#my brain: something soft something soft SOMETHING SOFT

[dee-writes-anime]

Hello ! How you doing ?

I noticed that your requests are open, so i'm gonna yap about my favorite Winged Hero: Keigo !

I always think about reader being in a relationship with Hawks, but she feels like she doesn't really belong with him. He is famous, popular and very loved by his fans, meanwhile she likes to live a calm life, only talking and getting involved if someone reaches for her first.

Reader intends to break up with him, but his bird brain got a different message about it: he thinks she just needs more attention and more courting gifts.

So now reader has a collection of shiny rocks, lots of scented blankets and shirts, and a nonstop whistling Keigo around her.

I just really love the idea of Hawks tagging himself as a No refund Partner 🤭

(Feel free to ignore this, if you don't like it. Sending you lots of love, your writting is amazing 🥰)

No Refunds!

FEATURING Keigo 'Hawks' Takami i x Reader

SUMMARY You fear that Keigo's fast-paced life is too much for you and try to take a step back, but it doesn't seem to work out that well for you. It's just too bad Keigo doesn't believe in refunds.

CONTENT WARNINGS quiet reader, hawks being a literal bird

AUTHORS NOTE hope you all enjoy more of our feather-winged hero because, based on these requests, y'all can't seem to get enough of him!

You’d imagined this moment for weeks—a careful plan to untangle yourself from the wings of a man who seemed to live a world apart from your own. Keigo’s life was a loud one, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights, bright interviews, fans hanging on his every word and movement. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he belonged somewhere out there, in the heart of the storm, while you were left holding onto calmness, craving quiet.

So you’d practiced your words, rehearsed in the mirror, hoping to explain it gently: Keigo, you’re amazing, but I don’t fit into this life. You deserve someone who can keep up, who thrives under a spotlight.

But as you sat across from him in the dimly lit corner of your apartment, watching him devour his meal with an unshakable confidence, all those carefully chosen phrases began to slip away. The man was impossible to ignore, so vividly alive in his unbridled energy, his mouth curling into a familiar, teasing grin every time he caught you looking. It was like trying to capture a gust of wind in your hand—the moment you thought you had him pinned, he shifted, always a step ahead, eyes twinkling with that irreverent humor that made your heart ache.

“Keigo, I just…” you began, feeling your courage falter under his steady gaze. He didn’t miss a beat, his fork pausing in midair as he gave you his full attention.

“Go on,” he said, his voice low but attentive, his eyes narrowing with a glint of curiosity that warned you he wasn’t going to let anything slide by unnoticed.

You took a breath, trying to anchor yourself. “I just… sometimes I feel like I don’t really belong in your world,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air, and Keigo stared at you, unblinking, as if you’d just told him something in a language he didn’t quite understand. After a moment, he let out a soft chuckle, eyes shining with that familiar, playful disbelief. “You? Not belong with me?” He shook his head, leaning back in his seat with that cocky, amused grin that somehow melted the tension in the room. “I don’t buy that, not for a second.”

Your heart twisted painfully, but before you could explain, he shifted closer, closing the space between you with the effortless grace of a hawk zeroing in on its mark. He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your cheeks warm, a hint of softness underlying his typically mischievous gaze.

“Listen,” he said, his voice a soft murmur, “if you’re worried about keeping up with me, don’t be. You ground me, you know? Not everything has to be about the spotlight.” He leaned in, and his thumb brushed your cheek, a gentle, fleeting touch that left you breathless. “You’re my calm in all the chaos, you know that?”

Your resolve wavered, and all you could manage was a quiet nod before he kissed your cheek, lingering just long enough to leave a warmth behind. As he left that night, your mind kept replaying that look in his eyes—a flicker of vulnerability that felt strangely out of place on him.

The next morning, you woke to find something glinting on your bedside table. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, and there it was—a smooth, shining rock, no larger than your thumb, with flecks of gold swirling through its charcoal-gray surface. You reached for it slowly, as if it might vanish at any moment, the unexpected gift settling warm and solid in your palm.

A small folded note rested beside it, scrawled with Keigo’s messy handwriting: Something pretty, just like you! – K

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up, though it came with a pang of sadness. So this was his response? He wasn’t angry or upset; instead, he left a little piece of beauty for you, something that made you feel strangely… cherished. As if he was whispering, See? You’re part of my world. I want you here.

If only he left it at that..

The next morning, as you opened your front door, you found a Hawks-branded bag stuffed with the coziest-looking items imaginable. Luxurious blankets, soft enough to melt in your fingers, with colors that reminded you of his wings—deep crimsons and warm golden yellows. There was a plush feather-shaped pillow tucked inside, soft and inviting, as if he’d tried to bottle the feeling of his own feathers just for you.

Another note, taped to the top of the bag: For when you want a cozy night in, courtesy of your favorite Winged Hero.

In a daze, you pulled the pillow out, feeling the way it seemed to form to your touch, soft and strangely comforting, like you were holding a part of him in your hands. You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself, though it was tinged with disbelief. Hawks, your Keigo, was attempting to make your space his nest—one soft corner at a time.

You weren’t sure what to think. The gifts kept coming, like waves lapping persistently at the shore, never once relenting. Soon, you had a growing collection of glimmering stones, each unique in color, shape, and size. Some had ribbons tied around them, others were polished to a glassy sheen. By the end of the week, you could open your own boutique: Hawks’ Feathered Finds.

It was almost funny, in a way, how Keigo’s gift ideas seemed to expand. If the shiny stones weren’t enough to convince you of his commitment, the silky blankets and cozy pillows that soon followed would certainly drive the point home.

But as much as the blankets were a nice touch, that wasn’t enough either. No, Keigo’s gifts evolved in a way you hadn’t anticipated. Not satisfied with just leaving inanimate reminders of himself, he began to bring his own shirts, freshly washed and scented with that clean, faintly spicy cologne that was unmistakably his. Each time he left one, it felt like he was marking his presence all over again. When you came home one day to find three different button-ups hanging over your chair, neatly folded with another note—“So you won’t miss me too much”—you realized how completely he’d misunderstood your meaning.

And it didn’t stop there.

You started hearing bird calls, from sharp whistles to melodic chirrups, each one distinct and practiced. They’d come at random times during your day, clear and unmistakable, carrying across rooftops or echoing down quiet streets. Keigo would appear out of nowhere with a casual “Hey,” as if he hadn’t just called you over like a sparrow to its nest. Once, you looked out the window and spotted him standing on the rooftop opposite yours, watching you with that familiar spark of mischief in his eyes as he gave a gentle coo that made your cheeks flush.

Then there was the food. Keigo made it a habit to bring takeout on the evenings he knew you were working late, showing up with your favorite dishes and a grin that always promised a good story to go along with them. He’d kick off his shoes like he’d lived there forever, settling in as if he belonged, yet somehow always a little hesitant. You could tell he was waiting, looking at you as if searching for any sign that his gifts were having an effect.

Finally, one evening after he’d tucked a particularly soft blanket around you with all the precision of a nesting bird, you couldn’t help but ask, “What exactly are you doing, Keigo?”

He looked up from where he’d just finished arranging the folds of the blanket on your couch, his feathers twitching at your question. “What do you mean?” he asked, his amber eyes wide with feigned innocence.

“Keigo…” you said, trying to hold back a laugh as you gestured around your apartment, now cluttered with glistening stones, colorful feathers, and shirts that still carried his scent. “You’re… making a nest in my apartment.”

His wings fluttered, a small chuckle escaping as he scratched the back of his head. “Guess you could call it that.” He crossed over to where you sat, his gaze growing softer. “But I’m just making sure you know you’re not going anywhere.”

You shook your head, equal parts amused and bewildered. “I… I don’t think that’s how it works.”

Undeterred, Keigo leaned in, his head tilting down just slightly so his eyes met yours, the mischief in them mingling with something warmer, something that pulled at your heart. “Maybe not,” he murmured, his tone more serious than you’d ever heard. “But I don’t give up that easily. You don’t just get to decide you’re going to leave, y’know?”

A small pang tightened in your chest. How could someone like him, someone whose life glittered with fame and thrill, expect to keep someone like you by his side? Yet, looking into his eyes, you saw something deeper, even a little vulnerable, as his thumb traced soft circles over your hand.

“Keigo… I’m not…” you began, trying to find the words. “I just… sometimes I feel like I’m not cut out for this, like I don’t belong in this world of yours.”

He watched you for a long moment, his gaze gentle but unwavering. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, his wings rustling, “you’re not holding me back. You’re the calm in my storm. And I’m not about to let that slip away.” His hand tightened around yours just slightly. “Besides, I never heard any rule about ‘no refunds’ not applying to relationships. So guess what? You’re stuck with me.”

You looked around, taking in the stones, the blankets, the shirts—this strange, feathered haven he’d created around you, like a nest meant just for the two of you. You hadn’t realized you’d been dating an actual bird until now, and it hit you with a surprising warmth, a feeling that maybe, just maybe, you did belong here after all.

TAGLIST:

@surielstea

[prentitsluvr]

She Tastes Like Heaven

Emily Prentiss x Reader Warnings: Smut, fingering, mommy kink, oral sex (r receiving) Summary: Emily calls reader into her office after everyone else has gone home Word count: 963

Your pussy throbbed as you watched Emily in her office, leaning her head back and stretching. Your eyes trailed down her neck, mind drifting to an image of you pressing your lips against the soft skin, leaving a trail of marks downwards…

“Y/N,” her voice snapped you out of your reverie. You hadn’t noticed her leaving her office. “My office. Now.”

Shit, she sounds pissed.

Sighing, you stood. It was late, and really you should’ve gone home already, and the only people still there were you, Emily and JJ, who had said she was about to leave anyway. You passed the empty desks as you walked up to Emily’s office, knocking softly on the door.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Close the door, please.” she said, drawing the blinds. Shit, you must really be in trouble.

Closing the door, you tilted your head. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong, no.” she smirked, sauntering over to you. Your heart hammers in your chest.

“What did you–”

“I saw you staring at me. Licking your lips. Biting them.” she murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear as she leaned in, lips brushing your ear gently. “Do you want me?”

Mouth suddenly dry, you nodded, “Yes.”

“Good.” she smiled softly, her hand trailing down your arm until it enclosed around your wrist, and she pulled you over to her desk – which conveniently was free of all the papers you’d seen there earlier that day.

Wordlessly, she pushed you so that you sat on the edge of the desk, and her hands rested either side of you as she leaned in. 

“You’re so pretty… I can’t wait to feel you squirming beneath me.” she muttered, and you let out a quiet, involuntary moan.

“Do you like that, pretty girl?” she teased, and you gripped one of her wrists, gazing into her eyes.

“Please.”

“Please what, baby?”

“Kiss me. Touch me. Anything.”

Now with your permission, her lips were quick to attach to yours, and her hand snaked around to the small of your back, slipping under your shirt and splaying across your skin.

Desperate for more of her touch, you broke the kiss and pulled your shirt off, tugging her closer, and you went to unbutton her shirt.

“Uh-uh.” Emily smirked, holding your wrists as she took in your pouting expression, amused. “Not yet, babygirl. Later. Right now, I wanna make you feel good.”

Letting out a soft whimper, you pulled her in for another kiss. Her hand palmed your breast, squeezing gently, making you moan into her mouth.

“Please.” you whined. “Please fuck me.”

Emily let out a soft hum of approval, and kissed down your neck as her hands reached around to unclip your bra.

“If you insist.”

Her lips wrapped around a nipple, and your head dropped back as you bit your lip, trying as hard as you could not to be loud. As she licked and sucked your nipple, her hands worked to unzip your pants and you helped her by lifting your hips so she could slide them down, along with your panties.

She groaned as she slipped a hand between your thighs, pressing her palm into you.

“Fuck…you’re so wet for me, you’re practically dripping.”

Her fingers glided through your arousal and you let out a strangled moan.

“Lie back, pretty girl. Let mommy take care of you.”

The use of the word mommy completely short wired your brain. Laying back, you opened your eyes to look at her, and she grinned up at you as she tugged on your legs gently, pulling you towards her.

“Such a pretty young thing.” she cooed as she spread your legs – and then she leaned in and her lips were wrapping around your clit and it took everything in you not to scream. Emily dragged her tongue through you, moaning and murmuring something about how good you taste.

“In-inside, please.” you begged, and she chuckled softly, flicking your clit with her tongue as she sunk two fingers into your pussy. 

“S’that what you wanted, princess?” 

“God – fuck – yes,” you moaned as she started thrusting her fingers in and out. Soft, wet noises filled the room as you bit your lip hard, and she circled your clit with her tongue.

“You gonna cum for me princess? Gonna cum for mommy?”

“So close mommy.” you whimpered, your hand reaching down to grasp her hair and pull her further into you. She let out a small groan at the noise and that was enough to push you over the edge.

“Fuck – mommy – I’m gonna–” 

Spasms shook your body as you threw your head back, arching your back and pulling her face further into your pussy as you came around her fingers, letting out a strangled moan.

“God, you taste divine.” she murmured as she cleaned up your pussy, dragging her tongue through your folds. You relaxed your grasp on her hair and she grabbed your hand, pulling you up and kissing you softly.

“I wanna take you home with me tonight, is that okay baby?” she asked, and you nodded, kissing her again.

“Please.” you bit your lip. “I need to make you cum too.”

Emily bit back a moan, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. She took a breath and grabbed your clothes, helping you get them back on.

“My work is all wrapped up. Head down to my car and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” she instructs, running her fingers – not the ones that were just inside of you – through your hair, smoothing it out.

Heart racing, you kissed her again and left, hoping you didn’t look like you’d just been fucked.

You didn’t catch JJ’s small smirk from the other side of the room as she watched you hurry away.

[silverb0wties]

Lemonade - Part 4 ~ new content~

leah williamson x alessia russo x child!reader

Summary: When something bad happens to your Mummy and Daddy, you end up living with your Aunty Lessi and Aunty Leah.  But is there room for you considering they have a new baby on the way?

Chapter Summary: It's game day, but first you need to ask a few important questions

Warnings: pregnancy, panic attack

a/n: This is the first 'new' chapter (as in hasn't been previously posted), so I'm very nervous about posting this. Fingers crossed you all enjoy it.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

PART 4

It’s quiet in the car on the way to the training centre, the low hum of the radio the only noise.  Your brain however hasn’t stopped running wild with thoughts ever since school the other day.  You’d tried to find the answers to your questions in books, but Mr Webster the librarian had told you they were too grown up for you to be reading without an adult. 

Rubbing the soft fur of Arthur's ear against your cheek, you slowly mustered up the courage to ask your Aunties the questions you’d been dying to know the answers to.

“Aunty Lessi, Aunty Leah… C-can I ask a… a question?  About the b-baby?”

You could see Aunty Leah smile through the reflection in the rearview mirror as your Aunty Lessi turned around in the passenger seat to look at you.

“Of course you can, Bun.  You can always ask us anything.”

You let out a sigh of relief, before taking in a deep breath and beginning your line of questioning.

“Okay, so all the books I’ve ever read and the movies I’ve seen, there’s a Mummy and a Daddy, and well, my Mummy said that babies happen when a Mummy and a Daddy love each other very much.  But I also heard at school that there’s something to do with birds and bees, but I don’t really know how that works.  So, because there’s no Daddy here, did you have to get something from birds and bees, like feathers and honey or something to make a magic potion to make the baby? Oh and, and, and also, where does booby milk come from?  Like I know the baby is in your tummy Aunty Leah, so you will have booby milk, but will you also have booby milk, Aunty Lessi?  And is it just like the same milk you buy at the shops?  Like what we use on our cereal or is it different? And is that different to the milk bunnies make? And how do bunnies make babies? And h-”

“Alright, alright let’s answer one question at a time, yeah?” Aunty Lessi cut your questions off with a chuckle.

You took another deep breath and nodded, rubbing Arthur’s ear across your cheek, relieved to have finally gotten those questions out.

“Okay, so, you’re right.  Generally, but not always, babies happen when two people love each other very much.  It doesn’t have to be a Mummy and a Daddy, though, it’s just that that is what tends to happen a bit more often.  But these days there’s more and more families that have two Mummies or two Daddies or a completely different type of family structure all together.  The science of it all is a bit more complex, but I promise you…” Aunty Leah caught your eye in the rear-view mirror with a mischievous glint “…there are no magic bird feathers or honey potions involved.”  You giggled at her as she winked at you in the mirror.

“Yeah Bun, every family’s story is a bit different, but for us, your Aunty Leah and I went to the doctors and asked them for help in making us a baby.  Some families can make their babies at home, like your Mummy and Daddy made you at home, but lots of families need some help from their doctors” Aunty Lessi explained.

“So, you went to the doctors, and they put a tiny little baby in Aunty Leah?”

“Basically, yeah” she confirmed.

“But why Aunty Leah, why not you?” you wondered.

“You know how Aunty Leah hurt her leg?” Aunty Lessi asked.

You nodded.  Your Daddy had told you all about how it was really sad because she was meant to go play in the World Cup thing in Brazil with Aunty Lessi, and she was captain of the England team, but she couldn’t play because of her injury.  And he had said that she had hurt her other leg the exact same way just before the last big World Cup thing and wasn’t able to play in that either.  You were only 4 back then, but you kind of remember watching your Aunty Lessi play in those games on the TV.  And you remember her bringing home a shiny silver medal but being pretty sad about it. Your Aunty Leah wasn’t your Aunty yet back then though, so you didn’t know about her leg the first time around.

“Well, I decided that if I wasn’t going to be able to go play at the World Cup again, then I wanted to do something really, really meaningful with my time away from football.  I’ve always wanted to start a family, but it’s super difficult with football to fit it all in with our schedules.  But I knew that I would be away from the pitch for at least another 9 months, so, I asked Aunty Lessi if we could have a baby.  Try and make the best out of a bad situation” Aunty Leah explained, a sad looking smile on her face.

“Oh, that makes sense, I guess.  When life gives you lemons, make lemonade, right?” you replied, repeating the phrase your Daddy had taught you.

There was a short silence before your Aunties burst into an absolute fit of laughter, tears falling from their eyes as they tried time and time again to unsuccessfully stop their hysterics.

You didn’t know what was so funny about what you said.  Did you use the phrase wrong?  It was one your Daddy used all the time.  You’d thought it was a little bit silly at first too, but it definitely wasn’t laugh so hard you cry kind of funny.  But what if you’d used it totally wrong and they were laughing at you like the kids in school laughed at you when they thought you were uncool?

Loser. Loser. Loser

“S-sorry Bun, we’re not l-laughing at you, we promise,” your Aunty Leah muffled through her laughter.

“It’s… it’s just that, when Aunty Leah first talked to me about having a baby, she used that exact phrase, and I made her swear on her life that she would never, ever refer to our future child as lemonade ever again!” Aunty Lessi giggled.

You gasped, immediately terrified that you’d insulted your Aunty Lessi, mistakenly making fun of her unborn baby.  “Oh, I’m so, so sorry Aunty Lessi, I didn’t mean to be rude! I really didn’t-”

“No, no Bunny, it’s okay.  Because after that, pretty much everyone we told that Aunty Leah was pregnant and they realised the timeline with her knee said the exact same thing – when life gives you lemons, make lemonade!”

“And while Aunty Lessi was adamant at first that we couldn’t refer to the baby as Lemonade, well… we now sometimes do call them our little Lemonade.  It’s become an affectionate nickname of sorts,” Aunty Leah assured you.

“Really?” you asked, still terrified that you’d upset them.

“Yeah.  I guess we just weren’t expecting to hear that saying from you, so it caught us off guard a bit.  Sorry, we got a bit carried away.” Aunty Lessi promised you, reaching her hand back to take yours, her gesture both reassuring and comforting you.

“So, you call the baby Lemonade?” You asked after a short silence.  They both nodded with a giggle.  “Can I call the baby Lemonade?”  They both laughed again

“Okay, but only when it’s just us, alright?  We don’t want the team or anyone else catching on.  It’s our little secret. And once they’re born, we’ll call them by their real name,” Aunty Lessi bargained with you.

“Deal!”

“Deal!”

There was a short silence as the excitement of the revelation settled.  You suddenly realised all your questions hadn’t been answered.  “Okay, but what about the booby milk?”

Your Aunty Leah laughed before replying, “Only I will make that, and it’s just for the baby.  We won’t be putting it on cereal.  It’s got special nutrients in it that are just right for the baby because they can’t eat or drink anything else for the first several months.  Only the Mummy who is pregnant makes milk.”

“But what if the baby is hungry but you’re at the shops or something?  How does Aunty Lessi feed them?” you asked. 

“Well, I can do what is called pumping, which is basically using a machine to squeeze the milk out of my boobies so that we can store it for when I’m not around, or just so Aunty Lessi can feed the baby even if I am here.  You can even feed them if you want to”

“I can? Really?”  The thought of helping feed the baby, helping feed Lemonade, made you feel a strange, but nice, sense of warm and tingly.  You didn’t know what the feeling was, but it made you want to sing and fly and twirl.

“Yeah.  It might take a little while for them to get used to using a bottle, but once they’re used to it, you can definitely have a turn feeding them,” Aunty Lessi told you.

“So, it’s different to our cereal milk then?” you questioned.

“Yes, that’s cow’s milk.  Or some people use oat milk or goat milk or soy mi-”

“What about bunny milk?” you interrupted.

 “I’ve never heard of humans drinking bunny milk, I think only baby bunnies drink that.”  Aunty Lessi laughed at your question.  You weren’t too sure why.  If people drank cow’s milk and goat’s milk, why not bunny milk?

“And how do bunnies make babies?  Is it the same as people? They just love each other?” you enquired.

“Well, there’s a little bit more to it than that for both people and bunnies.  But it’s a bit complicated and I think we would be better off explaining it with the help of some books from the library.  How about we pick some out the next time we’re there, yeah?  We could maybe go on Tuesday after school,” Aunty Leah suggested.

“I like the sound of that” you agreed.

“I thought you might.”

--

As the car parked at the training ground, you looked out the window to see people dressed in red everywhere.  There was a large bus waiting out the front of the building, and a big brown dog with soft looking ears lying on the ground in front of the bus door.

You loved dogs.  You loved all animals really.  You connected with them far quicker, easier and deeper than you seemed to connect to humans, especially those your age.  You’d never been able to get a pet because your Daddy was allergic to lots of different kinds of fur, but whenever you got the chance to meet a dog or a cat or a bird or a lizard or a fish or turtle or a guinea pig or a horse or a BUNNY… you jumped at the opportunity.

As Aunty Lessi opened your door and helped you out of your car seat, your eyes stayed glued to the big brown dog the whole time.

“Alright Bunny, we just have to sign in, get our lanyards and th-” Aunt Leah began explaining.

“Can I pat the dog?” you interrupted, simply unable to wait any longer. 

Your Aunty Leah looked up from where she was pulling a bag out of the boot of the car and noticed where your gaze was fixated in the direction of the big soft looking brown dog.

“Oh yes, of course you can sweets.  That’s Winnie.  She’s our team dog.  She’s really friendly.”

Not needing to be told twice, you ran towards the dog, dropping to your knees as you reached her.  You carefully held your hand out to her as you’d been taught to do when meeting a new animal, and she gave you a good sniff before she sat up and rubbed her cheek against your hand. 

“Hi Winnie, I’m Y/K, but everyone calls me Bunny, or Bun.  It’s so nice to meet you.”  You began scratching at the fur behind her ears, her head tilting as you hit what seemed to be a good spot.  “You are such a pretty girl.  And you are oh so soft and shiny.”

“I’m happy to see you’ve made a friend already, Bun.”

You looked up to see your Aunty Lessi smiling down at you as she crouched down to give Win a pat too.

“Does she come to all your games and practices and stuff?” you asked.

“Not all of them, but she hangs around the training centre a lot and she does come to some games.  I believe she’s coming along to the Emirates with us today,” she replied.

“Really?  Is she coming on the bus too?  What kind of dog is she?  Where does she go when the game is on?  Does she sit in the stands?  If she’s the team dog, then where does she live?” you asked.

“Well, she’s a chocolate labrador-” your Aunty Lessi began to explain.

“Ya got a new fan, Win?”

You whipped your head around to the source of the peculiar sounding voice as a lady with big eyelashes and a really pretty smile came walking towards you.

“Bunny, this is Katie” your Aunty Lessi stood to greet the new arrival.

“Hey there Bun, I’ve heard all about ya from yer Aunties!”

You didn’t really know how to reply.  You had never been good at talking to new people, especially when you didn’t have a specific topic or task to talk to them about.

“Well, the girls and I heard yer big into reading, and wanted to learn a bit more about football, so we got ya a few books.  Some of them are about football, some of them are just ones we liked when we were kids.  I was never much of a reader, so I wouldn’t trust my recommendations, but there’s a few smarties in the team like you are, so those are the ones who we took the recommendations from.”  She winked at you as she held a large glittery purple gift bag out towards you.

“Oh wow. Th-Thank you. I’m sorry I didn’t bring any presents for you or the others.”

Selfish. Selfish. Selfish.

“Nah, don’t be silly kid.  This is a welcome to the team present from all the gals.  I just hope there isn’t any double ups with ones you’ve already read.  I’ve heard ya read loads of books!” 

“I-I have.  I love to read.  Thank you for the present” your hands trembled slightly as you took the bag from her grasp, overwhelmed by her kindness.

“No worries kiddo.  I hope you enjoy the game!”  She winked at you again before heading onto bus.

Winnie nudged at your hip with her nose, saddened that you’d stopped your pats to collect your present.  You looked between the bag in your hands and the dog, unsure of how to give both the attention they deserved. 

“How about I pop the present in the car, and we can go through it tonight after the game?  That way you’ve got something to look forward to at home, yeah?” Aunty Lessi suggested.

You nodded hastily, thankful for the suggestion.  She collected the bag from your hands and you immediately turned your attention back to Win, giggling as she rolled onto her back for you to scratch her tummy.

Much too soon it was time to say bye to Winnie and get on the big bus.  There was already lots of people bustling about amongst the seats as your Aunty Lessi guided you down the aisle toward two pairs of empty seats behind each other.  Your Aunty Leah sat in the front seats and you and Aunty Lessi sat in the back two.

The bus ride to the stadium was… chaotic.  Everyone on the team wanted to come meet you and say hi, but it’s rather overwhelming trying to learn all the new names and faces.  At some point you caught your Aunty Leah not so subtly waving people away as you began to curl against the window and rub Arthur’s ear softly across your cheek.  You’d reached forward and squeezed her hand through the gap in the seats in a silent thank you.  

You do specifically remember one player you met named Lia, because she has the same name as your Aunty, but apparently, it’s spelt differently.  She said she helped pick out some of the books in your present and that she’d love to go to the library with you some time.  When you asked your Aunty Leah if that would be okay, she had said “Absolutely!”

There was also another kid on the bus; a little boy running up and down the aisle with light up sneakers and a jersey with the number 19 on it.  You couldn’t quite figure out who his adults were though, because everyone seemed to treat him like their own.  He couldn’t be more than 2 or 3 years old you figured because he doesn’t seem to speak in full sentences and he still seemed a bit wobbly on his feet. 

At one point in the bus trip, he got upset over something and began crying and screaming for his Mummy.  A lady with pretty blue eyes and her hair in a tight little bun scurried down the aisle to pick him up and cuddle him.

“Is he okay?” you asked your Aunty Lessi.

“Oh, I’m sure Jack will be just fine.  I think he just took a little tumble.  Caitlin will make sure he’s all better,” she reassured you.

If you had thought the bus trip was overwhelming, that was nothing compared to the stadium itself.  As the bus drove in, there was a sea of people dressed in red and white that stretched on for as far as you could see.

You had watched your Aunties play before, both on television and in the stands, and you knew there were lots and lots of people who came to watch, but there was something different about seeing it from this perspective.

“It’s gunna be a bit loud once we park up and get out of the bus, alright Bun?  And like we talked about, there’s gunna be lots of people all over the place.  So make sure you keep your lanyard on and just hold tight to my hand until we get into the locker room, yeah?” Aunty Lessi reminded you.

“Can do, Aunty Lessi” you replied.

When the bus came to a stop, you gripped your Aunty Lessi’s hand tight.  It was only a few steps, but the noise as you got off the bus and entered through the players entrance was entirely overwhelming.  You couldn’t help but screw your face up as the screeches and squeals rattled and clawed at every bone in your body.  You lifted your hands to cover your ears, but both were full – one with your Aunty Lessi’s hand, and the other clutched tight to Arthur.

Thankfully the cheering and squealing noise faded out pretty quickly as you moved through the underbelly of the stadium, making your way into the locker room.  Your Aunty Lessi guided you over to a cubby that had your Aunty Leah’s name on it.

“I’ve got to go do pitch inspections and get dressed and ready for the game now.  Will you be alright just hanging out here?  Aunty Leah is just doing a quick interview, but she should be in shortly and I will be around, yeah?” she asked, handing you your backpack.

You nodded, quite happy to curl up into the little nook with Arthur and a book.  You unzipped your bag and retrieved your book as well as the little purple blanket you’d stuffed in there, and bundled yourself up.  But before you could start reading, your eyes drifted over all the different names on the back of the players shirts that hung in the other cubbies.

Fox, 2.  Mead, 9.  Walti (there was some funny dots above the A in her name, which you made a mental note to research when you next had your iPad), 13.  Foord, 19.  McCabe, 11.

Wait.  McCabe.  McCabe’s number was the one Aunty Leah had said you weren’t allowed to get printed on your jersey. 

“The only rule is that you’re not allowed to pick McCabe’s number, because we will never hear the end of that, okay?”

They had all seemed really nice on the bus, but if Aunty Leah had made a rule, then there had to be a reason for it.  Maybe McCabe was mean to your Aunties like the kids at school were to you?

When the players all shuffled in and placed their belongings in their cubbies, you were immediately confused to see the nice lady with big eyelashes who had given you the bag of books sit down in front of the McCabe jersey.  You were even more confused when the little boy from the bus toddled up to her and asked “Ma! Ma!  Kywa has sweeties.  I has them too?”

“Ya already sweeties on the bus Jack.  If ya have too many more, ya won’t be able to sit still enough to watch the game” she told him, crouching down to straighten out his red and white shirt.

The little boy’s head fell forward immediately, his bottom lip jutting out as he looked like he was about to cry.  “But-but- Ma! I want the sweeties! I be good.  Promise.  I sit still.”

“Alright, but just one.  You hear that Kyra, just one,” she shouted, making sure a cheeky looking player holding a bag of sweets heard her.

“Kywa, Ma said yes.  I has sweeties!” the little boy cheered, running off toward who you figured must be Kyra’s direction.  She scooped him up in her arms and gave him a high five before offering him the bag of sweets to choose from.

You really couldn’t wrap your head around how the McCabe you’d met and observed today could possibly be mean to your Aunties like the kids at school were to you.  She seemed like a good ‘Ma’ and she had been really kind to you.  There had to be another reason why your Aunty Leah wouldn’t let you get her number on your shirt.

As you sat and pondered, your Aunty Leah entered the locker room.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself all set up here, Bun,” she chuckled as she approached you, placing her bag in the shelf below where you sat.  You nodded, squeezing Arthur tight.

“Okay, so normally for the game friends and family sit way up the top of the stadium in fancy seats, so that’s where like my Mum and cousins and stuff will be sitting.  But because I can’t play at the moment because of the baby, we thought you might like to sit down behind the subs bench with me, so you don’t have to go sit with people you don’t know very well.  Is that alright?” she asked.

You nodded immediately, terrified at the thought of having to sit with a bunch of people you didn’t really know.  “Y-yes please.  If that’s okay with your boss?”

“Of course it is.  I double checked with all the big bosses and it’s totally fine.  I do warn you that I can get a little bit… well… passionate about the game at times” she chuckled. 

“Passionate?  She’ll scream your bloody ear off!” a lady with blonde hair and blue eyes interjected.  She’d introduced herself of the bus but you couldn’t quite remember her name.  You think it started with a B?  Belle?  Bess?

“Oh, ignore her Bunny.  I’ll be on my best behaviour.  But I did bring you a pair of earmuffs just in case it’s a bit too loud in the stadium,” she reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sparkly purple ear defenders.  There was a little cartoon bunny sticker on each of the ears.

You were in awe.  They were so pretty and they had obviously been purchased specifically with you in mind.  Wriggling out of your blanket burrow, you leaped toward your Aunty Leah, wishing a simple hug could show just how much these earmuffs meant to you.

“Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.”

Thank angle was awkward due to her big baby belly, but you felt her nestle her nose against the top of your head and smile.

“Anything for you, babygirl.”

--

The game was intense.  There was lots and lots and lots of people.  Your Aunties team was versing a blue team called Chelsea, and from what you could tell, they seemed to be Arsenal’s archrivals.

The noise between the fans was beyond intense, and you were so overwhelmingly grateful for the earmuffs your Aunty Leah had given you.  They didn’t block out everything, but they took the edge off the screeching sounds of horns and squealing cries of other young girls in the crowd. 

During the game there were lots of attempts from both teams at kicking the ball into the back of the net, but none of them had been successful.  Toward the end of the second half, the referee had pulled out several yellow cards from her shirt pocket – you weren’t quite sure what that meant, but you had made a mental note to research that.  Your Aunty Leah had told you that each half went for 45 minutes but when the big clock hit 45:00 another lady on the sideline held up a board with the number 4 on it and play appeared to go on.  It was all very confusing. 

But then… then the blue team made some kind of mistake, and it seemed like Arsenal had heaps of room to themselves and out of nowhere your Aunty Lessi was flying down the pitch towards the goal with the ball at her feet.

Within moments she was smashing the ball passed the opposition’s goalkeeper and into the back of the net.  Beside you, your Aunty Leah sprung to her feet, screaming with joy.

“Yessss!  That’s my girl!  Come on, Less!”

The crowd around you roared, scarves swinging, horns shrieking, music blaring.

Your Aunty Lessi ran towards where you were sitting and threw her hands up into a love heart shape, before pointing right at you, the smile on her face as big as you’d ever seen it.

For a brief moment it felt really nice to know your Aunty Lessi had been thinking about you while she was playing and scoring the goal.  You felt that same warm feeling, tingly feeling that you’d felt early in the car; the one that made you want to sing and fly and twirl.  You felt a sense of safety and home, thinking for just a moment that maybe you could be a part of your Aunties forever family, maybe there could be room for you in their lives even after Lemonade arrive.

But then, you realised there were cameras pointed in your direction and your face was on the big screens and everyone in the stadium was looking directly at you.  Your hands began to tremble, and your cheeks began to flush as the walls of the stadium felt as though they were crashing in on you.  You burrowed your face deep into the plush fur of Arthur’s belly and soon your felt your Aunty Leah’s arms wrap around you and pull you into her side.  You could hear your heart beating in your ears as you clung to fabric of your Aunty’s jacket. 

A few moments later you felt her gently tug back the cup on your earmuffs and whisper to you, “You’re okay Bun, it’s alright.  The cameras are off you now.  It’s okay sweetie.”

Whilst you were relieved to hear the cameras were no longer directed at you, your whole body was still trembling; your breath so tight in your throat you thought you might soon pass out.  Your Aunty Leah pulled back a little to look down at you, her face covered in concern.  She tried to tell you something, but you couldn’t make out the words, her voice muffled by a mixture of the earmuffs and what you could only describe as the sound of ringing and whooshing and thumping and silence all mixed together.

You could feel your chest becoming tighter and tighter as your eyes flickered around trying to figure out the source of the tightness.  It kind of reminded you of the tightness you felt when you couldn’t breathe because of the… smoke.

Smoke means fire!

Was there a fire?

You needed to get out of there.

You needed to get your Aunty Leah out of there.  You needed to get Lemonade out of there.

You couldn’t see fire.  You couldn’t smell smoke.  There was no smoke alarm.  But the tightness in your chest.  It could only be that.  It had to be that.

As you tried to get to your feet to get you and your Aunty Leah and Lemonade out of there, you felt them collapse underneath you.  You felt a thud to your head, but then there was nothing.  Simply nothing.

[hoe4hotchner]

Hi!! If you still take requests could I request Hotch helping a fellow bau member after she tried to hide her ocd from him (like intrusive thoughts, counting and blinking hard etc not cleaning or contamination ocd)

Thanks! xoxo 🧡🧡

Blink twice, tap four times, hold your breath and count to six | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!gn!Reader | WC: 0.5k  | CW: OCD | Summary: Hotch reasures reader when he notices their OCD being a little more frequent than usual |

You were certain you’d been subtle about it, always careful to keep your mind’s demands invisible. Blinking patterns, counting in repetitive loops, moving your fingers until they felt “right” — these things were all in the quiet spaces, hidden behind closed doors and the shuffle of paperwork. Or so you thought.

But Hotch was observant, maybe too observant for your own good. It started with small things: his brow creasing when you tapped your fingers on the table during briefings, his quiet gaze following when you seemed lost in thought, counting silently to bring calm. You brushed it off, certain he was just being his usual analytical self, until the day his concern broke through the usual boundaries he had set for himself.

It was late, everyone else had gone home for the night. You’d been poring over files, a trail of cold coffee cups beside you, trying to distract yourself from the prickling anxiety that had settled in your mind since a particularly tough case. Then it happened again — blink twice, tap four times, hold your breath and count to six, over and over. You weren’t sure how long you’d been repeating it, but when you looked up, Hotch was standing in the doorway to the conference room — You sometimes worked on your files in there to keep your mind on track.

“Can I come in?” he asked gently.

You cleared your throat, swallowing the reflexive answer to brush him off. “Of course.”

He entered, closing the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet room. You half-expected a reprimand, a reminder to go home and rest, but his gaze was unusually soft, something between empathy and understanding.

“I noticed you’ve been… distracted lately,” he began, his words careful. “More than usual.”

The confession sat on the edge of your tongue, bitter and unwelcome. “It’s nothing. I just get… caught up sometimes.”

He nodded slowly as if weighing your answer. “We all have our patterns,” he said, his voice low and calm. “But if they’re weighing on you, you don’t have to hide them. Not from me.”

The words caught you off-guard. Your heart pounded, the intrusive thoughts flaring up in response to his kindness, an immediate discomfort in your chest at the vulnerability.

“Hotch, I don’t want anyone to think… that I can’t handle this.” The admission tumbled out, quieter than you’d intended. “Sometimes, my brain… it gets stuck in loops. It makes me repeat things to feel okay.”

He nodded as though he’d known it all along. “You’re one of the most resilient agents I know. But you don’t have to manage all of this alone.” He took a seat beside you, close enough that you could feel his presence. “If something is weighing on you, I want you to tell me. I can help.”

There was a soothing rhythm to his words, one that almost matched the way you counted, but softer and kinder. You swallowed, fighting the wave of embarrassment that rose at the idea of admitting everything. But his hand, warm and steady, rested on yours.

“I don’t think less of you,” he continued his voice barely a murmur. “In fact, I have more respect for you than you realize. What you’re dealing with doesn’t make you weak — it shows your strength.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words settle in your mind like stones sinking to the bottom of a pond.

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words carrying all the gratitude you hadn’t known you were holding.

[dykewithnofilter]

I don’t need your help… *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

IN HONOR OF ARCANE SEASON TWO, IM POSTING A FIC THATS BEEN IN MY NOTES APP FOR MONTHS

(this is very old, cut me some slack)

WARNINGS: I WILL BLOCK MINORS, THIS IS 18+. MDNI. Nsfw, some angst, gf!Vi, fingering r!receiving, head r!receiving. Let me know if I missed anything.

men dni ✌️

ESL, and also not proofread ✍️

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

You stared at the wall, sighing. You’d been like this for hours. Where was she? Did she leave you? Was she out drunk again? Every single possibility raced through your head. The door opened suddenly, startling you. Your head popped up quickly, eyes widening as you saw Vi. “Vi? What happened? Who hurt you—“ you started, worried. She sighed. “Nothing. Just a squabble at the bar. Quit worrying.. it’s annoying.” Vi said, her tone fed up and tired. You sat back down, waiting anxiously for her to do something about the cut on her stomach.

Vi sat down on the couch, not next to you, but the furthest away from you she could possibly be. She did this a lot. She hated showing you how she felt… “Are you not gonna treat that?” You ask quietly. She side eyed you. “No.” She said simply. She was in pain. You could see it, even if she wouldn’t tell you. You got up, sighing. “What are you doing?” Vi said with a frown on her face. You ignored her, grabbing a towel you wet with soap and water. You got on your knees, dabbing it against the wounds she’d accumulated on her stomach and thigh. “I don’t need your help…” Vi mumbled, wincing. “I don’t care.” You mumbled.

Vi looked down at you, a slight flush on her face from seeing you on your knees like that. “Just— hurry up..” Vi says quickly. Your brain pauses for a second. “Why?” You look up at her. She avoided your eyes, the flush in her cheeks becoming more evident. You cracked a smile. “Not everything has to be sexual, Vi.” You say, trying to sound stern. It probably didn’t help that you had to pull her pants off to clean the cut on her thigh. “I- I didn’t say— just- shut up.” Vi protested, sounding more cute than menacing. Now it was your turn to be a mean. Since she was out of her bad mood, maybe you could be a bit flirty. “I mean, I’m not complaining, just saying.” You grinned, putting the soapy rag right over the wound on her thigh, letting your hand wonder a bit. “What are you trying to do?” Vi said, her heart beating quickly. “What? I’m not doing anything.” You say, moving your hand to her inner thigh.

This felt pretty weird. Usually Vi initiated these things, and on you. “Y/n.” Vi said sternly. Okay. Maybe you were being too risky. “Finish whatever your doing, and hurry.” She said, frowning. A small tinge of excitement washed over you, knowing exactly what she was gonna do next.

You finished cleaning her up, and of course, now you were pinned against the wall while she kissed you roughly. You broke the kiss, panting. “No need to suffocate me..” you breath. “I’m not. Kissing and choking are two very different things.” Vi said flatly, a hint of amusement shining in her cold eyes. “I- shut up.” You smile. Vi rolled her eyes, kissing your neck. “Nope.” She replied, giving you a few love bites she was sure would be a nice, red blotch in a few minutes. You let out a soft hum of approval, feeling your breath hitch as Vi removed your clothes. Vi looked in your eyes again, asking for approval silently. You nodded, gulping.

In a split second, you were pushed against the couch, your legs spread. Vi slowly took your panties off, looking you in the eyes while doing so. “Beg.” She grinned. “..I— please, Vi..” you pant. Vi raises a brow. “Please, Vi, I need you..” you say, your voice more whiny. “That’s more like it.” And without another word, Vi slowly pushed her fingers into your dripping core. “F-fuck!” you gasp. “G-give a girl a warning-“ you say, a few moans bubbling from your mouth as vi curls her fingers. “I gave you plenty.” Vi shrugged, burying her face between your thighs. “Warning.” She mumbled, licking your clit softly, her free hand cupping your ass.

“Mm-.. vi—“ you whine. Vi swirled her tongue around your clit while her fingers curled and pumped inside of you. “M-mm— too much!..” you whimper. Vi continues her ministrations, defermened not to stop till you cum. Your hips shy away from her, but she holds them in place with her free hand. “Hngh— fuck- Vi, I’m close.!” You pant, your thighs shaking. Vi grins, speeding up. Her tongue flattens against your clit, pumping her fingers faster. “Ah-!” You moan. “Vi- I’m- I’m gonna—“ you can barley finish your sentence before you cum. Vi licked her lips, looking you in the eyes as you panted.

“Did I do well?” She smirked. She already knew the answer.

“Shut up.” You reply, blushing as you looked away.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:════ ⋆★⋆ ════*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

I NEED IDEAS, GIVE ME REQUESTS 😣

[softiejoon]

CLOSE TO YOU | KSM

pairing ; kim seungmin x reader

genre ; hurt/comfort, fluff + mild angst

tags ; idol!skz, established relationship!au

warnings ; mentions of food, lots of emotions, affectionate use of ‘pabo’

summary ; in which seungmin misses you so you surprise him with a visit OR seungmin can’t stand not being close to you

word count ; ~1.2k

a/n ; my first piece in a while! not sure i love how it turned out but hope you enjoy <3

☾ ･*˚⁺‧͙ :-゜・．

minho's gaze softens at the sight of the boy slumped against the sofa. seungmin fiddles with something in his pocket as he stares blankly at the walls of their rented vacation home.

"yah, kim seungmin." his voice is gentler than usual. seungmin drags his eyes up to meet his hyung's. "i have something for you."

minho moves to the front door as seungmin sighs, summoning his remaining energy to protest whatever stunt the members are orchestrating.

"hyung, i'm tired, i don't—" but his brain and mouth lose function when you walk through the door.

"hi puppy," you whisper.

seungmin blinks, rubs his eyes, then blinks again. has he missed you so much he's hallucinating?

"surprise~" minho sings, shaking seungmin back to the present.

hyunjin and jeongin emerge from the adjacent rooms, grinning ear to ear, but seungmin doesn't notice. his gaze is fixed on you.

"y/n?" it feels like so long since he last spoke your name, though he whispered it to himself every night since he left for tour. he stands up, inching towards you.

"yes," you laugh softly. "it's me."

you step forward, taking ahold of seungmin's hand. a wave of relief shoots through him at the reality of your touch.

he grapples with a coherent sentence. "how...? i—what are you doing here?"

"couldn't let you have all the fun now, could i?" you turn to smile at his roommates, whose presence finally registers for seungmin.

"you were so quiet. quieter than usual," hyunjin explains. "we could tell you weren't going to enjoy the trip. so we talked to chan hyung and he arranged it with the company."

seungmin blinks, the tears in his eyes hot and resistant, and minho doesn't miss the gratitude in his gaze as he ushers the other boys towards the door.

"anyway, we're going to dinner now. let's talk later."

"you can join us tomorrow, hyung." jeongin sends him a wave.

with cheeky smiles, they grab their coats and disappear out into the evening, leaving you both alone in the house.

☾ ･*˚⁺‧͙ :-゜・．

"you're here," he says quietly, as if still unsure.

"i am," you affirm. dropping your bag, you do what you've longed to since you last said goodbye at the airport.

he feels something within himself collapse at the sensation of your arms around him, burying his head into the side of your neck.

the relief escapes him in muffled sobs, soft gasps that prick your heart and eyes, threatening to push you to the same.

"it's okay, puppy." you struggle to keep the waver from your voice. "i missed you too. so, so much."

you feel seungmin nod, tightening his arms around you – afraid to let go, to not be close to you.

you brush a hand through his hair, sweeping the bangs aside so you can glimpse his face. he looks back at you with red-rimmed eyes, full of fear and love.

you can't help but let a tear slip. "i'm not going anywhere."

.・゜-: ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾　✧　☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙ :-゜・．

after your shower, you wander into the kitchen to find seungmin standing over the stove, stirring the contents of the pan.

"hey." you wrap your arms around him from behind. "you didn't have to cook."

seungmin shakes his head. "it's nothing fancy. we had the leftovers for kimchi fried rice."

you take in the scent of the food. "smells good."

after a beat, you pull away to help him dish it up and set the plates on the table.

it's a quiet, intimate dinner, just the two of you; you hardly speak, holding hands across the table as you eat, drinking in each other's presence. you smile at seungmin, rubbing your thumb over his knuckle, and give his hand a soft squeeze.

he's the first one to break the comforting silence. "i don't want you to leave."

you give him a soft smile. "don't worry, i only just got here."

seungmin shakes his head, expression solemn. "no...i meant ever."

your heart caves a little at that, and you try to suppress the lovesick look on your face. "so don't let me."

suddenly, seungmin retracts his hand from yours and stands up. at a loss, you follow, reaching for his arm.

"seung—?"

your call of his name falls short as he turns toward you and brings you close by your elbows. you can't place the look in his eyes and your heart stammers in confusion.

"y/n." the intensity in his gaze only amplifies the fear-studded rhythm of your heart. "i was being serious."

"min–?"

"i realised today just how lost i feel when you're not with me. i'd always been fine on my own, but now i constantly catch myself missing something – missing you – and it scares me so much."

you're scaring me, you want to say, but all you can do is stand there, eyes locked to his, as you attempt to tame the tremor creeping into your hands.

"i don't think i can take being apart anymore," seungmin finally says. he lets go of you and your heart drops. before your body can decide whether to laugh or cry in shock, seungmin falls to one knee.

"y/n, this isn't how i planned to ask you, but you're right – i won't let you go.

"the thought of losing you scares me because you are my best friend, my comfort, my home. please stay by my side forever...the only eternity i want to believe in is one with you."

you feel faint, and the decision your body tried to make earlier turns out to be a combination of the two.

tears are slipping down your face as seungmin asks, "will you marry me?"

somewhere amid the free flow of your emotions, you remember to nod, and seungmin engulfs you in a tight embrace. you are crying in the crook of his neck and he is whispering reassurances you can barely make out. when you manage to stop yourself from shaking, you pull back just enough to thump him on the chest.

"yah, kim seungmin!" you hiccup. "why'd you scare me like that?"

his eyes are watery too, but from a joyful overwhelm. he smiles his infuriatingly endearing puppy smile, teeth and all. "what do you mean?"

you give him one more thump for good measure and he laughs, then so do you. "i thought you were going to break up with me."

he laughs again, this time more akin to the menace you are used to. "what? you pabo." he knocks his forehead to yours gently.

"you're the pabo here," you murmur, keeping your foreheads pressed together.

"sorry if i scared you...i guess i was just nervous." his tone is soft, thoughtful. "i meant what i said, i don't ever want to lose you. and i know this isn't perfect but—"

"it is." you lean in and brush his lips with your words. "i love you, kim seungmin. i want nothing more than to spend forever with you."

he kisses you deeply, slipping in an 'i love you' and the ring from his pocket onto your finger.

you and the boys would have a lot to talk about once they returned from dinner.

~

© softiejoon | send me feedback | support me here

[iichfilwypj]

does he love me or not? | percy jackson

ღ percy jackson x demigod! reader ღ warnings: sex implications but nothing too freaky this is rushed cause i have to leave in half an hour AND I AM NOT READY ღ wc: 480

Sitting on the ground, her back nestled against the tree trunk, she felt the flickering warmth of the firelight on her face in the night’s windy embrace. The children of Apollo sang a lovely tune, harmonizing with the nymphs and the rest of the campers.

Her attention was drawn to a daisy on the ground, and she found herself carefully pulling it from the soil. She held a petal gently, feeling its fragile softness. 

“He loves me.” 

Slowly, she picked another petal. 

“He loves me not.”

As the campers conversed, the music flowed through the air and the fire crackled softly in the night. She kept plucking each petal from the flower, her fingers gentle, until just one was left.

“He loves me no-” Just as she reached for the last petal, a hand took hold of the flower and tossed it into the flames. Shocked, she glanced down at her lap, where her boyfriend was resting his head and giving her a mischievous smile. “Percy!”

“What? It was lying!” He reached for another flower, handed it to her, and laid his head back down on her lap. With an eye roll and a slight mess on his hair, she repeated the game, starting one more time. 

After a bit, Percy, eyes closed in contentment, opened one as his girlfriend’s laughter filled the air, unable to ignore the sound.

“He loves me not-” He stood, settled next to her, and swiped the flower from her hand as she kept laughing. Tossing it toward the campers behind them, he turned to face her.

“Something is wrong with these flowers, let me give you another one” But when he reached for another, the cries and complaints from the children of Demeter suddenly filled the air, cutting through the calm of the campfire. With a sigh, Percy leaned back against the trunk, both hands raised in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, Jesus. I won’t!”

Though his girlfriend’s laughter echoed around them, Percy refrained from joining in. Instead, he moved closer, resting his head on her neck, whispering softly.

“You know that I do love you, right? Very, very much”

Her giggles faded, tapping her chin as if deep in thought. “Mhm, I don’t know.” Percy exaggerated his surprise, letting out a small 'oh?' and tilting his head. “Well, the flowers told me a different thing. Twice.”

“I guess I’ll have to show you myself how much I love-” But just as he leaned in to kiss her neck, a loud gagging noise cut through the moment. Looking up, they saw Annabeth pretending to be disgusted, her hand on her mouth.

“Gross, gross, gross.” 

“Hey, I was just going to hug her!” His girlfriend shot him a questioning look, arching an eyebrow, and Percy nudged her shoulder before turning to Annabeth. “Oh, c’mon. You're jealous because you’ve got no one!”

“Sure, seaweed brain. Whatever floats your boat, pervy.” 

“I was just gonna hug her!”

i was listening to 'Mucho, Poquito o Nada' de Margarita and this came to my mind. It's so silly but i like it!

[crguang]

violinist kafka x her pianist accompaniment reader, courtesy of my 🎹 anon and @shalomniscient’s beautiful brain <3 we’ve been going crazy over this AU since i received the ask today.

R and kafka are childhood best friends who have been playing together since their respective instructors discovered their potential and made them work together on a piece, very much young prodigies in the making who do nothing but hone their skills with the dream of becoming the best in their field. one day, when they’re around 16 years old, R moves away. this bus ride is the last memory kafka holds of them together and she remembers it viscerally whenever she brings an especially complex composition to life, which eventually becomes the source of her recognition and success. this is a goodbye she only understands once she’s lost them.

607. i miss you.

//

You held her hand that early evening on the way to the bus stop on the corner street four minutes from the music academy; your pinky finger loosely looped with hers and in the chill of February, she could feel the rough material of your knitted glove against her own, the one gifted to you by an aunt she doesn’t remember the name of. Fingertips linked like an implicit promise, she spared you a questioning glance at the unusual gesture and you avoided her gaze, making a show of scrolling through a playlist on your MP3 player with your free hand. She thinks of it as holding hands now, because despite your palms not touching at the time, your bodies were connected through that fragile bridge between your fingers and your hands swayed in the air with your unhurried steps. Each of her exhales were made visible by the cold while you kept yours within the confines of the scarf around your neck, you always despised the drop in temperature. Even with the bottom half of your head hidden by the soft fabric, she could read the reservation on the lines of your face. You were keeping something in and it was obvious to her who had known you since that Wednesday you sat in her every-day rehearsal room, patiently waiting with her violin instructor and a faraway look in your eyes. Back then, it had been eight years. Perhaps that isn’t accurate, she has known you a total of eight years up to the present day. That is the only constant between you, whoever you are today she does not know.

Kafka chuckles lowly to herself, a self-deprecating sound. After all this time, she still needs this moment of reminiscence before she dares put the bow to her violin’s sacred strings. If this is what puts her in the state of mind necessary to perform this composition flawlessly, so be it. She inhales long and slow, then exhales quietly through her mouth. She raises her right hand and in one controlled motion, slides the bow over the first note of her instrument. 

The 607 bus was half empty when you stepped on it first. You paid the bus fare and she followed you to the back after doing the same. You took the seat next to a window tainted with water streaks and silently took the violin case from her hands to lay part of it on your thigh, the other half rested on her leg the entire ride home, its small weight shared like the rest of your burdens. She took the earphone you handed her and pressed a little closer to you to see what you were showing her on your MP3. The bus started moving a second later. 

“I don’t want something too loud this time,” you said, scrolling down the music app where you’d created playlists for each other a year prior. 

“Lame.”

“You chose the playlist yesterday, you don’t get to complain. This one is nice.”

You pressed play on a slow song and lifted your head to meet her eyes expectantly as the first melodies reached her ear. She conceded with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. You smiled, a soft edge to it, and didn’t tear your gaze from hers for a moment that Kafka now wonders if it lasted seconds or minutes. You looked into her eyes, searching for something she didn’t have the guts to confess, and she looked back at you with the words on her lips. They were often there, sitting just past her lips like they’d fly out of her mouth the instant she opened it, but she found that they were anchored to her tongue and had no plan to leave the warmth of their comfort zone. Her eyebrows twitched in question for the second time that hour, an unsure smile on her face in response to your stare.

“What?”

Her attempt to glimpse into your mind broke the suspended moment. You shook your head somewhat ruefully.

“Nothing.”

You lowered your MP3 and followed the movement with your eyes, avoiding hers once again. She could see something brewing inside of you since that morning, guilt you couldn’t admit to her, maybe, but she didn’t push thinking you would speak up eventually. Instead, she playfully nudged your side with an elbow.

“Practice used up your last brain cells or what?”

“Ha, ha. Like you weren’t the one struggling to keep up with the tempo.”

“Try again, maybe the next lie will be more convincing.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot Kafka The Prodigy could never make a mistake, ever. I’m only the accompaniment, what would I know?”

“That’s more like it.”

You lifted your eyes to the sky, but the smile that replaced the weird one you were previously giving her was much more brilliant. You glanced at her, then turned your head to the window. An older couple were quietly chatting to themselves a few rows to the left in front of you, their heads leaning against each other, and she spent a minute looking at them while the next song played in your earphones. With the music, it was impossible to catch what one was saying to the other, but that didn’t matter. Their bodies were pressed together like yours with hers, as if huddling for warmth, and the woman was talking with her hands the way you would when you were passionate about a new album you just discovered. She didn’t notice it then, that she was looking for you in others even as you sat next to her. Her world was so small; you and music, music and you, and those hours where the two were one and the same. 

To this day, you are the music she plays. Your harmonious smiles and dulcet voice, they are all within the melodies she borrows from other composers and in a sense, you are always on stage next to her during a performance. In the practice room, Kafka furrows her brows. She feels it mounting in her, that feeling that makes her great, akin to a pulsing heart ascending to her throat until it lodges itself between her vocal chords and she lets the violin speak for her. The climax approaches steadily, she knows that part like the back of her hand. 

She lost interest in the talking couple. You were still looking outside the window at the swaying tree branches and passing cars, and she wondered what was so interesting out there that you couldn’t look at her. She watched your eyelids droop, though you stayed awake and kept staring at the world beyond the two of you. The song in her ear had a bass that followed her heartbeat. It wasn't sad, but you were. Streetlights had come on to balance out the rapidly vanishing sunlight and each one illuminated your features in fleeting rays of yellow, your eyes were hazy and your lips no longer smiling for her, and strands of hair brushed your temple whenever you adjusted your head on the glass. She followed the smooth lines of your brows down to the bridge of your nose, then to the curve of your upper lip. On her lap, her fingers twitched and curled into a loose fist. Her gaze went unnoticed, you were entirely enticed by the world beyond her reach and she was enthralled by the sadness on your face that added years to your current age of merely sixteen. You knew something she didn’t, she was sure of it, but no sound came out of her mouth after she parted her lips to ask. You swallowed, and her eyes flitted to the lump in your throat before settling back on your fluttering lashes. She suddenly perceived a distance between you that made her deeply uncomfortable and that feeling sat on her chest until your bus stop approached and you finally straightened up to look back at her. You smiled weakly, and Kafka spent years regretting not saying anything as you hesitantly patted her closed fist and placed the violin case on her thighs so you could prepare to stand, ringing the bell to announce your stop. She searched your eyes and found nothing but apologies. 

“Playing with you makes me so happy,” you said out of the blue, holding up her stare intently. “You’re really great.”

“I know,” she replied lamely, half-jokingly, “but I like hearing you say it.”

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound weak and breathless. It made her smile nonetheless. 

“You’re gonna be so great, and I’m gonna be great, and we’re gonna be great together. We’ll perform on stage just like we talked about, and in ten years, we’ll be the best in our field.”

“It’ll take me less than ten years. But I’ll wait for you to catch up.”

You gazed at her for the half minute it took for the bus to pull over, searing her playful cockiness into your mind, then you stood and she moved her legs out of the way for you to reach the aisle. 

“Bye, Kafka.”

“See you M…” Her goodbye was interrupted by the soft press of your lips on her cheek, a quick gesture before you rapidly turned away from her and walked out of the bus. “...Monday,” she muttered in confusion. 

She turned to the window as the bus started up again and you waved at her with enthusiasm that felt out of place. Still, she made a disgusted face that made you smile wider, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue like she was going to puke from the uncharacteristic display of affection. Your figure got smaller and smaller, and she lifted a hand to her cheek to wipe the skin where your lips had been.

The piece is coming to an end. The hardest part has passed and all that is left is a clean finish that Kafka executes perfectly. The final note rings out in the empty room. Her head hangs low for a moment, eyes shut and exhaling slowly through her mouth. She is great and she’ll perform on stage in two weeks. She is not the best, not yet, she’s missing the soothing notes of piano keys to accompany her violin. Kafka chuckles to herself, the irony of this thought is laughable. She smiles, raises her head, and starts the piece from the top. 

[deaddog-angel]

Something kinda funny about my dom side, is I struggle with being a soft dom. I want to, sometimes, but the second I get someone submitting in my hands my brain goes into overdrive and I get super primal. Some mix of "I can't control myself and I just need you so severely" and "I want to see how loud I can get you to be". Apologizing for overstimming/bitting/fucking them too hard is somewhat common place. Doesn't help that I'm also a massive sadist when I get going 😅😘

[revelboo]

I love your writing and I love that you’re having fun with it even more! It baffles me how good you are with coming up with different dynamics for each of your storylines and they all work so well. My favorite has to be tfp megs. Maybe it’s a guilty pleasure but something about the fake hating or the taboo codependency really scratches a specific itch on my brain.

I know it’s a very satisfying dynamic to write. This one is a bit earlier than I’d planned, but I wanted to get it down while it was in my head.

And you guys crack me up sometimes. I’ve seen one of y’all call Optimus ‘Pee Paw’ in reblog tags and now TFP Megs is ‘Space Crack Grandpa.’

Broken Arrow Pt 9

TFP Megatron x Reader

• You’re frozen against him, body arching into his where his denta are gripping you. He’s shocked you so badly you don’t know how to respond apparently. There’s a faint unease at your stillness, that maybe he finally pushed a bit too hard. It’s only when he bites just a tiny bit harder that you snap out of it and smack a palm against the side of his helm. “Get off, you jerk. Who bites someone?” And there’s the anger he enjoys so much. Laughing again as you try to shove his head away and he lets you, aware of your soft, warm hands gripping his helm, your face red and furious.

• And he’s laughing again, so messed up he finds your frustration hilarious as you keep your grip on his helm to keep him from trying to bite you again. That bare prick of his denta on you had broken through the shock of the not entirely unpleasant feel of that bite. “You shouldn’t do that crap,” you mutter, trying to maintain that frustrated anger, but worry creeping in to your tone. “At this rate, the Autobots won’t have to do anything. You’re so messed up, you’ll probably fall out of the ship and do it for them.”

• Those hands are unbelievably soft on him, fingers gripping his helm to try and keep his face out of biting range as you scowl up at him. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” he asks, grinning as he catches one of your wrists and feels you immediately try to tug loose as he considers nipping those little fingers. Wanting to just because he can, just to feel you shudder against him again.

• Trying to get your hand back, you plant the other one in the center of his chest. “Don’t flatter yourself,”you mutter. “I’d shove you myself if I could.” He’s not letting go, but there’s a new, calculating gleam in his optics that makes your skin prickle all over. Because on that stuff? There’s no telling where his processor just went or what he might do. Like rasp the claws of his other hand down his chest, those armor panels shifting to reveal something pulsing with light, something alive that pulls at you and you realize it’s his bare spark. ‘That’s how you end a Cybertronian,’ his words come back to you and you suddenly want loose. Want him to close those panels up, because seeing this is uncomfortably intimate. “Cut it out.”

• “Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart, pet?” Servos tightening on your wrist to force your hand closer to his spark, you suck in a sharp breath and try to lean away, eyes widening in alarm. “Don’t you still want to end me?” Knows he should stop, let go. Because you’re not playing along, there’s something very much like real panic in your eyes as you struggle against him, then shudder violently when his spark reacts. Reaching out a tendril of energy to meet your shaking fingers and now he’s frozen.

• Warmth spins through you at that contact, you can feel him as those tendrils of spark energy curl about your fingers. And you’re not fighting to get away anymore, you’re surrendering to that feeling of falling into him like plunging into deep, still waters that are churning violently just under the surface. Fractured sensations and memories spin you about, too chaotic and alive for you make any sense of. Just knowing that this is him, all of him. Drowning in him, feeling your heart struggling, missing beats. Hurting.

• That contact runs electric through him until he’s jerking you closer to strengthen it without even thinking. He’d only meant to make you angry, to provoke you, but as awareness washes over him in a warm fall like summer rain, he’s suddenly painfully sober. You’re only a human, but he can sense something there that’s not a spark, but close. Something even more achingly fragile than you are as your head falls forward against his shoulder and he can’t move even though he needs to break that contact, shove you away to save himself. You’re just a sparkless organic. And what he feels isn’t a spark, but something that might as well be one entangling with him, slipping soft as a sigh through him as his servos tighten against you. Realizing just how bad a mistake he’d just made.

Previous

[rememberwren]

Alright round two!! Kyle playing darts and doing absolute ass, to humor the pretty little bird. And asking if he makes the next one he would buy you a drink, next thing you know he's planted the next three darts bang on. "Guess we got some drinks to grab, ey dove?"

(Not quite what you asked for, but once the concept was in my brain, I was stuck on it. Sorry!)

-

“Can I tell you something?” Kyle says, leaning both elbows on the table. Your drinks sit between you, sweating from being ignored while the two of you were lost in conversation.

You lean in to match him. “A secret, I hope.”

“A terrible one,” he says with a sly grin, adjusting the ball cap on his head. He bites at his lip, a gesture you weren’t sure people even made in real life. It only emphasizes how soft his mouth looks, so kissable. The nearly hour-long game of darts the two of you had played before you finally won would be worth it if you managed to get that kiss before the end of the night. “I threw that game of darts. I just really wanted to buy you a drink.”

Your mouth twitches. You fiddle with the rim of your glass, fingertips drawing shapes in condensation as you carefully ask, “You want to know my secret?”

His face drops. “No. No actually, I think I can see where—“

“I was trying to throw that darts game so you wouldn’t get angry and kill me.”

“I—“ he blinks. “Are you serious right now?”

“Some guys don’t like losing to a woman,” you say defensively. You flick water at him off your fingertips. “No wonder the game took so long. I thought you were just really bad at darts.”

“I’m really good at darts,” he confides lowly. Your foreheads are a handful of inches apart. “I also don’t kill women.”

“I’m really good at darts,” you whisper slyly.

“Notice you didn’t say anything about killing men.”

“Scared, Kyle?”

His chair screeches against the hardwood as he pushes back from the table, eyes already scanning for a free dartboard. “Only one way to settle this. Loser buys the next round?”

“Can you afford it?” you ask benignly.

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Chapter 7: The end of beginnings

genre: angst, fluff, a lot of introspection

word count: 9743 (MY GOD IT'S A LONGER CHAPTER)

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: you and spencer finally give into the tension that's been growing between you, but what happens now?

a muted shade of green masterlist

previous chapter // next chapter

This chapter I'm dedicating to @chicaconfundidaycuriosa who makes my day with her hypothesis in the comments <3 thank you all for your support throughout this series!

“You do it.” 

“No!” You gasp, shaking your head so fast you feel like your brain is shaking too. “You do it!” 

“Your entire job is about people, you do it.” He insists, gently nudging you forward, but you don’t bulge. “Y/N, come on, it’s not that scary!”

“I’m not scared, I just hate talking on the phone! You wouldn’t know what’s that like, since you barely use yours.” 

“And now you’re diverging,” He giggles, pushing the phone over the counter to you once again. 

It has been almost thirty minutes of this and that is not really how you imagine spending your morning after all that had happened last night. For a moment there, Spencer’s voice fades to the background and all you can focus on are those beautiful, pink lips. Now that you know how they feel– the perfect balance of chapped roughness and natural softness; not now that you know how he tastes, something so naturally Spencer and minty toothpaste; not now that you know how he sounds when he whispers for more, more more. Not now, not ever.

Took you both some time to come down from the absolute high of acting like teenagers. What had started like a sweet, slow kiss, quickly turned into what teenagers would refer to ‘making out’, and suddenly you two were a little hurricane of hands, lips, and tangles bodies trying to make it to the room. The feeling of his hands on your waist, tugging you closer, pushing you down– “Y/N?”

Your cheeks explode in a fiery red shade when you realise he’s caught you daydreaming. 

Again. 

“Yeah?” Shaking your head slightly, look down at the phone being pushed between you two. 

“Are you going to call her?” 

To be fair, you haven’t really explained everything to him considering how… distracted… you were last night. And then this morning. And even now, mind going not so far away from the kitchen to the room, where absolutely nothing had happened last night. Absolutely. Nothing. Frustration settled after a while, a thrumming hum in the back of your head that never really let you fall asleep. It was only natural that after so long craving this, you had been excited at the thought of finally letting it happen, of allowing yourself to enjoy a moment that had meant as much in your dreams as it did in real life… but then you two made it to the bed. And you laid down. And suddenly, the underlying need behind every push and pull of his perfect lips against yours started to fade, and his hands that explored your body oh so eagerly started to slow down, and before you could say anything, he was backtracking to forehead kisses and getting up to brush his teeth. 

Like it had been just another day. 

Just another kiss. 

“I don’t want to,” You whisper back, eyes wide in a vulnerable state that has nothing to do with Abigail or the fact that you are about to hire her to take care of your store. 

This is not even about last night.

This is about this morning. 

This is about the fact that when you woke up, he wasn’t there. His side of the bed was tussled, and the pillows were thrown around, but Spencer was missing. For a moment, your heart sinks. You scramble around the bed, feeling out his side, searching for something, anything, that would give into your dwindling hope of last night not having been a dream, because god knows how many dreams you’ve had of him. But then you hear it, the sound of the shower running and the light humming of a man who has not a single musical bone in his body, and you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

Then it downs on you. It wasn’t a dream. Spencer kissed you last night, that’s a fact. And now he’s about to come out of the bathroom and you refuse to let the first thing he sees, on such a special morning, be this messy hair, panicked face version of yourself. The way you roll out of bed, rushed to the point of tripping on the blankets and falling on your knees with a hiss, is enough to have you laughing at yourself. Your cheeks blush when you think of facing him so early in the day and despite the excitement of it all, you are nervous. What will he say? What will he do?

Making breakfast seems like a great way to ease your overthinking mind of any incoming anxieties, and it’s a simple matter of action and reaction. 

Action, breaking the eggs over the hot pan. Reaction, frying some eggs. Action, putting the bread in the toaster. Reaction, getting some toast to eat with your eggs. Action–

“Good morning.” Action, Spencer comes out of the shower.

“Good morning,” You call back, looking down at the pan with such an obsessions you barely notice him stopping behind you. 

You do notice his hands landing on your waist, though, and when he turns you around, you can smell the fresh scent of his minty soap he loves so much. His smile calms you a little, and he leans forward, coming down, down, down… until his lips touch your forehead. “Slept well?” He mumbles, reaching behind you for a toast and then walking away to grab his bag from wherever he hid it. Blinking, you can’t even answer his question. Is he fucking teasing you or is he serious? 

Safe to say, you don’t really speak up then nor later, and that’s how you two end up where you are, sitting in front of each other in a stupid battle over who calls who. 

“Why don’t you want to call her?”

Eyes cast down, almost in shame, you shrug. “I…” How do you explain it to him without sounding crazy? “I don’t know, Spence. She makes me feel… weird. Like she knows something I don’t.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” His nice words can’t hide the smile on his face. “It’s just change. And you’re human, Y/N, which means you naturally don’t like change. But it’s okay, I promise. You already asked Garcia to dig as deep as she could and nothing came up as suspicious. You also refuse to entertain the idea of hiring your second choice because you said, and I quote, ‘he grabbed a book with greasy hands.’ So, this is pretty much the only option you have.” 

Great. Instead of a kiss that you crave, you get the dose of reality check you deserve. “Thank you, Spencer,” You grumble, the irony of your words not missing the spot when his smile falters. You grab the phone to dealing the number you’ve been avoiding for so long, but you stop before pressing call. “Fuck.” 

“Y/N–“ The magic of last night is gone when his phone rings and you know he has to go. 

“Go,” You whisper, patting his shoulder with dejection. At this point, the morning is ruined and, to be very honest, he is partially at fault. 

A kiss is not something you would consider casual. You know a lot of people do, and that’s okay; you don’t mind about how other people live their lives. You do, however, care about what Spencer thinks and does, and in your books, kissing you and then ignoring it the next day is simply not acceptable. But then you sit with it for a while, and your brain starts whirring up. Usually, when you open your eyes, the sun is barely up and Spencer’s breathing is regular enough to keep your head going up and down, up and down, up and down. The more you two cuddle, the more you realise you love the sound of his heartbeat– you were yet to see him hurt, but you’ve heard enough stories from past cases that now, whenever you got that little extra confirmation that he is okay, you feel a sense of relief that you can’t really explain. Yet, that morning, when you finally make sense of what the fuck was happening without the your usual warm body next to you, you don’t feel relief. You don’t feel anything, to be very honest, because for a moment, your blood turns cold at the idea that Spencer might have woken up and regretted it all. 

“I feel like I shouldn’t,” He frown, cocking his head to the side in that way that makes you think he’s about to tell you something about yourself that you’ve never asked. “Y/N–“ “Go to work, Spencer,” You repeat yourself before pressing ‘call’. The phone in your ear is enough to keep him from trying to chase you. “Abigail? Hi! This is Y/N, from the bookstore… Yes. Yes, and from the uh, from the building. I’m calling with good news– you seem like the perfect person for the position. You– oh, no, no, it’s okay, you don’t have to bring me anything, it’s fine!”

This is the last thing you need– Abigail and her nosy nature. “What’s going on?” Spencer I next to you and his mouth is so close to your ear you shiver a little when he speaks. 

“Abigail, please, I’m about to go out and– oh, no, my… Spence is going to work. Thank you for offering to bake a cake but I’ll just se you at work, okay? Alright. Yeah, okay, thank you! I’ll be sending you a follow up email with all the information for next steps. Thank you! Have a good day! Bye!”

“Y/N, did Abigail do something to make you uncomfortable?” His hands on your shoulder that hold you at arms length are starting to annoy you. Now he didn’t even want you close? There is more to it and you know it. Above all, you’re not completely illogical, but your brain is working overtime and your heart is hurting, and now every little thing Spencer does will be an issue. 

Fed up with it all, you stomp your feet and walk away. “Go to work, Doctor Reid!” The impetuous way you huff as you turn around and slam the door of his room shut has him gasping, and you can hear if from where you stand, embarrassed by yourself and your ridiculous, childish behaviour. Still, you refuse to go back out there until you’re sure you’ve heard the door closing behind him. 

“Fuck me,” You mutter after you sit there in your own silence. The apartment doesn’t feel the same as it used to anymore. It’s not a matter of coming in and watering his plants anymore. You don’t just walk around looking for clues from the scattered books in his apartment anymore. You actually know things now. You know parts of his life that he had to tell you, parts that you didn’t have to guess, and it actually felt good— he was opening up out of his own volition and now you’ve ruined everything. Maybe you got greedy. Maybe you got greedy for his welcoming arms and whispered pet names. Maybe it all felt too good, and, just like Icarus, you might have flown too close to the sun, and now you are falling, wings melted and ruined. 

Before you know it, you’re already dialling your mom’s number. 

“Mom?” You are sitting on the floor, legs pulled to your chest with a ridiculous pout on your lips, and from the way she laughs on the other side of the line, you think she can hear it. 

“Well, look who it is,” She teases. It’s easy to picture her face when she says that. You two have made a dance out of it, this whole loving sarcasm thing, and she always go first. Naturally, you just follow her lead. “My daughter who forgot I exist.”

“Aw,” You smile, shaking your head in amusement. “Is this my mother? The one who knows how pick up the phone and dial my number if she wants to talk to me?”

You two laugh for a while before she speaks again. “I’m serious, sweetheart, I’ve missed you. I haven’t seen your face in a while and… and your dad misses you too, you know?” The slight sniffle on the other side of the line breaks your heart a little. 

“I miss him too,” You whisper, voice a bit too soft for her not to notice. 

“Y/N, is something wrong? Did something happen?” It’s no surprise your mom panics quickly when it comes to you, specially after everything that happened in New York. “Is it Josh? Did he find you?” 

God, how it hurts that she even has to worry about that. “No, no, it’s not Josh, it’s…” You are yet to tell her about Spencer. And not in the context of this entire situation with Cat, but about Spencer as the wonderful human he is. About his quirks and his love for books and his chess addiction and… and the fact that he has your heart in the palm of his hands and you’re scared. You’re so scared. “I met someone.” 

Her gasp has your eyes shutting– it’s so nostalgic, that noise of motherly surprise, that you can’t help but bask in it. Growing up, you had always been very close to your mother, enjoying days out together on Sundays and always trusting her to keep your secrets safe from the world. She was your biggest fan, too; supported you on everything you did, cheered from you from the sidelines of every game you wanted to try, helped you convince your dad to let you go to parties you never enjoyed. Never had she unfairly punished you, never had she betrayed your trust, never had she treated you with anything but love and pride. Hiding things from her is hard, possibly one of the hardest things you have ever done, and you hate how easy it’s becoming to deflect her questions and ignore her comments, because truly, all you want to do on days like this, where your heart hurts and your spirits dwindle, is to go to her and cry. Is that too much to ask? 

“Tell me about this person,” She immediately shuffles around and you picture her in the same living room you’ve grown up reading book after book. If you have to guess, she has her usual coffee mug next to her, an addiction you blame her for passing onto you, and she’ll throw the old knitted blanket she’s so proud of making over her legs.

“Well, his name is Spencer–“

“Spencer is a good name!” She whispers to herself and you smile. 

“It is,” You agree, stretching your legs in front of you and wiggling your toes, glad to be distracted by anything and everything that gets your mind off of last night. “He is a good guy. My favourite customer, actually. That’s uh, that’s how we met.” 

“At the store? That is adorable!” 

“Yeah, he reads… a lot,” That is the understatement of the century. “He was my first client when I opened up, and we kind of became friends and gotten closer. Then I kind of, uh, started apartment sitting for him, whenever he was away at work and we just–“

“Oh, what’s the apartment like?” 

“It’s… beautiful,” You mumble, looking around with a small smile playing on your lips. “The walls are this pretty shade of green and it’s really cozy? Books all around. I like it here.” 

“Here?” Oh no. “Wait, are you at his house right now?” 

“Yeah,” You mumble, picking the lose threads on the socks you borrowed, one blue and the other purple with polkadots. For the life of you, you couldn’t find matching pairs in his sock drawer. “I’ve been here a lot, lately.” 

“Is he out of town?” 

“No.” The silence that follows speaks volume, and for the first time ever, you realise that your mom might not be just worried. She scared, too; for the daughter she saw so happy one day and then moving cities the next. “Mom?” 

“I– I’m happy for you, sweetie,” Her words are kind, but the edge of hesitation is there. “And you’re not going too fast, right? You said you’ve known him since you opened the store, so that’s a year and something, and–“

The assumption that you are repeating the same mistake you’ve make with Josh annoys you. You’re not the same person you used to be, you’re not like that anymore– needy and blinded by love and all the shinny things it brought you. You’ve come a long way since then, and you know your mother recognises that, you do but… but you’re still embarrassed. Embarrassed about who you were. About who you loved. It’s a bit ridiculous, how whenever one of your parents bring him up, you immediately raise your defences, walls coming up so high you can’t even see over the green field of life that awaits you on the other side. 

“Mom,” You wince when your voice comes out a bit too harsh. “Sorry. Mom, I’m fine. We’re… nothing. I’m here because… because a pipe burst in my apartment and he was kind enough to let me stay at his place.” 

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I’m glad you have someone to help you out when we’re so far away.”

“I wish you guys were here,” You whisper, slowly getting up to move to the living room. You immediately sit down in the armchair, grabbing your blanket and covering yourself. If you couldn’t hug your mom, this would have to do. “You’d love him.” 

“Yeah? Is he handsome?”

“So handsome,” You giggle, and it’s an instinct, looking to the side table in search of that familiar frame of Spence and his team at a fancy dinner. You love his smile when he’s happy, so wide and taut that it almost looks like he has too much emotion in proportion to his body. “And he’s so kind, mom. He’s kind, and gentle, and oh so smart. A genius, really.”

“Of course he has to be a genius to keep up with you and the hundreds of books you read in a year,” Her reply is comical when you think about it. The idea of Spencer having trouble keeping up with you, and not the other way around, makes you laugh. “So why do you sound so sad, if he’s such a great guy? He’s treating you good, right?”

“He treats me amazingly, it’s just that… we kissed last night.” 

“And it was bad?” Her teasing makes your shoulder relax enough until you are melting onto the chair. “That’s why you’re sad?”

“Mom! No!” Cringing, you hug the throw pillow closer. “It was great. Amazing, even! It’s just that it was our first kiss and then this morning he just… didn’t do it again.” 

“Oooohhh, I see what’s going on,” She chuckles. “You expected him to talk about this and he didn’t, did he?”

“How do you know?” 

“Because you dad was the same way–“

“Oh gross, no, no, no!” You refuse to fall onto this freudian trap. “I’m not dating my dad!” 

“Wait, so you guys are dating? Is this you telling me you have a boyfriend?!”

“No!” Groaning, you know you’re between a rock and a hard place. There is no escape anymore, and you have to come clean. “I don’t know! We kissed, but then he didn’t talk about it this morning and he just left like nothing happened, and and– and yesterday, he didn’t even say he likes me! I’m too old to be on this whole will-they-won’t-they thing, mom! I need verbal confirmation!” 

“Well, have you asked him? Or told him how you feel? Or tried to start a conversation?” 

Squinting at the phone, you huff, incredulous at her insinuation. Her correct insinuation. “Mother! Whose side are you on?”

“Always yours,” Your mother laughs. “Which is why I’m saying talk to him. If he won’t start the conversation, do it yourself. I raised an independent young woman, and this is the perfect time to prove it.” 

You wait a second before sighing. “I’m scared.”

“Of what, sweetie?” 

“Of everything. Of what happened before. Of it happening again.”

“Y/N,” Your mother say and suddenly you think you’re about to get scolded through the phone. “You can’t be afraid of your future because of one mistake you made in the past, sweetheart. I– I’m sorry we didn’t notice. I’m your mother, I should’ve noticed, I should’ve said something, and I’m never going to make that mistake ever again. So I’m saying something now. You haven’t sounded this excited about pretty much anything in a while. You… You sound like how you used to be. But better.” 

“Mom,” There is no one to witness the way your lower lip trembles at her words. Back then, you thought you were doing a good job keeping your parents safe from it all– you thought you were good at hiding the tiredness with makeup and the miserable tone of your voice with sweet high pitched laughter. None of your parents ever talked about what was happening, either. They didn’t ask questions like how your mom does now; they didn’t see past the beautiful necklaces, the pretty dresses, and the important parties. They were blinded, much like you were, with the fake promises of a happiness that never came. And now here you are, scared out of your mind to jump into this again, and yet, everything fades away when your mom guarantees you she’ll never let this happen again. As grown as you are, nothing reassures you more than your mom– your biggest fan and your biggest protector. 

“I’m scared too,” She whispers, like she’s telling you her biggest secret. “I’m scared my baby will hurt again and I won’t be there to help. I’m scared I’ll never be able to visit. I’m scared about a lot of things when it comes to you, sweetie. But I prefer to focus on the silver linings.”

Ah. So that’s where you get if from. “And what are the silver linings here?” 

“You being you,” It’s as simple as that for her. “And that’s all I really want.” 

For about an hour, you two stay on the phone, chitchatting about the randomise things. It’s no secret that you miss New York– the bustle of people, the endless lights, the pollution and its grey hue in the air. God, you miss it a lot, but what you miss the most is the ease of everything. Moving around is quick, whatever you need you just need to turn the corner and a deli will surely have it, and, above all, whenever you want to see your mom and dad, all you have to do is take the express from the Upper east side down to Midtown and you’re there. You’re at the same small apartment you grew up in, the same brick walls, the same loud neighbours, hell, even your room still looked the same as you left it! But that’s not what you need right now, even though you would love to see your old room with such new eyes… what you need is that feeling of warmth spreading through your chest when it dawns on you that you are home.

“Mom, I have to go,” You finally say. “But let’s talk more often, okay? I miss you and dad a lot.” 

“We miss you too, sweetie. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” Hanging up the phone is harder than you expected it to be, but you don’t have a lot of time to suffer in silence. 

Spencer is a man who naturally avoids all forms of technology. He is not the biggest fan of computers and cellphones, and whenever he texts you or calls you, you feel like you’re winning in life. You’re the exception to his firm, firm rule. But for work purposes, he had explained, he had to be reachable at all hours, meaning Spencer has something you haven’t see in ages– a landline phone. When it starts ringing, that nostalgic loud, shriek of a ring that never fails to make you feel like you’re about to have a heart attack. 

Instinctually, you reach for it as if you are the one expecting a call. It would be so easy to just pick up the phone and say Dr. Reid’s residence, how may I help you? Yet, you don’t. You stop yourself just as the tips of your fingers touch the phone and you pull back. This is exactly what happened last time– a box for him and the consequences ending up being yours to face. Since then, you’d like to think you’ve grown smarter, and so you let it go to voicemail. 

“Hello, Dr. Reid, this is Nurse Kenny from Bennington Sanitarium. I’m calling about your mother.” 

Somehow, this still feels like facing the consequences for something you didn’t do. 

—————————————

 In your defence, you did try calling Penelope before panicking. You called her, you called Spencer, you even called the BAU hotline in a feverish desperation to reach your boy wonder. All the hurt from that morning, all the pain and the insecurities immediately fly out the window as soon as the nurse hangs up with a final call me when you can. 

“Fucking hell,” You push your way through the crowd trying to make out of the subway station, everyone rushing through the steps to finally be set free in the loud streets of Washington, and if it was any other day, you might have taken the time to enjoy it. The sun is high, the air is cold, and the smell of coffee reaches you almost instantly. 

But there is not time to be happy when all you can think about is Spencer– his face crumpling up in that way it does whenever it goes uncharacteristically serious, his brows furrowed in worry, his hands frozen in place like the rest of his body. It kills you being the deliverer of bad news. It’s something you have always tried to avoid, ever since you were a tiny little girl and you had to tell your friends that no, you didn’t like My Little Ponies and then later on that also no, you didn’t want to go to that party. The disappointment in their faces always makes you crumble, give in, give up, anything to see them smile again. 

This time around, you can’t do that. You can’t give up, or tell him something he wants to listen to instead. This has to do with his family, and you don’t know anything about his family– so you know they mean a lot to him. Oddly enough, it’s one of his little weird habits that you find the most endearing; for someone that talks a lot, when it comes to the people he loves, Spencer doesn’t talk at all. Maybe this is the price to pay to work at the BAU… when the most despicable and inhumane people in the world know his name, he has to do everything in his power to not let them find out any other. 

“Ma’am, where do you think you are going?!” The security guard approaching you is, to say the least, terrifying. You forget that you have to sign up, so uses to walking in with Officer Kaper and his badge, except this time around, you didn’t have time to call him. You did everything Spencer told you not to do, and he will lecture you on it later, you just know he will, though you don’t really care about it, as long as he talks to you after this, you don’t care about what words come out of his mouth. 

Because sure, it was an accident– listening to the nurse’s message was an accident– but you still did it. There is no hiding it, you did it and my god, you feel terrible about it. Feels like something akin to looking through his phone while he is in the shower, close to searching through his letters at home, similar to reading through the annotations in his books. This is private. It wasn’t enough to be living at his apartment? Sleeping in his bed, stealing his clothes? You also had to go ahead and listen to his private messages? “I’m here to see Dr. Spencer Reid,” You say, lower lip trembling at the thought of a possible confrontation with this man. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but it’s urgent, I need to see him, I need to talk to Spence, he’s not picking up his phone and–“

“Do you have a form of identification? You have to sign in,” When he takes a step closer, you immediately shrink back, shoulders hunching forward in a tense attempt to cover yourself from his eyes. 

“Of course, yes, I’ll… sign in, but can you– I’m so sorry, but can you call Penelope Garcia? She is the BAU’s tech analyst, I think. She has a lot of computers and–“

“Get in line.” 

It’s an order more than a request, and you consider telling him to fuck off. Your nerves are high and you feel a sense of urgency that you have only felt one time before in your entire life– and that was when you moved to D.C. The thing no one tells you about signing in into the FBI is that is practically impossible. People like to think that all you need is a government issued ID, and technically, they are right– there is nothing else you can provide them other than you driver’s license, but the hoops they have to go through to grant you access add another ten minutes or so onto the wait that is already killing you. 

Until the clerk says, “Here you go, ma’am,” And gives you your visitor’s pass like it’s nothing. 

Like it doesn’t hold the weight of the world for you then, as you shove it into that stupid guard’s face and runs to the far left end of the hallway. At this point, you’ve been at the building enough times to know how to get upstairs, but despite the faint familiarity of it all, you continue to feel displaced and singled out whenever those beige walls surround you. Your oversized cream sweater is like a beacon of light in such a dim office, but it serves its purpose to keep you warm against the powerful air conditioner in there. How Spencer gets anything done under those circumstances, you don’t know, but the shivers travelling up and down your arms are enough to keep you alert and on the look out for the most likely presence to see– your favourite bright pink, bleached blonde geek. 

“Excuse me, can I help you?” He’s wearing a suit, much like the ones Agent Hotchner wears and you have to hold back tears. It’s all very intimidating, knowing that at any point one of these people could find you suspicious and start asking you questions. 

“Uh, y-yeah, I guess you can,” Clearing your throat, your hand squeeze the shoulder of your bag tighter, and when his eyes move to look at the slight movement, you know he’s a part of the BAU. You know he’s reading you like Spence does. “I need to find Dr. Spencer Reid,” Saying his full name still feels odd to you. “Could you maybe tell me where he is?” 

“Oh? Reid?” This expression you know– surprise. “Are you his girlfriend or something?” 

“His girlfr– I uh– I mean, I–“ It takes a moment for you to realise that if you say no, then you have to explain to this stranger what you really are to Dr. Reid, and that is a can of worms you rather not open right now, so instead of being honest like you always try to be, you blush and nod. “I uh, yeah. I am.” 

“Oh wow!” His genuine shock to the news ticks you off a little. It’s not all that crazy that Spencer would have a girlfriend, considering his charming awkwardness and his bright, beautiful smile. “He never mentioned a girlfriend before, I didn’t–“

“Is he here or not?!” You kind of shriek, widening your eyes in hopes to make him pity you enough to move on with this a bit faster. 

“No, he isn’t. I think his team just left for the tarmac, they got a case in this morning and–“ 

His voice fades to the background easily, your anxiety peaking through with that annoying ringing in your ear. Spencer left to another state and didn’t call you. Logically, you know that his job and his feelings for you, however good or bad they might be, are not connected. Logically, it is easy to make that distinction. However, you are not a logical person all the time. You are not a genius like he is, and sometimes, you let your heart lead; you let your emotions take over like a tsunami inside of you, crashing and crashing and crashing, until you are nothing but a crumble of what you once was. 

You are ready, too. Ready to give up and delay the inevitable until the nurse can reach him directly, until you’re not the one having to panic, until he can deal with this personally. Consider it an addictive habit of a you of many moons ago, a Y/N who let things go to protect herself and avoid unnecessary confrontation. Confronting Josh was never the best option, so you had to come up with strategies. Plans, schemes, lies. You hate that you’ve become good at those, hate that all the work you’ve done to leave those behind is now at risk, but something deep inside of you can’t let this go. 

Something that you know very well is the need to make Spencer proud. The need to be there for him after all the times he was there for you. It’s your time to be the hero. 

“Call Hotchner.” 

There is a harshness in your voice that is very much planted there. The same goes for the twitch of your brows, the bite to the inside of your cheek, the averting gaze to the floor. It’s time to tell the story the profiler wants to read, and you double down when you let out an exasperated sigh, pushing your disheveled hair back. “I need you to call Hotchner and get Spencer back here right now.” 

You shouldn’t want to laugh with how he fumbles with his phone, quickly dealing the boss’ number, but all amusement is gone when he mumbles something about an Spencer’s girlfriend and passes the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.” 

“Oh god… hello?” You say, voice wobbling a little. 

“Miss Y/L/N?” In the background, you can hear some chatter and nothing else. Are they in the jet already? Have you failed? “Is everything alright? Why are you in the office?”

“I am truly sorry, sir,” You gulp down, glancing at the man in a silent request for some privacy. “But I need to speak to Spencer. He is not answering his phone and it’s an emergency. Penelope wasn’t answering either, so I thought I could come find her, but SSA Greenberg asked me if I needed help and–“

“Is that why you told him you were Spencer’s girlfriend?” 

“Family emergency trumps everything,” You explain, the heavy weight of you guilt settling in. For some reason, you think you got Spencer in trouble. 

“Miss Y/L/N, is this about your case? We explained that we would have cases alongside–“

“Sir, it’s his mother. I don’t know the details, but there was a call and they asked him to call them back as soon as possible.” 

The eery silence that follows has you holding your breath. You are not sure how much his team knows about the intricacies of his personal life, but they surely know more than you do, considering the immediate rustle you hear on the other side of the line.

“We’ve just arrived at the tarmac. I’m sending send Reid and Garcia back to help us from there,” Agent Hotchner says, voice dripping with authority. “Wait for him there. Tell Officer Kaper he will be relived as soon as Reid arrives.” 

“Office Kaper is… not here.”

“…We will discuss this later. They should be arriving in twenty.” 

“Okay. Okay, good,” You breathe out loudly. “Thank you, sir.” 

Once the call ends, once you give SSA Greenberg his phone back and evade all the questions he has about you and Spencer, once you push down the wave of relief that almost makes you fall to the ground… you make your way to Penelope’s office. You need credentials to walk into her lair, it’s not as simple as just opening a door– she is the gatekeeper of all things confidential, and you know not all people are authorised to walk in. The fact that this is the same woman who has invited you over for wine night and got so drunk she couldn’t stop talking about the one time she walked in on Morgan showering is actually insane. The Penelope you know can’t keep a secret for her life, but then again, this is not Penelope’s office. This is Garcia’s lair, and you need to remember that these are fundamentally two different people. Just like Spence and Dr. Reid. JJ and Jennifer. Prentiss and Emily. All of them had managed a level of separation that seemed practically impossible to you, leaving work outside of their homes in a perfectly packed box by the door. It makes you wonder, though, if when he walks out the door to go to the office, he leaves you behind in a box inside. 

Compartmentalising is not something you did well. You tried, back when you first arrived in Washington, at the recommendation of your therapist, but you seemed to struggle more than normal. At your core, you believe in honesty, in transparency, and despite everything you’ve been through, you never gave up on yourself, on your core self, not the self you’ve created to appease Josh. Though you did forget about her, for a while. Distracted by your new life, you missed your old self like you miss old high school friends; remembering the good old times but still doing nothing to reach out. 

Just like you told your mom, you’re scared it will happen again. That you’ll lose yourself in the beautiful world of Spencer Reid and lose sight of what matters– yourself. You might have learned this way later in life than you should have, but a relationship is a two way road and now you know that. Now, you want to know that, you want Spencer to show you that. There is a kind of romance in how he leaves books for you to read next to the armchair, a certain indication that he knows what you like. A type of care in how he buys the shampoo and conditioner you mentioned you liked one time almost eight months ago. This is where you are trying to meet him at, ordering the rare books he’s so desperate after through your unique contacts. Making him breakfast before work. Unfolding the corners of his books. Even though you express yourself better with words than actions, you don’t miss the way his eyes sparkle a little extra whenever he sees his coffee mug filled up for him first thing in the morning or how he always pretends to be caught off guard when you bring him a surprise book from the store. Spencer can read you like he has been born to do so, and yet, he still played along. For you, he’d always play along. 

Which is why, when they found you sitting on the floor next to Garcia’s office, he plays along. “Are you more comfortable there than sitting on my desk?” 

His casual tone shocks you a little bit. Scrambling to your feet, you meet him and Penelope halfway. “Spence!” You gasp, hands stretching out to touch him, feel him, ground him, anything. You just need to make sure he is paying attention, the hands on his biceps squeezing it slightly. “Spence, you need to call your mom! Something happened, and I tried calling you guys but you weren’t picking up, so I came here to tell you that you need to call her, you–“

“Y/N,” Spence whispers in that way that makes your heart speeds up. His eyes are stuck to yours, shinning with something you’ve seen before, something you’ve seen last night. “Y/N, my mom is okay. Hotch told me to call her as soon as he sent us back, she’s okay, everything’s been handled. Are you okay? Sweetheart, you’re sweating…” 

Garcia’s gasp falls onto deaf ears as you and Spencer lose yourself in each other. “I was nervous,” You mumble, trying to pull away and dab at your forehead, but he’s on it. His hands catch you by the elbow and gently bring you closer into what slowly turns into a hug. “I’m so sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to listen to the message, I swear I didn’t, I was just there and the machine–“

“I know,” He nods his head distractedly and gently wipes you clammy skin with the wrist of his sweater. “I know, Y/N, you don’t have to apologise. Thank you for coming all the way here to look for me just to tell me to call my mom. I truly appreciate it.”

“Of course I would,” There is something building between you two, a tension very familiar to you now that you’ve been watching it pile on for the past couple of weeks. 

For Penelope, though, it is certainly news. 

“OH MY GOD!” 

Snapped out of the trance of those honeyed eyes, you turn to look at your blonde friend with a pale complexion. “Pen, no–“ 

“OH MY GOD, YOU TWO BONED!” 

“What?! No! Absolutely not!” Spencer takes a step back from you like he’s suddenly troubled by thought of being that close to you, and you can’t really hide how your heart breaks a little at that. 

“Yeah… apparently absolutely not,” You repeat, coming back down to your harsh reality since the bubble burst.

“What– What just happened?” She utters, but you don’t really give her a chance to develop her line of thought, grabbing the access card from her hand and swiping it through the reader to unlock her door. “Wait, wait, what–“

“I’ll stay here with Pen,” You say without looking back at Spencer. Your job here is done and until Officer Kaper can come pick you up, you know they won’t let you leave the building. “I’ll call Mike for a ride, so don’t worry about me going back alone. I–“

“He’s not here?” Spencer asks, looking around with that adorable confused frown of his. “Wait, Y/N, did you come here by yourself?! Didn’t we talk about–“

“No Spencer, we didn’t! We didn’t talk about a lot of fucking things, and then you left off this morning like you didn’t want to talk about it and, and, and I was panicking, okay?! You didn’t pick up the phone and I’m a big enough girl to take the subway alone!” Your voice certainly raises enough to have people looking at you two, and your cheeks fire up in embarrassment. You are causing a scene at his workplace, and in your opinion, that is unacceptable. Gulping, you look down, tugging Penelope into her sacred space and closing the door behind you. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. I’m really sorry.” 

“Y/N, wait–“ But the door closes midway through his sentence and despite him having access to enter, he knows better than to press on a sore spot. 

The worst part is that you kind of want him to. And you hate that part of yourself that wants such a reactive behaviour from this peaceful man. Spencer does plenty to show you he cares, even if he does it in his own quiet, subtle way, and that is enough for you. Fuck, that should be enough for you. Yet somehow, nothing seems to shut up that voice in your head telling you that yes, he is enough… but you aren’t. In your overthinking mind, you know that you are too average for Spencer. You’d never be able to keep up with him, with his spectacular brain and his humble attitude. At best, all you offer him are books, some observations here and there, and a warm body to hug at night. At worst, you’re a burden to a man who already carries the entire world on his shoulder. 

“You two?!” Penelope’s dramatic gasp is enough to put a pause on your pity party. “Boy genius and you?!” Scoffing, you sit down on the chair she pulled for you. “I know… sounds ridiculous, right? I mean, the man is a genius and I’m… well-read at best.” 

“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, we’re not going there,” Barely does she know you’re already there, that you’ve been there this entire morning. “What happened? Last time we talked, it was a crush and nothing else! And now you and boy wonder are ‘sweetheart’ing each other and the forehead kiss was just so adorable and–“ 

“We kissed.” 

The way it comes out to her, unlike how it did with your mom, is a confession rather than a posing issue. It makes your heart race and your sad face lifts for a second, enough to let a giggle escape. This is what friends are for, and you are happy to be living through this again. 

“YOU WHAT?”

“Pen, don’t shout!” You whisper, looking at the door like it’s about to slam open at any second. “What if someone hears?” “Would that matter?” She laughed. “You basically told the biggest gossip in the FBI that you are Spencer’s girlfriend.” 

“Oh my god,” You groan. Slowly getting comfortable in your chair, you pull your legs up to your chest and let your head fall on your knee dramatically. “He’s going to hate me.” 

“Now why on Earth do you think that? I’m pretty sure Spencer has had wet dreams of you calling him your boyfriend.” 

“Penelope!” It’s suddenly way too hot in her office, your entire body flushing instead of just your cheeks. “You are wrong, by the way… He had a whole dinner planned, you know? He was turning his apartment into the perfect date when I got back home, and he was cooking and he looked so good, Pen, so, so, so good and we just– I mean, it just happened! And then…”

Penelope is holding onto your every word, perfectly painted lips biting on her fluffy pink pen. “And then…?” Her wiggly brows are a dead giveaway of where her dirty, dirty mind is going. 

“And then, just as we get to the room…” You repeat, leaning forward as if you’re about to tell her the biggest secret of your life, only to deflate right after. “He pulls away, kisses me on the forehead, and goes to sleep.” 

“No!”

“Oh yeah,” You sigh, body crumbling in a defeated lump of limbs. “And then this morning? Nothing. Nada. Not even a peck on the lips as a ‘good morning’.”

“Oh wow,” She says after a moment. You find some comfort in how she seems as wordless as you were early today. “Oh wow, that’s… wow. It’s impressive, but it’s not shocking. Still, it’s… wow.” 

“Not shocking?” You shriek. “It’s very shocking!” 

“Oh, sweet pumpkin,” There is so much comfort in the clicks and clacks of her heels when she gets up and comes to give you a hug. Admittedly, Penelope’s hugs are much like one of a mother; warm, caring, and all encompassing. It’s enough to heal wounds you didn’t even know you had, like she is searching your soul the same way she searches the web for evidence– with expertise. “I sometime forget you’ve never known little boy genius when he was, well, little. Our pretty boy over there is not… the best with people.” 

“That’s mean, Pen,” You sigh, frowning a little. He might not say much about his feelings, and sure, sometimes Spencer is quite reserved to his own mind in a way that makes you think he assumes people won’t really understand what’s going on up there, but never has Spencer made you feel uncomfortable or bad about yourself. Saying he is ‘not the best with people’ actually upset you because despite a couple of hiccups here and there, Spencer is great with you. He remembers everything you say you like or dislike, he cares about your opinions even though sometimes you feel like you’re just saying the obvious, he is gentle with his touches and hugs. “Spencer is amazing, he’s always so careful with everything and everyone, and he’s so kind, and gentle, and considerate. He’s just too in his head sometimes, but that’s okay! So am I, so is everyone, you know?”

“It’s so cute how you’re quick to jump to his defence,” She teased, shaking you a little by the shoulders. “I know he’s all of that, trust me. I would die for Spencer– no, that’s too easy. I would kill for Spencer, and I actually almost did once! And–“

“Wait, what?!”

“And what I’m trying to say is not that he is a bad person, but that he can get a bit awkward. Try to think from his perspective, Y/N, the kid went to college when he was 14. All those crazy life experiences we had in college, he didn’t. And then he joined the FBI, and time just… got away.” 

“Are you trying to tell me Spencer Reid is a virgin?” You gasp, mouth hung open in surprise, because from the little action you two had going last night, you would not have betted on that. 

“God, no… or at least I don’t think so, but what I am trying to tell you, my cute bookworm, is that his experience is… limited to a couple of people. Very different people. One of his exes was a famous actress kind of people. They did long distance every single time kind of people.” 

Little by little, the engines in your brain start turning, and things start making sense. “He never… had a proper relationship?” Somehow, this makes it feel like all that weight that is sitting on your chest, the pressure of figuring everything out by yourself, the racing thoughts that can’t leave you alone… it’s all gone. All easing up in a lighter mist of confusion and sadness. 

Her curls bounce around her face when she shakes her head. “Not that we’ve known. So just… god, please give him a chance. He’s a good egg, a perfect egg, even! Just a bit confused with his own brain and, and, and he’s probably wondering what’s the proper procedure from here on out! He’s probably confused and wondering what to do and– and he’s so happy, Y/N. This morning, he couldn’t stop smiling. He didn’t tell  

Morgan to shut up when he made sex jokes. He didn’t hog the coffee machine. It was like he was in his own little world and it was so cute to see him finally acting like the boy he should have been all along. I don’t want to see that go away.” 

Penelope Garcia has a tell that you are pretty sure she doesn’t know about. It usually peek through her desperate rambles that you love so much, squeezing her voice out of her until she’s barely speaking. You know she’s self-conscious about her rambles, the amount of times she has apologised to you enough proof of it, but when she starts feeling guilty, like she’s staying something she shouldn’t have been, Penelope’s voice dies down, to the point that her mouth is moving but no sound is coming out.  

“Pen…” 

“I know you like him,” The intensity of her eyes behind her glasses is enough to have you looking away. “I know you do, you like him so much that you broke your security protocol and ran to the FBI to tell him that he needed to call his mom. Please don’t give up on him.”

“I’m not,” You whisper back, shaking your head so fast your neck hurts a little. “Pen, I’m not giving up on him, I don’t think I ever could. I’m just… insecure. I understand Spence’s experience is unique to him, but mine is unique to me, and I think we’re both in the learning process. I just wish he would’ve talked to me, you know? Spencer kissed me like there was no tomorrow yesterday and this morning he didn’t even acknowledge it. What if he doesn’t want to do it anymore? What if he changed his mind? You know, his brain works too fast and he could’ve thought about all the future scenarios in which this goes wrong and–“

“You know, sometimes you two sound so much alike that it’s scary. I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, get your head out of your ass, it’s not a hat.” 

“Hey!”

“Your intrusive thoughts are shitty!” 

“That is a really weird way to put it–“

“What are you two talking about?” Turning to look at Spencer, you’re surprised to see him all packed up with his satchel hanging by his side. You deflate a little at how ready he is to leave, thinking he’s going back to the tarmac to meet up with the team wherever they are, but he beats you to the punch. “Y/N, ready to go home?” 

“Oh,” You scramble to get up, grabbing your bag and your visitor’s pass and then nodding. “Yeah, I guess. Are you coming with?”

“Yeah, I told Hotch I’d be working from home in case my mom’s nurse called again,” He gives you that tight-lipped smile you love so much and you kind of swoon. 

“Alright,” You give Penelope a hug goodbye and from then on, you find yourself in the longest stretch of silence you’ve ever been before. 

The tension is there, taut enough that you feel like your stomach is being pulled out of your body every time he sucks in a breath a bit too hard or opens his mouth just to close it again. Every time, you think he’s going to initiate the chat, and, every time, he doesn’t. It disappointment after disappointment, and by the time you two make it back to his place, yo can’t keep it in anymore. “Spence,” You call softly, letting him open the door the the building without rush and following him inside. As per usual, he’s quick to let you lead, gesturing politely for you to go up first. “Spence, we need to talk about last ni– Abigail, what are you doing here?”

You’re not even at the top of the stairs when you see her, all sweaters and ponytails standing by your door. “Oh, hi boss!” Her joke makes you cringe a little, but you smile nonetheless. You must’ve done something to alert Spencer of how uncomfortable you actually are, his hand sneaking to grab yours as he squeezes past you to stand one step above, body almost covering yours completely. “Oh. Hi.” 

Her tone change is obvious even to your layman ears, and you squeeze Spencer’s hand in nervousness. “Abigail, right?” He asks, a small smile playing on his lips as if he’s trying to be nice, though the squint in his eyes tells a whole other story. “Good to see you again. Did you move in okay?” 

“Yeah,” The way she moves her head to the side, trying to get a glimpse of you, has red flags raised all up in  your head. “All moved in and ready to start work on Monday!”

“I’m happy to hear you’re excited, Abigail!” You reply with a forced chuckle, climbing the extra step to stand side by side with Spence. Your hands are intertwined behind his back, his fingers playing with yours, and if it’s to keep you calm or himself, you don’t know. “I’m excited for you to start at the store, too. Is there anything you need, though? I know I said I’d send you a starter email and a draft of a schedule, but I just haven’t had the time today. I’ll work on it as soon as I can!”

“Oh, no, no, no hurry!” Once she can see you, it’s like her whole persona changes. She’s bubblier when she’s talking to you, shoulders less tense and voice less tense. “I was just coming here to bring you this. It got delivered to my apartment by accident, but it has your name on it.” 

From behind her back, she pulls a brown package. It’s small and thin, and it doesn’t seem so have any logo on it. “Y/N, are you expecting something?” Spencer whispers, eyes not leaving Abigail’s hand and for a second you let yourself panic enough to believe she’s carrying a bomb. It felt like she was carrying a bomb. Like it was going to blow up and your entire life, your entire re-construed life with Spencer by your side, and everything would soon come crumbling down. 

“N-No,” You stutter back and your body goes frigid cold when Abigail takes a step forward to you two, arms stretched out to give you the package. “Oh my god, no, no, no one knows I’m–“

Quickly grabbing the box, Spencer wastes no time in getting you inside the apartment. “Thank you so much for bringing this, Abigail, but we really have to get home. As promised, you’ll hear from Y/N soon on that starter email. Have a great rest of your day!”

“Wait, I wanted to talk to Y/N about–“ The loud slamming of the door drowns her words out. 

Before even looking your way, Spencer is on the phone. “Hotch,” He breathed out, eyes wide in that crazed way that you’ve only see once before, in your shop when he had his gun out. “She found Y/N.” 

You know you can’t call this an ending, not when you two never even had a begging…

“We have to relocate her.” 

But it surely feels like one. 

---------------------------------------

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[zhongrin]

zhongrin © 2024 ❥ do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or feed into ai.

tail of a dragon.

featuring... ❥ zhongli

involves... ❥ minors dni, gn!reader, dragon!li, fluff, crack, monsterfucking(?), cannibalism innuendos(??), rambles/headcanon -> short drabble format

at first, i thought zhongli's echo doesn't show up when it's raining (i was in the middle of fighting the oceanid boss). and it made me think; what if his dragon side absolutely abhor rainwater? he's still always a gentleman, of course ー giving you his coat to use as an umbrella upon unexpected downpours; but it's funny to think that inwardly he's just silently screeching something along the line of "curse the rainwater in my shoes curse the rainwater in my hair this does not bring joy at all" within the confines of his lizard brain. he will most definitely make excuses of being cold from the rain and insists on bathing together afterward, too. you may think he's trying to seduce you, but in reality, this old dragon just wants the icky cold rainwater out of his hair.

and then, i noticed that i was wrong ー it gets hidden when any sort of combat happens (i'm not sure if this is an iOS-only decision to conserve resources so that processing power for particle effects can be allocated to the fight's particle effects, or if it's a design decision because they don't want it to interfere with the battle experience).

and i've decided i shall think of it as a zhongli equivalent of men cracking their neck before they get serious. it's not exactly his real tail, after all - he's consciously controlling it, all because you wished he would show his draconic features more often, but he can't really have his horns or tail out in public. hence its disappearance whenever he has to focus that consciousness into something else.

this also means the shiny golden apparition would be nowhere to be found whenever he's intent on pleasuring you... but, perhaps if you rile him enough, you'll be subjected to a very solid dragon's tail, as majestic and mesmerizing as it is deadly, wrapped around your waist as he devours his favorite meal and milk your pleasure until you're all loose for his cocks to sink into the soaked depths of your needy heat.

even though your husband might seem to be all in control and composed, all gentle smiles and the occasional mischief-filled smirks, his tail is another story entirely - the man may not know of the phrase 'cuteness aggression', but he may as well be the personification of it. his mind constantly think about how adorable you are, soft and squishy and mouthwateringly delectable, constantly warring with his own mind over wanting to sink his teeth and nibble your pliant flesh. it lashes, it slithers, it squeezes, and it's unashamedly honest in its unrestrained movements, reflective of his desires in its rawest form. it'll make sure its hard scales imprints on your skin - a unique mark to accompany the mating bite he'll generously lap and suckle on. you're akin to a sweet treat he wants to lick and nip and scratch and devour. lucky for you, his patience and self-control has been tempered and honed for more than six thousand years.

and if your mind decides to conjure any sinful fantasies involving that extra appendage of his, why not tell him? who knows, perhaps you'll arouse a certain part of his draconic brain. your husband is a good listener, but he's also an achiever, after all.

[sweetprfct]

Bookshop Conversations

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: A meet-cute with Joe at a bookshop cafe was something you didn't expect. Being a lone wolf for a year now and still being haunted by your past, could you open up your door for him and give love another chance?

Author's Note: I have been staring at a blank page for more than a couple of months, almost every day. Wrote unfinished one shots and series and then scrap it up and toss it in the bin. Been going through a really dark time personally (and still is). Events of the last few days after election didn't help either. Writing is art and art always gets me through a tough time, so that's why I'm here. I haven't been updated to any news in this fandom, and I plan to stay that way. I plan on coming here and publishing and interacting through DMs and ask box about positive stuff about my fics only. This idea appeared just a couple days ago, and it started igniting back some inspiration. Am I back? The answer is: I don't know. I'm taking it slow. Let's take it slow, okay? So, here's a new short series. I've missed some of you, and I hope you enjoy this because I'm winging it with no plot notes. LMAO.

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 1.7K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

The soft pitter patter of the rain hit the wet, glowing pavement outside. Cars passed by from time to time and people walked down the streets, holding their umbrellas above their heads. There was something about this weather that made you feel warm on the inside. Most people would feel doleful with this kind of weather, but not you. It filled you with a warm feeling that it would pool in your stomach, almost bursting and invading your veins. 

It felt peaceful. 

This cute bookshop cafe that stood on the corner of your street was the only place that made you feel safe lately. Autumn season was starting, and the trees were turning into their orange and yellow hues, surrounding the city of London. The string of light bulbs that hung around the bookshop cafe and the dark wooden shelves made the place feel cozy. It was almost like you were stepping into another world when you entered this place. 

Claire De Lune was playing in a low volume around the shop as you picked up your cappuccino and took a sip. You have been sitting at the small table beside the window for about an hour now. Your head had been stuck in your book, your focus totally disappearing from the world around you as you indulged in a different universe. 

Moving to London was something you had been thinking about for several years now and, knowing the fact that you finally made it, you couldn’t help but feel at ease. The troubles you left behind in California seemed so far away now, even if it still lived in the back of your mind. There were certain things that you still thought about, still feel the pain from the experiences, but you pushed it away. Something you seemed to be an expert on lately. 

This place has been a peaceful solitude for you. It was quiet enough for you to enjoy the peace whilst reading your book, but also enough crowds for you to not be able to drown in your own deep thoughts, unlike when you were all alone in your flat. 

“New book?” 

You had paused from your reading and had been watching the raindrops roll down the glass window, letting your brain play the game of which raindrop was going to roll down first. Turning your attention away from the window, you looked up to see Sara, the owner of the bookshop cafe. Her light brunette hair was in a ponytail today, hazel eyes twinkling in curiosity. She was wearing her usual apron, while carrying a coffeepot in her hand. 

“Um… yeah. Just got it the other day.” You smiled softly. 

As much as you and Sara had a lot in common and actually had pretty good, interesting conversations, you couldn’t help but distance yourself from her. She was always kind, and her eyes always twinkled with sincerity. It wasn’t like she was the problem. It was you. You had closed yourself off too much from other people, especially strangers. As much as you would love to be friends, there was a part of you that kept hesitating. 

Sara tilted her head and squinted her eyes towards the title of the book you were holding. 

“Oh, Little Women.” She smiled. “That’s a good one.”

“Yeah.” You gazed down at the book cover before looking back up at her. “I have never read the book. Thought I should finally do it this time.”

Sara nodded her head in agreement. Just right before she could say something else, Sara's attention turned to the front door when it opened. 

Both of your eyes caught a man with curly brown hair walking in. He was wearing a navy trench coat and carrying an umbrella. The cold breeze trailed behind him, blowing it through your hair. Sara immediately walked up towards him with a smile. You watched as she greeted him kindly and asked if there was something she could help him with. 

You couldn’t help but reel in the sight of him the moment he gave her a soft smile. From the two months of you hanging out in this shop, you have never seen someone so alluring walking into the shop before. Your eyes were glued to him, and you couldn’t seem to peel them away. 

“Thank you.” He murmured to Sara before disappearing between the tall bookshelves. 

Looking away, you cleared your throat and felt your cheeks ignite as you tried to focus your attention back on your book. You picked up your cappuccino and took another sip when you caught sight of him again when he passed by in front of you. You looked at him through your lashes until you realized how ridiculous you must look in front of him. 

His chocolate button eyes immediately caught yours, making you glance away from him instantly. Your cheeks were as red as a tomato at this point as you set your cup down on the table and focused on the book you were reading. There were a million thoughts running through your mind, cursing yourself for being so weird. He must have thought you were strange for staring at him since the moment he entered the shop. 

From the corner of your eye, you could tell he was smirking slightly as he looked through the books in front of him. Your eyes studied the shop and there were only a couple of people hanging around, looking through the books or sipping coffee and reading their books. You couldn't help but curse at yourself mentally again for bringing so much attention to yourself in front of him. 

You hated the attention, and you certainly didn’t need a stranger’s attention when all you wanted was to enjoy your book and mind your own business. 

“That’s a classic.” He interrupted your thoughts.

You just now realized that you have been reading the same line in the book repeatedly because your mind was distracted by him. When you slowly gazed up at him, you saw a kind, soft smile tugging on his lips, and you swore you felt your knees went slightly weak. 

“So, I’ve heard.” You replied, giving him a slight smile back. 

There was no going back now. 

Now that he was standing near to you, you could see the freckles on his face and his long lashes fluttering softly. A strand of curl fell perfectly on his forehead and little drops of water from the rain covered his trench coat.

Your eyes fell on the book he was holding before biting your lower lip. You have read that book because Sara had recommended it to you before, and you knew what was the text behind it. It sure made you glad that he wasn’t afraid to read things like that. The man glanced down at the book he was holding before snickering.

“Something wrong?” He asked.

You shook your head, biting down your inner cheek to stop yourself from smiling. It wasn’t like the book was all… sex. It was about finding yourself and knowing what you want. Although, knowing the people you had before in your life, they certainly judged you for reading something like that. So, you couldn’t help but have that glued to your brain that maybe those kinds of books weren’t really everyone’s cup of tea. 

“Nothing wrong with a little… erotica.” You murmured before he chuckled softly. 

“I think it’s sexy.” He gave you a small smirk, studying the cover page of the book. “I’m assuming you read it before?”

“Um… maybe.” You gave him a playful smile.

He hummed approvingly, “So, tell me… Is it really just about… sex?”

He squinted his eyes at you, and you could tell he was teasing. Leaning back in your chair, you marked the page that you were reading and closed the book. 

“No, it’s about the characters finding themselves and how intimacy can be in different ways other than just physical. I don’t want to spoil too much for you, though.” 

He stared at the book cover again and nodded in agreement.

“I guess I’ll just have to give back a review when I finish it.” Smiling, his eyes studied you for a moment before walking away. 

What did he mean by that? 

You stopped yourself from getting up from your seat as he made his way towards the coffee counter. It was rare for you to encounter certain people that pull your gravity towards them. The moment he entered the shop, you felt that pull already. That micro conversation that you both just had, you already felt the spark between you two. 

Letting out a small sigh, you pushed the thoughts away and told yourself that he was just a stranger. 

A stranger with a nice smile. 

For a few minutes, you went back to indulging yourself in your book, finishing your cappuccino before you heard the front door open. Feeling the breeze through your hair again, you glanced up to find him giving you a warm smile before walking out the door. 

Accepting it, you knew it was one of those rare occasions where you would meet someone interesting and lose them forever. It wasn’t like you were interested in meeting somebody these days, but sometimes, you couldn’t help but think that it would be nice too to have a small meet-cute in a bookshop.

God, you have been reading too many books lately. It was getting in your head.

“Seems like someone has taken an interest in you.” Sara smiled, placing an apple turnover on a plate for you. 

“I didn’t order this.” You shook your head, pushing the plate towards her lightly.

“Someone did for you.” Sara winked. 

You turned your head to the side, side eyeing her before Sara chuckled softly at your reaction. 

“That cute man just asked if you were a regular customer here.” Sara explained. “Don’t worry, I didn’t give out any details. Though he insisted on at least getting you a pastry.”

Staring at the apple turnover that was in front of you, you bit back a smile before looking out the window. He was gone, and you didn’t even get the chance to thank him. 

You couldn’t help but wonder why he did such a gesture. 

***********

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[sosa2imagines]

My doll...

Disclaimer- Something my pervert brain thought about, I hope you all enjoy. Warning- Soft dark Bucky, smut, possessiveness, jealousy, 5.3k words.

Bucky Barnes had always been a man of few words. A soldier by nature, a soldier by habit. But it was something about you that had always made him feel like he was at a crossroads with himself, like his life could go one way or another depending on whether or not he could ever find the courage to speak up.

The first time he realized he was in love with you, it wasn’t a dramatic moment. There were no bells, no grand gestures. It wasn’t like he had a clear, defining thought of this is it. It was quieter than that. He was sitting next to you in the Avengers’ compound, watching you work on some new project you had thrown yourself into, fingers deftly moving over wires and circuits. Your brow furrowed in concentration, lips parted in that way that made him want to reach out and touch you.

He never had before, of course he was too afraid of ruining the friendship, too afraid of making things weird.

And that was how it had always been. Quiet. Unspoken.

But even with those feelings slowly building, Bucky stayed quiet. He watched you from the edges, from the safety of his distance, telling himself that if you ever really loved him, you’d say it first. He couldn’t risk the possibility of losing you altogether. So, he waited. And waited. And waited.

Tonight, was supposed to be like any other. A rare night off from their duties. No mission on the horizon, no danger lurking around every corner. The team wasn’t together, except for you. You suggested going to a bar nearby for a drink and a break from the constant grind of life in the compound. Bucky had decided, almost reluctantly, to say yes.

Bucky had, of course, known you cared. In all the small moments, like how you would always check in on him, ask him about his dreams or how he was really feeling. And the way your eyes lingered on him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

I know you love me, he thought. I know it.

But Bucky never had the nerve to say it out loud. And now, here he was, sitting across from you at the bar, staring into his glass of whiskey, wishing he could just reach out and touch your hand without the world falling apart around him.

He was far too aware of how close you were, and yet how far away you still seemed.

You were laughing, your voice light and full of life. You always seemed to shine brighter when you were in this mood, the weight of the world lifted, even if only for a moment. But Bucky could see the flickers of doubt in your eyes. Could see the way you kept looking over at him, waiting for something.

Maybe tonight was the night you’d say it. Maybe tonight you’d do what Bucky couldn’t bring himself to do.

But as he watched you, a strange feeling began to take hold. A spark of jealousy. It was a ridiculous thing, he knew. But it wasn’t about you. It wasn’t about the way you looked at other people—it was about the way you looked at him and didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything.

It was then that a woman approached him.

Bucky didn’t want to be rude. He’d never been the type to just turn someone down, but when the woman slid onto the seat next to him, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him, he didn’t feel the usual discomfort. Instead, he felt an odd sense of power and control, maybe.

She was bold, confident. The way she laughed, the way she touched his arm, the way she spoke to him, it all felt like a challenge. A test. And before he could stop himself, he realized something. He wasn’t afraid of this woman. He wasn’t uncomfortable.

But you were.

He saw the way you stiffened in your seat, the way your smile faltered. You hadn’t said a word, but Bucky could tell, he knew. You were jealous.

And for some reason, that made his heart pound. A dark thought crept into his mind, ‘Maybe this is how it’ll happen. Maybe I can make you admit it. Maybe I can get you to finally say what we both know is true.’

The woman leaned in closer, her fingers brushing his. Her breath was warm against his ear as she whispered, “So, what do you say? Care to dance?”

Bucky glanced at you once more. You were still staring at him, but now, there was a mix of frustration and hurt in your eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He should stop this. He should turn away. But a dangerous impulse surged through him.

“Sure.” he said, standing up without another word, letting the woman take his hand and pull him toward the dance floor.

He could hear your breath hitch from across the room. He could feel your gaze burning and intense. But he didn’t break. Not yet.

They moved in close as the music shifted, her body pressed against his. It was all a game now, a game Bucky wasn’t sure he wanted to play but couldn’t help himself from continuing. Every move he made, every gesture, was designed to make you feel something. To make you feel what he had felt for so long ‘the ache.’ The longing. The desperate desire for something more.

But as they danced, his thoughts were on you. Only you. And all the ways he had hurt you without ever realizing it.

You were standing now, getting your things, heading for the door. And Bucky’s chest clenched as he realized something. He couldn’t let you go. Not like this. Not anymore.

“We are done!” he said to the woman, his voice sharp as he brushed past her, heading toward you.

The cool night air hit him as he caught up to you just outside the bar.

“Doll, wait,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Where are you going?”

You didn’t turn around, didn’t even slow down. “I’m going back to the compound, Bucky. I’m done.” Your voice was quiet, but it was laced with finality. “I’m done pretending. Done watching you with her.”

“I’m going back to the compound,” you repeated, your voice a little too calm, too controlled. “I need to clear my head. I think I’ll go check in with Steve.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you felt the shift in the air. Bucky froze.

You hadn’t expected it, Bucky was always so controlled, so guarded. But there was something in his eyes now. Something darker. The breath you’d taken in to steady yourself suddenly caught in your throat.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was low, tight with barely contained emotion. His grip on your wrist tightened, and you could see his jaw clench, the muscles beneath his skin rippling with barely restrained anger. “You’re going back to Steve?”

You nodded slowly, avoiding his gaze. You had no idea why, but you couldn’t meet his eyes right now. Maybe it was because you could feel his anger building, and it made you uneasy.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound indifferent, but even to your own ears, the words felt hollow. “I’ll be fine, Bucky. I just need some space.”

You tried to pull away, but his grip on your wrist tightened, pulling you back toward him. His eyes locked onto yours, and there was something in the depths of his gaze something primal that made your breath catch.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, his voice rough, his tone clipped. “You’re not going back to Steve. Never ever!”

His hand moved to your other wrist, and before you could protest, he spun you around, backing you up against the cold brick wall of the alley. You gasped at the suddenness of it, the sharp heat of his body pressing against you. The force of it left you breathless, but it wasn’t just the physical contact that left you feeling winded, it was the storm swirling in Bucky’s eyes.

“I don’t care about your games, doll,” Bucky continued, his voice now a dangerous whisper. “I don’t care if you’re trying to protect yourself or play it safe. You don’t get to walk away from this. Not after all these months. Not after I’ll final say what I should’ve said the first goddamn time I saw you.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as Bucky’s breath came faster now, his face inches from yours. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the anger and frustration practically crackling in the air between you. His hand was on the wall next to your head, caging you in, his body pressing into yours like he was trying to hold you there, to make you listen.

“Don’t you dare go back to Steve!” he snarled. “I know what you’re trying to do. I know what you’re hiding from. But don’t you dare tell me you’re choosing him. Not when we both know what’s between us.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, a jolt of panic rising up in your chest. You had to get away from him, from this. But somehow, the words felt wrong. He was right. Something had shifted tonight, everything had shifted tonight. And the more you tried to run from it, the more you realized that you were just as tangled up in it as he was.

You shook your head, trying to pull away from his grip. “Bucky, stop. Just stop.”

But he didn’t. His hand moved from the wall to your face, cupping your jaw with surprising gentleness. His thumb stroked over your skin, the touch almost tender despite the fury that was still burning in his eyes. It was like he was trying to hold on to you, trying to keep you from slipping away.

“I’ve spent months pretending I didn’t want you,” Bucky muttered, his voice low and raw. “I’ve spent months watching you with him, keeping my distance, telling myself it was enough just being close to you, just being around you. But it’s never been enough, Doll. It’s never been enough, and I can’t do it anymore.”

“I love you, Y/N. I’ve always loved you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world stood still.

You swallowed hard, fighting the surge of emotions that were building inside you, fighting the tears threatening to break free. You had never seen Bucky like this so raw, so vulnerable, so… angry. It terrified you, but in a way, it also made you realize just how deeply he cared for you. How much he had always cared for you.

His grip on your face tightened, but there was no anger in his eyes now, only something softer, something that made your heart beat even faster. “I don’t want to claim you, Doll. I want to have you. I want you to choose me.”

Before you could respond, Bucky’s lips crashed into yours again, desperate and urgent. It was no longer a question, no longer a plea. It was an answer. His hands slid to your back, pulling you into him with such force that you could feel his heart racing against yours.

The kiss was everything every unspoken word, every hidden desire, every emotion they had both kept buried for so long. Bucky was done hiding, done pretending, and as you kissed him back with equal fervor, you knew there was no going back from this.

“Don’t go back to him,” Bucky whispered against your lips, his voice thick with need. “I’m not letting you go.”

You didn’t know what to say. The words felt like they were stuck in your throat. You had always thought you’d have time to figure this out, but now that the truth was out there between you, out there between him, you knew that there was no more time for pretending. No more time for games.

You pressed closer to him, your hands threading through his hair as you kissed him again, and in that moment, you realized there was only one thing that truly mattered.

Bucky dragged you in the room at the backside of the bar.

Without warning, he pins you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. His hands cup your face, holding your gaze captive.

He presses himself closer, one thigh between your legs. His hands move from your face to your hips, gripping them firmly. His lips graze your ear as he speaks, his voice a low grumble. “I'm going to show you exactly how much I want you, right here, right now.”

His mouth closes on your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin. You feel his fingers slipping under the hem of your tee, tracing a path of fire along your waist. “I've wanted you for so long, you have no idea. Watching you, smelling your scent, feeling your touch... it's been driving me crazy.”

His lips move down the column of your throat, leaving a trail of hot kisses along the way. One of his hands moves up to cup your breast, his thumb gently circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra.

You let out a gasp, arching into his touch. Your body is responding to his every move, awakening a need you've kept buried for far too long. Bucky smiles against your skin, enjoying the way he's unraveling you piece by piece.

“You like that, don't you? Feeling my hands on you, my mouth on your skin.” He whispers in your ear before capturing your earlobe between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a shiver down your spine.

His other hand slides under your skirt, trailing up your thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Your breath hitches, your legs growing weak as Bucky's touch becomes more and more brazen.

He chuckles lowly, satisfied to see you coming undone under his hands. “You're so responsive... so sensitive. I love seeing you like this, completely at my mercy.”

He spins you around, pressing your front against the wall. You feel his weight press into your back, his hands roaming everywhere, claiming you as his own.

“I'm going to make you mine, here and now. There's no stopping this, no denying what's been boiling between us for so damn long.”

His lips find the nape of your neck, kissing and sucking on the soft skin. His free hand slides down your stomach, resting just at the waistband of your panties. The contact is almost too much, your mind reeling from the barrage of sensations.

“I want you so badly... Can I have you? Right here, right now?” He asks, his voice a deep, raspy whisper. He's poised on the edge, waiting for your answer, his body tense with anticipation.

You can't find the words to speak, too overwhelmed by the storm of emotions and sensations he's stirring within you. Instead, you respond by arching your back, pressing yourself against him, wordlessly signaling your consent.

Bucky lets out a guttural growl, the sound filling the air. He doesn't need anything more than that. His hands move with newfound urgency, peeling away the layers of fabric separating you from him.

He turns you around, his expression darkened with desire. He looks at you hungrily, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. His hands run up your sides, tracing the curves of your body, committing every detail to memory.

“You're so beautiful... So goddamn perfect.” His words are punctuated by small, lingering kisses along your collarbone, across your chest, down along your stomach. You're lost in the sensation, your body on fire under his touch.

He sinks to his knees in front of you, his lips continuing their exploration of your body. He kisses and nips at the tender skin of your inner thighs, teasing and tantalizing you with every touch.

“I want to taste you... I need to taste you...” He husks, his hands wrapping around your hips, pulling you closer. You can feel his breath on your core, hot and eager, making you shiver in anticipation.

His tongue darts out, tasting you lightly, just enough to send a rush of pleasure through you. You gasp, your fingers threading into his hair, holding him close. Bucky smiles against your flesh, enjoying how responsive you are to his ministrations.

He alternates between soft, almost chaste kisses and more firm, calculated licks. He's enjoying the taste of you, the sounds of your moans and gasps. His hands grip your thighs, holding you firm while his mouth works magic, making you moan obscenely.

“You taste so good... Better than I ever imagined.” He lifts his gaze, meeting your eyes. The raw hunger in his expression takes your breath away.

You want to speak, but your mind is a jumbles mess, unable to form a coherent word.

“You're driving me crazy, doll. I want to devour you, to make you mine in every way possible.”

And then he does. He dives in, his mouth devouring you in a frenzy of passion determined to bring you closer to the edge.

Your gasps turn into cries of pleasure, your body writhing under his skilful mouth.  Bucky's hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he brings you closer to your climax.

The world seems to spin around you, your senses overwhelmed by the pleasure Bucky is giving you. He's relentless, pushing you higher and higher, determined to give you more than you ever dreamed of.

His tongue works relentlessly, applying just the right amount of pressure to drive you wild. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails biting into his flesh, anchoring you on the ground.

Just as your were about to come, Bucky suddenly pulls away, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. He climbs to his feet, pinning you against the wall once again

“I need to be inside you... Now.”

He's barely able to get the words out, his voice thick with need. He captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, his hands already pushing your skirt up around your waist.

His body presses against yours, the hard length of him rubbing against your core. You can feel the heat and strength of him, the evidence of his desire poking you.

“I need you, need this... I need you now..” He repeats the words like a mantra, his lips trailing along your jaw, your neck, your ear.

He pulls you around, turning you to face the wall once again. You feel the cool surface against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat of his body behind you.

“I'm not going to be gentle.” He warns, his hands gripping your hips, pulling them back against him.

You feel him against you, hard and eager, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His hips move against yours, and you can feel just how much he wants you, how badly he needs you.

“Can you take it? Can you handle me like this?” He asks, one hand traveling up your spine, his fingers tracing the line of your vertebrae. His touch is demanding, possessive, but somehow still tender, as if he's afraid he'll hurt you.

You manage to nod, too far gone with pleasure to form words. Bucky lets out a low, satisfied sound, his mouth nipping at your shoulder as his hand slides around to your front.

He cups your breast, his thumb grazing over your nipple, teasing and provoking.

“I'm going to take you, right here, just like this.” He growls, his hips pressing against yours.

You can feel him against you, his body poised and ready, the tip of his cock, teasing your entrance. “Are you ready for me?” He asks, his lips against your ear, his breath hot and urgent.

You can only manage a small, breathless moan in response, your body yearning for him to take you, to make you his own.

“I need to hear you say it. Tell me you want me... That you need me...” His words are a needy, almost desperate plea, his self-control hanging by a thread.

You find your voice, forcing the words out despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. “I want you... I need you... Please...”

“That's all I needed to hear.” The words are a rough, guttural grunt, the last vestiges of his restraint snapping. He positions himself behind you, the head of him rubbing against your entrance.

His hands grip your hips again, holding you in place. He's so close, so very close... But still, he waits, wanting to make sure you're ready for the next step.

“Just tell me if it's too much, okay? If I go too far, I want to know.” He whispers the words, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability, a hint of doubt, despite the powerful, animalistic way he's holding you.

You nod, your body thrumming with anticipation. You trust him, trust him not to hurt you, and that trust makes all the difference. You push back against him, signaling your readiness in the most primal way possible.

He lets out a low, gravelly moan, his body trembling with the effort of holding back. He needs this as much as you do, maybe even more. “God, I can't wait any longer...”

He pushes forward, slowly, carefully. He's being as gentle as he can be, wanting to give you time to adjust to the intrusion. But it's torture for him, the heat, the tightness, the way you're clenching and squeezing him, enveloping him in a way he's never felt before.

“You're so damn tight... So perfect...” He groans the words, his body moving involuntarily, the pleasure too much to resist. His hands grip your hips tighter, his mouth trailing kisses along your back, your shoulders, your neck. He can't get enough of you, his body moving in a rhythm that's old as time itself.

“You feel so good. I never knew it could be like this.” He mutters the words against your skin, his voice thick with ecstasy.

He picks up the pace, his body moving more urgently now, following the pull of pleasure that's driving him onward. His hands are everywhere, caressing and touching, worshiping every inch of you like a man possessed.

“I could stay inside you forever. I never want to let you go.” He murmurs the words into your ear, his voice ragged and broken. He's lost in the moment, in the pleasure, in you.

You reach a hand back, tangling your fingers into his hair, holding onto him like an anchor in the storm. All the rights and wrongs, thrown out of the window.

“Don't let go... Don't ever let go.” He whispers, his lips finding your neck, the skin there already tender from his earlier attentions. His movements become rougher, more frenzied, as if he's desperate to get even closer to you, to merge himself with you in every way possible.

“I need you... I need you so damn much...” The words are a broken chant, gasped into your ear, his breath hot and ragged against your skin.

He's moving even faster now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air, the only break in the silence apart from your moans and gasps. The pleasure is building, growing stronger and stronger with every thrust, threatening to consume you both. You can feel yourself close to the edge, teetering on the very precipice of ecstasy. Bucky knows it too, he can sense it, sense the mounting tension in your body.

“You're close... I can feel it. I'm so close...” He growls the words, his voice tight with the effort to hold back, to keep control for just a little while longer.

“I want to hear you say it... I want you to let go... Tell me you're mine.” His voice is harsh and ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding back his release.

You struggle to find the words, to form a coherent thought amidst the haze of pleasure. “Y-yours.. I'm... Yours...”

The words send a wave of pleasure through Bucky, his hips twitching involuntarily at the sound of your surrender. “Say it again... I need to hear it again…”

“Yours... I'm yours, Bucky... All yours...” You gasp the words, your voice quivering with the force of your ecstasy.

That's all it takes. Your surrender, your declaration of ownership, it breaks the dam that's been holding him back. “Mine... You're mine... All mine...” He repeats the words like a mantra, his body moving with a new fervor, a new intensity.

“Steve won’t take care of you like I can.” He thrust, “All I have to do is…” he hits you with another powerful thrust, messing up with your senses. “Make a sad face and remind him of my past!” He hits another powerful thrust, and the voice you make is between a cry and a moan. “He will happily give you to me!”

He buries his face in your neck, his lips finding that sensitive spot just below your ear. When he speaks again, his voice is a possessive, guttural growl, thick with desire. “And don't you ever forget it.”

His lips find yours again, claiming your mouth in a kiss that's hard and demanding. He's drowning in you, in this moment, the world around you reduced to nothing but the heat and the friction and the pleasure.

He's close, so close, but he won't give in, won't let go until he's brought you to your release, until he's given you everything he can give.

“Come for me, doll... Let go... Give yourself to me... I want to feel it, feel you...” His words are a rough, ragged plea, a demand made out of pure need. He's holding back, waiting for you to reach your peak, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back his own pleasure.

You can feel yourself teetering on the edge, balanced between light and dark, pleasure and pain, sanity and madness.

“Let go... Just let go... I've got you...” The words, the promise, they're enough to push you over the edge. You shatter, your body arching against his, a cry of ecstasy tears from your lungs. The world spins around you, your release crashing through you like a tsunami, leaving you breathless and trembling.

Bucky's there, holding you against him, his arms wrapping around, holding you up, keeping you from collapse. He's still hard inside you, so close to his own climax.

“God, you're so perfect... I've never experienced anything like this before...” His voice is gruff and broken, his breath hot against your neck as he pulls you flush against him. He lets out a low, guttural moan, his body trembling with need and restraint. “I need you.... I need to let go... you will let me come in you, won’t you? You will be a good girl for me, right doll?”

You nod, your body still thrumming with pleasure as you push back against him, signaling your absent-minded consent.

“You're going to be the death of me, woman...” His words are a rough whisper, a promise and a threat all at once. His grip tightens around you, his body tense and coiled like a spring. “Just a little more... just a little longer... I need to give you everything...”

He buries his face in your hair, his breath coming in jagged pants now, his body taut and trembling with the effort to hold back just a little longer.

“Almost there.... almost... I'm so close...” The words are a ragged gasp.

He let out a low, guttural groan, his body tensing against yours, his arms pulling you tight against him. “God, I... I can't... I'm...” he doesn't finish the sentence. Instead, he buries his face in your hair, muffling his moan against your shoulder as his body tightens and spasms, his release washing over him like a tide, powerful and consuming.

He holds you close as he comes down, his body trembling with the aftershocks, his breath warm against your skin. “God... that was... incredible...” The words are a rough whisper, his voice thick with emotion. He presses a tender kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering against your skin, as if he can't bear to let you go for even a moment.

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, as if he can't bear to have you any further than an inch away from him. “You're amazing, you know that?”

He nuzzles your neck, his lips leaving tender kisses along the sensitive skin there. He's so gentle, so different from the rough, desperate man who'd been consumed by need a few moments ago. As he sees his release dripping from between your legs, his eyes darken, making him feel more possessive about you.

“Mine...” He mutters the word against your skin, his voice thick with possessiveness. He knows it's probably a bit irrational, but he can't help it. He needs to express his claim over you, his desire to protect and own you in every way imaginable.

He then moves his fingers on your thigh, collecting some of his release on his fingers, bringing them closer to your mouth, a silent order.

You know what he wants, what he's demanding, even if he doesn't say the words aloud. Your eyes meet his, holding his gaze, as you slowly bring your hand up to wrap around his wrist, drawing his fingers into your mouth.

“Good girl…” He murmurs the words as he watches you, his eyes darkened by a possessive, primal need. He loves how submissive you are in this moment, how willing and eager you are to please him.

He holds your chin, his fingers tracing the outline of your lips, feeling the glide of his own release against them. “You have no idea what you do to me, doll. You make me lose all control. And I love it…”

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that's equal parts tender and possessive. He can taste himself on your lips, and the thought just makes him want you more, more fiercely than before.

He pulls back enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath coming faster now, his body stirring once more. “I swear, doll, you're going to be the death of me...”

He captures your lips again, kissing you deeply, his tongue delving into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you, marking you as his in every way he can think of.

Little do you know, about the real possessiveness he feels about you. Bucky is already planning to take you far away from everyone. To keep you all to himself. While you are already lost in the kiss and afterglow of the sex, Bucky is already planning about the future.

He kisses you again, with a fierce intensity, his hands roaming over your body, as if he's trying to memorize every inch of you. He's thinking of all the ways he wants to have you, all the ways he wants to make you his. He's already made up his mind. You're not just a passing fancy, or a distraction. You're his now, and he's not going to let you go. Not ever.

He then sits on the couch with you, while you rest in his arms, he picks out his phone preparing to take you away. He types out a quick message, his hands still caressing your skin, his eyes never leaving your face.

He's arranging for a secure location, somewhere remote, somewhere he can keep you safe and, more importantly, all to himself.

“My doll.”

Taglist- @imyourbratzdoll @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @ilovetaquitosmmmm

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@unaxv @pattiemac1 @lovely-geek @hzdhrtss

[simplygojo]

The Devi He Made Me - Ch. 11

Authors Note: HAPPY END OF KINKTOBER!!! I am so happy to be back to my regular schedule, when i say that it drained me...omg...anywayysss, new chapter of TDHMM-yippie-Shit is starting to get serioussss. I hope you love it :)

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary : After another excruciatingly painful nightmare, Gojo takes y/n to go see if Shoko might be able to identify just who she keeps seeing in her teams, and finally put an end to this all. However, after an unexpected surprise, things go downhill, as they all realize how serious y/n's situation really is...

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst, mention of death, minor creepy vibes

Taglist: @mawhoreagaa; @peqch-pie; @blue-serendipity; @simplyyyuji; @starrnai; @sorcerersseestars; @n1vi ; @angryglitterperfection; @krak-jj; @coweringbear; @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni; @cococola-cocaine; @sdv98o; @theendx888; @dvmb4ssbiatch; @sugxryratz; @kinny-away; @crankyarchives; @enfppuff; @nanamisrighthand; If you’d like to be added to the series tag list, leave a comment below:)

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Morning light seeped into your room, pale and muted, casting long shadows that seemed to cling to every surface. 

You hadn’t slept much; fragments of last night’s conversation between Gojo and Nanami still rang in your ears. 

One thing he said really stuck in your mind; ‘no matter how much I try to shove my feelings aside; they keep finding their way back to her. She’s in my head—she’s everywhere I look…’ 

It had been raw, so unlike his typical unbreakable confidence, and it twisted uncomfortably in your chest.

A knock interrupted your thoughts, soft but steady, and you knew right away it was him. Gojo’s hand had a careful rhythm, one that was somehow both reassuring and nerve-wracking.

“Y/n?” His voice was gentle, a murmur through the door. “Can I come in?”

You swallowed, straightening a little as you called out, “Yeah, sure.”

He stepped in, the door creaking softly behind him. Gojo’s usual easygoing expression was gone, replaced with a serious, almost guarded look. 

He stood there for a moment, eyes scanning your face as if searching for signs of the sleepless night you’d had. 

His shoulders were more tense than usual, his mouth pressed into a thin line. You could feel the energy in the room change, thick and palpable, a strange tension hanging between you.

After a moment’s hesitation, he moved to sit at the edge of your bed, close enough that you could feel his warmth but just far enough to keep the distance between you painfully obvious. 

His hand rested on his knee, fingers flexing, then curling tightly as if to keep himself from reaching for you. When he finally spoke, his voice was steady, but his eyes held a flicker of caution.

“I talked to Shoko,” he said, each word careful, his gaze not quite meeting yours at first. 

“About your nightmares and the memories you’ve been seeing. She thinks we might be able to take a look.” 

His eyes finally lifted, holding yours, an unreadable intensity making your pulse skip. 

“She set up some tests using cursed energy to amplify the memories stored in your brain. It’ll be… intense, but it could help us understand what’s going on with you.”

Your breath caught, hope and uncertainty tangling inside you. “You think it’ll work?”

Gojo nodded slowly, his face softening with a small, almost imperceptible smile. 

“If anyone can pull it off, it’s Shoko. But—” he hesitated, then leaned in just a fraction, his gaze narrowing slightly as he searched your eyes. 

“It won’t be easy. These memories… they’re tied to something powerful, something you might not fully understand yet. And depending on what we find…” 

He trailed off, his fingers tapping a slow rhythm against his knee, as though weighing something heavy. 

“Depending on what we see, things might change. You have to be sure you’re ready for this.”

The air between you seemed to thicken, his words sinking in. There was a hint of something vulnerable in his face, an unspoken warning. 

You weren’t entirely sure what he meant by ‘things might change,’ but the intensity of his gaze left no room for doubt about the seriousness of this choice.

After a beat, you took a steadying breath, a resolve building inside you. 

The nightmares had been clawing at you for weeks, pulling you into glimpses of darkness and confusion. If this was a way to finally understand it, even if it meant facing something dangerous, you knew you had to try.

“I’m ready,” you said softly, your voice steady.

His shoulders relaxed slightly, though a shadow of that worry lingered in his eyes. 

“Didn’t think you’d say anything else,” he replied, a faint, bittersweet smirk tugging at his lips. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before finally coming to rest on your shoulder. 

His touch was warm and grounding, his thumb barely brushing the fabric of your shirt as if he were testing the weight of the contact.

“Let’s figure this out,” he murmured, his voice low, tinged with something he couldn’t quite keep hidden. 

His fingers lingered on your shoulder a beat too long, his eyes still locked with yours. 

Then, reluctantly, he let his hand slip away, his fingers brushing against your arm as he withdrew. 

You could still feel the warmth of his hand, a lingering reminder of his presence, leaving your skin buzzing.

Whatever was hidden in those memories, whatever awaited you in Shoko’s tests—you were about to find out. And with Gojo by your side, even the fear seemed a little more bearable.

—

As you and Gojo make your way through the quiet hallways toward Shoko’s clinic, an uneasy silence stretches between you. 

He walks just a half-step ahead, his usual swagger subdued. Every now and then, he glances your way, his hand moving as if he might reach out, only to let it fall back to his side. 

Each step feels heavier than the last, the weight of what you’re about to face pressing down on both of you.

Finally, you break the silence, voice barely above a whisper. “I… I am a little scared, you know?”

Gojo stops for a second, turning to look at you with an expression caught between surprise and something deeper, almost pained. 

His usual mask of confidence falters, and for a moment, his eyes soften. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. 

It’s like he’s struggling with some inner battle, something that holds him back.

“I get it,” he says quietly, looking away. 

“This isn’t… easy.” He laughs softly, almost to himself, but it lacks his usual ease. 

“I mean, facing this stuff—anyone would feel the same.” He pauses, his eyes flickering back to you, as if he’s waiting for you to believe him. 

You can tell he wants to say more, something that seems to gnaw at him, but he just runs a hand through his hair, glancing away.

Nanami’s words echo in his mind: Sometimes, she just needs to know she’s not alone. You need to decide if you’re going to tell her how you feel, or risk losing her in the silence.

Gojo clears his throat, as if pushing the thought aside, and starts walking again, slower this time as you matched his pace. 

He can feel your gaze on him, and it makes his heart race with something he’s not used to. 

When he risks another glance, you’ve got that look in your eyes—the same one that’s haunted him for days, making him wonder if this silence between you was worth the risk.

—

When the two of you finally reach Shoko’s clinic, she’s already setting up the equipment. 

The faint hum of machines fills the room, a steady reminder of the unknown you’re about to face. Shoko greets you with a reassuring smile as she adjusts the settings on a peculiar-looking machine connected to a nearby screen.

“Y/n,” she says, giving your arm a gentle squeeze, “this machine will help focus my cursed energy into the memories stored in your brain. Hopefully, it’ll amplify the images enough for us to see what you’ve been experiencing in those nightmares. But I have to warn you—this might be intense.”

You nod, trying to appear braver than you feel, but Gojo notices the slight tremor in your hand as you settle into the chair. 

He watches as Shoko starts to attach small sensors to your temples and wrists, her movements calm and practiced.

To distract yourself, you make a little small talk. “So… this isn’t a normal part of your daily routine, huh?”

Shoko chuckles softly. “Nope. But I’ll admit, it’s a little exciting,” she says, glancing at Gojo with a smirk. 

“He’s been pushing for us to try something like this for a while now. Always so determined.”

Gojo raises an eyebrow, his usual cocky grin making a brief appearance. 

“Can’t blame me for being proactive,” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual bite, and his gaze remains fixed on you, the hint of worry still there.

With the machine finally set up, Shoko gives you a final reassuring nod. 

“Okay, y/n. Just relax and try to let the memories flow. Focus on whatever images you remember seeing in your dreams, even if they’re fragmented. Let’s see what comes through.”

You take a deep breath, heart pounding, and close your eyes, reaching into the swirling depths of your mind. 

Shoko’s cursed energy pulses gently, a warm yet unfamiliar presence threading into your consciousness, guiding you back to the shadows of your nightmares.

The screen behind you flickers to life, a hazy swirl of shapes and colours forming, but nothing solid enough to grasp. 

Blurred images flash—dark forests, twisted silhouettes, flashes of light and shadow—like fleeting glimpses of something lurking in the back of your mind.

“Come on, y/n,” Shoko encourages gently, her voice grounding you. “Try to focus on the details. Anything you can remember.”

You try harder, diving deeper into the fragmented memories. Each attempt only brings flashes—a featureless face you can’t quite place, a feeling of searing pain, as though something is clawing its way out of you. 

But just as you think you’re close, it slips away, the images blurring and scattering into darkness.

The struggle shows on your face, and Gojo can’t stand the look of frustration and pain that crosses your features. 

He shifts closer, his hand reaching out instinctively before he stops himself, hesitating. His jaw tightens, torn between his instinct to protect you and the words he can’t seem to bring himself to say.

He clears his throat, voice soft but steady.

“Take your time. Don’t push yourself too hard.” His words are gentle, a quiet contrast to his usual conduct, and you can feel the sincerity behind them.

But even his voice couldn’t cut through the storm in your mind. 

The memories remain distant, elusive, slipping through your grasp like smoke. 

The frustration is overwhelming, each attempt to hold onto the fragments feeling like trying to capture water with bare hands. 

You’re ready to give up, to surrender to the aching fog that clouds every detail—but then, something shifts.

A sharp, searing pain strikes deep in your mind, like a knife twisting through the haze. Your breath catches, and suddenly, everything clears for a brief, terrible moment.

An image crystallizes on the screen behind you, vivid and horrifying.

A man—tall, with long jet-black hair cascading over his shoulders, dressed in dark purple robes that seem to shift in the shadows. 

His face is twisted into a sinister smile that chills you to your core. 

But it’s his eyes that hold you captive, cold and calculating, as though he’s staring straight through you, mocking you. 

And there’s something else—a line of stitches that runs across his forehead, as though he’s been sewn together, piece by piece, into something monstrous.

It’s a face you know you’ve seen before, lurking at the edges of your mind, hidden in the shadows of your nightmares.

The name slashes through your thoughts, clear and undeniable.

You gasp, your whole body tensing with the shock of recognition, and the image on the screen flickers, distorting with static. 

But it lingers, hanging in the air like a ghostly imprint before it vanishes completely, leaving only a dark emptiness on the screen.

Shoko’s eyes widened, and a sharp gasp slipped past her lips, her usually calm demeanour cracking as she processed what she had just seen. 

“That… that was Geto, wasn’t it?” Her voice is barely a whisper.

Gojo’s reaction is immediate. His face drained of colour, and for a second, he looked as if he’d seen a ghost. 

His usual confidence is nowhere to be found, replaced with a raw, unguarded shock that he quickly tries to suppress. 

But his hand still hovers near you, clenched into a fist, as if he’s struggling to contain a surge of emotion.

“Suguru..” He murmured, almost to himself as his eyes remained locked on the blank screen. 

“How is this even possible?” His voice tinged with disbelief and dread.

For a moment, you’re overwhelmed by the memory, by the terror that pulses through you. 

“I—I don’t know,” you stammer, feeling as though you’re back in that nightmare, as if you’re staring into those cold, unfeeling eyes all over again. 

“That’s him though, the man in my nightmares….… I think he did something to me. That night in the forest—there was… there was a feeling, like something was breaking inside me.”

Gojo’s hand finally closes around your shoulder, grounding you. His grip is firm but gentle, his fingers just slightly digging into your skin, steadying you as he pulls you back from the edge of the memory.

You searched his face, his expression so intense it was almost unreadable—anger, yes, but there was something else there, something raw and unspoken.

“That man…” You took a shaky breath, piecing the fragments together. “Do… do you know him?”

The question seemed to pierce right through him. 

For a moment, Gojo’s usual composure faltered, his hand dropping from your shoulder as he took a step back. 

His face tightened, his mouth pressed into a grim line, and his gaze fell, no longer meeting yours.

“Yes,” he said, his voice almost a whisper. There was a pause, weighted and painful, and when he spoke again, his tone was low, haunted. “He was my best friend.”

The words hit you like a wave, leaving you speechless. 

Gojo’s best friend. It was hard to imagine him with that kind of connection to someone so terrifying, someone who left such a dark mark on your mind. 

The man from your nightmares, the man who had been torturing your dreams, was once someone Gojo trusted, someone he cared about.

“But…” You struggled to find the words, feeling a strange, twisting ache as you watched the turmoil flicker in Gojo’s eyes. 

“If he was your best friend… then what happened?”

Gojo’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a mix of sorrow and something harder, colder, that you had never seen from him before. 

“I killed him.” The confession dropped heavily between you, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse. “It was… the only choice I had.”

For a second, the room felt colder, the weight of his words sinking in. You could barely process it. 

The ache in your chest deepened as you took in his pain. The way his hand had lingered on your shoulder, the protectiveness in his gaze, even the anger—it all made sense now. 

“Gojo…” you started, but he cut you off, his eyes blazing with a fierce resolve.

“Whatever Suguru did to you, whatever he left behind, I’ll find a way to remove it,” he vowed, his tone thick with emotion. 

“I won’t let his darkness touch you any more than it already has.”

The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down your spine. 

You could feel the weight of his promise, a fierce protectiveness that was nearly overwhelming. 

There was so much he wasn’t saying, so much he was holding back, but you could see it in his gaze—the regret, the guilt, the memories of a friend turned enemy.

You swallowed, nodding as you tried to process it all. 

“Thank you… I don’t even know how to start making sense of this, but…” Your voice trembled. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Gojo’s eyes softened, and he offered a faint, bittersweet smile. 

“I won’t let you go through this alone,” he said gently, and this time, his hand rested on your shoulder a little longer, grounding you, promising you that he’d stand by your side, no matter what.

The weight of his words settles over you, a strange comfort in the midst of fear. 

The memory has left a scar on your mind, but Gojo’s presence beside you feels like an anchor, grounding you in the present, keeping you from sinking back into the darkness.

He released your shoulder slowly, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of regret and resolve. Nanami’s words still echo in his mind, a reminder that he can’t ignore any longer. 

But for now, he buries it, focusing on what matters most. Finding out what Geto had done to you.

“I think that’s enough for now, Shoko.” Gojo said curtly as his hand found the spot between your shoulder blades, gently pushing you forward to get off of the chair. 

—

Gojo’s hand rested firmly against the small of your back, the warmth of his touch grounding you in the quiet hallway. 

Yet something about his touch felt different—less his usual casual, steady presence and more like an unspoken promise, as though he was trying to keep you tethered to something he could barely name. 

The late morning light spilled in through the windows, but it felt muted, its warmth blunted by the tension of this new discovery that seemed to hover between you.

The silence was thick, stretching out in the spaces between your steps, until you could no longer bear the weight of it. 

You glanced up at him, catching the crease in his brow, the intensity in his gaze as he looked ahead. His lips were pressed into a thin line, and for once, his usual mask of playfulness was gone, replaced by something darker, more conflicted.

“Gojo… are you okay?” you asked quietly, hesitantly, your voice barely breaking the stillness around you.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his gaze fixed ahead, but you could feel his fingers press just a fraction more firmly against your back. 

It was as if he needed that point of contact–a reminder of your presence to keep himself grounded. 

You stopped, turning to face him fully, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, the words catching slightly in your throat. “I didn’t mean to put all this on you… to cause you so much stress.”

At that, he froze, his eyes widening slightly as though your words had struck a nerve he hadn’t expected. 

The surprise softened into something deeper as he looked down at you, his expression raw and unguarded. 

Without a word, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin with a touch so gentle it left a shiver in its wake. 

There was a fierce, unyielding resolve in his gaze, but there was something else too—something vulnerable, something he had yet to say.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice barely above a whisper, “you have nothing to apologize for.” 

He held your gaze, his blue eyes steady, resolute hidden behind his usual frames. “I’m going to–we’re going to find out what Geto did to you. I swear it.”

The intensity of his words struck you, the weight behind them settling into your chest. 

He was close now, closer than he’d been since your heated moment he chose to forget, his face mere inches from yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your cheek. 

You could feel the quiet ache in his touch, the unspoken emotion simmering between you, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—a vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. 

His gaze dropped to your lips for a fleeting second, and his breath hitched, as though he were teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t take back.

But then, his expression shifted. 

The softness faded, replaced by a hard, unyielding line as his jaw tightened, his body going rigid. 

His hand slipped from your cheek, and his eyes narrowed, his attention snapping toward your room down just the hallway, his gaze dark and clouded with a new intensity.

“Gojo…?” You asked, feeling a sudden chill creep up your spine.

He barely heard you, his focus now locked on the closed door of your room, his entire body tense, as if preparing for battle. 

His eyes flashed with something fierce, a simmering rage that was barely visible.

Without another word, he took a step forward, his hand dropping to his side as he gathered his cursed energy, the very air around him thickening with a quiet, lethal power.

His gaze flicked back to you, filled with something fierce and protective—a look that made your heart beat faster, though not from fear.

“Suguru,” he uttered, the name slipping from his lips like a curse, his voice cold and sharp.

A surge of dread washed over you as he spoke, and you could feel the shift in the air, the weight of something sinister lingering in the hallway. 

You saw his fingers curl, his hand lifting ever so slightly, his cursed energy humming just beneath the surface, ready to strike.

Instinctively, you took a step forward, reaching out to follow him, but his hand shot out, pressing you back gently but firmly. 

“Stay here,” he said, his voice laced with a deadly calm. The authority in his tone was undeniable, and there was a hard edge in his gaze, one that told you he wouldn’t let you argue this time. “I would never mistake it…he was here.”

You swallowed, wanting to be by his side, to help in any way you could, but the look in his eyes stopped you. 

It was the look of a man who would protect you at any cost, who would let nothing and no one harm you again. 

There was a storm brewing in him, a silent fury that seemed to burn away any remnants of his usual carefree demeanour.

For a moment, all you could do was watch, feeling a mix of fear and something deeper, something that tugged at your chest. 

The door creaked open under his hand, and he slipped inside, leaving you standing alone in the hall, acutely aware of the silence that followed. 

Inside, Gojo's eyes swept the room. 

It looked untouched—your bed was neatly made, the sunlight filtering through the blinds cast soft patterns across the floor, and nothing seemed out of place. 

But beneath the ordinary, he could feel it, like a faint pulse in the air. 

Geto’s cursed energy lingered, barely perceptible but unmistakable, weaving through the room like the ghost of a dark promise.

The subtle residue prickled against his senses as he remembered what happened last time he felt Geto’s cursed energy around one of his students…His jaw clenched, and he forced his breathing to remain steady as he let his gaze drift over every inch of the room, his attention as sharp as a blade. 

The thought of Geto being here, in your private space, sent a surge of anger through him, burning away the last remnants of calm he had managed to hold onto.

He moved further in, his footsteps barely making a sound as he scanned the shadows, his cursed energy flickering out like invisible tendrils, feeling for anything out of the ordinary. 

Every instinct in him screamed to root out every last trace, to eliminate even the faintest whisper of Geto’s presence from this room, this place that should have been safe for you.

But even as he combed through the empty spaces, there was nothing solid—no sign of a physical intrusion, no ransacked belongings or broken barriers. 

Just that faint, dark thread of energy, faded but lingering, as if Geto had been here recently, watching, perhaps even waiting.

The thought twisted in Gojo’s mind like a knife. 

He tightened his fist, his knuckles pale against the light. 

The implications of Geto’s presence—the questions of what he wanted, what he had planned, why you—gnawed at him, a reminder of just how much he had failed to keep Geto away from you. 

He was supposed to be the strongest—a weapon of jujutsu society…

And for the first time in a long while, Gojo felt a sting of helplessness that cut through his determination, a flicker of vulnerability that he despised.

With a final sweep of the room, Gojo made his way back to the door, his expression grim. 

—

When he stepped back into the hallway, his gaze softened only slightly as he met yours, his earlier storm barely concealed beneath a thin veneer of calm.

When Gojo’s gaze finally met yours, he felt his chest tighten, an unfamiliar ache that unsettled him more than he’d ever admit. 

The whirlwind of anger and worry roiling beneath his calm exterior nearly broke free, but he held it in check, unwilling to let you see the full force of his turmoil. 

He had always been careful with you, keeping the weight of his emotions hidden behind easy smiles and lighthearted words. But right now, with the events of the morning and Geto’s presence still haunting the air around him, he felt his resolve slip.

In the silence, he searched your face, seeing the fear, the confusion—and that undeniable spark of trust shining in your eyes. 

It made his heart clench, that unguarded look you gave him, as if he were your anchor in a world turned upside down. His usual self-assurance faltered as he took in the vulnerability you didn’t try to hide, and for a split second, he wondered if you saw past his composed facade, if you knew just how far he’d go to keep you safe.

You looked up at him, your gaze unwavering despite the uncertainty hanging between you. 

There was something raw in your eyes that left him feeling both exposed and deeply, irrevocably drawn to you. 

He didn’t know how to protect you from what Geto had left behind or how to untangle the curse that seemed to reach through your memories like twisted roots—but he knew he wouldn’t stop trying.

“Satoru…?” You murmured, voice gentle but questioning, as if sensing the weight he carried, the silent storm he hid just beneath the surface. 

The way you said his name—it was both grounding and terrifying. He was so used to people looking to him for protection, for answers. 

But you looked at him like you saw more, like you saw him—the man beneath the power.

He swallowed, feeling a sudden need to say something that would make this easier for you, that would lighten the weight in your eyes. But nothing came, no easy jokes or clever words. 

“Y/n,” he said quietly, the words thick with an emotion he hadn’t dared put a name to. 

“I don’t why Suguru here, and I don’t know why he is in your dreams—or memories—whatever it is.” He began, pulling himself out of his thoughts. 

You nodded, “I don’t expect you to,” you said but looked just beyond Gojo’s shoulder back at your bedroom door unsure of what had happened. 

“Does this mean he had been in my room…” You said, your voice sounding unsure of your words as you said them. Your stomach twisted at the thought of it.

Gojo’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he turned to glance back at your room. There was a cold, dangerous glint in his eyes as he considered what Geto’s presence might mean. 

The thought of Geto lingering in your space, leaving traces of his cursed energy for you to stumble upon, was enough to set a low, simmering fury in his veins. His shoulders tensed, the very air around him thickening with a restrained power he fought to keep in check.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur, barely hiding the rage that simmered beneath. “He was here, and not too long ago. This energy—it’s fresh.” 

His hand hovered at his side, clenched tightly as if resisting the urge to break something. 

His mind raced with the possibilities, the motives behind Geto’s actions. Geto wasn’t one for careless plans. 

Every move he made was precise, calculated, with a reason lurking in the shadows.

You swallowed hard, feeling a chill seep into your bones. The thought of Geto standing in your room, of his twisted, mocking presence lingering in the air you breathed, made your skin crawl. 

Gojo’s gaze softened as he looked at you, noticing the way your hands trembled slightly as you processed his words. 

His hand reached out instinctively, his fingers brushing against yours, grounding you, reminding you that he was here. 

His touch was warm and reassuring, and yet beneath it, you sensed a deeper tension, a protectiveness that bordered on desperation.

After a moment of silence, Gojo took a steadying breath, his hand releasing yours and being shoved into his front pockets before speaking.

“Jujutsu High isn’t safe for you anymore,” he said, his voice resolute.

The words came out sharper than he intended, but he didn’t soften them. 

“Not while he’s still out there, slipping past our defences like it’s nothing.” His eyes met yours, unwavering, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something—guilt, regret, a hint of the burden he carried. 

“I can’t watch him take anything else from me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, a mixture of fear and emotion swirling within you. The thought of leaving Jujutsu High, of being uprooted from the only place you had found to be safe since losing your memory. But as you looked at Gojo, at the determination set in his features, you realized that this was more than just a decision for him. 

It was a promise, a duty he’d taken upon himself to keep you safe, no matter the cost.

“What… what do you mean?” You asked, your voice barely a whisper, searching his eyes for answers, for reassurance.

“I’m going to take you somewhere he can’t reach,” he said, his tone softened but unwavering. “Somewhere I know you’ll be safe. But we can’t waste any time.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you, the gravity of what lay ahead. There was an ache in your chest, a strange sense of finality, but beneath it all, you felt a glimmer of hope—a hope rooted in him, in his strength, his resolve.

“Pack a few things,” he murmured, his gaze holding yours for a moment longer, before finding his phone screen as he pulled it out of his pocket and began texting someone. “We’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”