you for so many years.

You could hear in his voice how impatient he was getting, "I want my dick down your throat," he said while beginning to grip your hair harder. "Is that clear enough for you Princess?" He said. His tone more desperate and pleading this time.

"Your not even going to ask me politely?" you questioned, knowing that you were definitely pushing your luck, but you wanted to see how far he'd be willing to let you tease him.

Minho sighed before he continued, "Please." And that was all you needed to hear.

You took Minho's cock in your mouth all at once, choking on his length as the head of his dick hit the back of your throat. He let out a groan and threw his head back once more. You pulled your mouth away and then kept sucking him off. The way you swirled your tongue around his dick warranted whimpers and moans from Minho that he was clearly trying to hold in.

Minho was a popular guy and he had been with girls previously. Maybe he had gotten drunk at a party or two and gotten lucky with some random girl, but nothing compared to how you took him. You were gentle yet so passionate with him and he was absolutely losing his mind. He was sure he would never be able to feel this good from anyone else's doing but yours.

He mumbled words of praise to you as you continued to quite literally, suck the life out of him, and you enjoyed seeing how pleasured he felt by your touch.

Minho used the hand he had on your head to guide your movements as you continued to move your mouth up and down his cock. And sooner then even Minho imagined, he was almost over the edge.

"Oh- fuck- I'm close." Minho said breathlessly, yet despite his warnings you kept your movements the same. And when he finally came in your mouth, you swallowed every last bit of him up.

"You did so well for me baby." Minho said while helping you back up, bringing you in and kissing you again. He took a handful of your ass in his large hands, making you moan into his mouth at the sudden contact. Then suddenly, he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed and he began to climb on top of you.

"What are you doing?" You asked with a mix of confusion and excitement in your voice.

"What do you mean? Did you really think that I'd be done with you already?" He questioned again as he looked down at you with a grin that you couldn't help but to reciprocate. "It's your turn now princess." He said while sliding off your panties.

You would be lying if you said you hadn't been soaking wet this entire time. The ache between your legs was prominent as Minho slid his fingers into you, making you moan loudly.

"Wow looks like someone's already excited, huh?" Minho said, teasing you slightly as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. He was being agonizingly slow and you cursed at yourself mentally for teasing him earlier because now he planned on doing the exact same to you.

"Well your one to talk." You said with a bit of an attitude, but in actuality you were just trying to pull yourself together. You couldn't help but moan as Minho used his free hand to squeeze your breast and used his mouth to kiss the skin along your bra line.

"So you're giving me attitude now, hm?" He said softly as he brought his mouth up to your ear and whispered.

"N-no I'm sorry, just please-" You said, voice breaking because of how Minho's thumb began circling your cunt.

"Please what? Use your words sweetheart." He said against your ear as he began kissing you down your neck.

"Please Minho you know what I want you to do." you say before continuing, "please don't make me say it." you said, basically begging him. I mean, it was bad enough how eager you were to let his hands explore all over your body, you weren't trying to loose the last ounce of pride and dignity you had left.

"Fine. I'll let you off easy just this once princess. But next time I'm making you beg for it." Minho said slowly and you could tell he wasn't lying.

He took his fingers out of you and moved his way down your body, his head stopping at your thighs as he used his hands to spread them apart. He kissed the skin on the inside of your thighs before turning his attention to your throbbing pussy.

He licked a strip through your folds and then his mouth began to attack your heat. You moan and throw your head back as he continues to devour you. Each lick sending shivers down your spine, making your back arch, further incasing his head between your thighs. He kept both of his hands at your hips firmly to keep you from squirming out of your grip. And as he continued to go down on you, he worked magic with his tongue and you could soon feel heat rising to your core as he did so. He ate you out as if he were a starved man who hadn't eaten in days, and you couldn't help but continuously moan his name while he did so. You kept your hand on his head, ruining his perfectly styled hair while doing so, while your other hand on your mouth, trying so desperately to silence your loud moans.

You feel yourself on the brink of an orgasm as you gasped out, "Minho I'm- I'm really close." But before you could cum, Minho pulled his face away from your pussy making you whimper, "What? why- why'd you stop?" you said while panting.

"Sorry baby, but if your going to come, then it'll be around my cock." Minho says with a smirk as finds his way back on top of you, legs between yours and his hands resting on either side of you. He was already rock solid again as he lined the tip of his dick up with your entrance.

He began pushing in his head slowly and you let out a sharp gasp. You hadn't actually processed how big Minho was, not until he was about to go inside you. "Your too big." You could barley mumble out.

"You're alright baby. I know you'll be able to take it, right?" He asks, waiting for you to give him an actual confermation. He wasn't going to ever force you into something you didn't want to do.

You let out a nod but Minho just looked at you once more, "Words sweetheart." Minho reminded you as a soft smile tugged on the edge of his lips.

"I-I will be." You say before gulping, "I'll be okay." He brushed his hand against your cheek and moved a piece of your hair behind your ear as you said this.

"Good girl. That's what I thought." Minho cooed, and with one swift push he entered you fully, allowing his thick cock to stretch out your walls. You moaned loudly and the quick pain you felt turned into pleasure as you enjoyed the feeling of being filled up by him.

"Fuck- your so tight." Minho said as he let out a groan, slowly pulling himself back out of you and then in again.

You had been with only one other boy before and though you had thought of it as a good experience, comparing it to the one you were having with Minho right now, it was nothing. Minho knew exactly what he was doing and he was great at doing it. He knew just the right ways to make you squirm and moan his name, and it was safe to say he definitely knew how to get the right reaction out of you. You could do nothing but savor the feeling of him in you, he made you feel whole.

Your moans only got louder as Minho continued to pump deeply in and out of you. Again, you felt yourself growing closer and closer to an orgasm and Minho could feel this by the way your walls began to tighten even more around his cock. He slowed his thrusts down and would then speed up again, edging on your orgasm.

"Minho please.” you said desperately as he continued to pound into you.

"please what baby?" Minho said while panting. You had to give it to him, he had the stamina of a god. I mean shocker he's on the track team, so that's to be expected.

"Please just let me come- I'm so close." You said, your tone even more desperate then before as you basically begin to beg him.

"Alright princess, since you asked nicely." Minho said with a chuckle. God he still managed to be cocky even in situations like these. You could tell that he was close by the way his thrusts ended up become harder yet more and more sloppy. You felt waves of euphoria coming over you as one last thrust on Minho’s end was able to tip you over the edge. You finally unwound under him, moaning and overstimulated as he finished in you with one last thrust. “You’re so good for me.” Minho said while he kept his cock in your pussy for a moment longer. He gently kissed you as he pulled out and laid down next to you on the bed, slinging his arm around your shoulder. “You did so well baby, you know that right?” He said breathlessly as you both lied there panting. It definitely sounded like you had just ran a marathon now.

You looked at him and smiled as turned to your side and rested your hand on his chest.

“come on princess let’s take a shower and get you cleaned up,” Minho said while kissing you once more on the forehead before getting up and offering his hand to help you up from your bed.

God, you loved this man.

@minminho0 (Im proud of myself for not forgetting to tag u lol)

okay yall this is it and I really hope you guys liked it. It took me a while to finish this because Ive never rlly written anything like this but uh theres a first time for everything right?

Also I have seen ur guys requests and I'm going to start working on them now but I will be doing a kind of first come first serve typa thing.

anyways I just wanted to say thank you again for all of the support that you guys have been giving me, it really means so much ❤️

[usmsgutterson]

Exactly Where I Want To Be - S.R x gn! reader

Okay!! Second Spencer Reid fic I've written and posted in less than a week, and I kind of feel like I have a bit of a winning streak--when I've not been binging criminal minds or crocheting, I've been writing for Spencer or thinking about it.

My requests are wide open to him so if you have any ideas, send them in and I'll be happy to write them out!! Smut is welcome but might take a little longer (smut for some reason takes me longer to write than other genres do) and I'm willing to write anything within reason!

Fic type - this one bounces all over, but it's primary genres are fluff, angst, and hurt/comfort

Warnings -there are mentions of criminal minds canon typical violence and as such, guns are mentioned and depicted in use. Other warnings include mentions of stalking, depictions of being shot, and mentions of being in a previous relationship that was manipulative (reader was with a guy who was a total ass pre-BAU and it's mentioned he wanted more arm candy than actual person to be in a loving relationship with), there are mentions of dementia and alcoholic dementia as well as a few of the symptoms, mentions of alcoholism, drug dependency and addiction, and this is really, really long. It runs at 13k post-edits.

TWENTY-TWO / TWENTY-THREE 

You join the BAU just a little while after Spencer does—three months, one week, and four days. Spencer counts it during a particularly boring afternoon, after he’s zoomed through most of the files sitting on his desk and has just about nothing else to do. Your desk is across from his and he’s remembered the date you’d joined the team since you waltzed into the offices, so it’s pretty easy to count it out.  

He’d joined on July 22nd, 2001, whereas you’d joined on November 2nd of the same year. You’d been only a year younger than he and you proved, rather quickly, that you were among the only people who could keep up with Reid on a consistent basis. The only other people who could really accomplish that were Elle, Gideon, and Hotch, but it served to make yours and Spencers bond stronger as you settled in.  

Spencer knew he had a habit for going off on tangents without really meaning to, but unlike the rest of the team, you seemed fairly unbothered by it, and even if you were reading a book or knitting or doing something else when Spencer had started, it was clear to him that you’d been listening by the end.  

You’d been Hotchs mentee, so to speak, and your aptness for listening to Spencer when it seemed nobody else was listening was something Hotch picked up on whip quick, bringing it up to you in what feels like both rightly subtle and unconsciously unsubtle as the two of you walk stand in the elevator.  

“If you like him and it goes anywhere, you do realize you’ll no longer be able to be partnered up while you’re in the field?” Hotch asks, his voice quiet. “You won’t be eligible for a promotion of any kind, either, as it’s not permitted for bosses to date their subordinates.” 

You snort. “It’s not like that,” you say, because right now, it doesn’t feel like it is. “You don’t have to worry, Hotch. I like him, but—platonically. I look at him with such a platonic set of eyes that even the best of friends envy it, I promise.”  

“If--and I say if because Gideon has taken to saying when while Spencer and you aren’t in earshot—it does happen, you need to file the appropriate paperwork and ensure that at least Gideon and I are aware as to the goings on.”  

You laugh.“It’s not like that,” you repeat. “Spencer doesn’t look at me that way, and I don’t look at him that way, either. Like I said. So platonic it’s envious.”  

Hotch cracks a small smile, something you never really see but are glad to nonetheless because it cuts the tension like it’s a freshly sharpened knife.  

“Five bucks says he’s gotten you a tea and set it on your desk,” Hotch says. “I don’t make bets, but if I did, I think I’d win that one.”  

You glance at the hot chocolate you hold in your right hand, the one that is certainly not for you, but for your coffee-resistant friend with an IQ of 187 and an eidetic memory, and crack a smile.  

“I do, too,” you admit. The elevator doors open and the two of you go inside, going your separate ways as Hotch heads for his office and you go to your desk, intending to hit the ground running because you have a long day of paperwork in need of doing. 

You set the hot chocolate down on Spencers desk. He doesn’t look up as you sit across from him at your own, but you hear his usual “thank you, Y/N,” as he grabs for it with his left hand, the pen he’s using to fill out the paperwork still in his right.  

“Yeah,” you respond, shrugging and catching sight of the tea he’d bought you, sitting right next to the pile of paperwork you intend to spend the next eight hours tackling. “No problem. Are we still on for our Doctor Who marathon tonight?”  

“Absolutely,” Spencer confirms as you wheel yourself over to the left corner of your desk. You keep the files there, so that they’re right within your vicinity, and it’s always where Spencer places the tea he gets you so that you can grab it along with the first piece of paperwork on the pile you so meticulously assemble. “Yeah. Picking up from where we left off with doctor number six.”  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Thanks for the tea.”  

“No problem,” Spencer says. He looks up as you take the first sip, and the smile that comes after is almost contagious to him. “I got the right place?”  

The two of you have a thing going on and have had it from the first month after you’d joined the BAU and had learned of each others drink preferences—every single time you got each other a hot chocolate or a tea in the morning, you did it at a different spot. In the three years since you’d joined, you’d gone to dozens of different spots in and around the Quantico area, and both of you had developed favorites.  

Yours was Izzies—their London fog lattes were like nothing else, just caffeinated enough to give you the boost you needed throughout the day, and you’d learned that they made an iced London fog that was just as good, if not even better. 

Spencers was the one with the cutesy kind of name, something Derek occasionally made fun of him for—I Love You A Latte was the name, and they made a hot chocolate that was super smooth and a lavender tea that could will Spencers body into sleep like just about nothing else was capable. It was run by a sweet old lady from West Virginia who’d known both you and Spencer by name and was occasionally at the tills when you were there to pick up a hot chocolate for Spencer.  

“Yeah,” you nod. “Izzies is the best for their tea.”  

“I Love You A Latte makes the best hot chocolate on this side of Virginia,” Spencer says. “Thanks again, Y/N.”  

“You’re welcome,” you respond. “Thank you, too.”  

Spencers response comes in the form of a nod, and that’s the end of your interactions until you’re two minutes out from taking lunch, setting your pen onto your desk and shaking your hands out.  

You tend to grip pens, pencils and the like the same way you hold onto a crochet hook or knitting needles—with a grip so tight that your knuckles get a few shades lighter, usually without you even realizing. As a result, you deal with hand pain on a semi frequent basis, and shaking your hands out every time you’re going to lunch is a habitual thing for you now. 

“Going to lunch?” Spencer asks, eyes flitting up from his file. You nod.  

“My mother sent along some money for my birthday last weekend, which means that I have a date with a box of garlic fingers and an alfredo pasta breadbowl from Antonios,” you grin. “I can never eat the garlic fingers in full, though—they give you what they call half-plates, and I can usually only eat my way through half of the half. I’ll bring it back for you, if you want?” You offer as you grab your bag, stand, and walk over to his desk.

“That’s not necessary,” Spencer says. “I--you don’t have to do that.”  

“No fun facts about the passage of germs through food?” You joke, ruffling his hair. “Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. I’ll bring you what’s left, and I’ll make sure it’s as not-germy as possible.”  

Spencer smiles at you in a way that almost makes you want to forget the words you’d told Hotch earlier. You want to be the opposite of platonic, if you’re being honest with yourself, which you have a tough time doing on even your best days.  

You leave, heading for your car with an almost gleeful way about you because of the thought of Antonios. You wonder what Spencer is thinking, linger on the idea that he’s thinking about you for three seconds too long before you let it go. Platonic is the best way to be with your coworkers, and despite how much you wish it were different, it’s the best way to be with Spencer, too.  

- 

A week later, Gideon is leaving the office as Spencer is readying himself for another late night. Gideon stops at Spencers desk just for the sake of checking in, catches him on the tail end of a giddy “thank you!” bubbling up from your lips after Spencer had made you an earl grey tea while he was making himself some hot cocoa.  

Gideon smiles knowingly, in a way that almost has Spencer convinced he can see right through him.  

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says. “These late nights will do you a lot more harm than good in the long run, Spencer. Are you sure you can handle this?”  

Spencer nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Just have a few more files I’d like to get done before my weekend off, is all. Don’t worry about it, Gideon. I’m fine.”  

“And you’re totally not here for—other reasons--?” Gideon looks pointedly at you. Spencer follows his gaze on impulse and is completely unsurprised to find you engrossed in a file, using your mug of tea as a paper weight while you fill it out, your non dominant hand clutching the mug like a heat seeking missile.  

Spencer shakes his head. “Just want to finish the last of my files so I have less work on Monday,” he answers. “Nothing like that, I swear.”  

Gideon shakes his head like he doesn’t believe him, and Spencer has no rebuttal because he’s being completely honest. When Gideon claps him on the shoulder as he moves to leave, Spencer is the closest to relieved he’s ever gotten in a situation that borders on that level of intensity.  

“Everything okay, Spence?” You ask, gaze not moving up from the file in front of you.  

“Everything’s fine, Y/N/N,” he says. “Gideons just—he's being weird.”

“Hotch has been weird lately, too,” your voice goes soft. “I think it’s just an office old man thing. I dunno—thirty-eight is hardly old, but Gideons climbing up to fifty. He might be going senile a little earlier than what’s written on the docket.”  

“Gideon? No,” Spencer laughs. “And, anyway—dementia isn’t commonly developed until the person with the disease is at least 60, although there have been cases of people developing it as early as 30 years old and there’s a case of childhood dementia with one in every 2900 babies globally. I won’t worry about dementia in Gideon until I notice his memory starting to falter or his communication starting to change, or any of the other symptoms, and even then, for his wifes sake, I’ll hope It’s origin can be treated with modern medicine.” 

“I thought dementia was an incurable disease?”  

“It is,” Spencer nods. “There are treatable causes for it, not that the disease itself can be cured—treatment is always an option. It can stem from a lot of different things, such as diabetes, a traumatic brain injury, or substance abuse.”  

You nod. “My grandfather got hit with it from the excessive booze drinking,” you say. “I wasn’t around him a lot—my mother didn’t want me to be, didn’t want me to know a drunk when I was that young. He died when I was fifteen, and in that time, I’d only seen him twice. Dementia is pretty damn heartwrenching, I think.”  

Spencer nods, eyes going back to the file in front of him. “Yeah,” he says. “I can’t imagine it. I hate thinking about that sort of thing—the idea of forgetting anything that I’ve learned is enough to scare me into an early grave.”  

You laugh. “Okay,” you say, nodding. Spencer knows it's your not-so-subtle way of moving the conversation along, but he's grateful for it because if he talks anymore about dementia he'll probably cry himself to sleep. “In other news, I picked up a stray cat I found in the parking lot of a Joanns the other night.”  

Spencers eyes widen, his gaze moving to you. “You found a stray?”  

“Yeah,” you nod, eyes meeting his. “I took her to the vet this morning—it's why I was late coming in. She’s got a perfect bill of health, surprisingly, and she likes my apartment a lot. Loves the windowsill.”

“Does this stray have a name yet?”  

“I named her Megatron,” you laugh. “She’s so small, and I love ironic names like that. If I ever adopt a Maine Coon, I’ve already decided their name is gonna be Tiny.”  

Spencer laughs, and the both of you go back to focusing on your files, and Spencer loves it. 

He loves how simplistic things feel between the two of you—conversations can stop and start again after hours without talking, and it just feels easy, inherently, being in your presence. It’s not anything Spencer has ever felt with anyone else, but after three years, it’s one of the few things in his life that he has and actively cherishes.

When he leaves, he doesn’t do so without making you another tea. He uses it as a means of bidding you good night when he knows you’re planning to stay for another hour, at least, and when he hears your shouted “Night, Spence!” as he goes, he dips his head to look at his shoes and barely manages to hide his smile.  

TWENTY - FIVE / TWENTY-SIX 

“Megatron, I’m home!” You sing-song as you unlock your apartment door and step inside. You’re home from a particularly tough case, and Spencer is with you because it’s just one of those nights and the idea of either of you being alone makes both of you want to suffocate.  

Megatron, a cat with brown fur everywhere except her paws and chin, comes running at the sound of your voice, but when she sees Spencer, she bypasses you and runs right up to him. She gets on her hind legs so that she can headbut Spencers hand as he shuffles out of his shoes, and as you take off your coat, you laugh at the sight.  

Spencers momentarily distracted as he gives her some of his undivided attention, and it doesn’t surprise you, how quickly Megatron starts purring.  

“You’re her favourite person,” you laugh. “One would think, three years gone, it’d be me, but alas, Dr. Spencer Reid takes the cake.”  

Spencer shrugs as Megatron lets him do his thing and chooses to approach you instead. “I think we both tie for first in her little brain.”  

You bend down to give her some lovins and laugh at the way she aggressively headbuts your forehead, a clear demand for forehead kisses. You give in as Spencer takes off his coat and hangs it on your coat rack, happily doting on her as she always expects you to when you come home after being gone for a few days.  

“You want to order some pizza?” You offer as Megatron goes to her food bowl. Spencer crosses through to the dining room, where he unceremoniously sets his messenger bag onto the dining table. “I’m completely biased in saying this, but Antonios makes the best pizza this side of Virginia. I’ve been a regular since I first moved here, right when I was joining the BAU at 19. They’ve got good pasta and bread bowls, too, and it’s fairly cheap, considering.”  

Spencer nods. “Pizza sounds nice,” he says. “Could I use your shower, by chance?”  

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it. “There’s a pair of sweats and a shirt you can change into after in the guest room, and towels are in the linen closet.”  

Spencer nods, having heard this spiel before. You recite it to him pretty much every time he spends the night at your apartment, first as a just-in-case thing and now as a habit.  

As he showers, you turn the kettle on and grab two mugs. Spencer, ever the insomniac, likes himself a little bit of lavender tea in the evenings because it helps him relax when he otherwise wouldn’t be able to, and relaxing helps ease his mind into sleep.  

You’ve known that since he first spent the night and asked if you had any, which, thankfully, you did. You’ve made it a habit to have some lavender tea at your apartment since then, just in case, and it hasn’t failed you yet.  

You’re more of a chamomile with half a tablespoon of honey kind of person—you've been dealing with insomnia since some unknown cause spurred it on when you were eighteen, and in the seven years since, while not a lot had really helped you get to sleep the chamomile and honey always did. The tea always seemed to work the best when you were coming back from a case, your nerves still pushed all the way over the edge and your body on high alert.  

Spencer comes back out into your kitchen after fifteen minutes, his hair towel dry and curly in all of the right spots, but his smile warm. He approaches the dining table and grabs his glasses from it, changing from his contacts to his glasses as you turn on your hotplate and use the back side of a spoon to squeeze most of the water out of the teabags before you chuck them into your compost bin and finish making the teas.  

You set the mugs on the hotplate and let them marinate for a few minutes as you call Antonios and order your usual—a large chicken Alfredo pizza, two Alfredo pasta bread bowls, a box of garlic fingers and two cans of iced tea—and Spencer puts his contacts back into their case.  

He looks so absurdly good in the glasses that it’s never going to cease to borderline upon mind boggling.  

“Hey,” he greets, smiling gently. “Thank you—for letting me use your shower, and everything.”  

You shrug. “It’s no problem,” you say as Megatron the cat headbuts the back of your calves until you side step with your right foot and she can worm her way into the gap between your feet. “It’s never been a problem, Spence. Are you feeling okay?”  

That case had been a tough one, for both of you. It’d taken you, as many cases do, down to the Florida area. The killer was a 20-something white guy attending the local community college, and he crossed all lines with regards to socioeconomic status, risk, and gender. The guy didn’t have a type, really—at the start of his assaults, he’d killed two high risk victims in the vicinity of three days. The week after he’d gone for medium risk victims and then the third week, at which point you and the team had landed in LA, he’d broken into three separate homes, all low risk victims, like he was climbing down some weird totem pole, and his MO never stayed consistent.  

In the end, Derek had almost gotten shot, and you’d wound up with mild bruising on your arms, but thankfully, nobody else had been scathed in the aftermath.  

“I’m fine,” Spencer nods. “Yeah--all good. Are you? You’re the one I think I need to worry about, never mind myself.”  

You bite your lip. “A little sore but I’m okay,” you respond. Megatron abandons her spot between your feet and jumps up onto the counter instead, eliciting a surprised laugh from Spencer as he eyes her carefully so as to make sure she doesn’t get so close as to be able to step on the hotplate. “The bruises only really hurt when I touch them. I’m not shaken up or anything, I don’t think.”  

You turn to grab the milk from your fridge, bending briefly to grab it from the bottom shelf on the side door, careful to avoid the fridge touching any of your bruises as you set the milk on the counter and close the fridge in the process.  

You take the mugs off of the hotplate and turn the hotplate off, grabbing Megatron and gently ushering her away from it as you pass the milk to Spencer. You grab the honey and measure out just a tad bit more than half a tablespoon into yours, ever one to measure in the metrics of your heart. You stir the honey with one of the teaspoons that you keep in your cutlery drawer specifically for the occasion of making it, passing one to Spencer as he slides the milk your way.  

You add a splash of milk to yours before you put it into the fridge and hear the doorbell. Spencer goes to get it despite your protests, pays for the order because “you’re letting me stay at your apartment, Y/N. I’ll get it this time” and brings it back into the kitchen, sets it on the dining table.  

You grab paper plates and eat, the affair mostly silent, even as Megatron sniffs around and tries to get bites at your food.  

As is usual whenever you or Spencer stay at each others places and order Antonios, the pizza and garlic fingers wind up unfinished. You set them aside in tupperware containers and label one with Spencers name, as he would do for you if you were at his place. It’s a conscious decision at this point—you order more than you can eat so that you have food to take into the office the next day or to just reheat in your microwave if you get the chance to take the day off.  

The two of you migrate to the couch as you drink the teas that, despite your efforts with the hotplate, have gone lukewarm.  

“I just—I was just thinking about it on the jet back, is all,” Spencer says. He’s referring to a book you’ve read recently and just cannot, even if it’d save your life as a gun was pressed to your temple, stop thinking about. “Read it the other night, and—yeah. It’s not my usual thing but you do make a few decent points about it.”  

“It’s not usually my thing, either,” you confess. “I don’t read young adult and I haven’t much read it since I was one, but it was on a table and I read the back, and—c'mon, Spencer. A book written from the perspective of death itself. How much more intriguing can you get, really?”  

Spencer shrugs. “Pretty intriguing, I guess,” he says. “It was a really good book, Y/N. I can see why you’d find it an interesting perspective to read from—death is one of lifes many unanswered questions, and the prose was written really well.”  

“Thank you,” you laugh. “You’re the only person I can really talk about books with, if I’m honest. I mean—I like to use books to shut my brain off and you like to use them differently, but—you're the only person who gets it, I think.”  

This brings a grin to Spencers face. “Yeah,” he says. “Did you read the book I told you about? The one by--”  

“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle,” you nod. “A Study in Scarlet—it was really good, which I did find a little surprising because I’ve always kind of found Sherlock Holmes a little gimmicky. I am the first to admit that I’ve never really liked any of the screen adaptations, but I love the way that he writes. Genuinely some of the better stuff I’ve read from that era, and I’ve read a lot of books from that time.”  

“Sherlock is hardly gimmicky,” Spencer rebuts. “I mean—one has to ignore all of the mediums and ways in which it has since been adapted, but—it's not as gimmicky as it could be.”  

“’Not as gimmicky as it could be’ implies that you’re acknowledging how gimmicky Sherlock can get,” you retort. “It’s good writing, Spence. As someone who has read and reread several books I haven’t liked in the name of a PhD in lit, it’s really good writing and I enjoyed it thoroughly, but the original version of the work beats out any and all adaptations by default for me because the original version of Sherlocks story is the only one I have so far enjoyed.”  

Spencer shrugs, takes a sip of his tea. “You make a point,” he concedes. “You’ve gotta read the other books in that universe, though—I'll lend you my copy of the second book.”  

“I can just buy and read it on my Kindle,” you respond.  

“I’ll lend you my copy,” Spencer says again. “Digital is crap, and we know it.”  

You snort, grabbing your own mug and taking a sip thats bigger than you mean for it to be but fine nonetheless—you love your tea when it’s hot or warm, even, but lukewarm and moving into cold territory is only good when it’s what you’re looking for, and it never is what you’re looking for when you’re drinking your chamomile.  

“Fine,” you relent, laughing. “You can lend me your copy.”  

Spencers grin turns triumphant, and for half a second you’re sure he’ll start cheering.  

“And, for the record,” you say. “Digital is not crap all the time—only with regards to books. I just like my Kindle because it lets me bring four or five books along with me wherever I go, and they’re like, two taps away. It’s easier to have four books on what’s essentially a tablet instead of stuffing four of them into my go bag.”  

Spencer shrugs. “You make a fair point,” he says. “This time, anyway. I’ll prove you wrong somehow.”  

You laugh, and you catch a very specific look in Spencers eye.  

It's there for all of two seconds, tops, and then his smile dims and it’s gone, but for those two seconds, he looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be.  

He looks like he’s exactly where he wants to be, sat across from you on your couch with his legs criss-crossed and a lukewarm mug of tea tucked in between his palms.  

“You might,” you concede. “For now, though—topic switch! Uh—has Gideon seemed a little off to you, lately? Like he’s thinking about retiring or something?”  

“No,” Spencer answers. “I think you’re watching him too closely and overthinking it. He’s fine. So is Hotch, if you’re worried about him.”  

You laugh. “I know Hotch is fine,” you retort. “He’d tell me if he weren’t, but I just—I know how much Gideon means to you and I hate the idea of him leaving when he’s the reason you’re here in the first place.”  

Spencers face softens up a little, and there it is again—the look in his eyes that was so fleeting that you almost didn’t catch it.  

“He might’ve been the one who brought me down to Quantico and helped me get the job I have, but—he's not the reason I’m here here,” Spencer says. “I don’t know what I’m saying, Y/N, but I’m exactly where I want to be right now and Gideon staying or leaving will do absolutely nothing to influence that.”  

You grin at him because the words did what they were supposed to by providing reassurance and you can’t think of anything more to say.

Spencer gets to standing. “I’m going to go to bed,” he says. “I’m assuming you’re going to stay out here for another hour, maybe wallow in your anxieties a little bit?”  

You laugh. “You, Spencer Walter Reid, know me too deeply.”  

He shrugs. “Good night, Y/N,” he says. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  

You nod, and it’s only after his back has turned and he’s headed in the direction of your guest room that you have an epiphany.  

You look at Megatron as you hear her tiny little footsteps approaching, and when she climbs up onto your lap and headbuts your shoulder, the realization sets in bone deep. It becomes something you can't ignore anymore, not like you have been for the past three years.  

“Oh, Meggy,” you whisper as you press your forehead against hers. “I’m in it deep, aren’t I?”  

She meows like a kind of confirmation, almost, and the thought sets in, spoken into your mind like a voice through a loudspeaker.  

I’m falling for him. I am falling in love with Spencer Reid.  

Another thought occurs, just as loud as the first.  

Oh, God. 

You finish your tea, rush to the kitchen with Megatron on your heels and set your dirty mug in the sink. You go to bed and it takes you a stupid amount of time to fall asleep even though Megatrons loud purring is enough to get you knocked out after a while.  

- 

Spencer places a London fog onto your desk in an almost wordless manner about a week and a half later. You’re chatting away with Penelope, who’d stopped at your desk to deliver to you two of the carrot muffins she baked and you adored.  

You turn your attention from Penelope as Spencer settles back in at his desk, mug of black but still sweeter than fiction coffee in his non dominant hand, pencil already tucked into his dominant one.  

“Thank you!” You chirp gratefully. You love any and everything earl grey and it’s been like that since before you started with the BAU.  

“You’re welcome,” Spencer responds. Your attention turns back to Penelope and his goes back to the file at hand, and the time passes with ease. Spencer focuses on his files and does so until he’s down to two and you’re down to one.  

“I were a bettin’ man,” you start. “I’d say there’s no way you can finish both files before I get my last one done.”  

“I have an eidetic memory and can read twenty-thousand words a minute,” Spencer says. “If you made bets, you’d lose this one.” 

“Sometimes, you make a bet while knowing you’re probably going to lose it,” you answer. “I mean, shit—When I was sixteen, I bet I wouldn’t live to see my nineteenth birthday. Thought for sure I’d win that one, but on the morning of my nineteenth, I walked to the local bakery, bought half a dozen carrot muffins and stuck a candle in one. I lit it, I blew it out, and I lost the bet I’d made with myself three years prior.”  

“You thought you’d win,” Spencer says, ignoring how achy your subtle admission makes his chest feel.  

“Well, there have been others,” you laugh. “I was two weeks away from joining up with the BAU and I still thought I’d never do it, let alone at nineteen years old. I made that bet figuring I’d lose it, figuring I’d walk in here on my first day and just know I was where I was meant to be, and I did. I lost that bet knowing I’d wind up losing.”

Spencer shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Game on, Y/N. If I win, you owe me one answer to a question of my choice.”  

“Deal,” you respond. “If I win, I want the same but in reverse.”  

Spencer nods, and for the next thirty minutes, as Derek occasionally glances up and watches the two of you with a not-so-hidden smirk, all that’s really heard is the sound of pens and pencils on paper.  

Spencer winds up winning, and it’s after he wins that Derek decides he’s done for the day and the two of you are the only two in the office.

“You get one question,” you say. “Go on. Out with it.”  

Spencer knows a fair bit about you—you were born and raised in Maine, had an IQ on a similar caliber to his own but didn’t really use it the same way he did. He knew you had a past you didn’t really like talking about and he usually didn’t pry, but just this one time, he tells himself, he’ll ask a question that it’s been sitting in the back of his mind since you joined and the tidbits about who you are as a person started coming in.  

“What’s the biggest reason you left Maine?” He asks.  

You laugh. “You and your tea claims to love me but here you are, asking me a question that I’d only ever willingly answer after nine o’clock. Smart move, Spence,” you say.  

Spencer shrugs. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”  

“I left Cape Elizabeth for realsies for the last time when I was nineteen,” you answer. “Hotch had been trying to get me to let him mentor me for a few months, and—well, there was this shithead ex boyfriend who just wouldn’t leave me alone for the longest time. I left when Hotch asked me if I’d at least come down for a few days, and I haven’t gone back since.”  

Spencer blinks. “That explains a lot,” he says.  

“It explains why I don’t really have a social media presence,” you say. “And why the only evidence I’m working in law enforcement is my employment article, which doesn’t even list an active phone number. He never stalked me, and I doubt he’d have the fucking gall to do it even after I’ve been gone for six years, but it still spooks me big freakin’ time. Ask me another question, please.”  

Spencer laughs. “Favorite pastry?”  

“Pain au chocolat, easy,” you answer. “Next one. Dig deeper this time, Spencer. I’m hopped up on caffeinated tea and will tell you just about anything that’s deeper than surface level.”  

“Why do you like crocheting and knitting so much?” Spencer asks.  

“It turns my brain off,” you confess. “I hate working with straight needles—don't understand how my grandmother did it for so long but I respect it. I love crocheting because it works as good as my anxiety meds when I don’t have them on hand, and I love knitting because, yeah, it’s more labour intensive and takes longer, but the end product is just gorgeous every single time. Color work is easier in crochet, though. Crochet tapestry is amazing. I tend to use crochet for anxiety and dopamine because it works up whip quick and stuff like cardigans won’t take me 140 hours. Knitting is the kind of thing I do when I want to put that work in, though. I don’t really do it as often as I’d like to but when I do do it, I’m really meticulous about the pattern I use, and the yarn I choose for the project, and—you'll know I give a damn about you when I knit you something.”  

“You’ve knitted me a few cardigans,” Spencer says. “A purple one, and a navy blue one recently.”  

You grin. “I give a stupid number of damns about you, Reid,” you say. “Also Penelope. I’d knit more for Derek if I thought he’d wear what I made him, but he doesn’t seem the type. Hotch accepts the wall art and stuff I make for him when I can find the time but I doubt he has it displayed anywhere. Hotch is an odd case, though. He cares about me but does so from a kind of distance, almost.”  

Spencer shrugs. “Gideons the same way,” he says. “When I was dealing with my addiction, he was like an absent kind of parent—there sometimes, but not often.”  

You nod. “Everyone was that way with you,” you say. “Gideon especially so, but—nobody really knew how to address it.”  

“You did,” Spencer says. “You’re freakishly good at that kind of thing.”

“Alcoholism runs in the family,” you shrug. “I’ve been to many-a intervention, and I know how to spot the signs of addiction from a thousand miles away point blank. I’ve had to pull myself together and narrowly avoided addiction a few times, though not to anything like Dialaudid.”  

“I feel like this is going somewhere deep,” Spencer confesses. “When I asked you about Maine—I wasn’t trying to get you to open up to anyone before you were ready. It was fifteen minutes ago but I was an asshole.”  

You laugh, shaking your head. “I was going to have to open up to someone eventually,” you say. “The fact that it was you is incredibly fitting to me.” 

Neither of you have any work to do, but you’re not moving to pack up or do anything. You’re using overtime in order to talk with each other when there is absolutely nobody else in the office, even the likes of Hotch and Gideon having gone home. 

Spencer shrugs, grabs the mug that has long since been repurposed, switched out from coffee to tea, and takes a sip from it.  

“The boyfriend who drove me to leavings name was James DeLuca,” you say. “He was a trust fund kid who thought he beheld all the power in the world in a town where it sometimes felt like everyone knew everyone. We dated for eight months before I broke things off, and he hated me for it. I just—I hate the idea of being some rich white guys trophy spouse, y’know? If I’m going to get married or continue a long term relationship with someone, I’m going to do it because I love them, not because I want their money. I’m marrying someone on the merits of love or I’m not doing it at all, no matter what some idiot trust fund baby thinks about that.”  

You sigh, and Spencer tilts his head.  

“I think he’s got a wife now, a kid or two?” You say. “I dunno—I get Garcia to check on him every year or two, just to make sure he’s not gone on to do something that’ll wind up in VICAP and to make sure he’s not made his way to Quantico. I feel safer knowing he’s not here, and that’s probably me overestimating him, but he seemed capable of murder last we talked, and it scared the shit out of me.”  

“If he does come around here, the team has got your back,” Spencer says. “We’ll protect you as best we can, Y/N, you know that.”  

You nod. “I routinely trust you guys with my life and I really wouldn’t have it any other way,” you respond. “I just—I don’t know. It’s a stupid anxiety that’s been keeping me up at night for the last six years. I’m sorry to vent like this, Spence. It’s late, and we really should be getting home, right?”  

“Y/N,” he says as you bend to pack your things. “Y/N, stop.”  

You’re not listening to him, though. You’re too buzzed, the caffeine in your system and the anxiety making a cocktail that Spencer knows to be an awful, devilish little thing. 

He stands and before he can think about it, his hand is on your arm. When you turn to look at him, your eyes are slightly wide but you make no move to ask him to stop or to force him away.  

“Spencer?” You ask.  

“You don’t need to apologize for venting,” he says. “Seriously--I was paranoid for months after the stuff with Tobias Hankel, and that wasn’t entirely the drugs or the withdrawal. If this guy comes after you, we’ll get to him before he can even so much as look at you the wrong way, and I promise you that.”  

You lean forward and it takes all of three seconds for Spencer to register your forehead against his shoulder. He doesn’t hate or feel awkward about the touch, which is surprising given how sudden it seems, but he instead welcomes it.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, and Spencer huffs a laugh because he knows it’s habitual. “I mean—well, you know what I mean at this point, right?”  

“Yeah,” Spencer nods. “I know what you mean, Y/N. Are you sure you’ll be okay to go home alone tonight?”  

You pull away, looking up at him and nodding. “The drive is fifteen minutes, and it’s 9:30. I should be fine til I’m in my apartment, and once I’m there, Megatron and her weird ability to sense when something is off with me will do wonders.”  

Spencer smiles softly, and he sees what almost looks like love in your eyes. “Get home safe, Y/N.”  

“Are you not leaving?”  

Spencer shakes his head, ignoring the sudden burst of unfamiliar fondness that pokes at his chest when he looks your way.  

“Nah,” he says. “I figure I’ll be nice, do a file or two of Morgans so that he has less to worry about tomorrow.”  

“Do you want Derek to have less of a workload, or do you just want to stay here and think?” 

“I always think clearest when I’m at my desk,” Spencer shrugs. “Goodnight, Y/N/N.”  

“Night, Spence,” you say, gathering up the last of your things. Spencer walks over to Morgans desk and plucks two files off the top of his paperwork file as you leave the office, settling into his own desk thereafter.  

He stares at the unopened manila folder for a long five or so seconds as the reality that he’s been holding off for at least a year and a half truly sets in.  

It makes him laugh.  

“I’m so screwed,” he says to himself.  

Every single time Derek has accused him of being smitten since he was halfway through twenty-four, he’s been right. It only hits him then, and Spencer feels like just as much of an idiot as Derek has claimed him to be.  

TWENTY - NINE / THIRTY 

As you run through the only abandoned psych ward within a twenty mile radius of Cape Elizabeth, you have a moment wherein you realize just how stupid you really are.  

“James DeLuca, I’m Y/N L/N with the BAU!” Like he doesn’t already know your name and place of employment.  

Hotch, of course, disagreed with your plan entirely, but you had been so determined and so convincing that he had agreed to it in the end, as long as there was back up for you posted at the front and back entrances at the first sign of trouble, and as long as you caught him while you were within the first four of eight floors total. If he’d gotten anywhere past the fourth you were to chase him back down within range or talk him down and then call for immediate back up, without firing your gun unless he fired his.  

All of it—James’ MO, his signature, even the ways in which he behaved, tied back to you. All of his victims looked like you did in the lead up to when you’d left Maine for Virginia. All of them had similar hobbies, but you doubted the victims would’ve been half as dumb as you were being, going after James like you were. 

The psych ward was part of his signature—he took his victims to one of the only abandoned psych wards within the entirety of that town and the next. You could remember why vividly.  

Back when you’d initially broken up with him a decade prior, you’d, in a moment of frustration, told him he ought to be admitted into a psych ward if he was going to keep acting so fucking insane. He’d threatened to take you to the very one you were running through, gun and flashlight aimed and ready, and kill you in response.  

“James DeLuca, drop your weapon and surrender to the police! This is over, okay? It’s done.”  

You turn a corner and bump right into him, like he'd been laying in wait for you that entire time.

“I’ll drop my weapon if you drop yours,” he says. “And only after we’ve had it out. I have shit to say to you, Y/N.”  

You take six large steps back, fighting your anxiety off as what remains of it is replaced by adrenaline.  

“Okay,” you shrug, figuring that keeping your cool is the best thing you can do around him. The minute he senses you’re even slightly off kilter, he’s liable to go completely off the rails. “Say whatever it is you need to say to me, James, but put the weapon down first. I won’t lower my gun until you lower yours.”  

He scoffs. “You wouldn’t shoot me,” he says. “Even with all of your FBI training and how long you’ve been doin’ this for, you don’t have what it takes to kill someone.” 

“The rule of thumb within all areas of law enforcement is to avoid shooting unless absolutely necessary, and to be frank, I’d prefer to avoid all the paperwork that’ll come my way if I do shoot you, now put the gun down.”  

James is a more adult-y version of the one you can remember—he looks vaguely like a young Timothy Olyphant, if Olyphant had jet black hair, a patchy beard, and was on the stockier side in build. James is a little taller than Spencer, standing at an even 6’4, and shit, fuck it all if he’s not just as scary as he used to be. 

James, thankfully, relents. He drops his gun. You holster yours.  

“Put it down,” James says, his tone gravelly and demanding.

“From what I can remember of my teen years, you had a pickpockets hands and quick reflexes,” you say. “I’m not going to leave myself absent of a weapon when I know, for a fact, that you can have yours in hand, cocked, aimed, and the safety off within eight seconds. No fucking way, James. That is not how this works. You want to have it out, say what you need to and then we’ll see where this goes after all is said and done.”  

“Even if I do shoot you, we’re on the third floor,” James says. “I’ve got my escape route planned, Y/N. I rush down the stairs, make it to the tunnels, and I’m a free man until they realize there are tunnels under this place. They don’t show up on any blueprints because they were dug by miners after the building was abandoned, and there are only two ways to get to them in the building, both of which are well hidden secrets for only those brave enough to look to find.”  

“The second you shoot, there’ll be FBI agents swarming the place. You won’t even make it to the second floor without being caught.”  

“I have a silencer,” James says, patting his pocket. “I’ve planned this one out, Y/N. Waited a decade to do it, after all.”  

You breathe in deep, but don’t request back up yet despite your instincts practically demanding it. It, you decide, is too early.  

You nod. “Okay, so you have it planned out, Just—talk, please. Before I get sick of your voice, preferably.”  

“I loved you, Y/N,” he says. “I’d bought a ring by the time you left. I was going to propose that weekend, you know that?”  

“You loved the idea of me, James,” you say. You’re trying to subtly back up towards the open window. The hallway you’re in faces the front entrance, so if you get shot, the team is going to see it and know what’s what. “You didn’t love me for me. You demeaned me all the time and when you weren’t being demeaning, you were being an asshole. You wanted a trophy spouse, not someone with whom you shared a genuine connection. Is that why you married Rachel? She wanted your money and you wanted some decent eye candy to hold onto your arm at all of your bullshit charity galas?”  

James, unfortunately, catches onto what you’re doing. He picks up his gun and carries it as he follows you. You redirect, going back the way you came.  

“That’s not it!” James shouts insistently. “That’s not it!”  

“Yes it is,” you say, turning the same corner you’d turned only minutes before. “Yes it is, James, and you know that. You just wanted a bangmaid at the end of the day, and saying that is being generous.”

“Are you asking to die?”  

“Y’know, you’re the second person to accuse me of being suicidal with regards to this case in the past two weeks,” you retort. Being sarcastic is a bad idea. You know that. You should be trying to talk him down. You know that. But you aren’t, and even if it gets you shot, then at least James will have finally gotten to do the one thing he’s been aching to for a decade. “I’m really gettin’ sick of it. Feels like between you and my boss, I’m hearing a lot of people singing the same fucking tune.”  

James laughs. “You are asking to die,” he says. “I dunno if I wanna give you this, knowing it’s what you want from me. Are you still with that pipe cleaner? The one who wears his gun weird.”  

“Where did you get the idea that I was ever with him?”  Maybe it was four years of unrequited love starting to seep through the cracks to a point of noticeability? “No. It’s never been like that, and don’t you dare bring him into this.”  

“He’s got a name,” James taunts. “Dr Spencer Reid, a man with at least three PhDs, two BAs, and an absurd amount of education for someone his age. He's as smart as you are, and if how easily you’ll go down is any indication, I feel like I could shoot him a good thirty feet away and still get the aim right.”  

“Don’t you dare,” you say it through gritted teeth, the mere idea of Spencers life being on the line enough to scare you well past your wits end. “You’re making a mistake by bringing him into this, James. My team will go down for me if they have to, but Spencer will make it the opposite of easy for you to kill him, and Garcia will drudge up every ounce of online criminal activity she can find on you just to give the judge more charges to add to your bit.”  

“Threatening me now?” James asks, grinning wildly. “Yeah. That’s a mistake.”  

You watch as he grabs the silencer and equips it. Because of your adamant refusal to shoot first unless necessary—in pursuit of avoiding more paperwork than the absolutely necessary amount—you start running backwards to keep your eyes on him while minding your footing.  

“You tryin' to watch me equip the gun that’s gonna kill you?” James laughs. “You’re more sadistic than I thought, Y/N.”  

“You do realize what charges come with the murder or attempted murder of a federal officer?” You respond. “James, don’t be stupid. I know you are inherently, but you’re acting abnormally so today. Please just stop.”  

He laughs again, and as you, in a moment of admitted idiocy, turn around to sprint the rest of the way down the hall, he aims his gun.  

He lands four shots in your torso in the last three seconds before you turn the corner.  

“I’ll come and find you in a decade, Y/N,” James calls. “If you’re not dead of blood loss by the end of the day. If you make it out, we’ll repeat this every decade and my aim will get better each time.”  

Your knees buckle, and you pull your phone out as you crawl towards a window. You dial Garcias number as you hear James’ heavyweight footing running in the other direction, towards the stairwell that’s farthest from you. 

“Garcia, call an ambulance and send them to 9981 Lilibet Grove,” you say. “Tell them—tell them officer down. Four bullets, two to the chest, one to the hip and one to the—ow, fuck—to the lung.”  

“Oh--oh my God!” Is Garcias response. “Are you okay? Please tell me he didn’t shoot you! Please, Y/N--oh my God!”  

You’re still ambling toward the only open window, and getting to your feet feels almost impossible, but you do it.  

“Agent down, I meant,” you correct. “He shot me, Garcia, and—tell Hotch and the others that James DeLuca is running for the tunnels. Tunnels are under the entire building and he’s intending to use them to escape.”  

You collapse when you’re two feet away from the window, but you push forward until your fingers can grip the ledge and drag yourself the rest of the way. You hoist yourself up just enough that Spencer can see you, and you see the fear in his eyes in the last second before you scream his name and collapse harshly onto the tiled ground below your waist.  

“Spencer!” You scream, Garcia still on the line.  

“Okay,” Garcia says. “Calling the ambulance and patching Spencer through in the meantime, okay? You—don't you dare die on me, you idiot!”  

“I’ll do my best,” you say as you listen for the sounds of government issued SUV doors slamming shut. When you hear it, a sense of hope dimly registers in your chest. Your team isn’t going to let you die, and they never would.  

“Spencer, talk to Y/N while I call 911 and please do your best to keep them awake the meantime,” Garcia says, voice tinged by a sense of anxiety you’re all too familiar with.  

“Y/N,” Spencer greets. “You’re covered in blood.”  

“You saw me, then,” you grin, pressing your head against the cold tiled flooring. “Two GSWs to the chest, one to the lung and one to my hip. This fucking sucks.”  

“Yeah, it would,” Spencer nods. “You were shot.”  

“I should’ve woken up today and made better decisions,” you laugh. “Ow--hurts. I’m on the third floor, about fifteen feet from the western stairwell. James headed east, and I remember that the blueprints indicated there was a stairwell that way, which means that he’s headed for it if he’s not already there. Getting shot is exhausting, Spence.”  

“Keep talking,” Spencer says urgently. “I need you awake until they get here, okay? Awake awake. Not awake and quiet, awake and babbling like I do whenever you bring up Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Sherlock.”  

“What do you want me to talk about?”  

“You were complaining about making a blanket out of single crochets before the case started,” Spencer says. “Did you finish it?”  

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Again with the laughter—fuck, Spencer. It really fucking hurts.”  

“I know,” Spencer says, tone briefly taking on an empathetic underbelly. “The blanket. Tell me about it, tell me anything.”  

“Almost every crocheter does it and lives to regret it,” you laugh. “I figured—I've been crocheting since I was nineteen, why haven’t I done it yet? I gotta.” 

“Are you relieved that it’s done?”  

“So relieved,” you nod. “Yeah. If I ever have to do a foundation chain of the length of a queen sized bed ever again, I need to you to kill me the second I voice the idea.”  

“Yeah,” Spencer laughs. “I won’t do that, but I’ll happily talk you out of it. Why did you hate it so much?”  

“Single crochets are objectively the easiest stitch—in my heart they’re called single crochets because you only have to yarn over twice counting pulling up a loop but technically once because you only have to yarn over once when you have the two loops on your hook. They’re the smallest crochet stitch next to slip stitches, which I will never ever ever make a blanket out of, unless someone pays me what I make in a year,” you respond. “Imagine doing sixty-inches wide of single crochets and then continuing down until you have 80 inches of single crochets in length. One monotonous step over and over again for a long ass time.”  

You hear the stairwell door open. “Also, the Bernat blanket formula is fucking terrible,” you laugh, clutching your side when the same pain kicks up again. “I’m really tired, Spencer.”  

“I’m--Y/N, I am thirty feet away from you. Don’t you dare lose consciousness on me.”  

“Garcia?” You ask. “Are you back yet?”  

“Here and at the ready,” she says. “Ambulances ETA is eight minutes. Was sixteen but you are not allowed to die on me, Y/N, and you certainly aren’t allowed to die on Spencer, so don’t even think about it.”  

“You crochet, right?”  

“A little,” she says.  

“Never make a blanket out of single crochets,” you laugh, clutching your side a bit more intensely in turn. “Ow--I really have to stop doing that.” 

“I promise I won’t make a blanket out of single crochets,” Penelope says. “You have my word on that, okay? Which stitch do you recommend?”  

“I like granny squares,” you say. “Anything involving a granny stitch? I’m all over it. They’re amazing, Garcia. They’re like the Spencer Reids voice of crochet stitches.” 

“You’re losing a lot of blood,” Spencer says.  

“That good, hm?” is Penelopes rebuttal. “I’ve seen granny square afghans, and they’re gorgeous, so I don’t blame you for that. Spencer, is Y/N within your line of sight?”  

“I’m fifteen feet out,” Spencer says. “I’m going to get off the phone. Keep them awake for the next minute, please.”  

“Will do,” Penelope says. “Okay--so—the Spencer Reid comment. Are you in love with him?”  

“I am delirious, Penelope Grace Garcia, and that is totally unfair,” you snort. It’s followed by a wince and you don’t even try to mask your grimace. “I have four bullet wounds. Ask me once I’m in the recovery unit, please.”  

“When you’re in the recovery unit, you’ll probably be doped up on morphine.”  

“I’m going to refuse pain medication.”  

“You’ve had—what? Four interactions with this guy in the past two weeks, Y/N, three of which have left your ribs bruised or broken, one of which has left four bullet wounds in you!”  

“Your point?”  

“You will take the pain medication they give you and you will do it with a smile or so help me--”  

You feel Spencers hand on your shoulder. “Spencer is here. Ambulance soon?”  

“Quicker than you can say ‘Spencer Reid is probably totally the love of my life’, my dear,” she says. “You hang on for us, okay? I’m sure Hotch is going to give you an earful, but—it's because he cares. Rossi does, too.”  

You sigh, letting Spencer turn you to face him. “I’m gonna end the call now,” you say. “Thank you Garcia.”  

“I’ll be at the hospital when you wake up!” is how she says her goodbye.  

You look at Spencer pitifully. “I’m an idiot,” you mumble.  

“Yeah, but you're normally smart so I'll let it go just this once,” Spencer laughs. “You’ve seen better days, Y/N. I’ve gotta lift you so I can get you back downstairs.”  

“How mad is Hotch?”  

“Angrier at himself than at you,” he says. “Being a bit harsh, but he’s got a pass. Are you okay, everything aside?”  

“Its all my fault,” you respond. “Eight families are mourning because I left him a decade ago, and—before you try and tell me it’s not, that this would’ve happened no matter what, that’s just not how it is. I left Maine and I did so without so much as a note, and now, a decade later, he’s killed eight people in three months and their blood is on my hands.”  

“Y/N,” Spencer says, his tone cautious. “Their blood is not on your hands—your delirious. We can have this conversation when you’re in the hospital.”  

“James--I think he’d been stalking me for a few months and I hadn’t realized,” you responded. “Like, he was that good at it maybe? I dunno. He asked if I was still with you, in a romantic sense and I just thought, for a second, why would we ever?”  

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Spencer asks, moving to gently hoist you into his arms.  

“It--I’ve loved you since I was twenty five,” you respond. “Since that night when we were talking about A Study in Scarlett. I realized it after you’d gone to bed. Maybe that’s just when it set in but you looked at me like you were exactly where you wanted to be and it just—when a pretty boy looks at you like that? It’s very hard not to fall in love on the spot. I happened to do so, which is kind of my own fault.”  

He lifts you into his arms and you rest your cheek against his shoulder on impulse. “We’ll discuss this at the hospital,” he says. “For the record—it's not unrequited. Just to get that out of the way.”  

“I’m really tired, Spence,” you respond. “I just—I just wanna nap. For a minute.”  

“Y/N L/N, don’t you dare,” he says sternly. “Nope. No naps allowed. You can sleep in the ambulance, when they’ll actually have the tools to keep you alive if you end up dying.”  

“Spencer,” you whine because you’re exhausted and you can’t help yourself. “Please. Just a minute.”  

You hear the door open, and then it’s impossible to sleep because of much Spencer is jostling you around as he rushes down the stairs.  

“Asshole,” you grumble when you finally reach solid ground and stay on it for longer than the ten seconds it took Spencer to turn from one flight to the next in between floors.   

“Sorry for jostling you around,” Spencer says. “Well--not really. Kept you awake, didn’t it?” 

You grip the collar of his shirt in your fist and press your forehead against his shoulder. “You’re gonna owe me a lot of Jell-O once I’m in the recovery unit.”  

Spencer laughs. “Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Cherry?”  

“It’s the best kind,” you respond nonchalantly.  

When you hear the wail of the ambulance sirens, you don’t panic. You hold onto Spencer as tightly as you can and it’s only when you feel yourself being transferred from his arms to a gurney that the anxiety sets in.  

You reach out blindly, trying to find him as most of your head gets lost in the noise. “Spencer--please come with me! Please don’t go. I need someone I know I can trust. I’m too scared to do this alone.”  

You feel Spencers hand gently grasp your arm, then dimly register the sound of his voice as he asks to ride with the paramedics. You hear their agreement, then just as you’re being lifted into the back of the ambulance, it’s lights out. You fall asleep before you can even register that’s what you’re doing, and the last thing you see before the exhaustion takes over is Spencers panicked face, blood staining his shirt and vest.  

- 

You wind up needing to be put into a coma, and a week later, when Spencer goes to visit you bright and early on his day off, he finds you awake.  

It’s been a very long, very tough, week. Not just for him, though—Hotch had been harder on the team as well as himself in the aftermath of your being shot, and even though Rossi tried to help him gently, it ended in a shouting match wherein Rossi outright demanded he go easy on himself and the rest of the team.  

Penelope had spent every single day of that week in your hospital room for at least an hour, wanting to be there when you woke up. Derek had gone for long runs before coming into work, and Emily and JJ had both been on edge even while they were filling out paperwork and not in the field.  

Spencer was as he always was when he was going through something—sarcastic and snippy as all hell. It got on Hotchs nerves and he and Hotch had yelled at each other a few times that week, but Spencer had forced it to glide off his shoulders. He was there from the minute he got off work til visiting hours were done every single day, and on his day off, he comes in thirty minutes after visiting hours begin to find you awake, an exhausted look on your face as a nurse fills you in on your condition where she’s able.  

“Hi, Spencer,” you greet as said nurse goes from explaining the ins and outs to checking your vitals. “Has it been a week? Really?”  

“Yeah,” he says. “Garcia is going to be here in half an hour, and I told Hotch I’d call you when you woke up, but—it can wait two minutes.”  

“Yeah, it can,” you nod. “How was it? An entire week without me around to bug you for the first time in a decade?”  

“Terrible,” Spencer laughs. He approaches you finally, sits on the edge of your bed as the nurse leaves. “I kept getting into fights with Hotch, and it was just—oh my God, please never get shot at like that again. Please never put yourself in that scenario again.”  

“I had a thought, as I was running down the hallway on the third floor, about how dumb I was,” you admit. “Even thought about calling for back up but didn’t because it felt a little too early. I promise, Spence, I will never be that stupid again.”  

He smiles gently, reaches out and runs his nimble fingers over the scope of your hands. “Good,” he says. “For the record—it was stupid, what you did, but we don’t fault you for it. Emily joked a few days back that she’s made dumber decisions. How’re you feeling?”  

“Tired,” you respond. Spencers gaze flits to yours, examining your face without meaning to as he looks at you. “Really sore, honestly. Hungry, too.”  

“I’ll call Garcia, ask her to stop at the coffee shop you like so you don’t have to eat hospital food,” he says.  

“I love you, Spencer,” you respond in what Spencer knows to be a slip up. Even knowing this, his eyes still widen, fingers stopping in their tracks as he traces one word after the next against the soft skin of your forearm.  

“Do you remember what you confessed when you were half dead?” He asks, broaching the subject very, very gently. “Because--I do. I have an eidetic memory and I’ve spent the last week unable to stop thinking about it, Y/N.”  

You nod. “I do,” you say. “I’ve been known to have better timing than that. I’m sorry, Spencer.”  

“Do you remember what I said?” Spencer asks.  

“You said we’d discuss it at the hospital and that—oh my God,” you press one of your palms against your face. “That it wasn’t unrequited. Oh my God, Spencer. We both had terrible timing on that one, didn’t we?”  

Spencer laughs, nods wordlessly. “We did,” he says. “You said it was the night we’d been talking about A Study in Scarlet, but for me, it was different. I realized I’d loved you twice but pushed it down the first time, figured it’d be more of an inconvenience.”  

“Tell me more,” you say. Spencer resumes his ministrations, tracing letters that’ll form words with a feather light touch to your forearm. “About the first time, and then also the second.”  

“The first time I realized, I was twenty four,” he says. “I dunno—you were talking about Jane Austen with Elle, and it just kind of hit me as I happened to look over at you. It’d been building for a few years at that point, bubbling just under the surface. I buried it, buried myself in my paperwork, and eventually, I thought I’d buried it well enough that it didn’t exist anymore.”  

“And the second?”  

“It was the night you told me about James,” Spencer shrugs. “I can’t pinpoint what spurred it on, honestly, but I know it was that night. I appreciated—still appreciate—how vulnerable you and I were with each other. You left as I grabbed two folders from Dereks desk and as I sat down to do them, it hit all over again and I just thought: yeah. I’m a goner, aren’t I?” and I’ve been like that ever since.”  

You grin. “Okay--” you laugh a little. “Hotch warned me when you were twenty-three and I was twenty-two, that we’d have a shit ton of paperwork to fill out if our dynamic ever took this turn. Now, that’s all I can think about.”  

Spencer laughs, shakes his head.  

He keeps tracing words over your forearm, and when he kisses your forehead, your eyes are on his ministrations.  

“We can’t command our love, but we can our actions,” you whisper. “That’s something Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote. I can’t remember what it’s from, but--”  

“The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” Spencer provides, his lips still pressed against your forehead. He kisses it again, and when he pulls away, he sees an unmistakably overjoyed look in your eyes to go with the smile that graces your lips. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, but the action I’m going to take is whichever one keeps us together. Even if it means paperwork, or no promotions, or no longer going out into the field together. We’re always better when we tag team geographical profiles, anyway, and your desk will still be across from mine. Only difference now is that when I bring you tea, there might just be a forehead kiss to accompany it, provided Hotch isn’t in the bullpen.”  

You grin, and when Spencers phone goes off, you let him answer it.  

“Hi!” Penelope greets. “The hospital told me they didn’t have to call you as you’d already shown up and you were the first on their emergency contact list, but I am on the way! I’m bringing everyone else and also bagels. Is Y/Ns favorite place for tea still Izzies?”  

“It’s been their favorite spot for ages and I don’t think it’ll ever be subject to change,” he answers. “Is everyone okay?” 

“Hotch and Rossi look relieved for the first time in literal days,” Garcia laughs. “But yeah—everyones okay. Is Y/N?”  

“Y/N is tired and hungry but otherwise fine,” Spencer says. “Sore, I think, too, but that’s not confirmed, just an assumption.”  

“Did you tell them yet?” Penelope asks, and he can practically hear the eyebrow quirks in her question, the smile in her tone.  

“That has been discussed to an extent,” Spencer says.  

“What kind of extent, boy genius?” Derek calls from somewhere near Penelopes phone.  

“We’ll both have some paperwork we'll need to do once they’re back in the office, and we won’t be able to go out into the field anymore or be eligible for promotions, but—worth it. So freakin’ worth it.”  

He smiles at you, and you grin in response.  

“Yay!” Penelope shouts. “I am going to bring Y/N the biggest London fog I can get from Izzies, as well as bagels and the rest of the team. I’ll see you guys in a bit?”  

“See you soon, Penelope.”  

He hangs up the phone and looks at you, sees the exhaustion in your eyes as you reach over and press the morphine button.  

“What happened to ‘I’m not going to ask for pain meds’?”  

“Getting shot in the chest hurts like a motherfucker,” you murmur. “Now--c’mere. Please. You’re so warm and I’m so cold.”  

Spencer laughs, watches you scootch over a little in the bed and make room for him.  

In the end, Spencers back is on the mattress and you’re curled up, minding the wires and tubes connecting you to an IV and your pain meds, on his right. Your head is against his shoulder and as you fall asleep, your breathing evens out. Spencer doesn’t think he’s ever felt this content in the entire thirty years he’s been alive, doesn’t want to know if it can get any better than it is. 

THIRTY - THIRTY-ONE 

You're laughing along with a joke Rossi makes, sipping the glass of wine you've been nursing for ages, when you feel Spencers hands on your shoulders.

"Hi," Spencer greets just before he kisses the side of your head. Rossi grins at the display of affection, his smile warm and almost fatherly.

"I didn't know the two of you back when you started," he says. "Hotch did, though, and he told me the other night, he'd seen this coming from a mile away. Was shocked it took you guys so long, but wasn't surprised it happened."

You shrug. "His IQ is 187 and mine is close to it," you say. "That doesn't quite mean we're exempt from our moments of idiocy."

Spencer nods. "Yeah," he says. "Plus, the idea of the extra paperwork was a little daunting, at first." He jokes, kissing your temple again.

"Worth it?" Rossi asks, and both of you nod.

"I wish I'd done it a lot sooner, personally," you admit. "I kind of hate that I told him I loved him while I was half dead, but life gave me a lemon and I made lemonade, so it all worked out."

You let yourself melt into Spencers embrace as Rossi walks away, catches JJ and Will and decides to talk with them for a while. You sip your wine as Spencer shoots off at the mouth about how lemons are man made and were developed through years of creating hybrid citruses, grateful to be standing at that event, in Spencers arms, at all.

-

Spencer grins at the sight as Megatron curls up on your chest. It’s the early hours of the morning and neither of you have work, but Spencer has woken up at 6:30, regardless of the day of the week, since he started working at the BAU.  

She’s been extra loving with you since you were shot and wound up in a coma last year, has become somewhat co-dependent but only really displays these traits when it’s after dark or you’re asleep and she’s able to be affectionate without you poking fun at her.  

She sprawls out over your chest and somewhat onto your stomach, and when she starts purring, she purrs at the noise level of a freight train, per usual.  

“Morning, Meggy,” Spencer greets, running a finger along her chin affectionately. He’s doing anything he can to avoid starting his day because, since you’d started dating and spending the night at each others apartments more regularly, Spencer had discovered how nice it really was to curl up in bed and just kind of waste the morning away. He’d never seen the point in it while he was single or in love with you but doing nothing about it, but since your relationship had started, he loved spending his off days like that.  

He, rather begrudgingly, climbs out of bed. He goes to your bathroom and uses the spare toothbrush you keep for him to use whenever he spends the night, tidies up the dining room from the previous nights dinner and washes the dishes used before putting them onto the empty drying rack. He heads back into your bedroom after taking the necessary steps to make your life just a little easier, and when you wake up an hour and a half later, it’s eight thirty and you greet him with an exhausted smile.  

“Hi,” you greet. “Anything from Garcia yet?”  

“She called me around midnight,” Spencer confesses. “You’d been asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.”  

“What’s the news?”  

“James DeLuca was caught in the maritimes, along the Canadian coast,” Spencer says. “They’ve brought him back to the states, and right now it’s looking a lot like he’ll get the death penalty.”  

You curl up against him, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Spencer knows it’s because the news feels like a bit of a relief. A year since he’d narrowly evaded arrest, and the man who almost killed you has been caught. It has to feel like a supermassive weight being lifted off your chest, and Spencer himself was relieved to hear the news when Garcia had phoned.  

He wraps an arm around your shoulders and presses his lips to your forehead. You’d spent a year looking over your shoulder and yielding no results, but now you never would have to do that again.  

“He’s behind bars, Y/N,” he says. “He’s not a threat anymore.”  

He feels your smile against his neck and can’t help the shiver that goes down his spine. Megatron, ever observant and attention-seeking, plops herself onto the centre of Spencers chest, to your amusement.  

“I never have to worry about him again,” you whisper. “That--that’s wonderful.”  

“Mhm,” Spencer says. “Now, I don’t really think either of us need to get out of bed, per se, until the afternoon. I say we just relax for a while, soak it in and maybe give Megatron some tummy rubs.”  

You laugh. “I really like that plan,” you say. Spencer kisses your forehead again.  

He soaks it in—how good it feels, to be with someone he cherishes so deeply. It feels amazing to not have anything on his plate, not a stressful case or some stupid argument with Derek that he’s overthinking.  

It feels amazing to be in your presence, to only really have to worry about how painful it’ll be when Megatron inevitably gets up and puts all her weight into her two front paws when she leans forward and aggressively headbuts Spencers jaw until he gives her what she wants or how, when you take to wanting a forehead kiss or otherwise, you’re liable to press your forehead against his shoulder until he gives in.  

It feels amazing because this, right here, in this moment, is exactly where Spencer wants to be. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else, is so happy with you and Megatron that he’s almost drowning in it.  

It’s a feeling that, before you’d started dating, rarely came about, but one he’s always going to cherish, no matter the circumstance.