#obsession clearly builds slowly for me

[jessieren]

I LOVE the hate:flirting in this episode. They should have had more Eve Thorne

Shaun Evans as Endeavour Morse & Charlotte Hope as Eve Thorne ENDEAVOUR (2012 - 2023) Season 5, Episode 1: Muse

[pseudowho]

Stoic

When Gojo assumes Nanami Kento's lack of PDA for the reader shows a lack of desire for her, a tipsy Kento is quick to correct him.

Warnings: 18+ drabble, Kento goes on a smutty rant

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'A quick drink' after work had soon turned into two, three, four. Shoko took full advantage of the rooftop bar's balcony, smoking and idly chatting; Higuruma and Atsuya gossipped and quipped, snorting into their drinks; Satoru observed Kento and you keenly behind his dark lens; you stood, excusing yourself to the bathroom as Kento gave you a gentle smile.

"I'm sorry," Satoru interrupted loudly when you were gone, his pot boiling over, "I just-- I just don't get it, Nanami." All eyes were on Satoru and Kento now-- Kento, with one thin eyebrow raised in quiet disdain at Satoru, and Satoru, with his elbows planted forward on his knees in challenge.

A few moments of silence. Kento huffed, "Should I be apologising for someth--"

"--you've been together for years," Satoru interrupted, "and I'm just not convinced. She could be-- she could be a coat rack for all the affection you show her, you're supposed to not be able to keep your hands off her--"

"--you want me to grope my fiancée in public, am I correct--"

"--well maybe, anything to show that you love her--"

Kento laughed out loud, deep and humourless, continuing to chuckle into his glass, scoffing to himself; "Love her," he rumbled, swirling his whiskey, amber eyes flickering and carnal in the firelight.

Shoko had turned, smirking, to watch the scene. Atsuya leaned back, scowling, chewing on a toothpick with crossed arms. Hiromi leaned, glimmer-eyed, into the drama, one hand cupping his jaw and the other clasping his wineglass. He picked up the bottle, slowly beginning to pour another glass.

"I don't love her," Kento spat, downing his glass of whiskey in one smooth swallow, hissing and slamming the glass down on the table, "I worship her. I'm obsessed with her."

Satoru was silent, mulish, as Kento continued.

"I would walk through rains of bullets for her," he mused aloud, "I would cut off fingers with blunt knives--"

"Nanami, alright, I'm sorry--"

"Any second I'm not with her," Kento continued, his voice quieter, darker, the group leaning into him, "is a second wasted. I don't know what point there was in the years I spent without her-- probably just there to build me into even a semblance of the man she deserves--"

"--why are we doing this--"

"-- and when I'm not thinking about talking to her, watching her, being near her, holding her, or-- fuck, just having her look at me goes bone-deep...I spend at least eighty-percent of my time thinking about different ways to make her cum--"

Satoru was blushing now, his face in his hands, while the others leaned into Kento's mild breakdown with awe, "--fucking hell Nanami, I didn't mean--"

"I almost died last week, at work," Kento mused, as a laughing Hiromi slid the glass of wine down the table to Kento, which he caught seamlessly, "because I was too busy thinking about how her mouth had felt around my cock the night before, because I was pondering the many applications for my tie, because I was thinking about how incredible she felt underneath me--"

Atsuya and Shoko whispered together, Hiromi now giggling to himself unashamedly; "Oh he's really going for it--" "I know I know, shhh, let him finish--"

"--and I've been sat here with her all evening, resisting the urge to strip her, tie her wrists together and have her ride me until I go fucking blind, all because of social-fucking-propriety, just for some long streak of jizz like you to say I clearly don't love her--"

Satoru had shrunk in on himself now, his soul quietly leaving his body, mortified and put to rights as Kento tsked, swirling his wine before downing that, too. He accepted the bottle Hiromi slid towards him in approval.

"...it really just is rather rude and presumptuous of you, isn't it, Gojo?"

The group sat in stunned silence as you returned, sitting beside Kento and laying a hand on his crossed knees. You felt the bizarre tension; Hiromi unable to conceal a blush as he looked at you, Shoko giving you a knowing smile around her cigarette, Atsuya unable to make eye contact. You smiled uncertainly.

"...what did I miss?"

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Still waters run deep 💀💀💀

[emphistic]

Obsessed with your work frfr. Can I get a fic or anything you're comfortable with sukuna's friends coming over to his place and the reader sleeping in his bed or smth and him getting all protective and his friends teasing him. Thanks!

"You two are so annoying," Sukuna muttered into his mic, looking back at your calmly sleeping figure on his bed.

"Don't be such a party pooper, 'Kuna!" Gojo's laughter sounded through the pink-haired man's headset.

"I told you already, don't call me that."

"Aww, so your girlfriend can call you pet names but little ol' me can't? You're really showing your true colors here, man," Gojo feigned to cry.

"Could not care less," Sukuna rolled his eyes, his fingers swiftly clicking on the keyboard as he continued his game.

"I am to going to come over there and fuck you up."

"Satoru—" Geto tried to stop his white-haired friend.

"Try me. I'll kick your ass." Sukuna quickly retorted.

"Nah, I'd win."

A pinging sound was emitted through the Discord call as Gojo disconnected. Geto sighed, "Let's hope he's not actually going."

"Knowing him he's probably just going to rejoin the call. Give it a few minutes."

The few minutes were given and Gojo did not rejoin the call or the game lobby.

Sukuna drummed his fingers on his desk, clearly bored. "Damn, that idiot is really out of it today, huh. Died three games in a row to a bunch of newbies, and now thinks he can beat me in fight."

"I'll see if I can catch him midway, and drag him back," Geto suggested.

"Good luck with that," Sukuna chuckled.

Another ping sounded through Sukuna's headset as Geto left the call. The pink-haired man disconnected from the call as well, and sat up from his chair, slowly walking over towards you.

He admired your sleeping face, the fall and rise of your chest slightly hidden beneath your (his) sweater, the drool dribbling down your chin onto his pillow — which he didn't mind.

He gingerly brushed aside a strand of your hair so he could get an even better look at your face. Despite having been together for more than two years now, Sukuna still blushed at the thought and sight of you. Could you blame him though?

Sukuna slightly jumped at the sound of his doorbell ringing. He looked down at you to see if you had woken up from that but you only shifted a bit, unconsciously nuzzling your face into his palm, seeking his warmth.

What the hell? Was that dumbass actually being for real? Sukuna thought, as he reluctantly pulled away from you and walked out his room to go open the door.

This time, instead of the doorbell ringing, there was a pounding on the door.

"Okay, okay! I'm coming!" Sukuna quickly unlocked the door and, lo and behold, standing outside was a scene he was not expecting to see, like, ever.

Gojo, bent down with his hands on his knees, dripping sweat and huffing and puffing. Tufts of his white hair were everywhere, even more messed up than usual. Geto, who was leaning on the wall for support, was not looking much better than his friend.

"I'm sorry," Geto said, his chest heaving, "I tried to stop him, I swear."

Sukuna scrunched up his face, "You ran . . . all the way over here? From your building?"

"Uh huh, that's right," Gojo held out a thumbs up, still heavily panting. "Let me in, I'm going to beat your ass up now."

"No way in Hell, Satoru. And even if I did, you are in no condition to go toe to toe with me," Sukuna pointed to himself with his thumb at the word 'me'.

"C'mon, dude. I need a water, my throat is as dry as your game," Gojo continued to pursue.

"Yeah, my game is just sooo dry, huh? I'm literally the only one here with a girl on my arm."

"Bro, just let me in," Gojo pushed Sukuna aside, and stumbled into his apartment. Geto glanced at Sukuna with an apologetic look on his face, "My bad."

Sukuna sighed, mouthing, "Don't worry about it."

The three men settled in the kitchen. Gojo stuck his head in Sukuna's fridge and searched for a cold drink. Having finally fished one out, he stood back upright, leaning on the counter and drinking.

"So," the white-haired male said, between gulps, "where's the girl?"

"The girl?"

Gojo nodded, still drinking. "Uh huh. Where she at?"

"Sleeping." Sukuna gestured to the closed door at the other end of the apartment.

"How rude of her, the most amazing, handsomest man is in her home and she is sleeping?" Gojo placed his water bottle on the counter, and put a hand over his heart, feigning hurt.

"’Don't blame her. I would do the same," Geto joked, Sukuna let out a reverberating laugh.

Gojo rolled his eyes, before storming over to your room. Sukuna quickly moved to standing in front of the door, blocking Gojo from entering.

"Hmm, what's this? You have something to hide, Sukuna? Perhaps . . . drugs? Substances? Or maybe, another girl in your bed?" Gojo rubbed his chin with both his index and thumb simultaneously.

Sukuna scowled at Gojo, "You don't know shit. I do not have another girl in there."

Gojo raised a brow, "Then why would you not want me entering?"

"Because you would wake the girl up, obviously," Geto added, coming to Sukuna's defense.

Sukuna sighed, "Fine, you wanna see so bad? Be my guest." Sukuna turned around and twisted the knob, pushing the door open. He was the first to step in.

Gojo snickered, his eyes landing on your form, "Guess you don't have another girl in here."

"Will you quiet down? You're going to wake her up and she's going to kick you two out. You know she gets more cranky than anyone else," Sukuna whisper-shouted, not helping his cause.

"Tch, she would never kick me out. I'm a literal blessing to be near," everyone rolled their eyes at Gojo's remark.

At this, you rolled over in bed, opening your eyes to glare at the three men in your bedroom.

"I've been awake for the last two hours, you assholes. You guys are so loud that even when Sukuna is wearing headphones I can still hear Gojo screaming his head off. I mean, seriously, do you guys ever close your mouths? For, like, even a second."

The three men all switched their gazes between you, and each other. Geto was the only one sensible enough to apologize to you, before stepping out of the room and leaving you to continue glaring at Sukuna and Gojo, who were now both sweating buckets.

"Baby, I swear, I tried to stop them—"

"Don't 'baby' me," you glowered at your lover.

"Oooh, someone's in trouble," Gojo didn't even attempt to muffle his laughter.

"You: Gojo, get out. Sukuna, you can make your own dinner."

"Wha– babe, please, you're cooking is way—"

"Don't make me say it again."

Taglist: @starlets-things @sad-darksoul @mochimoee @r0ckst4rjk @lillycore @deepchromatose @yinyinyinyinyinyin @fivehoneyharg @desihopelessromantic @lich1 @hannas16 @acroso @msvalsius

[reidmarieprentiss]

Red: Part One

Summary: Spencer, in need of a break, finds himself at a quiet bar where he meets you. What starts as a chance encounter quickly turns into something deeper as the two of you fall for each other. Though your connection is undeniable, both of you struggle with opening up fully, each holding onto personal secrets that linger just beneath the surface. As you grow closer, the trust builds slowly but surely, but what truths are you both holding back? And how will they shape the relationship that’s blossoming between you?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+)

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, alcohol consumption, mild withholding of information, season 7 Spencer, this is just so fluffy

Word count: 23.5k

a/n: i am deeply obsessed with these two and i am sooo excited to continue writing for them !!! part two on the wayyy — unedited NEVER be afraid to call me out!!

also so silly but in this gif mgg has pen ink on his hand and that makes me happy

main masterlist part two

Additional warnings: handjob, fingering, grinding, mild breast play

Spencer had his eyes half-closed, nursing his second beer of the evening, the slight buzz in his head both surprising and, in a strange way, comforting. It wasn’t often that he sought out a bar, let alone one like this—a dimly lit, almost hidden speakeasy. The soft, jazzy notes of a piano floated through the air, merging with the quiet hum of voices around him. He liked that no one recognized him here, no one pried, no one asked questions. He could just be.

As he took another slow sip, he felt the weight of the stool next to him shift. Someone had slid into the seat beside him. He didn’t glance over immediately, his mind too cluttered to bother with pleasantries. The cases were piling up like unsorted files in his head, all demanding his attention. His mother’s health was deteriorating again, and the migraines that had haunted him for years had made a sudden, unwelcome return. 

For a moment, he regretted not finishing the bottle of aspirin in his bag before entering the bar. But the alcohol was doing its job, numbing the edge just enough to make the night bearable. It wasn’t about getting drunk—he knew he wouldn’t let himself go that far—but it was about finding just enough peace to ease the constant pressure in his head, even if only for a few hours. Spencer closed his eyes briefly, taking in a deep breath, the smell of wood and faint whiskey lingering in the air.

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the woman beside him, unable to tear his eyes away just yet. She looked like she had walked straight out of another world, her style effortlessly unique, her red boots and gingham shorts standing out against the muted tones of the dimly lit bar. There was something about her that drew him in, despite her stoic expression—an air of mystery, as though she held a universe inside her that she wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone.

The bartender slid the espresso martini in front of her, and she barely acknowledged it, her mind clearly elsewhere. Spencer wondered what she was thinking about, what troubles weighed on her. He sympathized, his own mind heavy with stress and worry. He almost felt a kinship with her, like they were both sitting here, burdened by their own worlds, trying to find some fleeting solace in the bottom of a glass.

The scent of her—something sweet, with a hint of spice—drifted toward him. It was a calming scent, one that made him close his eyes for a second longer, hoping it would ease the pounding in his skull. He couldn't help but think that her smile, if she ever chose to reveal it, would be the kind of smile that would light up the darkest corners of a room. 

He wondered if it might also help alleviate the growing tension in his mind, the tight grip of his migraine loosening just at the thought. For now, though, the smell of her perfume was enough to dull the ache, if only a little. 

"Espresso martini, huh?" Spencer asked, his voice soft, not wanting to intrude too much but also not wanting to remain silent any longer. "Interesting choice for a Wednesday night."

The woman turned her head slightly, glancing at him with a raised brow, as though surprised anyone had spoken to her. For a second, Spencer worried he had overstepped, but then her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but enough to make him feel like maybe, just maybe, he had said something right.

"Not going to sleep anyway," you shrugged with a tired laugh, your voice carrying a hint of exhaustion but also nonchalance. "Might as well get a drink I enjoy, right?" You wrapped your fingers around the stem of the glass, feeling the cool condensation against your skin, but your eyes flickered over to the man beside you. 

Usually, you wouldn’t engage with random men at a bar, especially not on a Wednesday night when the world seemed to blur together in monotony. But something about this one had caught your attention. He wasn’t like the others who sometimes tried too hard or made themselves too loud. He was quiet, unassuming, and there was a weight in his eyes that matched your own. 

He was handsome, yes—remarkably so. His sharp, angular features made him look almost statuesque, but there was a softness to him too, something that balanced out the hard edges. It wasn’t just in his face, though. It was in the way he held himself, a little slouched, as if the world rested on his shoulders. There was something vulnerable about him, and that vulnerability intrigued you. 

You weren't the type to make conversation with a stranger, but maybe it was the exhaustion that made you let your guard down, or maybe it was the way his gaze had softened when he glanced at you, as if he understood something about you without needing to ask. Whatever it was, you found yourself more open to this brief encounter than you normally would be.

He smiled slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if he wasn’t sure how to respond to your casual remark, but you noticed. It was a small gesture, but you appreciated it—more than you had expected to. 

"Fair enough," he finally replied, his voice low but gentle, as though he was trying not to disturb the delicate balance of the quiet between you two. He took a sip of his drink, his fingers tapping lightly against the glass, a subtle rhythm that seemed to mimic the thoughts racing through his mind.

For a moment, the two of you sat in a comfortable silence, and you wondered if he, like you, had found some kind of unexpected solace in this quiet corner of the bar.

The man spoke again after a beat, his voice soft and almost hesitant, “Spencer.” He offered a small, almost boyish smile that contrasted with the sharp lines of his face.

You turned your body more toward him, your interest piqued by his somewhat awkward yet endearing demeanor. “Y/N,” you replied, returning the smile, though still guarded. 

There was a brief pause, and then Spencer’s eyes lit up, as though something had clicked in his mind. “Did you know that your name, Y/N, has roots that trace back to—” He launched into a surprisingly detailed explanation of the origins and historical significance of your name, mentioning various cultures and meanings, weaving in obscure facts that you had never even thought about.

As he spoke, you felt a mix of emotions. On the one hand, it was oddly charming, the way he seemed so genuinely excited to share what he knew. He made you feel special, like your name was something worthy of deep analysis and thought, and you couldn't help but be flattered by it. But there was also something that put you a little on edge—the way he seemed to know so much, like he had all this information tucked away in his mind, ready to be shared at any given moment.

“I did not know that…” you admitted slowly, your voice a touch wary, even as you tried to keep your tone light. “Why do you?”

Spencer hesitated for a second, his smile faltering just slightly before he answered. “I, uh… I tend to remember things. I read a lot, so I guess some of it sticks.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “Just ‘some’ of it?” 

He let out a small, nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe more than some. I’m kind of a… well, I guess you could say I’m a bit of an overthinker.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you said with a grin, feeling the tension ease slightly between you. “But it’s not a bad thing. Just… surprising.”

Spencer nodded, his posture relaxing a little, as if your comment reassured him. “Surprising in a good way, I hope.”

You shrugged playfully, leaning back slightly in your seat. “I’ll let you know.”

Spencer liked this. You were cautious, guarded in a way that suggested a sharp mind, the kind of intellect that naturally set boundaries when it came to engaging with strangers. Yet, despite your reservation, you kept your wits about you, maintaining a balance of good manners and a sense of humor that was both disarming and refreshing. It made you even more intriguing.

There was something undeniably endearing about the way you interacted—enigmatic and charming, with a touch of playfulness that made him want to keep the conversation going. Spencer found himself wanting to know more, to understand what made you tick in the same way he often tried to solve the puzzles in his own head.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Spencer said during a brief lull in conversation, his tone gentle yet curious, “what brings you to a bar in the middle of the week?”

You squinted your eyes at him playfully, the corner of your lips quirking up in amusement. “I could ask you the same.”

He couldn’t help but smile at your response, appreciating how easily you turned the question back on him, challenging him to reveal his reasons first. It was a fair trade, after all.

"Touché," he conceded, leaning back slightly, considering his answer for a moment. "I guess I just needed a break… from everything. Sometimes it feels like things are piling up and... well, it was either come here or keep staring at the ceiling of my apartment."

You nodded in understanding, your expression softening just a bit. “Yeah, I get that. Sometimes you need to step away from everything and just… exist for a little while, right?”

"Exactly," Spencer replied, relieved that you seemed to understand without him having to explain too much. "And you?"

You tapped your fingers thoughtfully on the bar for a moment before answering, your eyes drifting toward the half-finished martini in front of you. “Same, I guess. Life’s complicated, and sometimes you just want to sit in a quiet corner and let the world pass you by for a while. Maybe with a drink that makes it a little easier to forget."

Spencer nodded, the quiet between you settling into something more comfortable. There was no need for either of you to dive too deeply into your respective reasons for being here. The understanding was enough for now. Two strangers, sitting side by side, momentarily finding solace in each other’s presence without demanding too much.

“I’m glad I picked this bar,” Spencer said quietly, after a pause. “It’s… different. Quiet.”

You smiled softly, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah, me too. Good choice.”

“Have you... have you been here before?” Spencer asked, his curiosity evident as he glanced at you, his fingers idly tracing the rim of his glass.

You shook your head, setting down your now-empty glass and signaling the bartender for another drink. “No, actually. I saw it when I moved here, figured tonight was as good a time as any to check it out.” 

Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the coincidence. He wasn’t a man who often gave weight to fate or spiritual ideas—his mind preferred the concrete, the logical—but the fact that both of you ended up here on a quiet Wednesday night, for the first time, sharing an unspoken sense of heaviness... It felt like one of those rare moments that made him pause, as though something bigger was at play. 

He smiled again, this time a little more openly. “I haven’t been here either. A friend told me about it. He, uh, likes to come here to meet women—said they’re more sophisticated than the ones he usually meets at clubs.”

You raised an eyebrow, your amusement clear as you leaned in slightly, your tone playful. “Are you, too, here to meet women?”

Spencer felt his face flush instantly, his eyes widening as he waved his hands in front of him, clearly flustered. “No! No, that’s not—” He cleared his throat, regaining a bit of composure, though the faint blush remained. “That’s not why I’m here. I just... needed a break, like I said.”

“Right... and that's why you're talking to the only single woman here,” you teased, gesturing around the dimly lit room with a playful glint in your eye. Spencer, caught off guard by the comment, blinked and glanced around for the first time since he’d sat down. 

To his surprise—and slight embarrassment—you were right. The bar, small and intimate as it was, seemed to be filled mostly with couples. A few groups of friends sat scattered around, but there wasn’t another woman sitting alone at the bar. He hadn’t even noticed, too caught up in his own thoughts, and of course, in you.

A flush of pink crept up his neck again, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he faced you once more. “I—uh... that wasn’t... I didn’t even notice,” he stammered, clearly flustered, his eyes darting to his half-finished beer in front of him. 

You laughed softly, amused by how easily Spencer was thrown off by your teasing. There was something so endearing about the way he fumbled through conversations like this, so unlike most men you’d met before. He wasn’t trying to be smooth or overly confident, just... honest. 

“Well, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” you said with a grin. 

“Thank you,” he sighed. There was a beat of silence before Spencer added, “But, uh, for the record... I’m not here to meet women. You just happened to be... well... someone worth talking to.”

Your smile softened at his admission, feeling the sincerity in his words. You weren’t used to hearing that kind of candidness from someone so quickly. "Well, aren't I lucky?" you teased lightly, though your tone had a hint of warmth behind it.

Spencer’s chuckle had a softness to it, but his next words seemed to strike a different chord. "Luck is relative," he mused, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. Then he glanced up at you, his eyes searching your face with that same genuine curiosity. "Do you feel lucky?"

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His question seemed layered, and though you could sense the sincerity in his tone, the implication sounded... different to your ears. The way he asked it, with a certain intensity, made your mind wander to a more flirtatious place, a suggestion hanging between the lines. You had met men who approached conversations like this before, but there was something about Spencer’s awkward charm that made you hesitate to dismiss it outright.

For a moment, you thought about how you'd respond. You weren’t opposed to the idea of letting this man take you home, not at all. There was something about his presence that felt comforting, something about his awkward nature that drew you in. But you weren’t going to make it that easy. You enjoyed the chase, the cat-and-mouse game that kept things interesting. 

You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes just enough to add a playful edge to your expression. "Lucky, huh?" You swirled the last of your martini in its glass, watching the liquid shift before locking eyes with him. “Depends on what kind of luck we’re talking about.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly, clearly misunderstanding the subtle shift in your tone. "Oh," he stammered, clearly flustered. "I didn’t mean—uh, I wasn’t implying—"

You bit back a grin, enjoying watching him try to backtrack from what he thought was a misstep. "Relax, Spencer," you said softly, your tone more teasing now. "I know what you meant."

Spencer visibly exhaled, relief washing over his face. He wasn’t used to playing these kinds of games, that much was clear. But there was something about how genuine he was that made you want to keep him on his toes just a little longer.

You smiled, leaning back in your seat. "I guess I’m still figuring out whether I feel lucky tonight." You raised your glass slightly toward him, your eyes twinkling. “Maybe we’ll see.”

Spencer had relaxed as the two of you joked and bantered, and you noticed how much more comfortable he seemed, especially when he started showing you some of his magic tricks. It was charming, really—how this incredibly intelligent, slightly awkward man had such a whimsical side. You watched with genuine curiosity as he produced and shuffled a deck of cards with ease, his long fingers moving expertly. 

But it was when he asked if you had a business card that really caught your attention. You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “No, but I do have a scrap piece of paper,” you said, pulling a folded-up slip from your bag.

Spencer took the paper with a playful smile, and with a quick flourish of his hands, it disappeared as if it had never existed at all. You blinked, leaning forward, impressed despite yourself. "Okay, I have to admit, that was good. Where’d it go?"

He grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction. “A good magician never reveals their secrets.”

You laughed, thinking how absolutely adorable he was. There was something boyish and pure about the way he took joy in the simple act of performing a trick, like he’d just made your night a little brighter. 

Absently, you went to brush a hand over the necklace around your neck, a habit you hadn’t even realized you had. But when your fingers grazed the pendant, you felt something unfamiliar—something other than the smooth metal of your necklace. 

Frowning, you looked down. And there, dangling from your pendant, was the very same scrap of paper Spencer had taken. Your eyes widened in surprise, a burst of giddy laughter escaping your lips as you grabbed the piece of paper, utterly amazed.

You turned to Spencer, wide-eyed and full of wonder. “How did you—?!” You couldn’t even finish the sentence, your head shaking in disbelief, giggles bubbling up uncontrollably. He really had caught you off guard, and it felt... magical.

Spencer, looking very proud of himself, leaned back with a self-satisfied smile, clearly enjoying your reaction. He glanced pointedly at the scrap of paper in your hand, raising an eyebrow as if to say, take a closer look.

Curious, you followed his gaze and unfolded the small piece of paper. Scrawled across it in Spencer's neat handwriting was a number. His number. 

You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze with a playful smirk and a flutter of excitement. "So... was this part of the trick too?"

Spencer shrugged, his smile a little bashful now.  

“How many times have you used that trick on women?” you teased, leaning in a little closer, your voice soft and teasing. “And how many times has it worked?”

Spencer blushed again, the pink flush creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He shifted in his seat, clearly flustered by your question but still holding your gaze. “I... I used it one other time,” he admitted, his voice a bit shaky. “And it worked... sort of. But, um, it never led to anything.” 

You smiled, leaning back slightly, enjoying how disarmed he was by your teasing. There was something so genuine about the way he interacted, like he wasn’t used to these kinds of moments—at least not often. He wasn’t the type to use smooth lines or rehearsed tricks to impress women, and that made him stand out even more.

“Well, I’m glad I could be the second one,” you said with a wink, letting the playful tension between you simmer. “But something tells me you’re hoping it leads to more this time.”

Spencer swallowed, clearly thrown off by your forwardness, but you could see the slight shift in his posture, the way his confidence grew just a little as he realized you were genuinely interested. “I, uh... I wouldn’t mind that,” he admitted, his eyes flickering from yours to the glass in front of him, then back again. “But I didn’t show you the trick just for that. I wanted to... impress you.”

Your heart fluttered at his honesty. It was so rare to meet someone who was so upfront, so unguarded in moments like this. You couldn’t help but find it endearing, and you leaned in once more, your smile softening.

“Well, you definitely impressed me, Spencer,” you said, your voice low and sincere. “And if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you show me another trick later.”

Spencer’s eyes widened a little at that, and for a moment, you could see the wheels turning in his head. He was calculating, thinking, but also clearly intrigued by the promise hidden in your words. He gave a small, nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I guess we’ll see how lucky I get tonight,” he murmured, the blush still lingering on his face but his smile growing more confident now.

You grinned, knowing full well that he didn’t realize just how lucky he was about to get.

As the bar's lights dimmed and the final patrons shuffled out, you already knew you weren’t going home tonight. The air between you and Spencer had been crackling all evening, and the decision seemed inevitable, even as you lingered at the bar for just a moment longer.

Spencer, ever the gentleman, graciously paid for both of your tabs without hesitation. The bartender, who had seemed less than impressed by your modest drinking habits, shot him a look that Spencer either didn’t notice or chose to ignore. After all, this night was about more than just drinks.

Walking out into the brisk night air, you and Spencer moved shoulder to shoulder, your steps naturally falling in sync as if you'd been walking together for much longer than a few hours. The quiet of the evening surrounded you, the distant hum of the city softening the world around you, and the moment felt intimate in a way you hadn’t expected. You could feel the warmth of his presence next to you, the subtle brush of his arm against yours sending sparks up your skin.

Feeling bold, Spencer glanced over at you, his usual shyness tempered by something else—perhaps the electricity that had been building between you all night, or maybe just the quiet courage that sometimes came with these fleeting, late-night encounters. "Can I give you a ride home?" he offered, his voice softer now, as though he didn’t want to shatter the stillness of the moment.

You smiled up at him, a knowing look in your eyes as you accepted. Spencer’s posture straightened slightly, his eyes lighting up as he guided you toward his car. True to his nature, he opened the door for you, his touch gentle as he gestured for you to climb in. You couldn’t help but smile at his thoughtfulness, watching as he quickly walked around to the driver’s side and slid into his seat.

He fidgeted for a moment behind the wheel, his hands gripping the steering wheel loosely as he glanced at you, clearly waiting for directions. “Where should I take you?” he asked, his voice still carrying that sweet, earnest tone.

You met his gaze, your eyes sparkling with both amusement and intent. "Wherever you're going," you replied, your words hanging in the air, full of unspoken promise.

Spencer blinked, taken aback for just a split second, but then understanding settled over him. He glanced down, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips, and you could see the faintest hint of color creeping into his cheeks. There was a brief pause as he weighed his options, but the decision was already made—you could feel it.

"Alright," he said, his voice quiet but full of meaning. "My place it is."

Spencer was a bundle of nerves. The whole drive back, he had rambled—nervous energy pouring out of him in the form of random facts, mostly about the risks of going home with strangers. He’d listed statistics about crime rates, recounted famous cases of mishaps, and even delved into behavioral patterns associated with dangerous encounters. It was almost endearing, the way he was so clearly overthinking the situation.

"Are you going to kill me?" you had asked him at one point, half-joking, hoping to lighten the mood.

His response had been immediate and emphatic. "No, absolutely not! I—I would never do anything like that," he stammered, his eyes wide and sincere. "Statistically, it’s much safer—"

You laughed, cutting him off gently. "I believe you, Spencer."

His relief was palpable, though he still hadn’t fully relaxed, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than necessary. And now, as he fumbled with his keys at the front door, you saw how his fingers trembled slightly as he tried to get the lock open. His nervousness was so genuine, so utterly sweet, that you couldn’t help but feel a warmth bloom inside you.

It was obvious he didn’t do this sort of thing often, and that made you feel... special. He was just himself—nervous, brilliant, and genuine—and that vulnerability drew you in even more. 

Finally, after a moment of fumbling, the door clicked open, and Spencer gestured for you to step inside, his cheeks still slightly flushed. "Sorry about that," he murmured, a small, sheepish smile on his lips. "I don’t usually have... company."

When Spencer led you through the front door, the first thing that hit you was the cozy, dark atmosphere of his apartment. Books lined almost every available surface, stacked neatly on shelves and piled in corners in a way that suggested they were well-loved and frequently revisited. The space had an old-world charm, a lived-in feeling that instantly put you at ease. The warm lighting and the faint smell of coffee mixed with old pages added to the inviting ambiance. It was unmistakably his—a reflection of the man you’d spent the evening getting to know, both brilliant and a little awkward.

You couldn’t help but smile, charmed by the intimate, intellectual space he called home. It was entirely different from the sleek, modern apartments of other men you’d been with, and that difference made you like it even more.

You smiled softly, stepping into the warmth of his home. "It’s fine," you assured him. "I like it here. It’s... very you."

Spencer’s eyes flickered with a mixture of surprise and gratitude, as though he hadn’t expected you to say something so kind. His shoulders seemed to relax just a little, and he gave you a nervous but genuine smile.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, his smile sweet but clearly nervous as his hands fumbled slightly in front of him. He took a breath, trying to compose himself, but the words tumbled out anyway. “So... um, I know what usually happens in these scenarios, but I don’t want to be presumptuous—not that I’m expecting anything from you either, but I guess, I’m wondering what, uh... what you want here?”

You could see how flustered he was, the way his uncertainty mixed with his genuine desire to be respectful. It made your heart swell, your affection for him deepening in that moment. His awkward honesty was refreshing, and you adored the way he was so transparently himself, not hiding behind bravado or assumptions.

Stepping closer to him, you reached out, your hands moving up his chest slowly, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. You let your fingers trail lightly over him before wrapping them around the back of his neck, pulling yourself just a little closer. Spencer’s breath hitched, his eyes widening as he looked down at you, a mixture of surprise and anticipation flickering in his gaze.

“Well, Spencer,” you said softly, your voice gentle but teasing, “I would like to do what usually happens in these scenarios...”

His eyes searched yours, his body tense with uncertainty and excitement, but before he could speak, you added, “But we don’t have to do anything.”

Spencer blinked, processing your words. The tension in his shoulders seemed to melt just a little as he realized that the choice was mutual, that there was no pressure, no expectations. You were giving him the space to decide, and that made all the difference.

He swallowed, his voice quiet but full of sincerity. “I... I’d like that too. But only if you're sure.”

You smiled up at him, your thumb gently stroking the back of his neck. “I’m sure, Spencer. But if you’re not ready or don’t want to—”

“No,” he said quickly, then softened his tone. “No, I want to. I just... I didn’t want to assume and I–well, I haven’t done a lot before.”

Your smile widened, and you leaned in a little closer, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered, “You’re sweet, you know that?”

Spencer’s blush deepened, but he smiled, more comfortable now as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a gentle embrace. “I don’t hear that often,” he admitted softly.

“Well, you should,” you murmured, before closing the small distance between you and pressing your lips to his in a slow, tender kiss.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as though Spencer was still processing that this was really happening. But then his grip around you tightened slightly, and you could feel him relax into it, his lips moving with yours, the kiss deepening as the warmth between you two grew.

For a moment, it was just the two of you, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of his apartment, the world outside forgotten. And in that moment, everything felt perfectly right.

You gently pulled back from the kiss, feeling the way Spencer’s lips lingered for just a moment, his eyes still shut as though he wasn’t ready for the moment to end. He followed your movement with a soft, almost unconscious pout, and you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight. 

“Easy,” you whispered, your voice laced with affection, as your fingers trailed up into his soft hair, stroking it gently. You wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible. He was clearly nervous, but the way he responded to you, how earnest he was in everything he did, made you want to handle him with the care he deserved. 

“What are you comfortable with, Spencer?” you asked softly, your tone reassuring, trying to ease the tension in the air. “I don’t want to push you too far, or do anything you’re not ready for.”

Spencer took a deep, grounding breath, his chest rising and falling as he gathered the courage to speak. His blush deepened, his cheeks flushing a bright pink as he met your eyes. “Um… I haven’t had anything, uh, penetrative,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper as if admitting something deeply personal. He swallowed, clearly feeling the weight of the moment. “But… I have been touched. And I have touched.”

Your heart softened at his vulnerability, and you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. He was sharing something intimate, and the way he trusted you enough to be honest about it made you want to hold him even closer. 

“That’s okay, Spencer,” you said gently, your thumb brushing against his jawline in a soothing gesture. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can take things as slow as you need.”

He nodded, looking relieved that you weren’t pressuring him. “I… I want to try,” he admitted, his voice quiet but firm. “I trust you.”

Your heart swelled at his words. You smiled softly, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, more deliberate, allowing him to guide the pace. Spencer responded, his lips moving with yours, his hands resting tentatively on your hips as he began to relax into the moment.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered against his lips, reassuring him once more. “And you tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

He nodded again, his eyes meeting yours with gratitude and something else—something more. “Okay,” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his hands tightened just slightly around your waist, pulling you closer. 

“Take me to your bedroom, Spencer,” you whispered against his lips, the warmth of your breath sending shivers down his spine. He nodded, his lips still brushing against yours as he took your hand and led you toward his room. The eagerness in his movements was evident as you both bumped into walls and knocked over small tables along the way, which made you giggle.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, stud,” you teased, your voice playful but laced with affection. “I like how eager you are. It makes me feel desired.”

Spencer flicked on the bedside lamp, the soft glow filling the room and casting warm, golden hues across the walls. The light bathed you in a way that made you look even more radiant, as though the glow itself was drawn to your beauty. Spencer paused for a moment, standing there in awe of you, his eyes wide with admiration.

“You are desired,” he said earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity. “So gorgeous, Y/N.”

His words made your heart swell. You could hear how much he meant it, how genuine his feelings were. Spencer wasn’t trying to impress you; he was simply telling you the truth as he saw it. And in that moment, you found yourself falling just a little for him.

“Sweet, sweet Spencer…” you whispered, smiling softly at the endearing man before you. Your fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, slowly undoing them one by one. As the fabric parted, you kissed the newly exposed skin—his neck, his collarbone, the center of his chest—your lips leaving a trail of warmth with each touch.

You could feel Spencer’s stomach rising and falling rapidly beneath your fingertips, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts as he struggled to keep his composure. He was nervous, that much was clear, but you could also see the way his body responded to your touch, the way his eyes darkened with desire.

“Relax,” you sighed gently against his skin, your lips brushing softly over his collarbone. “You’re beautiful.”

The compliment made him freeze for a moment, and you could tell it wasn’t something he was used to hearing. His breath hitched as you kissed his chest, your hands sliding the fabric of his shirt off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

Spencer swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he raised them to your waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of your clothes. “I… I just don’t want to mess this up,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You won’t,” you reassured him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck. “We’re just here, together. That’s all that matters.”

His eyes softened at your words, and slowly, the tension in his body seemed to ebb away, replaced by a quiet confidence. He reached up, his hands moving more purposefully now as he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice steadying as he leaned down to kiss you again, this time with a little more certainty, a little more control.

And in the quiet of his room, surrounded by nothing but the soft light and the gentle hum of your shared breaths, you felt completely and utterly desired.

"Do you want to take my shirt off, Spencer?" you whispered softly against his ear, letting your tongue graze the sensitive skin just beneath it. You felt the shudder run through his body as he nodded quickly, his breathing heavy, eyes still tightly shut as if the weight of the moment was too much to handle.

You giggled softly, charmed by his inexperience and how deeply he seemed affected by every touch, every breath. Gently, you took his large hands in yours, guiding them to the hem of your shirt. His fingers trembled slightly, but you could feel his eagerness beneath that nervous exterior. Slowly, he gripped the fabric, carefully lifting it up, still with his eyes squeezed shut, even as he let the garment drop to the floor beside you.

"Spencer..." you whispered, your voice sweet but laced with a hint of amusement. You couldn’t help but notice how his hands had frozen in mid-air, his fingers hovering, unsure of what to do next. His body was clearly responding to the moment, but his mind was racing, overwhelmed.

"You can open your eyes," you encouraged, leaning forward just slightly to nudge him out of his hesitation, your lips brushing his jawline.

Very slowly, Spencer cracked his eyelids open, his breath hitching as he adjusted to the reality of the situation. But the moment he caught sight of your bare chest, his eyes flew open wide, surprise and awe etched across his face.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the fact that you weren’t wearing a bra. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your chest, as though he were trying to process everything all at once. His expression was a mix of innocence and desire, and it was clear that this moment was overwhelming him in the best way possible.

You could feel the intensity of his gaze, and the way his hands, still trembling slightly, hovered just inches from your skin. “It’s okay,” you whispered softly, guiding his hands to your sides, encouraging him to touch you. “You can touch me, Spencer.”

His breath caught in his throat, but this time, he didn’t pull back. His hands, once hesitant, now slid up your sides, gently grasping your breasts in his hands. His touch was reverent, almost like he couldn’t believe this was happening as he ran his thumbs over your nipples. There was something so pure, so unguarded about the way he looked at you, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You’re...” he started, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re stunning.”

Your heart swelled at the sincerity in his words. You smiled, leaning in to kiss him softly, pressing your body against his. "So are you, Spencer."

You kept kissing him, your lips moving against his with just enough pressure to hopefully distract him from whatever whirlwind of thoughts his brilliant mind was racing through. You were learning he tended to overthink, and you wanted to help him focus on the moment, on the way your bodies were reacting to one another rather than on whatever internal dialogue was playing out in his head.

Your hands moved down to his belt, working on the buckle with ease. You could feel his breathing pick up as you undid it, but instead of pulling away or tensing up, his hands stayed on your breasts. His fingers squeezed you, almost like he was using you to ground himself, holding you tighter than before, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. The sensation sent a wave of pleasure through you, and without hesitation, you moaned softly into his mouth.

The sound surprised Spencer, his entire body responding to it. He froze for just a second, his mind catching up with what had just happened. It wasn’t just the physical sensation that had gotten to him—it was the realization that he had made you feel that way. The knowledge seemed to set something off inside him, a surge of wonder and hunger, like he was teetering on the edge of something completely new.

As you undid the button of his pants, letting them fall to the floor, you gently nudged him to step out of his loafers and slacks, which he did, albeit a little awkwardly. Spencer pulled back slightly, glancing down at himself, standing in nothing but his tented purple boxers. He shifted on his feet, clearly still feeling self-conscious despite everything.

“I’m feeling a clothing disparity here,” he tried to joke, though his voice came out more nervous than playful.

You giggled softly at his attempt to lighten the moment, appreciating how vulnerable he was being, even in his nervousness. "I can fix that," you teased, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your bottoms. With a fluid motion, you slipped off your boots, followed by the rest of your clothes, leaving the small pile of fabric on the floor as you stood fully bare before him.

The room seemed to grow quieter for a second, the air thick with anticipation. Spencer’s gaze moved over your body slowly, taking in every inch of your skin with an almost reverent look. His breath hitched again, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do next.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, your fingers trailing lightly along his chest, leaning in to press your body against his, feeling the heat between you intensify. "Now... let's see what else we can do about that disparity." 

Your hands slid lower, brushing against the waistband of Spencer’s boxers as you tried to ease them down, but there was a bit of resistance—a clear obstruction that made the two of you stumble into a fit of giggles. Some of the nervous tension between you both lifted in that moment, replaced by the kind of playful energy that made everything feel lighter, more natural.

“Well, sir,” you said in an exaggerated, mock-serious voice, stepping back slightly to assess the situation, “it seems as if something has blocked my path.”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh, a full, hearty sound that spilled out of him, the kind that seemed to release the last of his nervousness. His shoulders shook with amusement as he looked at you, shaking his head. “My deepest apologies, ma’am,” he replied, playing along with a grin that stretched across his face. “Allow me to be of service.”

You watched as he reached down, fumbling a bit with his boxers before finally managing to remove them, kicking them aside with a sheepish smile. His face was still flushed, but now it was more from laughter than nerves, and the atmosphere between you shifted again, becoming more comfortable, more intimate.

“Better,” you teased, your playful tone returning, stepping close enough for your bare skin to brush against his. You placed your hands on his chest, your fingers spreading out to feel the warmth of his body beneath your touch. Spencer’s breath caught in his throat again, but this time it wasn’t out of anxiety—it was pure desire.

You noticed the subtle shift in Spencer’s eyes—something deeper, more focused. The playful energy between you had served its purpose, helping him relax, but now you knew it was time to stop teasing and really show him how much you wanted him. The way he looked at you, still unsure but no longer nervous, told you he was ready to explore this new territory, even if he didn’t quite know where it was going.

With a gentle but deliberate push, you guided him back onto the bed, watching the way he looked up at you, his breath quickening. You moved after him with purpose, your movements slow and deliberate as you crawled toward him, like a wolf stalking its prey. Spencer scooted back to the pillows, his eyes locked on yours, his uncertainty fading into quiet anticipation.

His gaze flickered as you settled in closer, your knees on either side of his hips. His chest was rising and falling more rapidly now, his hands resting by his sides as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. You could see he was still processing everything, still trusting you to lead him through this.

“I’m going to touch you now,” you said softly, your voice a quiet promise. You let your hands trail up his thighs, your fingers brushing through the soft hair there, feeling the warmth of his skin. “Is that okay?”

Spencer’s breath hitched, but he nodded, his voice barely a whisper as he responded, “Yeah.”

Everything you had done so far, he liked. He wasn’t sure what came next, but there was no hesitation in his trust—he knew he would like whatever you did. His eyes fluttered shut for a brief second as he felt your touch move higher, and he let out a small breath, almost as if he had been holding it in for far too long.

You took your time, wanting him to savor every moment. Your hands moved with gentle care, exploring his hips and stomach as you leaned in closer, your lips grazing his neck, your breath warm against his skin. Spencer shivered beneath you, his hands finally finding the courage to rest on your waist, his fingers gripping you just enough to anchor himself in the moment.

"You're doing so well, Spencer," you whispered against his ear, your voice filled with warmth and reassurance.

Spencer let out a breathless laugh, one filled with pure, unfiltered arousal. He hadn’t known until this moment how much he liked being praised, but the way your words washed over him—telling him he was doing good, that he was making you happy—lit something inside him. A fire burned in his stomach, spreading warmth throughout his entire body, and he couldn’t contain the way his body responded to you.

But then, when you wrapped your hand around him, firm but gentle, the heat exploded. It was as if you had poured gasoline onto that fire, and Spencer’s reaction was immediate. His back arched off the bed, his mouth falling open as a raw, guttural groan escaped him. His hands flew to the sheets, gripping them tightly as the sensation overwhelmed him, taking him by surprise.

He hadn’t been touched like this in a long, long time. It had been just him, his own hands and his own thoughts, but now—now it was you, and the difference was intoxicating. Every nerve in his body felt like it was alive, buzzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in years. He was losing himself to the moment, to you.

"God... Y/N..." he gasped, his voice low and rough, full of need. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t hold back the sounds that escaped him as your hand moved expertly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through him.

You smiled softly, watching the way Spencer's body reacted to your touch as you gripped him tighter, the way his chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. He looked so beautiful like this—vulnerable and completely immersed in the pleasure you were giving him. 

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered again, your voice low and soothing as your hand continued to move, squeezing extra on his head and drawing more of those delicious sounds from him. "Just relax and let me take care of you."

Spencer nodded weakly, his head falling back onto the pillows as he surrendered to the sensations. His mind, usually so busy and full of thoughts, was blissfully quiet now, his entire focus on the feel of your hands, your body, and your voice guiding him through this.

"Y/N..." he groaned again, his voice trembling with need, his hands reaching out to grasp your hips, wanting to feel more of you, to be closer to you. He was completely lost in you now, and he didn’t want it to end.

You smiled down at him, feeling a surge of affection and desire for the man who had so easily surrendered to you, his pleasure so raw and vulnerable. “Oh, you poor thing,” you whispered, your voice soft and teasing as your hand sped up its movements, stopping every once in a while to rub your thumb under his head. “You just needed someone to look after you, didn’t you?”

Spencer nodded quickly, his body responding to your words before he could even form a coherent thought. His head pressed back into the pillows, his chest heaving as the sounds of his pleasure spilled from his open mouth, completely uncontrollable. He was lost in the moment, lost in you, and you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of pride and tenderness as you watched him.

He looked so beautiful like this—flushed, vulnerable, and entirely open. His eyes, when they did open, were glazed with desire, his lips parted in a silent plea for more. There was something pure about the way he gave himself to the moment, trusting you completely to take him somewhere he hadn’t been in a long time.

And you were honored to be the one to make him feel like this, to be the person who could show him such tenderness and care. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, feeling his pulse racing beneath your lips as you whispered, “I’ve got you, Spencer.”

His response was another shaky moan, his hands returning to your hips as if to anchor himself to you, his grip both needy and gentle. His body was trembling now, his breaths coming faster and more erratically, and you knew he was close, teetering on the edge of release.

You let your free hand reach down to grasp and roll Spencer’s balls, his entire body jolted at the contact and he let out a sound akin to a scream. You could feel the tension building in him, his body reacting to every touch, every word. “You’re doing so good,” you murmured, your voice a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. “Just let go for me, okay?”

Spencer’s breathing hitched, and you could feel him start to unravel beneath you. He nodded again, unable to speak, but the look in his eyes said everything. He was ready to let go, ready to give himself completely to the moment, and you were more than ready to guide him through it.

And when he finally did—when he let himself go with a guttural moan that shook through his entire body—it felt like you were witnessing something truly beautiful. You held him close, stroking him through his high as he spurted over your hand and stomach, your touch never wavering, your voice a constant, reassuring presence.

Spencer’s body finally relaxed beneath you and you removed both of your hands, his breaths coming in deep, ragged gasps as he tried to regain his composure. His hands, still resting on your hips, loosened their grip, and he blinked up at you, his eyes filled with awe and affection.

"Can... can I touch you?" Spencer asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if the weight of exhaustion was too heavy for him to speak any louder.

You smiled down at him, his face flushed and his hair damp with sweat. Gently, you brushed the strands from his forehead, your touch tender. "Not tonight," you whispered back, watching as a small pout formed on his lips.

Before he could say anything else, you leaned down and kissed the pout away, your lips soft against his. "You're tired," you said softly, your fingers tracing his cheek, "and that was plenty for me."

Spencer sighed, the tension in his body giving way to exhaustion as he relaxed into your touch. He didn’t protest further, knowing you were right, but the way his arms tightened slightly around your waist let you know that he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice soft and full of emotion.

You smiled down at him, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “What are you thanking me for?”

Spencer gazed up at you, still catching his breath, his face flushed from both exertion and emotion. His fingers lightly traced circles on your hips, the touch absent-minded but tender. 

“For... everything,” he whispered, his voice a little shaky but filled with sincerity. “For talking to me, being kind to me, patient with me. For... understanding.” His eyes flickered up to meet yours, searching, almost vulnerable. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”

You smiled softly, brushing your hand through his hair again, letting your touch soothe him. “You don’t need to thank me for that, Spencer. I wanted this as much as you did.”

Spencer swallowed, his throat working through the remnants of tension. “Still... it means a lot. You make me feel... safe.”

His words stirred something warm and protective in you, and your heart swelled at the realization of how much this moment meant to him. It wasn’t just the physicality; it was the connection, the trust. He had let down his walls for you, and in that vulnerability, you started to see the depths of who Spencer really was—someone deeply deserving of care and tenderness.

You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you feel that way. You deserve to be cared for, Spencer.”

His lips curved into a small smile, the tension in his body fully gone now, replaced with quiet contentment. “I’m really lucky,” he murmured, his voice still filled with awe. 

You chuckled softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “No, we’re both lucky.”

And in the warmth of that moment, you both knew that this was more than just a fleeting connection—it was something special, something real. Something neither of you had been expecting, but both of you had needed.

—

Spencer stirred, slowly waking up to the comforting warmth of your body, his head resting against your soft stomach, your fingers gently stroking him. The feeling was intimate, tender, and it brought a sleepy, blissful smile to his face. He could feel your fingers running through his hair as he nuzzled closer to you, feeling completely safe, completely at peace.

When he finally cracked one eye open, he saw you sitting up, wearing your shirt and underwear, looking down at him with a soft, almost shy expression—a side of you he hadn’t yet seen. It was endearing, and for a moment, he just wanted to stay like this forever, wrapped up in the warmth of your presence.

“Good morning,” you said softly, your voice timid, a tone that felt so different from the playful, confident energy you’d had last night. Spencer noticed the way you seemed slightly unsure, as if you weren’t certain what the morning would bring, and it made his heart ache with affection for you.

He opened both eyes fully, blinking up at you in a way that was so sweet and sleepy it melted your heart. “Hi,” he whispered, a smile spreading across his face, his voice still laced with drowsiness. The warmth in his gaze was undeniable, as though waking up to you was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

You grinned shyly in response, the soft morning light making everything feel gentle and new. “I hope it’s okay that I’m still here,” you said quietly, your fingers still moving softly through his hair.

Spencer’s smile widened as he shifted slightly, his head still resting against your stomach. “More than okay,” he murmured. “I... I didn’t want you to leave.”

His honesty made your heart swell, and you leaned down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. “I didn’t want to leave either.”

Spencer sighed contentedly, his body relaxing further as he closed his eyes again, soaking in the moment. His arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if to make sure you were really there, that this wasn’t just a dream.

“You’re still here,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet wonder. “And that makes me really happy.”

You continued to stroke his hair, your fingers gentle as you whispered back, “I’m happy too, Spencer. Really happy.”

And in the quiet of the morning, with the two of you wrapped up in each other, it felt like the beginning of something special—something neither of you could deny.

Eventually, the cozy bubble the two of you had created was interrupted by the sharp sound of Spencer's alarm blaring, signaling that it was time to get ready for work. The moment felt bittersweet, and Spencer, clearly not ready to break the warmth of your embrace, pouted grumpily as he reluctantly pulled himself from your arms to head toward the shower.

He paused at the edge of the bed, turning back to you with a hopeful look, still shy but clearly not wanting this to end. “Will you wait for me to get out?” he asked, almost as if he were afraid you'd disappear the moment he stepped out of the room.

You giggled, shaking your head dramatically with a playful smirk. “Nope,” you teased, your tone light and full of humor. “This is when I’ll make my grand exit—after you’ve already seen me, of course.”

Spencer laughed at your playful antics, the sound filling the room as he smiled to himself. Despite the teasing, he appreciated how lighthearted and easy everything felt with you. Still, he quickly got up from the bed, scampering to the bathroom with a newfound urgency, his naked form catching your attention.

Before you could stop yourself, you called out, “Woo! The sun is out but the moon is full! How come I didn’t get to see your ass last night?”

Spencer immediately blushed, his face turning a deep shade of pink as he covered his behind with his hands and sped up his pace, looking over his shoulder with a grin. “I’ll show you mine when you show me yours!” he yelled, his voice echoing down the hallway.

Your laughter rang out, the joyful sound filling the space and making Spencer smile to himself as he entered the bathroom. It was the only response he needed, the perfect note to start his day on.

After Spencer disappeared into the bathroom for his shower, you took the opportunity to give yourself a quick tour of his apartment. It was just as charming as you expected—full of books, eclectic trinkets, and signs of his quirky, intellectual nature. When you found the kitchen, you spotted the coffee supplies and decided to make a quick pot. The smell of freshly brewing coffee soon filled the air, and you figured a simple breakfast would be a nice touch, so you whipped up some eggs and toast, humming softly as you worked.

By the time Spencer emerged from the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed, the aroma of coffee and warm food had reached him. His heart swelled at the simple, thoughtful gesture. He had never imagined waking up to something like this. Rushing to get dressed as quickly as possible, he joined you in the kitchen, where you were casually sipping coffee and waiting for him.

You spent the next half hour in easy conversation, talking about simple, everyday things—where you grew up, how many siblings you had, whether or not you had any pets. Spencer seemed eager to learn all that he could about you, firing off question after question. You hardly noticed that he didn’t volunteer much about himself, his curiosity directed solely at getting to know you. You found it endearing, the way he leaned into every answer, his eyes lighting up with each new detail you shared.

Eventually, though, time started to slip away, and the soft glow of morning meant Spencer needed to leave for work. As he grabbed his bag, ready to head out, his shy demeanor returned, his eyes avoiding yours as he fumbled with his words. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearly flustered, “I don’t have time to take you home. I lost track of time.”

You were already sliding on your boots, unfazed by the rush. "That’s fine! I took a cab last night anyway, I can fetch another one," you replied with a smile, waving off his apology.

Spencer sighed in relief, though his brows furrowed with lingering guilt. “Can I pay for the fee at least?”

You laughed, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Spencer. This wasn’t an exchange of goods," you teased with a playful wink.

Spencer flushed, chuckling at himself as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re right,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. Then his expression softened, his voice quieter, more sincere. “Can I see you again? Take you on a proper date?”

Your smile brightened at his request, your heart warming at the thought. “I would really like that.”

With that, the two of you officially exchanged numbers, the moment feeling more intimate than it had any right to. Spencer kissed you once, then again, as if he couldn’t help himself, savoring every second before he finally had to leave for work.

As he walked out the door, you called a car, feeling a sense of excitement bubbling up inside you. This was definitely just the beginning of something worth exploring.

—

Spencer walked into the BAU that Thursday with an extra pep in his step, his usually focused and somewhat intense demeanor softened by a secret smile that seemed to have taken permanent residence on his face. He barely noticed the way his colleagues, Derek and Emily, glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, instantly picking up on his unusual cheerfulness.

Derek, never one to miss an opportunity, was the first to speak up as Spencer passed by his desk. "Whoa, whoa, hold up, pretty boy," he called out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. "What’s with the smile? Did you crack some unsolvable puzzle overnight or something?"

Spencer blinked, the smile still lingering, though he quickly tried to rein it in. "What? No, I didn’t... I mean, no puzzles," he said, fumbling slightly as he continued toward his desk.

Emily raised an eyebrow and leaned against Derek’s desk, crossing her arms as she smirked at Spencer. "Are you sure? Because you’re practically glowing, Reid. Come on, spill it."

Spencer’s cheeks flushed as he realized he wasn’t doing a great job hiding his good mood. He sat down at his desk, avoiding their teasing stares. "It’s nothing," he mumbled, but his attempt to brush it off only made Derek and Emily more determined.

"Uh-huh, sure," Derek repeated, his grin widening as he leaned forward. "Come on, man, you don’t look like this for no reason. You’re practically walking on air. What happened? Did you learn a new language or something?"

Spencer, unable to resist the opportunity to lean into the joke, shrugged, deciding to give Derek a little win. "Sure, Derek. I technically did begin studying a new language recently," he replied, trying to keep a straight face, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

Emily, sensing that they weren’t going to get the juicy details they were hoping for, sighed dramatically, waving a hand dismissively. "Ah, quel gâchis," she muttered, her voice laced with playful disappointment.

Spencer immediately glared in her direction, having caught the meaning of her words. "What a waste?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "I’m standing right here, you know."

Emily smirked, clearly enjoying how easily she’d ruffled his feathers. "Well, we were hoping for something more exciting than a study session, Reid," she teased, leaning back in her chair with a grin. "But I guess we’ll just have to live with our imaginations."

Derek chuckled, crossing his arms. "Don’t let her get to you, pretty boy. Just know we’ve got our eye on you."

The teasing didn’t let up throughout the day. Derek and Emily, delighted by Spencer’s unusual behavior, had made sure word got around that Spencer was “studying” something new—something that had him grinning like an idiot at random moments. 

When JJ and Penelope heard the news, they joined in on the fun, leaving their own playful comments. JJ had passed by his desk, nudging him lightly. "Studying something new, huh? I’ve never seen someone so excited over homework, Spence." 

Penelope, ever the drama queen, had dramatically swooned in front of him. "Oh my stars, who knew Spencer Reid could look so refreshed and glowing? It must be some incredible study material," she teased, winking as she fluttered away, her laughter trailing behind her.

Even Hotch, who was usually more reserved about office banter, had joined in. “It’s good to see you more focused and refreshed, Reid,” he commented during a briefing, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, though his tone was as professional as ever.

But it wasn’t until Rossi chimed in that Spencer really realized how obvious he was being. Rossi had been watching Spencer with a knowing look for most of the day. After catching Spencer glancing at his phone for what must have been the hundredth time, he couldn’t resist.

“You’ve touched your phone an awful lot today, Reid,” Rossi mused as he walked by Spencer’s desk. "Waiting for something important?"

Spencer jolted slightly, startled out of his focus. He had, once again, been staring at the text he had prepared to send you but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve to hit send yet. He glanced up at Rossi, trying and failing to hide the sheepish grin spreading across his face. 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, something like that," Spencer replied, his voice softer, betraying the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.

Rossi raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk as he crossed his arms. "Ah, I see. Must be some important 'study material' then, huh?"

Spencer flushed, realizing that Rossi was in on the joke too. “It’s... very interesting,” he said, glancing down at his phone again, but the small smile remained firmly in place.

Rossi chuckled knowingly. "Just make sure you don’t fail whatever test you’re preparing for," he teased, clapping Spencer on the back as he walked away, leaving the young doctor blushing and still holding his phone.

Finally, Spencer shook his head and, after a deep breath, hit "send" on the text to you, feeling a flutter of excitement as he anticipated your reply.

The end of the workday was a welcome relief for most of the team, and everyone was packing up their things, preparing to head out. Conversations were light, the usual post-case fatigue settling in. But as everyone moved about, the sound of a notification buzzed from Spencer’s pocket, drawing all eyes to him.

It was as if the entire team had collectively paused, waiting with bated breath as Spencer reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. He hadn’t said much about whatever—or whoever—had been keeping that secret smile on his face, but they all knew something was up. And now, they watched him, each pretending not to care, but clearly all invested in this "mystery" that had made their boy genius so giddy.

Spencer took a quick glance at the screen, and almost immediately, his eyes widened. The smile that bloomed on his face was unmistakable, pure, and full of excitement. Without thinking, he tapped his hands on the desk, unable to keep still. Then, in a burst of happiness, he spun in his office chair—twice. 

Emily, who had been pretending to pack her bag, exchanged a smirk with JJ. Derek raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to tease right then and there, while Penelope was practically bursting with curiosity, trying not to let out a squeal.

After Spencer’s excited spins, he paused, staring at his phone again, as if confirming what he had just seen.

Hi Spencer :) I’m glad you texted, I would love to see you again. How’s Saturday?

Spencer stared at the message for a moment, his heart racing, a goofy grin still plastered on his face. Saturday. Yes. Saturday was perfect. He could already feel the rush of anticipation building up inside him.

Across the room, Derek couldn’t hold back any longer. "Alright, man, spill it. What’s got you doing a victory lap in your chair like you just won the lottery?"

Spencer, still smiling, looked up at his friends and teammates, feeling a little embarrassed by how obvious his excitement had been, but he couldn’t hide it anymore. 

"I, um... I have a date on Saturday," he admitted, his voice quieter but filled with unmistakable happiness.

“Oh, boy wonder, please tell me this isn’t a date with more studying,” Penelope sighed dramatically, placing a hand over her heart as if she couldn’t handle the thought of Spencer’s version of a romantic evening being spent in a library.

Spencer’s blush deepened as he shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no studying,” he assured her, still smiling. “It’s just... dinner. You know, a normal date.”

Penelope’s eyes widened in mock disbelief. “Dinner? Normal? Spencer Reid, going on a normal date?” She placed both hands on her cheeks in exaggerated shock. “Be still my heart, I’m not sure I’m ready for this new chapter of your life!”

Emily grinned, leaning on her desk. “What’s next? Dancing?” she teased, clearly enjoying how flustered Spencer was getting.

Spencer waved them off, though the smile never left his face. “I’m just... excited to see where it goes,” he said softly, almost to himself.

Derek raised a brow, folding his arms. “Well, don’t keep us hanging, man. You’re gonna let us know how it goes, right?”

Spencer chuckled nervously. “We’ll see.”

Penelope clasped her hands together, her eyes twinkling. “Oh, I am living for this! I expect a full report, Reid. Leave nothing out!” she added, already imagining the romantic possibilities.

Spencer just shook his head with a sheepish grin, knowing that after Saturday, he wouldn’t be able to escape their questions—but for now, he was just content with the thought of seeing you again.

—

Spencer spent all of Thursday evening through Saturday morning in a nervous wreck, spiraling between excitement and dread. The excitement stemmed from the memory of you—the way you looked at him, the way you had made him feel seen and wanted in a way no one ever had. But the dread… well, that came from his mind’s tendency to overanalyze, to question every little detail until it didn’t make sense anymore.

He had almost convinced himself that he had hallucinated the entire night—that perhaps he’d somehow gotten drunk at the bar and imagined everything. You were too good to be true, after all. You were beautiful, smart, and funny. And the way you had treated him with such care… it felt like something out of a dream. Spencer was nearly positive that it hadn’t really happened.

Adding to his anxiety was the fact that after confirming the time and place for your Saturday date, your conversation had ended abruptly. No back-and-forth, no playful banter. Just... silence. He had been waiting, glancing at his phone far too often, hoping for another text that never came.

Maybe the magic had only lasted for that one night and morning. Maybe you had woken up and realized that Spencer wasn’t what you wanted after all. What if the moment had passed and the reality of who he was had set in for you? What if, after thinking it over, you decided he wasn’t worth seeing again?

Then there was the physical aspect—the fact that you had seen him. All of him. You had touched him, and though you had stayed afterward, making breakfast and laughing with him, the irrational part of his brain couldn’t stop replaying the possibilities. What if you hadn’t liked what you saw but had been too kind to say anything in the moment? What if you were regretting the entire thing now? 

Rationally, Spencer knew these thoughts didn’t make sense. If you hadn’t been interested, you probably wouldn’t have agreed to see him again. You definitely wouldn’t have stayed the morning, made him breakfast, and kissed him so sweetly before leaving. But his nerves were gnawing at him, relentless and persistent.

Spencer wasn’t just nervous. He was terrified. In all his 30 years of life, he had never met someone who made his heart race so much in a good way. Someone who made him feel this vulnerable yet eager to dive deeper.

He spent Friday night tossing and turning, replaying every moment he’d spent with you, both wonderful and anxiety-inducing. By Saturday morning, he was an absolute bundle of nerves, wondering if maybe he should’ve done something differently, said something better, or been more... someone else.

But then, just as the clock hit mid-morning, his phone buzzed. Heart racing, Spencer grabbed it from the nightstand. A message from you. 

Looking forward to tonight :) See you soon!

He stared at the screen, a wave of relief washing over him so intense it almost knocked him off his feet. You were still interested. You hadn’t changed your mind. You wanted to see him again. 

For a moment, he just sat there, the nerves easing away as he reread the message. Maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

As Spencer got ready for the date, the nerves returned. Despite dressing the same way he always did—his usual button-up shirt, vest, slacks, his familiar aftershave, and cologne—there was a sense of urgency in his movements. He didn’t know why he was so anxious; after all, he hadn’t changed anything. But this was different. You were different. He just hoped that you would like him as he was.

You had offered to meet him at the restaurant, which, at first, he wasn’t sure about. He’d wanted to pick you up, to make the evening as special as possible, but when you suggested meeting there, he hadn’t pressed. Maybe it was nerves on your part too, or maybe you just liked the independence of arriving on your own terms. 

When he arrived and spotted you chatting with the hostess, his heart swelled, almost too big for his chest. You looked effortlessly beautiful, standing there in a red dress that hugged your form perfectly. It was simple, yet elegant, and the way it contrasted against your skin made you stand out even more in the dimly lit atmosphere of the restaurant.

You were laughing, completely at ease, talking with the hostess as if you hadn’t a care in the world. The sound of your voice carried over the light murmur of the restaurant, and Spencer was instantly reminded of when he’d first seen you. The way you had drawn him in so effortlessly. There was no pretense about you—just an infectious warmth and natural beauty.

He stood frozen for a moment, just watching, trying to gather the courage to walk up to you. But when you turned your head and caught sight of him, your face broke into the most radiant smile, and Spencer felt his nerves disappear all at once. It was like everything fell into place.

“Hey,” you greeted him as he approached, your eyes lighting up with excitement. “You made it.”

“Yeah, I—wow, you look... amazing,” Spencer smiled, feeling the last remnants of his awkwardness melt away as you grinned at him, doing a playful little twirl in your red dress. The movement was graceful yet lighthearted, making him laugh, a sound full of genuine joy.

“I’m sensing a pattern,” Spencer teased, his eyes gleaming with affection as he took in how the red dress suited you so perfectly, just as your red boots and shorts had. “Do you like red?”

You stepped in closer, your hands resting lightly on his chest, the warmth of your touch sending a subtle shiver down his spine. “I do,” you admitted with a sweet smile. “My, uh, my aunt always called me Red. Like Little Red Riding Hood.”

Spencer’s heart melted at the story, his eyes softening as he looked at you with pure adoration. “That’s so sweet,” he murmured, as if he couldn’t contain how endearing he found the thought of you being called “Red.”

You chuckled, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “Yeah, she said I was always wandering off on my own adventures, and she had to remind me not to get eaten by wolves.”

Spencer’s smile grew even softer, his hands instinctively resting at your waist. “Well,” he said, his voice gentle but filled with admiration, “I think Little Red turned out just fine.”

The exchange left the both of you wrapped in a quiet moment of warmth, the kind of connection that made the rest of the world seem to fade into the background. With a soft smile, you took his hand, ready to start the evening, knowing that it was already off to a perfect start.

After being seated, the conversation flowed easily as you both eagerly dug into the appetizers. The tension and nerves from earlier seemed to melt away entirely as you shared bites of food and laughed at small jokes. The restaurant had a cozy atmosphere, with soft lighting that gave the table an intimate glow, making everything feel even more relaxed.

You giggled, trying to hold in your laughter as you chewed, but it was no use. Spencer had said something funny just as you took a bite, and now you were covering your mouth with your hand, laughing through the food. Spencer immediately looked apologetic, his eyes wide as he realized his timing.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” he said, chuckling nervously, his hand halfway raised like he was ready to help in some way. “I didn’t mean to make you laugh while you were eating!”

You waved him off with your free hand, still laughing softly as you swallowed your food. “It’s okay, really,” you assured him once you could speak, your voice light with amusement. “It was worth it.”

Spencer grinned, a little sheepishly but clearly relieved that you weren’t bothered. “I’ll have to work on my comedic timing,” he said playfully, leaning back in his chair as he watched you, clearly enjoying the easy flow of your conversation.

You smiled at him, feeling the warmth of the moment settle around you. It was the kind of dinner where nothing had to be perfect for it to feel just right. Everything between you and Spencer felt natural—funny, even in the smallest moments.

You stretched your legs out under the table, completely unaware of Spencer’s position, and grazed his shin with your foot. Spencer jolted slightly, his body reacting immediately to the unexpected touch. His brow quirked up, and he gave you a playful look.

"Are you trying to play footsie with me?" he asked, pretending to sound scandalized, though the teasing smile tugging at the corners of his lips gave him away.

You burst into laughter, immediately throwing your hands up in mock surrender. "I promise I wasn’t!" you said, still giggling. "I was just stretching my legs!"

Spencer narrowed his eyes at you in mock suspicion, pretending to glare as if he didn’t believe a word of it. "Likely story, Red," he teased, using your intimate nickname with ease.

Hearing him call you "Red" sent a warmth straight to your heart. It had been so long since anyone other than your aunt had used that name, and the way Spencer said it felt special, like a quiet understanding between the two of you. You grinned, feeling that warmth spread through your chest.

"I’m innocent, I swear!" you laughed, leaning forward slightly, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Spencer held your gaze for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. "I’ll let it slide this time," he said, his voice light but filled with a quiet fondness that made your heart skip a beat.

The dinner had gone off without a hitch, and Spencer, walking beside you under the soft glow of the streetlights, couldn’t even remember why he had been so nervous in the first place. The evening had been perfect—easy, comfortable, and filled with laughter. He found himself entirely at ease around you, more than he had been with anyone in a long time.

As you strolled along the sidewalk, your arm occasionally brushing against his, you made small talk, keeping the conversation light and fun. Spencer listened intently, smiling at your stories, hanging on to every word, though you noticed that he still hadn’t shared all that much about himself. You figured he had his reasons, and you weren’t going to push. He seemed too genuine, too kind-hearted, for it to be anything more than him needing time.

For now, you were content to share bits of your life with him—telling stories about your childhood, your adventures in college, and the silly moments that had shaped you. You spoke about your aunt, and how much she had meant to you growing up. Spencer’s eyes softened as he listened, clearly enjoying every word you spoke.

"You sound like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Spencer said with a smile as you finished a story about sneaking into your college library late at night for secret study sessions with your friends.

You laughed, nudging his arm playfully. "Adventurous might be a bit of an overstatement, but I definitely wasn’t the most well-behaved."

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I can’t imagine you being anything but well-behaved."

You grinned at him, loving the way he teased you with that gentle humor of his. "You’d be surprised."

He seemed content to let you lead the conversation, and though he didn’t say much about his own past, you could tell that he was listening to every detail you shared. His silence wasn’t uncomfortable; in fact, it felt as though he was genuinely absorbing everything about you, like he wanted to know you better, but in his own quiet way.

When the two of you finally made your way back to the restaurant, where Spencer’s car was parked, he offered you a ride home. His thoughtfulness made you smile, but once again, you politely declined, explaining that you didn’t mind walking.

However, Spencer’s expression immediately shifted, his brow furrowing in concern as he quickly launched into crime statistics about women walking alone at night. His detailed knowledge on the subject was impressive, but it also sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You couldn’t help but ask, "Why do you know so much about that?" 

His response came with a nervous chuckle. “Oh, I, uh, I work for the FBI. I deal with a lot of crimes.” His words were quick, almost bashful, as though he wasn’t used to dropping that kind of bombshell in casual conversation.

Your eyes widened in surprise as the pieces clicked into place—the secrecy, the knowledge, it all made sense now. "Oh!" you exclaimed, relief washing over you. "Thank god, I was afraid you had experience in kidnapping or something."

Spencer laughed, clearly caught off guard by your reaction. He was so used to people being either overly impressed or intensely curious when they learned about his job, but your response was different��humorous, almost relieved.

"No, no," he assured you, pulling out his badge to prove his innocence, still chuckling. "Nothing like that."

You leaned in to get a better look at the badge, your fingers briefly brushing over the picture. Your eyes lit up with amusement. "Oh my goodness," you said, grinning up at him. "You look like a little baby in this!"

Spencer flushed slightly, laughing awkwardly. "Well, I was 22 when that was taken," he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I’m 30 now… maybe I should retake it."

You smiled, your gaze softening as you looked at him. "No," you said, your voice affectionate. "I like it. It still looks like you, just more… innocent."

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat at the way you were looking at him, your expression so warm and kind. He wasn’t used to being seen like that, not after years of working in the field, seeing the worst of humanity. But in that moment, you saw him—not as a brilliant FBI agent, but as Spencer, the person. And he liked that more than he could put into words.

He gave you a shy smile in return, slipping the badge back into his pocket. “Thanks,” he said softly, genuinely appreciating your words.

You nodded slightly, unsure of how to navigate the next moment. It seemed like the night was coming to a natural end, and you didn’t quite know how to say goodbye without feeling like you were cutting it short. 

“Wait, Y/N,” Spencer said suddenly, his hand gently catching your arm. There was a soft urgency in his voice, like he wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end either. “I can’t let you walk home alone. Please, at least let me walk you.”

You laughed, partly at the irony and partly at his genuine concern. “Oh, well, you see,” you began, biting your lip as you explained, “I didn’t want you to know where I lived, you know, just in case you were dangerous.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily stunned by your honesty, but you quickly followed it up with a lighthearted smile.

“But,” you continued, glancing down at your shoes with a playful sigh, “seeing as you’re probably my safest option, I would love a ride home. These shoes are starting to hurt.”

Spencer’s expression softened immediately, a mixture of relief and amusement. “Oh,” he smiled, clearly trying not to laugh at the situation. “Well, in that case, I’m glad I passed the safety test.”

You chuckled, grateful for Spencer’s warmth and understanding as he quickly unlocked his car, holding the door open for you like the gentleman he was. “I promise I’m just your FBI chauffeur for the evening,” he said with a playful grin. “No funny business involved.”

Sliding into the passenger seat, you felt more comfortable now, letting yourself sink into the soft interior of the car. “I should hope there will be some funny business,” you teased back with a grin.

Spencer laughed as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat, his smile still lingering as he started the engine. “Maybe, if you’re lucky,” he shot back, a hint of playful banter in his voice.

You smiled to yourself, remembering the playful back-and-forth from the first night at the bar. “Oh, I’m lucky, alright,” you teased, letting your words hang in the air.

The conversation during the drive was light and easy, flowing naturally as you both learned more about each other. Spencer shared bits about his life—how he was from Las Vegas, how he’d been a child prodigy, finishing school at an age when most were still navigating adolescence. You revealed more about yourself too, that you were 25 and had just moved to Quantico a month ago. It was the most you’d learned about him so far, and your heart soared with the thought that maybe he was starting to feel more comfortable with you, letting those initial walls down just a little.

When the conversation turned to your age, Spencer let out a visible sigh of relief, as you had teasingly implied you were only 18 when he initially brought up his own youth. You giggled at his obvious relief, knowing he had been worried.

As you both stepped out of the car, Spencer opened the door for you once more, a habit that hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was then that you saw your cat, Poof, sitting in the window, his eyes staring down at the scene below.

“Who is that?” Spencer asked, his eyes following your gaze.

You smiled, proud as always of your feline friend. “That’s Poof,” you said, your voice warm. “My boy.”

Spencer turned to face you, and for the first time, he seemed to muster the courage to place his hands on your waist, the touch gentle but deliberate. His fingertips pressed lightly against your hips, pulling you just a little closer.

You glanced up at him, your eyes meeting his with a playful, sultry look. “I hope it’s not time for that funny business,” you said softly, your lips curving into a teasing smile. “Poof is watching.” 

Spencer’s soft laugh filled the quiet evening air, his voice slightly teasing as he said, “Can you ask him to look away? I’d like to kiss you.”

You rubbed your chin, pretending to think it over, drawing out the moment. “Hmm, I guess I could try.” You turned your head over your shoulder and called up to your cat, “Hey, Poof?”

Poof perked up in the open window, his eyes locking onto yours, and he let out a questioning meow.

“Can you look away, baby?” you continued, your voice playful. “Mommy’s going to do something naughty.”

Spencer immediately flushed at your words, his cheeks turning a deep pink as he laughed nervously, clearly caught off guard by your teasing. Poof, seemingly understanding the moment, let out one more meow before hopping down from the windowsill, likely heading toward the front door to meet you inside. Whether he truly understood or just wanted to meet you, it didn’t matter. The effect was the same: the two of you now had privacy.

You turned back to Spencer with a smile, feeling the playful energy shift into something more intimate. With Poof gone, the evening air felt still, and you reached your hands into Spencer’s hair. Spencer, still slightly flustered but unable to hide his excitement, leaned in. His hands remained gently on your waist, but there was a tenderness in his touch that made your heart race.

Slowly, your lips met his in a soft kiss, the world seeming to quiet around you as everything else faded. It was gentle, tentative, and cozy, his lips pillow soft and sweet. Spencer kissed you like he was savoring every second, as if this moment meant more than he could put into words.

When you finally pulled back from the kiss, your noses still brushing lightly, the moment reminded you of a scene straight out of Lady and the Tramp. Spencer’s eyes were half-lidded, his lips still curved in a soft smile, clearly affected by the kiss. He exhaled softly, his voice barely above a whisper as he said, “I think you are the most amazing woman I have ever met.”

The sincerity of his words hit you like a warm breeze, melting your heart into a puddle. But as much as you felt overwhelmed with happiness, your expression must not have mirrored what you were feeling inside, because Spencer’s smile faltered slightly. He was quick to backtrack, his words tumbling out in a nervous rush.

“Oh no, was that too much? Is it too soon to say that? I’m sorry,” he stammered, his nervousness suddenly replacing the confidence he'd gained earlier. He was clearly afraid he had said something to ruin the perfect moment, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

You shook your head gently, biting your lip as you looked up at him. There was a newfound shyness in your gaze, an almost vulnerable expression that hadn’t been there before. "Just... please mean it," you whispered, your voice soft, your heart racing as you waited for his response.

Spencer’s eyes softened instantly, his hands tightening slightly on your waist, like a silent reminder he wasn’t going anywhere. “I do,” he said, his voice low but firm. 

Hearing those words, a slow, sweet smile spread across your face, and the warmth in your chest bloomed into something even bigger. You felt seen, appreciated, and for a moment, it was like the two of you were in your own little world—just you, Spencer, and the quiet glow of the night.

“I feel the same way,” you admitted softly, your hand reaching up to brush a strand of his hair from his face.

Spencer’s nervousness melted away in that instant, replaced by pure relief and something that felt like hope. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and everything felt right. No more hesitation, no more second-guessing—just the feeling of being exactly where you both wanted to be.

—

Spencer Reid had never truly been in love before—not in the way people described it, that overwhelming rush of emotions, the constant thoughts about someone else filling your mind. But as he sat in his apartment later that night, thinking about you, he was almost certain that this—whatever he was feeling—was love. The way his heart skipped a beat just thinking about your smile, how his palms had been sweaty before your kiss, how you had effortlessly made him feel like the most important person in the world.

Still, Spencer was Spencer—his mind always searching for logical explanations, grounded in facts and science. He knew that love was largely chemical, that the brain released dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin, making people feel giddy and euphoric. And he also knew, from one of the countless facts stored in his mind, that both chocolate—and oddly enough, peas—could stimulate the release of similar hormones, mimicking the sensation of love.

So, in true Spencer Reid fashion, he decided to conduct an experiment.

The next day, he went out to buy both chocolate and peas—determined to see if those foods could recreate even a fraction of the feelings you stirred in him. He figured that if it was purely chemical, those foods should make him feel the same warmth, the same fluttering excitement in his chest.

He got home, spread out the chocolate and peas on his kitchen table, and hesitated for a moment. Was he really doing this? Testing whether his feelings for you were real or just his brain tricking him? He almost laughed at how absurd it all seemed.

But, he pushed forward, nibbling on some chocolate first. He waited, focusing on his body’s reactions. There was a slight rush—sweet and satisfying—but no butterflies, no pounding heart. Then he moved on to the peas, knowing they were supposed to have similar effects on the brain's chemistry. But after a handful of peas, he only felt... like someone who had just eaten peas. There was no spark, no overwhelming sense of joy.

Spencer sat back in his chair, staring at the empty plates, and let out a soft laugh. The experiment, while amusing, had proven what he already suspected: his feelings for you weren’t something he could replicate with food. They were something much deeper—something entirely unique to you. 

The thought filled him with a sense of peace, and in that moment, he realized that what he was feeling was real. He didn’t need science or logic to confirm it—he just knew. 

And as he closed his eyes, picturing your smile, he knew that love was the only thing that could explain the way he felt when he was around you.

—

"Alright, pretty boy, let’s hear it!" Derek clapped his hands together, rubbing them with an exaggerated sense of excitement as Spencer returned from the break room, coffee in hand.

Spencer paused mid-sip, his wide eyes blinking behind his cup, brows raised as if he hadn’t the faintest idea what Derek was referring to. “Hear it?”

Of course, he knew exactly what Derek meant. The date. But a small part of him—maybe a larger part than he cared to admit—wanted to keep you to himself, at least for a little while longer. His team already knew so much about him, and this, well, this was different. This was special.

Derek wasn’t having any of it. He narrowed his eyes, giving Spencer a mock-glare. “Don’t play with me, kid. You went on that date, right?”

Before Spencer could even respond, Emily perked up from her desk, always eager for gossip when it came to her favorite awkward genius. “Oh yeah! How did it go?” she asked, leaning in, her face full of curiosity.

Spencer sighed, setting his coffee down on his desk with a soft clink. He wasn’t going to get out of this one easily. He tried to keep his face neutral, his body language calm, but the memories of the evening—the walk under the streetlights, your playful banter, and that kiss—flooded his mind, making it hard not to smile.

"It went... very well," he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

Derek wasn’t convinced by Spencer’s attempt at subtlety. “That’s it? Very well?" he repeated, mocking Spencer’s impassive tone. "Come on, man. You’ve gotta give us more than that.”

Emily leaned forward even more, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, spill! Did she like you? Did you kiss her?" 

Spencer could feel the warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to show in his cheeks. He could lie, brush it off, or keep it vague, but he knew his team better than that. They wouldn’t let it go. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to give them every detail.

"Yes, we kissed," he said, avoiding their wide-eyed stares. He could practically feel Emily and Derek’s eyes burning into him. "And yes, I think she liked me."

"Whoa!" Derek exclaimed, slapping his hand on the desk in excitement. "Look at you, Romeo!" 

Emily was grinning now, clearly thrilled with this development. “Oh my God, you’re finally seeing someone. I knew this was going to be good!”

Spencer shifted in his chair, trying to avoid the attention while hiding his smile behind his coffee. "It’s... still early," he said cautiously. "We’re going to see each other again, but I don’t want to rush things."

Derek chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “No rush, man. Just enjoy it.”

Spencer nodded, feeling both overwhelmed by their enthusiasm and touched by their genuine happiness for him. As much as he had wanted to keep it to himself, there was something nice about sharing even this small piece of happiness with his team—his friends. 

Still, in his mind, the best parts of the date were tucked away, memories meant just for him and you.

Just as Spencer was about to respond, Hotch’s voice cut through the bullpen. “Briefing room, five minutes,” he called, his tone all business as usual. But then, with a rare hint of amusement in his voice, Hotch added, “Congrats, Reid,” flashing a brief, smug smile before disappearing back into his office.

The team erupted into cheers and playful whops, their laughter filling the room. Derek gave Spencer a knowing nudge, grinning ear to ear, while Emily clapped her hands together in excitement.

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh along with them, shaking his head at how quickly news spread in the BAU. He gathered his files, his coffee, and his thoughts, preparing for the case briefing. 

As they made their way to the briefing room, Spencer found his thoughts drifting back to you. He wasn’t one to be easily distracted, especially at work, but today, there was a lightness in his step, a quiet happiness that followed him.

No matter what the next case would bring, you were there in the back of his mind, a constant, sweet reminder of the night before. And for the first time in a long while, Spencer felt like he was allowed to have something personal, something good, to look forward to.

—

It had been a few days since your date with Spencer, and though you hadn’t seen each other since then, the excitement hadn’t faded. Every day, you and Spencer shared brief phone calls after work, recounting your days, each conversation leaving you both with a sense of comfort and anticipation. It was enough for now, enough to tide you over until the next time you could be together in person.

Spencer, however, had been cautious about texting you first. He was afraid of coming on too strong, not wanting to push if you weren’t ready. He longed to see you again, and he was planning to ask if you were free this weekend. But the fear of always making the first move held him back, making him hesitate. He wanted to know that you were just as invested, that you’d reach out too.

Before he could summon the courage to ask you out again, the BAU caught a case that took them out of town. Spencer wasn’t sure what the protocol was for this kind of thing—how much should he let you know? It wasn’t like you were officially together, but at the same time, he didn’t want to just disappear without a word.

He decided to wait for your usual nightly call and tell you then, hoping the timing wouldn’t be off, worried that he might miss the window if things got too chaotic. A part of him secretly hoped you’d make the first move and call him tonight—an assurance that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you.

As the day stretched into evening, the team found themselves in a stuffy precinct in Arizona, dealing with an uncooperative local police department. The frustration levels were high, and Spencer was barely holding onto his patience with an especially difficult sheriff. Just as he was about to lose his cool, his phone rang.

Relieved for the distraction, Spencer pulled it out without thinking, assuming it was Garcia checking in with some intel. He answered with a weary sigh. “What’s up, Garcia?”

There was a brief pause before your voice came through the line, hesitant and uncertain. “Um, hi?”

Spencer’s entire demeanor shifted in an instant. His heart leaped in his chest, excitement bubbling up at the fact that you had called him. But it was quickly followed by a wave of embarrassment as he realized his mistake. “Y/N! Hi!” he blurted out, his voice filled with a mix of apology and enthusiasm.

“Expecting someone else?” you teased, but he could hear the slight edge of insecurity in your voice, making his stomach twist with guilt.

“No, no, I’m so sorry,” Spencer rushed to explain, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the wall of the precinct, trying to escape the noise and tension around him. “I’ve been dealing with this case, and I just—well, I thought it was a work call. I didn’t look at the caller ID. But I’m really glad you called.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, and Spencer held his breath, hoping he hadn’t ruined this. He desperately wanted you to know that you calling meant more to him than he could say.

After a moment, you spoke again, your tone softening. “It’s okay, I figured you were busy.”

“I am,” Spencer admitted, his voice quieter now. “But I would never be too busy to talk to you.”

Rossi happened to overhear the exchange between Spencer and you. Though the older agent smiled with quiet amusement and joy for the young genius, he refrained from teasing him. This was a rare moment for Spencer, and Rossi respected that.

On the other end of the line, you giggled softly, your voice light and teasing. “Never too busy for me?” you repeated, playfully emphasizing the words. “That’s quite the line, Spencer.”

Spencer felt his face warm even more, rubbing the back of his neck as a sheepish smile tugged at his lips. "Mhm, you know me, smooth talker extraordinaire," he replied, his voice soft but playful. 

Your laughter echoed through the phone, sending a wave of warmth over Spencer. He couldn't help the huge smile that spread across his face. There was something about making you laugh that filled him with an indescribable joy.

On the other side of the room, Hotch overheard the exchange. Raising an eyebrow, he glanced over at Rossi. “Did Reid just use sarcasm?” 

Rossi nodded, a knowing smile on his face. "I think the kid’s in love."

While they observed, you continued telling Spencer a story about Poof. "Oh, and today Poof scared a little kid into dropping their ice cream when he meowed from the window," you said with a giggle. "The poor thing was so startled. I ended up running downstairs with a popsicle from my freezer to make up for it."

As you laughed, recounting the moment, Spencer's heart swelled at the thought of your kindness. His mind briefly wandered to the idea of you as a mother, imagining you with a little one on your hip, comforting them with that same gentle warmth. And, to his own surprise, the thought of you being the mother of his children crossed his mind, and it didn’t scare him—it made his heart race in the best way possible.

He shook the thought away, trying to focus on the present, but it lingered, a sweet hope tucked away for the future.

"That's... really sweet of you," he said softly, his voice full of admiration. "That kid’s lucky you were there. I’m sure Poof didn’t feel too guilty, though."

You laughed again, the sound sending Spencer into another moment of quiet happiness. "Nope, he was pretty proud of himself."

Spencer chuckled, feeling lighter than he had in days despite the tension of the case. Just hearing your voice, your stories, made everything feel a little easier.

—

After the team wrapped up the case and stepped off the jet, Spencer’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his heart skipping a beat when he saw your name lighting up the screen. A soft smile spread across his face as he read the message.

Fly safe :) Come around to mine after you’re settled? I have a surprise!

His heart fluttered at the thought of you preparing something special for him. After the tension and exhaustion of the last few days, knowing that you had gone out of your way to plan a cozy night in for him made his chest warm with appreciation. He could hardly contain his excitement as he picked up his pace, eager to see you.

As he sped through the BAU offices, Derek’s voice echoed behind him, laced with amusement. “Got somewhere important to be, pretty boy?”

Spencer didn’t even slow down, not bothering to stop by his desk or respond to Derek’s teasing. He was too focused on getting home, quickly freshening up, and heading straight to you. He had been looking forward to seeing you since the moment your text had come through. The idea of spending the evening unwinding in your presence—feeling the comfort you always brought—was all he wanted after this stressful case.

Once home, he quickly showered and changed into something more relaxed but still nice. The thought of you, the surprise you had planned, fueled his every movement. His mind buzzed with anticipation, wondering what you could possibly have in store.

Soon enough, he found himself standing outside your door, the night air cool but carrying a sense of warmth knowing you were just on the other side. Spencer took a deep breath, knocked softly, and smiled to himself. Whatever the surprise, he knew this night would be perfect just because he’d get to spend it with you.

As you opened the door, your heart swelled with affection the moment you laid eyes on Spencer. He looked so relaxed, dressed down in a casual red sweatshirt, something you hadn't seen him wear before. It made him look more approachable, more... himself. And to top it all off, he was wearing red—a color you were more than familiar with.

“Trying to steal my look?” you teased with a playful grin, your tone lighthearted.

Spencer, however, found himself at a loss for words. He wanted to shoot back a quick, witty reply—keep up with your usual banter—but the sight of you in those shorts, your legs fully exposed, completely derailed his train of thought. His brain short-circuited for a moment, distracted by how stunning you looked in such a casual outfit.

His eyes widened slightly, and he swallowed, trying to regain his composure. "I—uh—yeah, I guess great minds think alike," he finally managed to say, though his voice was a little breathless. 

You caught the way his gaze lingered a bit longer than usual, and it only fueled your affection for him. There was something incredibly endearing about the way Spencer, usually so articulate and brilliant, could be rendered speechless by the simplest things about you.

“Well, I think you look cute,” you added, leaning against the doorframe with a teasing smile.

Spencer blushed, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to focus on your words rather than how much he wanted to reach out and touch you. “You look... amazing,” he said, his voice genuine, the distraction momentarily fading as his gaze softened.

“Come on, space-cadet, step inside the spaceship,” you teased, giggling as you made room for Spencer to step inside your cozy, inviting home.

Spencer smiled, still somewhat in awe of you and how effortlessly comfortable you made him feel. He let you take his hand, your fingers lacing together as you guided him through the charming kitchen and into the warm, welcoming living room. The soft glow of the lamps, the greenery, and the sense of warmth that filled the space made it feel like a perfect sanctuary after the long, stressful days he’d had.

"So… I hope it’s not too much," you began, swinging your linked hands back and forth gently, clearly a little nervous. "But I, uh, rented some movies and made some food." Your voice softened as you continued, your gaze meeting his with a hopeful glint. "I thought we could just cuddle and hang out?"

Spencer's heart swelled at your thoughtfulness. The idea of a simple, cozy night in with you, far away from the chaos of work, was exactly what he needed. He could already feel the tension from the case melting away as he stood in your warm, peaceful space. The fact that you had gone out of your way to make him feel cared for, even without saying much, meant everything.

He smiled, squeezing your hand gently. "That sounds perfect," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine appreciation. “Thank you… for doing all this. You didn’t have to.”

You shrugged with a playful smile, pulling Spencer toward the couch. “I wanted to. You deserve a break. And... selfishly, I really wanted to see you.”

Spencer’s heart swelled in his chest, and he had to wonder if it was healthy for his heart to be beating this rapidly, this often. “Thank god,” he said dramatically, bending at the knees a bit for comedic effect, enhancing his performance. “Because I was really starting to miss you.”

You crinkled your nose in affection, finding his antics utterly adorable. Leaning up, you placed a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. “We’re going to be that disgusting couple everyone hates to be around, aren’t we?” you teased, a playful gleam in your eyes.

That’s when Spencer swore his heart stopped altogether. His brain short-circuited as he replayed your words in his mind. Couple? Could this be real? His pulse quickened, and he suddenly felt like his chest was too small for his heart.

“Couple?” he asked, his voice filled with excitement and just a hint of disbelief. He looked at you with wide, hopeful eyes, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You froze, realizing the word had slipped out without much thought. For a moment, you panicked, unsure of whether you had moved too fast or if Spencer was even ready for that. “I—uh... I didn’t mean to say that,” you stammered, feeling the nerves bubbling up. “But... is that okay?”

Spencer’s expression softened instantly. His eyes were still wide, but now filled with something warm, something deeper than mere excitement. Without thinking, he pulled you into a tender hug, pressing his forehead gently against yours. “It’s more than okay,” he whispered, his voice slightly shaky from the rush of emotions flooding through him. “I… I’d really like that.”

You laughed softly, relief washing over you as you melted into his arms. “Me too,” you whispered back, your hands wrapping around his back, holding him close. The tension that had built up between you moments ago dissolved into something tender, something warm and reassuring.

After a few beats, Spencer pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his smile small but full of meaning. “So… we’re that disgusting couple now, huh?”

You giggled, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from his face. “Looks like it,” you teased, your voice light, yet filled with affection. 

Spencer chuckled, unable to stop smiling, the realization of what this meant finally settling into his mind. This was real—you were real—and the connection between the two of you was deepening in ways he hadn’t even anticipated.

And there, in that cozy living room, something beautiful had started to bloom, and neither of you could be happier.

Of course, that was until you playfully pushed Spencer down onto the couch, the unexpected movement making him let out a surprised laugh. You leaned over him, your lips finding his, and kissed him with a fervor that made his heart skip several beats. His hands instinctively found your waist, holding onto you as you kissed him silly.

Every time your lips met, Spencer’s mind grew foggier, lost in the warmth and softness of your touch. His usual articulate thoughts were reduced to nothing more than pure sensation, and in that moment, he was utterly and completely yours.

But then, when you shifted, your hips settling down on his lap, and ground yourself against him, a low gasp escaped his lips. Spencer’s hands gripped your waist tighter, and he swore he was through the roof with happiness. His pulse was racing, his mind spinning, and yet, all he could think about was how perfect this felt—how perfect you felt.

A breathless laugh escaped him between kisses as he looked up at you with wide, adoring eyes. “I think,” he said, his voice ragged from the emotions swirling inside him, “this might actually kill me.”

You giggled against his lips, your fingers brushing through his hair. “Good,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him again, your movements deliberate and full of affection. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you survive.”

When your tongue traced along Spencer’s bottom lip, he knew he was in trouble—there was no way he was going to survive this, and, really, he was okay with that. But as the intensity of the moment grew, something shifted inside him. He didn’t want you doing all the work, didn’t want to just be the one melting under your touch. No, he wanted to return the favor. 

“Y/N…” he mumbled, his voice low and filled with need as you sucked on his tongue, causing him to let out a deep, involuntary moan. The sound echoed in the room, making the moment feel even more electric.

Before you could continue, Spencer gently pushed you back, his hands still steady on your waist. “I want—” he began, taking a deep, steadying breath, his heart racing. “I want to… please you this time.” His voice trembled slightly, the desire in his words clear.

You paused, gazing down at him with surprise and affection, your breath catching at the intensity in his eyes. For a moment, you were speechless, feeling the shift in the air between you. There was something deeply intimate in Spencer’s request, in the way he wanted to take care of you.

His hands slid up your sides, his fingers tracing light, almost reverent patterns along your skin as he held your gaze. “Please,” he added softly, his voice now filled with a quiet determination.

The vulnerability in his eyes and the sincerity of his words made your heart race in response. You smiled down at him, leaning in close so your lips barely brushed his. “Okay,” you whispered, giving him a soft, reassuring kiss. “Whatever you want, Spencer.”

Spencer gently shifted your positions, moving you onto your back as he settled between your legs, his body hovering just above yours. You giggled softly, your eyes twinkling with mischief as you wiggled your eyebrows playfully. “Hello, handsome.”

Spencer smiled down at you, a warmth blooming in his chest at how effortlessly playful and sweet you always were. “Hey, gorgeous,” he breathed out, his voice full of affection as he leaned down to kiss you again, slow and deep, savoring every moment.

This time, his hands were braced beside your head, supporting his weight as he kissed you. Your fingers traced soft, lazy patterns along his back, the gentleness of your touch contrasting with the intensity building between you.

But then, Spencer lowered his hips, grinding down into yours, and the sensation sent a shockwave through you. You couldn’t stop the high-pitched keen that escaped your throat, your fingers instantly digging deeper into his back, your body responding to him with a need that left you breathless.

Spencer pulled back slightly, his gaze heated as he looked down at you, his breathing ragged. “Did you like that?” he asked, his voice husky, thick with a genuine curiosity—but the way he asked it, the rough edge in his tone, made your heart race and your blood pressure spike.

You nodded, your breaths coming out in shallow, excited gasps. “Y-yeah,” you managed to breathe out, the simple action of speaking feeling overwhelming with the way he was looking at you, as if you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him right now.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small, knowing smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Good,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss you again, but this time his hips didn’t stop moving, rolling into yours with deliberate, teasing pressure that made you arch up into him, craving more.

With each roll of his hips, Spencer was more determined to make sure you felt everything, his quiet confidence growing as he watched the way your body responded to him. The playful teasing from earlier had transformed into something much deeper, more intimate, and as his hands roamed your body, he knew that this—being with you like this—was something he wanted to experience again and again.

“Spence, ungh,” you whined, your voice shaky as pleasure coursed through you. “Spencer, this—this feels so good.” Your words stuttered out as Spencer’s lips trailed warm kisses down the length of your neck, making you arch into him, but something inside you told you it could feel even better. “Can I… move you?”

Spencer paused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Move me?” he asked, his voice soft and curious.

You nodded, your breath still coming out in shallow bursts. “If you were situated a little more to the left… you’d hit perfectly.”

Spencer blinked in surprise, the realization dawning on him. “Oh!” He laughed, the sound a mix of amusement and understanding, as his face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Of course.”

He braced himself as your hand went into his pants, repositioning just the way you needed, his hands still braced on either side of your head as his body moved into place. And when he pressed down into you again, the sensation hit in a way that had your back arching and a strangled moan escaping your lips.

“That better?” he asked, his voice low, and though the question was genuine, there was an underlying heat in his tone that sent sparks flying through your veins.

Your only response was a breathless nod, your hands clinging to his back, your nails digging into Spencer’s back as he moved just the way you had asked. The new angle sent shockwaves of pleasure through you, and it was all you could do to nod frantically, your breath catching in your throat as he pressed deeper.

"That’s it," Spencer murmured, his voice laced with both awe and desire. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You feel so good." His words only heightened the moment, sending a shiver down your spine as his hips continued their slow, deliberate movement against yours.

The tension in your body built with each roll of his hips, and every breathless whimper you made only spurred him on. Spencer's usually calm, thoughtful demeanor had melted away, replaced by something more primal, more intense. Yet, there was still something so gentle about him, like he wanted to savor every moment, every reaction you gave him.

You tilted your head back, giving him more access to your neck as he resumed placing kisses there, each one sending jolts of pleasure through you. "Spencer," you gasped out his name, your voice trembling with need. "Don’t stop."

His lips curved into a small, pleased smile against your skin. “I won’t,” he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. Spencer moved again, his body aligned with yours in perfect harmony now, and the sensation made you gasp out loud, your back arching off the couch as his name fell from your lips in a desperate moan.

He watched your every reaction with fascination, his gaze full of warmth and desire. “Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with the same yearning coursing through him. “I’ll give it to you.”

The intensity of his words, combined with the way his body moved against yours, was overwhelming in the best possible way. You felt your grip tighten on his back, nails dragging lightly against his skin as the pressure built between you both. 

Your breath hitched again, every nerve in your body sparking with sensation. "Just like that, Spence," you managed to gasp out, your body trembling with anticipation.

And Spencer, ever attentive, ever caring, gave you exactly what you needed, his movements steady and sure as he took you closer and closer to the edge.

Spencer’s eyes were filled with awe as he watched you, the intensity of your expression sending a rush of pride and arousal through him. "Are you going to finish?" he asked deeply, his voice tinged with both excitement and lust, clearly captivated by the way you were responding to him.

But as much as you loved the feeling of him against you, you knew that you needed something more to actually reach that peak. You didn’t want him to think that he was doing anything wrong, because he wasn’t—everything felt amazing. You just needed a little extra.

Shaking your head slightly, you met his gaze, feeling a little shy but determined to be honest. "Um, no," you admitted, your voice soft but clear. "Spence, I’m going to need something more..."

His eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on him, and he immediately slowed down, his expression one of care and attentiveness. "What do you need?" he asked, his voice gentle, full of nothing but the desire to give you exactly what you wanted. Spencer was nothing if not eager to please, and the last thing he wanted was for you to feel like he wasn’t giving you what you deserved.

You swallowed, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, but you pushed through the nervousness. "I just need more… contact," you said, your voice trembling a little, but you held his gaze, knowing that Spencer was the kind of person who wouldn’t judge you for asking. "Maybe your hands... or your mouth?"

The moment you said it, Spencer’s eyes darkened with understanding and desire, and he nodded quickly. "I can do that," he said, his voice now rougher, the edge of excitement clear in his tone. Without hesitation, he adjusted himself, his hands sliding down your body with deliberate care, his fingertips brushing lightly over your skin, sending a shiver of anticipation through you.

"Tell me how," he whispered, his lips hovering just above yours, his breath warm against your skin. "Tell me what you want, and I’ll make sure it feels good."

You nodded quickly, your lips brushing against Spencer’s as you whispered, “Touch me, please.” The desperation in your voice sent a rush of heat through him, and Spencer couldn’t help but smile at how the roles had reversed. You were the one who was a mess now, needing his touch, and he found it both endearing and exciting.

But Spencer wasn’t one to leave you waiting—he was far too much of a gentleman for that. He wanted to make sure you felt every bit of pleasure you deserved. His hands moved with purpose, pushing your tiny shorts and underwear down as far as they could go in your current position, the fabric bunching up around your thighs.

His fingers hesitated just for a second, brushing lightly over the coarse hair, testing the waters as he sought your reaction. The moment his fingertips made contact with your lips, you let out a soft gasp, your body arching slightly, seeking more of his touch.

Spencer’s gaze flicked back to your face, watching your reaction closely, a mixture of curiosity and admiration in his eyes. He loved how responsive you were to him, how honest your body was in its need. Slowly, gently, his fingers traced lower, gliding through the wet heat of your skin, exploring with a tenderness that made your heart race.

“Like this?” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath as his fingers found your most sensitive spot, circling your clit with deliberate care and pressure. He wanted to make sure he was doing it just right, watching for every little tell that told him you were enjoying this.

Your breath hitched, and your fingers dug into his shoulders as you nodded, unable to form words in that moment. Spencer, always attentive, took your reaction as the encouragement he needed and continued, his movements slow but precise, building the tension inside you with every stroke of his hand.

As your body responded to his touch, the quiet sounds of your pleasure filled the space between you, and Spencer’s heart swelled with satisfaction. He leaned down to kiss you again, his lips moving against yours with a renewed sense of purpose as his fingers continued their steady rhythm, determined to give you exactly what you needed.

You were quickly becoming undone beneath him, your body trembling as the pressure built inside you. Spencer could feel it too, the way your breathing quickened, the way your hips subtly lifted to meet his hand. And in that moment, all that mattered was making sure you felt as good as you possibly could.

"That's it," he murmured against your lips, his voice soft but full of awe. "Just let go, Y/N. I've got you."

Spencer's deep voice, laced with desire and tenderness, sent waves of heat coursing through you, and when you whined, your voice high and breathless, "Harder, faster, I'm so close," it was all he needed to hear.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening as his fingers immediately responded to your plea, pressing harder, moving faster. His focus was entirely on you, on making sure you got exactly what you needed. His lips brushed against your temple as his fingers worked you over, his free hand sliding up to cup your breast through your top, squeezing lightly.

"Like this?" he murmured, his voice rough with concentration, the husky edge to it sending another wave of pleasure through you.

Your back arched as you gasped out, barely able to hold yourself together. "Yes, yes, right there!" The sensation built inside you with a blinding intensity, every nerve in your body alight as Spencer's fingers moved expertly, just how you needed.

He watched your face, utterly captivated by how you were unraveling beneath him, your body trembling with need, your breath coming in shallow, desperate gasps. His fingers pressed even harder, his movements precise and relentless as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on," he whispered softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. "Let go for me, Y/N."

That was all it took. Spencer’s deep voice, the way his fingers worked your body, the tension that had been building—it all came crashing down at once. You let out a sharp cry, your body arching into his as the overwhelming wave of pleasure washed over you, your muscles tightening, then releasing in sweet relief.

Spencer slowed his movements as you rode out the high, his hand still gently moving against you, guiding you through the aftershocks. His lips pressed gentle kisses along your jawline, murmuring soft words of praise and affection as you came down from the blissful peak.

"That's it," Spencer whispered, his voice low and tender, filled with awe as he looked down at you. "Wow. You’re so beautiful."

He sat back on his knees, needing to take in the full sight of you beneath him, his chest swelling with an overwhelming sense of admiration. What he saw made his heart race—your flushed face, damp with sweat, your hair slightly stuck to your forehead, the way your chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. The rolls of your tummy from the way you lay on the couch only made you more irresistible to him.

But what really caught Spencer’s attention was the wet spot beneath you, a clear indication of just how much you had enjoyed yourself. His eyes trailed up slowly, following the evidence of your release until they landed on the source of that wetness, the sight making something primal stir inside him.

He couldn’t help himself—his hand moved instinctively, reaching out to touch you again, his fingers gently brushing over the sensitive, soaked skin. The temptation was too strong, and before he could think about it, his fingers slipped inside you.

You flinched, your body jerking in a mix of oversensitivity and surprise. "S-Spence, wait—" you gasped, your hands grabbing onto his forearm, trying to find something to hold onto as the sensation overwhelmed you.

Spencer froze immediately, his wide eyes snapping up to meet yours. "Sorry!" he blurted out, his voice filled with concern. "I didn’t mean to—are you okay?"

You nodded quickly, your breath still catching in your throat. "Yeah, yeah... just sensitive." You smiled at him softly, appreciating his eagerness and concern, though your body was still recovering from the intensity of the high he had just given you.

Spencer smiled down at you, his lips soft and warm as he leaned in to kiss you gently. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked, his voice low and husky, though there was a hint of teasing in his tone.

You took a few more deep breaths, your chest rising and falling quickly as your body calmed, but there was no way in hell you’d ever ask him to stop—not when he was making you feel like this. Shaking your head, you looked up at him, a playful glint in your eyes despite the lingering sensitivity. "Absolutely not," you whispered breathlessly.

Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfaction and mischief dancing across his features. "Didn’t think so," he murmured, clearly pleased with your response. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring the way your lips felt against his fingers resumed their mission.

His touch was gentler now, coaxing rather than demanding, and the feeling of his fingers moving slowly inside you after you just finished made you shudder, your body responding instantly despite the intensity you had just experienced.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Spencer whispered against your lips, his voice a soft promise, but there was an unmistakable eagerness in his tone. He wanted to keep going, wanted to keep making you feel this way, but only if you were ready.

You nodded, your heart racing again as you gave him the permission he was looking for. "I will," you promised, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, holding onto him as his touch sent more sparks of pleasure through you.

And with that, Spencer’s fingers picked up their rhythm again, slow but deliberate, his eyes never leaving your face as he watched every reaction, every gasp and moan that fell from your lips.

“I—I won’t come like this,” you managed to gasp out as Spencer’s fingers sped up once again, the sensation intense but not quite enough to push you over the edge. 

Spencer chuckled softly, his eyes locked on where his hand was working its magic between your legs. The sound of his voice, low and comforting, sent another wave of warmth through you. “That’s okay, darling,” he said, his words dripping with affection and adoration. “I just wanted to feel you.”

The way he said it—so sincere, so captivated by you—made your breath catch, your body instinctively clenching around his fingers. You groaned, the sensation shooting straight through your core, your body responding to his touch in ways you hadn’t expected.

Spencer noticed your reaction, his smirk growing as his fingers continued to move, sliding in and out of you with steady precision. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I love the way you feel around me,” he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

His words, the way his fingers kept you on edge without letting you tip over—it was driving you wild. Even if you couldn’t reach your release like this, the sheer pleasure of having him touch you, of knowing how much he wanted to feel you, was enough to keep you completely captivated in the moment.

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as you whispered back, “Keep going, please.” 

Spencer grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your temple as he quickened the pace of his fingers just a little more, continuing to enjoy the way your body reacted to his every movement. 

After Spencer had taken his fill, and you were far too sensitive to continue, you giggled, gently pushing him off as you sat up. You reached towards his waistband with a playful smile, teasing, “I can help the next customer now.”

But before you could get far, his hands caught yours, stopping you. When you looked up at him, you saw his face flushing pink, an adorably sheepish expression crossing his features. “I—uh, finished a long time ago,” he confessed, his voice soft, almost shy.

You blinked in surprise, then burst into laughter. “What?” you asked, incredulous but deeply amused. “When?”

Spencer groaned, his face turning even redder as he leaned in, hiding in the crook of your neck. “When you did,” he mumbled, his voice muffled against your skin.

Your eyes widened at the confession, a rush of heat pooling in your stomach as you processed what he said. "Fuck, that’s hot," you murmured, the thought of him finishing just from pleasuring you sending a fresh wave of excitement through your already sensitive body.

Spencer pulled back just enough to peek at you, his face still flushed, a mixture of surprise and bashful pride written across his features. “Really?” he asked, almost like he couldn’t believe that you’d find that sexy.

You nodded eagerly, your hands gently running up his chest as you leaned in closer. “Really,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “That’s probably the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

Spencer exhaled a small laugh, clearly relieved and a little proud, the tension easing from his shoulders as he kissed you softly. Even though he had been shy about it, your reaction had made him feel comfortable. 

After the intensity of the moment, you both excused yourselves to clean up, laughing softly as Spencer ended up borrowing a pair of your sweatpants. He wore them with a grin, clearly feeling more comfortable now. The two of you tidied up quickly, putting everything in order before settling back into the perfect evening you'd planned.

Before you knew it, your cozy movie night was underway, the two of you curled up on the couch together. The living room was warm and inviting, the soft glow from the screen casting gentle shadows around the room. Spencer's arms were wrapped around you, his head resting against your chest as you absentmindedly played with his curls. The sound of his breathing, steady and peaceful, combined with the soft hum of the movie in the background, made the entire evening feel even more intimate.

It wasn’t long before you felt the subtle weight of Spencer's body relaxing against yours, his breathing slowing as he drifted off to sleep. You smiled to yourself, your heart full as you gazed down at him. His face was peaceful, his usually intense expression softened by sleep, and you couldn’t help but think how lucky you were to have moments like this with him.

Gently, you nudged him awake just enough to move to your bedroom, guiding him carefully as he stirred. Spencer mumbled sleepily, still half-asleep as he followed you, reclaiming his hold on you as soon as you both slipped under the covers. His arms wrapped around you again, his body curling into yours instinctively as you both settled in for the night.

With his warmth surrounding you and the peaceful rhythm of his breathing lulling you, you quickly drifted off, the perfect ending to a night full of closeness and connection.

—

Spencer was incredibly content when he woke up to find his head once again pillowed by your chest. The quiet comfort of the moment filled him with warmth, his body relaxed and his mind at ease for what felt like the first time in ages. You were still asleep, your breathing soft and even, giving him a chance to truly admire your beauty without distraction.

He gently stroked your hair, letting his fingers run through the soft strands as he watched the peaceful rise and fall of your chest. Your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I am so lucky," he whispered softly to himself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

But then, he noticed a small, sleepy smile forming on your lips. Spencer paused, realizing you were pretending to be asleep. He sighed dramatically, feigning exasperation as he gazed down at you. “I just hope she doesn’t look me up on the internet… she'd find my porno…”

Your eyes popped open immediately, and you sat up with a start, your voice full of shock and amusement. "What?!"

Spencer couldn’t hold back his laugh, his cheeks flushing a bit as he tried to stifle it with his hand. "I’m kidding!" he said quickly, grinning at the horrified look on your face. "It’s just a joke."

You stared at him for a moment before breaking into laughter yourself, smacking his chest playfully. "Don’t scare me like that! I almost believed you!"

Spencer chuckled, rubbing the spot where you hit him. “Sorry, sorry. You were just too cute pretending to be asleep. I couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, still laughing, but you couldn’t help the warm feeling in your chest at how playful and lighthearted Spencer was with you. “I’ll have to keep my guard up now,” you teased, leaning down to kiss him softly.

“Good idea,” Spencer said, smiling into the kiss. “Though I promise, no more fake confessions. Just real ones.”

"Better not," you warned playfully, your smile soft as you settled back into the warmth of his embrace, the both of you falling back into that easy, affectionate comfort. 

You traced lazy patterns on Spencer’s chest, your fingertips lightly grazing his skin as you asked, “What would I find if I looked you up, really?”

Spencer sighed softly, clearly thinking it over for a moment before answering. "Some peer reviews, research articles, child prodigy stuff, and, uh… probably some news stories from the BAU."

The mention of the BAU caught you off guard. “BAU?” you asked, your voice holding a slight edge of nervousness. You knew Spencer worked for the FBI, but he hadn’t gone into much detail about it.

Spencer, misinterpreting the nervous tone in your voice, mistook it for confusion. “Oh, sorry, the Behavioral Analysis Unit,” he explained casually, not yet realizing the weight of what he was revealing. “It’s the part of the FBI where I work. We profile and catch serial killers, violent criminals, kidnappers… you know, things like that.”

“Oh… yeah,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Sounds scary.”

“It can be,” Spencer admitted softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, his fingers lightly brushing through your hair. “But it’s really rewarding too. It’s sweet that you seem concerned.”

You laughed lightly, trying to shake off the lingering nerves. “Yeah,” you said, your tone warmer now as you tried to ease the tension. “Don’t want my boyfriend being in danger.”

The word had slipped out so naturally, but as soon as Spencer picked up on it, his eyes widened in surprise and excitement. “Boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice practically buzzing with joy. “You called me your boyfriend.”

You laughed softly, feeling the warmth of his reaction settle your nerves. “Well, aren’t you?” you teased, looking up at him with a playful glint in your eye.

Spencer’s face lit up, his expression one of pure adoration. “God, I hope so,” he breathed, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and happiness. His arms wrapped around you a little tighter as if he couldn’t quite believe what was happening but didn’t want to let go of the moment.

You smiled, your heart swelling as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling the soft hum of affection that flowed between you both. “Then kiss me,” you murmured against his lips. “Boyfriend.”

Spencer chuckled, his forehead resting against yours. “I’m not sure how I got so lucky, but I’m not going to question it.” His voice was filled with genuine emotion, as though this moment meant more to him than he could fully express.

You smiled, nuzzling into him, feeling more at home than ever.

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

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[chaotic-laila]

Hi, i don't care what character it is but can you write about an ex husband who's yearning for his ex? 😖 I love me my depressed and sexually frustrated men who want nothing but to look and get a whiff of your scent! Thank you

(Sorry it took so long, but this one was tough writing cause I didn't knew what to write)

Content Warning:

Explicit Sexual Content

Obsessive Longing and Yearning

Sexual Fantasy and Desperation

Mild Voyeuristic Elements (involving found personal items)

Instagram I'd - @chaotic_lailaaaa

Lingering Traces

He stepped into the empty apartment, the echoes of their past lingering in the air like a haunting melody. Every corner was a reminder of what they once shared, and as he moved through the familiar space, the memories clung to him like a shadow. He tried to focus on the task at hand—collecting the few belongings he had left behind—but his mind drifted back to you.

The scent of your perfume still lingered, a blend of floral sweetness that wrapped around him like a comforting blanket. He could almost see you in the sunlight that streamed through the window, your laughter dancing through the air as you painted the walls with your vibrant spirit.

As he made his way to the bathroom, he opened the laundry basket, hoping to find a towel. Instead, something caught his eye. Buried beneath a pile of clothes was a small, delicate piece of lace. His heart raced as he pulled it out—your panties, soft and inviting, the fabric sheer and barely there.

He held them up, the sight of them sending a rush of heat through him. The familiar scent enveloped him, a mix of your body wash and something uniquely you, intoxicating and deeply familiar. It struck him like a bolt of lightning, flooding his mind with memories he had tried so hard to forget.

He was frozen in place, his heart pounding as he inhaled deeply, letting the scent wash over him. It was intoxicating, and before he realized it, he was sinking back against the wall, the fabric gripped tightly in his hand. The ache in his groin was undeniable, a throbbing need that demanded attention. He could feel himself growing hard, a desperate throb that begged for relief.

His mind raced with memories of you—how you’d look at him, those sultry glances that made his heart race. He could almost hear your soft laughter, the way you’d bite your lip when you were feeling playful. The image of you pressed against him, your body warm and inviting, flooded his thoughts, igniting a fire within him.

With a shaky breath, he slipped his free hand under his waistband, fingers brushing against his hardness. A low groan escaped his lips as he began to stroke himself slowly, each movement deliberate as he imagined you there with him. The feeling of your skin against his, the warmth of your breath, it all consumed him.

“God, I miss you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. As he pumped his hand up and down, he imagined you teasing him, the way you’d push your hips into him, urging him on. He could see you clearly in his mind, lying on the bed with that cheeky smile, wearing nothing but these very panties.

He tightened his grip, gasping as he lost himself in the fantasy. “What I would give to feel you again,” he whispered, his strokes growing faster, the tension building deep within him. Each glide of his hand was a reminder of how you used to drive him wild, your body writhing beneath him, begging for more.

His thoughts spiraled further into the fantasy, imagining your hands roaming over his body, your lips trailing down his neck. He could almost feel the heat of your breath as you whispered sweet nothings, urging him to take control, to claim you like he used to. The idea sent a shiver down his spine, and he quickened his pace, the need for release surging within him.

“I want you so badly,” he groaned, imagining how it would feel to push you down, to bury himself deep inside you, feeling you wrapped around him completely. The thought alone pushed him closer to the edge, the pressure building as he recalled the way your body would arch against him, the way you’d moan his name, desperate for more.

“Just one more time,” he gasped, lost in the haze of longing and lust. With every stroke, he envisioned you beneath him, those delicate lace panties pushed aside, your warmth welcoming him home. He could almost hear your soft whimpers, could almost feel the way you’d clench around him, pulling him in deeper.

As the pleasure surged, he lost himself in the fantasy, his breath quickening as he neared the edge. “I need you,” he cried out, his voice raw with desperation. With one final, powerful stroke, he came undone, his release spilling forth as he imagined you there with him, your scent flooding his senses, leaving him breathless and aching for more.

He collapsed against the wall, panting as the reality of the moment settled in. The weight of the fabric lingered in his hand, a bittersweet reminder of what he had lost and the longing that would haunt him for as long as he lived.

[nvuy]

to invoke perjury (and to love no one else) — sunday

summary. an old telltale whisper of a confession leaves sunday defenceless, and all the more paranoid of your loyalty to him.

notes. omg this is so epic i say as i hold up this work that nobody asked for. i finally finished the penacony tb quest everybody clap it up for me. my sunday obsession is so so bad somebody save me from the trenches.

warnings. mdni. implied explicit content, dark themes, manipulation, sunday is (unsurprisingly) very controlling, sunday is also tremendously paranoid of everything, yandere themes, he makes you cry, sunday uses that weird lying curse on you, but worry not he does love you. i think. let me know if ive missed anything!

“You are breaking my heart.”

You glanced up from the model of the city, growing tired of picking at the corner of one of the buildings. A nervous habit, if you will. When Sunday noticed the damage later, he’d scold you for it.

For now, his eyes were elsewhere. He, too, was staring down at the miniature pinball machine, spinning it with a gloved finger.

You fidgeted, uncertain. “What?”

“You’re lying to me,” Sunday accused. His tone was soft.

Your hands pressed to the sides of the table. “I haven’t lied to you.”

“Not recently, no,” he agreed. He agreed, and you almost sprang from your seat. “But you have. And you still are.”

To that, you gripped the edge of the table tighter. Uncertainty wrought heavy in your bones like lead.

It suddenly felt cold. As if he’d slid ice along your spine. A chill wracked through you. You realised the feeling was his gaze.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you.

But he was still slowly twisting the pinball machine around and around. He then sighed.

And then he leaned back and traced a finger along the edge of the table, not at all mindful of the small animated figurines occupying the city.

He gave one of their heads a small push, and the small figure’s body sank into the floor.

You took it as a warning.

“Do you remember the night we met?”

Of course you did.

It was a swirl of colour and muted hushed whispers now, but you could recall taking his hand, promising him the world, and kissing along his fingers to the swell of his wrist.

You nodded meekly.

Sunday hummed, clearly lost in thought. “I never forgot what you said to me.” Oh, you knew that look. That distant, faraway look. Like he’s trapping himself in his own head again. He was good at that. Acting, pretending. Putting on a show. “I’d never felt the same again.”

He was still tracing the edge of the table.

There was a small grin on his face.

Such a pleasant expression, paired with that a gorgeous light-hearted tone. His voice sounded like a lullaby echoing in the back of your mind.

His halo was glowing in the light.

“You said to me you’d be my everything. You offered a piece of your very own soul to me.” He gloved finger flitted from the polished wood, and then stopped short of your hand resting on the table. “You have such a lovely heart.”

The muscle raced in your chest.

You weren’t sure if it was out of flattery or fear. You weren’t able to tell the difference anymore.

“Such a shame you continue to spit poison at me. I used to love talking to you.” His gloved finger followed the curvature of your knuckles. “You’ve changed. You’re so different from when I met you.”

Your hands curled into fists as he traced the bone-white colour as you squeezed. Your nails dug into your palms.

He’d changed, too. He’s different too. He’s more watchful now. He barely makes time for himself anymore. He’s always either working or watching you like a hawk.

It’s unnerving. The unsettling brush of his lashes against your skin, and that unbreaking stare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” was all you said. “I haven’t changed at all.”

Sunday hummed. “Are you sure?”

“Very.” You found the courage to glance up at him. That same unbreaking stare. When you met his gaze, he smiled. “I still care about you.”

“But, you don’t.” There was a light hearted ring in his voice.

You stopped. “What?”

“You don’t love me anymore.”

And there it was.

He was paranoid. He always had been, since the day you shedded a glove from his hand to kiss the skin wrapped around bone white knuckles. He’d been so busy pressing his nails into his palm, so preoccupied in what you were doing, why you were doing this, what you gained from it.

He’s paranoid now. He’s never stopped. He’s always been anxious. He’s always been overthinking your every move like you’re an opponent in a game of chess; always on his toes, always watching, either with his own eyes that more often than not, glared daggers into you, or through the nightingales that swarmed the mansion.

You were shaking. You tried to stop yourself.

He noticed. “You’re upset.”

“Of course, I’m upset.” Your nails dug into the underside of the table. You felt them strain as your jaw clenched.

“Is it wrong to think you’re dishonest?”

“Yes,” you answered. “Yes, it’s wrong. You’re wrong.”

“Perhaps I am, then, for falling in love with a liar.” His fingers chased up your arm slowly. “I always valued honesty above all. How rich.”

“But I’m–” You didn’t even know how to defend yourself.

Instead, you fell completely silent, face burning in humiliation.

The scent of him was intoxicating. Orange blossoms and sandalwood. You had memorised the scents of his favourite fragrances, the shampoo he used, down to his toothpaste. You knew all of it. The way he brushed his hair, the temperature of the water he preferred for his baths, to the chronological order of steps on how he got ready in the morning.

It was all order; a set of stagnant unchanging steps. Like he was following a recipe to its very word.

He was particular.

And he hated change.

He took your silence as an invitation to pry further. “You were so enchanting that night.” He was telling the truth. You could read it on his expression–and his expression. That same expression he held on that night you offered him your heart to take. “And I know now, that you are most enchanting when you lie.”

“What’s–” You interlocked your fingers. His own were tracing the bone of your shoulder now. “What have I done? Why’re you–”

“You, of all people, must understand my uncertainty,” he spoke. He sounded as if you were supposed to know the answer.

Maybe there was no answer at all. No spark to his flame. He’s just doing all of this, because he can. Because he’s paranoid, and he’s hiding his churning stomach and the anxiety that fills his throat with this stage play he’s put on.

“You willingly took in a perfect home, much different from where you came from.” He gestured to the room around him. Pillars that intricately curled into the ceiling, floor polished, the scaled model of Penacony tended to and dusted, and the walls featuring thousands of commissioned pieces from artists all over the galaxy. “No sorrows, no disorder, no dishonesty. Certainly not here.

His eyes shift to you again. “And certainly not now.”

You shrank down into your seat.

“And, under the light of the Harmony–” He raises his hands to gesture to the ceiling, as if THEY’RE watching over him. “–All wickedness is revealed. That is precisely why you're so radiant in the sunlight.”

What the fuck is he talking about?

He must have noticed your expression. You must have appeared distressed. Fidgeting nervously, your blood running cold beneath your skin.

Perhaps your apprehension, the clear anxiousness drawn over your face, egged him further.

He did not dwell on it. Instead, he simply narrowed his eyes. “It is as I suspected.” When your eyebrows raised in surprise, he continued, “you’ve been lying.”

“You don’t trust me anymore?” You frantically wiped a stray tear that had fallen. You hoped he didn’t notice the waver in your tone.

Sunday merely nodded, blinking slowly. “You understand now.”

You stared at the floor. His eyes were burning into your skull.

Your brows knitted together.

A bell tolled nearby.

You don’t recall any sort of church close by.

“I cannot excuse, nor house, nor bed, a liar. It is beyond THEIR natural order. Liars have no place in an assimilated, perfect world.”

You looked elsewhere. You picked nervously at the hem of your shirt, suddenly feeling like you were drowning in hot water.

Your nose filled and clogged with a horrible earthy scent much unlike his shampoo. This was different, real and raw, like there was somebody else in the room.

When you looked around, there was nobody else.

Just the two of you.

“Stand up,” he ordered softly.

You did so, hesitantly, still shaking.

You must have looked pathetic.

Sunday offered you his hand.

Desperate, you took it, and kissed his knuckles.

He let out a faint laugh. “That will not work. Not this time, I’m afraid.” He looked up towards the ceiling for a brief moment, before he closed his eyes. “O Triple-Faced Soul, let fire brand flesh and bone with the mark of honesty–”

Something was wrong, and his face was changing.

For a moment, you saw tracks like golden water flow down his cheeks.

His halo was glowing, but there was something else behind his head. A clouded and muted swirl of colours, mismatched and ever changing.

You tried to pull your hand from his grip, but there was a weight pressed to your limbs.

“–And ensure that every vow is etched in the fervour of undeniable truth.”

“What’re you–” He let go of your hand and you stumbled. The bell toll was only just louder by a margin, and there was now a searing heat in your head. “What’re you doing?!”

Your hands desperately rested on his shoulders, trying to keep yourself upright.

You tried again to wrench yourself from his touch. It was sickening how gentle he was being.

Slowly, he guided you back to the love seat, tutting and scolding you as you fought in his hold. How could somebody so horrible be so gentle?

You felt the urge to throw up all over his clothes. Sweat beaded down your neck and pooled at your collarbone like a necklace.

“What did you do to me?” You were panicking. “What have you done?” You pressed the pads of your fingers to your temples to try and soothe the burning. “You cursed me?”

“I’ve blessed you,” he whispered. “This way, you will be rectified.”

Something was whispering to you. Almost inaudible, indiscernible, like the banging of a death knell in your ears.

What is it? What is that?

You looked to him for an answer, but words caught heavy on your tongue like lead.

“All you have to do is tell the truth.”

You shook your head. “I’m not speaking to you like this,” you tried. Your voice came out strained.

“You don’t have a choice,” he snapped. “You are not in control.”

“You’ll hurt me for the sake of your precious pride?” Your hands coiled into fists at your sides. Thank the Lords he’d seated you, for you were sure you would’ve fallen over by now. Your feet had since gone numb.

The whispering was right in your ear. When you turned your head to confront the noise, there was nothing there.

“It will not hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday explained gently. “I hope that doesn’t come as a challenge to you.”

Get out of my head get out of my head get out of my head–

“I’m not answering anything you ask,” you forced out through gritted teeth.

Sunday only let out a breathy, exasperated sigh. “Then don’t. We’ll see what happens to you.”

You said nothing.

Instead, you tried to stand up to leave. Screw this curse he’s put on your head because he’s retreated into his own insecurities. He wasn’t winning this time.

You were so sick of this paranoia.

When you stood, a dizziness hit you like a wave. You desperately reached for anything, and your hands found his. He did not guide you back down into the seat, but his gloved hands remained encased in yours.

Such a perfect, warm fit.

Sunday offered you a gentle, yet peculiar smile.

“Question: have you ever lied to me?”

You didn’t answer.

Your flesh felt as though it was set alight. As if the halovian had personally poured gasoline over you and held a match to the tip of your nose and watched you burn alive.

The whispering was loud. The voices was indiscernible. You couldn’t place a finger to its source, nor a face, nor a name. Three voices, all repeating the same thing. You could tell from its tone, its pitch modulation, and yet you couldn’t understand what was being spoken.

It didn’t sound like any language you knew.

“Answer the question, angel.”

Hot tears bubbled over your lashes.

“Yes.” You fought to keep the word lodged in the back of your throat, but when you forced it out, the lava on your tongue cooled significantly. The whispers grew softer.

He noticed the look of relief cross over your face. “See?” A gloved hand came down to gently touch the crown of your head. “Just answer truthfully, and it will all be okay.”

Then, the white material of his gloves came forward to swipe gently at the tears below your eyes. Salt soaked the soft cotton.

Your hand reached up shakily to hold onto his wrist.

“Did you lie to me the night we met?”

The swirls of colour around his halo were returning.

Your thumb traced the ring on his finger. Gold, with a blue gem on its interior.

Instead of answering, you tried to press your lips to his.

Sunday stopped you, though it took restraint. He held your face still, lips just barely brushing against your own. He tasted salt. Salt and sweet lies, and Aeons above was it addicting.

He sighed. “Don’t tempt me.” He watched you flinch, and rang a simple reminder, “answer.”

“Yes,” you said.

As he expected.

You were so beautiful like this. Raw, and honest.

His heart squeezed with disgust. “Did you lie when you said you loved me?”

Frantically, you shook your head. “No.”

He smiled.

“Did you lie when you said you’d die for me?” He tilted his head.

Your lips pressed together. Your fingers curled tight in the loose curls of his hair. Your nails brushed softly against his feathers.

Your chest heaved when he finally sat beside you on the couch. His skin was so warm pressed against yours, and the contact made you feel dizzy.

“Yes,” you responded.

He accepted it. His finger softly petted your cheek.

Oh, you were crying.

You felt so pathetic and weak, and bubbled words caught in your throat like fish on a hook. You felt trapped, and the colours behind his head were growing more vibrant, brighter, accompanying and drowning out that awful halo.

He’s horrible. He’s so horrible.

You wanted to say it, you wanted to tell him that you needed him to leave. You needed him gone.

He beat you to it. “Do you hate me?”

You heaved a sob. “No.” And you didn’t. You didn’t hate him, despite his obsessive control and unjustified possessiveness. His hubris, and his inability to see past his own paranoia and fear. “Please stop.”

You pressed your lips to the small, poniard-shaped jewel on his chest.

Your sign of devotion did not deter him, though, he was sure you would always have some sort of effect on him.

“It shouldn’t hurt if you tell the truth,” Sunday reminded you. There was a teasing lilt to his voice.

“I don’t hate you,” you repeated, this time as firmly as you could—albeit your voice shook with fervour. “I never hated you.”

“I’m relieved.” His hand petted your hair. “So, so relieved.”

You buried your face into his shoulder and sobbed.

You prayed it was over. You prayed and prayed for the voices to dissipate from your mind. You tried to will them away, to squeeze your eyes shut and beg for the whispers to fade into the background of white noise and static.

The kaleidoscope of colours crept below your eyelids.

Sunday held you securely, and as warm as he was, and as firm and yet so gently his arms sat snugly against you, you felt so cold. So cold and alone and so afraid.

He could fix that.

He hadn’t said a word for a moment.

The burning feeling of your skin returned, and you let out another drawn out noise of distress.

He shushed you. “One final question.”

You shook your head.

Your hands were trembling, fingers weakly pressing to your temples to rid the pounding that made your stomach churn. Your vision was swamped in swirls and patterns of colours you couldn’t put a name to.

His face, too, warped into something evil.

This wasn’t the man whose knuckles you’d kissed, whose wings gently fluttered against your skin, who’d plucked a small feather from them and handed it to you as a symbol of his devotion.

His halo dimmed for a moment.

You felt his lips brush against your ear and the tickle of a feather.

“Do you still love me?”

[deadsetobsessions]

Alley Drunk!Danny pt.5

If Danny hadn’t thought about quitting and going to rehab before, he’s definitely going to do it now.

It had been one of those days. Danny had sluggishly managed to usher Jason to school- pulling himself together for their walk to the building, because he wasn’t stupid and this was still Gotham- before going home and relapsing. He knew, going into the first bottle, that he was going to regret it. But he still hadn’t felt the buzz, so he went out to get more.

“Just one. I can stop after, if I want to.”

Spoiler: he could not, actually, stop if he wanted to. Because he didn’t want to, which was the whole problem.

So, one bottle became two, two became three, three became six, and by the time the sun slipped below the horizon, Danny had a pile of bottles scattered around the couch and an intense look of self hatred set upon his brow. He was buzzed, but his stupid ghost biology refused to absorb anymore alcohol.

“Stop brooding, Danny. It’ll hurt your brain.” Jazz said, a hint of worry around her joking insult. “You’re forgetting something important.”

“Wha-?” He mumbled out back at the haze of her-hah- ghost.

The door clicked open. Danny whipped his head to wards the door, snarl on his face and ready to lunge at the intruder, when he came face to face with a scuffed up Jason.

They froze simultaneously, but before Danny could do anything, Jason’s hands tightened on the door knob. The kid’s eyes darted to the floor, where the bottles laid, and back up at Danny’s face. What he found there must not have been good, because he took a step back.

It was fear.

Danny felt his heart drop and his throat go dry. The self hatred doubled in size and weight, but he smacked it down in favor of scrambling for the words- anything- to fix the damage his stupidity and addiction caused.

“Jason.” He said, voice raspy. Had he been screaming again? Good start, good- nope. Never mind, Jason is using the door to shield himself now. Danny glanced outside and-

“Oh. I- I didn’t realize it had gotten so late.” He turned back to Jason, who eyed him warily. “I- I forgot to pick you, didn’t I.”

“…I can walk back by myself.” The hesitant but full of bravado reply made Danny’s ghostly obsession to protect rear its head.

“Still. I’m… I’m sorry, Jason.”

Jason evaluated him, noticeably eyeing his open hands and purposefully lax posture, before stepping inside. He doesn’t close the door behind him- clearly leaving it as an option just in case he needed to bolt. Danny stood up slowly. Jason watched him, and his hands. His smaller hands- Ancients, Danny was scaring a kid- curled up into fists.

“What… how did you get hurt?”

“Got mugged.”

“Are you okay? No- wait,” Danny flooded his liver and blood stream with ectoplasm, and his head instantly cleared. Ah, the agony of being coherent.

Danny subtly shook his head to clear his thoughts. Focus.

“Of course you’re not.” Danny stepped away from the incriminating bottles, slowing to a stop once more as Jason shifted backwards like he was either going to spring at Danny or bolt out the door. “Why don’t we get you patched up? And you can tell me about your day. That I missed, when I forgot to pick you up and that I’m really really sorry for.”

Danny held his breath as Jason considered it. “Are ya drunk?” Jason asked, tilting his shoulder to slide his Wonder Woman backpack down, hand clutching at the opposite strap. A good bludgeoning weapon, even if Danny would rather be electro shocked to death again before he ever hurt Jason.

“No.”

Jason raised an eyebrow, scoffing as he looked down again. Danny recognized the motion, a bolt of heavy nostalgia slamming into his chest as he remembered another red-head doing the same thing when he tried to bullshit his way out of something.

“I was buzzed but… I’m a meta. Alcohol doesn’t exactly affect me. I had to drink a lot to even get buzzed, and it’s gone now.”

“Y’er a meta?” Jason straightened, not completely losing the vigilance, but less tense.

“Yes. I’m completely sober right now, I promise.”

Jason stared at him, inhaled, and relaxed. “You better be.”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Whatever.”

——

Danny placed the bandages over Jason’s cuts.

“I am so, so sorry I didn’t pick you up.”

Jason shoved at his shoulder, grumbling “I c’n do it myself.”

“I know. You don’t have to, though.”

The kid looked away for a moment before softly admitting, “I was… worried. Cuz, I thought somethin’ happened.”

Danny swallowed the lump in his throat. Jason slipped more into his alley accent the more upset he got these days, having learned some of the local accents at his new school and regularly swapping those out instead of sticking with his alley accent.

“Thank you. For worrying about me. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

Point. From the mouth of babes came the painful truth, right?

“No. I’m not. But I will be. I’ll go to rehab, Jason. I don’t want to forget picking you up again.”

“Whatever.” Danny hid a smile as Jason ducked his head, looking endearingly like a grumpy duckling. Like, Jazz, when their parents made those blueberry ectoplasm pancakes she liked but thought they’d forgotten that she liked.

“And thank you, Jason, for coming back alive. I- I should have been there, but I’m so glad that you’re okay.”

“I want waffles and ice cream for dinner.”

“Yeah, we can do that.”

“Wow, you musta felt real bad if you’re letting me eat that for dinner.”

Danny grinned down at the head of black hair (with their red roots once more poking out) and ruffled Jason’s head. “I let you eat like five chili dogs in one go. This should not be surprising. But I’ll let you skip the veggies today too.”

“… No, I want the veggies too.”

Danny let out a bark of bright laughter.

Yeah, there’s no way he’s ever risking Jason looking at him like that again. The kid looked like he thought Danny would come swinging at him, despite their previous meetings where he had, perhaps and with plausible deniability, swung for Jason, but never against him.

That night, after he tucked Jason into bed, Danny signed up for rehab. As a matter of fact, Jazz’s words coming into mind, Danny also signed up for therapy. For him and Jason. Yeah.

——

Off camera, they talked about why Jason react to bottles and hands the way he does, and why he’s so scared whenever Danny slips back into his addiction. I’m just rlly too tired to write it.

——

Danny, who thought his addiction wasn’t that serious and that he could stop anytime because he stopped for Jason: I’m cured!

Also Danny: drinks as soon as Jason goes to school

Danny was one hundred percent using Jason as a crutch and when he felt like Jason was safe, he slipped back to his habits. The only reason Danny’s not dead- well, deader than he normally would be- is because ghost biology makes it so that alcohol is cycled through quicker. Like the Flash, but less fast? Anyways, he had enough to make him lose track of time and forget important things (Jason) and that’s what addiction can do to you, amongst other things.

Jason might seem calm but that’s actually a combo of his go to trauma response (fight) and his experience of 1) being on the streets and 2) living with a previous drunkard coming into play. Also, you might be like what kind of kid wants to eat veggies? And to that I answer: KIDS THAT NEVER HAD ENOUGH TO EAT. I would have killed for a veggie stir fry with a lot of chicken back as a kid lol

On a lighter note, the whole time they’re having this interaction, I kind of imagined it as two chickens just kind of dancing around each other.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Don't Take Her From Me

Pairing(s): Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Summary - An explosion and a building collapse has Simon begging the universe to not take you from him as well.

Warnings - Major character injury, Blood, Description of injuries, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Established relationship, Potential miltary inaccuracies, Potential medical inaccuracies. (If I missed anything, lmk!)

A/N - First time attempting to write Simon since I became obsessed. Hope you all enjoy 💜

Word Count - 1.2k

Not her. Please. Fucking please. Not her.

Simon finds himself silently begging as he sprints toward the collapsed building. He ignores Soap yelling after him, ignores the chatter on comms and Price’s voice shouting an order that completely falls on deaf ears. His only focus is on finding you. Alive. He won’t accept it any other way.

The explosion took them all by surprise. He and Soap had finished clearing out one building and were getting ready to move onto the next when it happened. It took them all by surprise. The ear shattering noise as the ground shook beneath them and seeing the building collapse in on itself, kicking up a large cloud of dust that made it look like a sand storm had blown on in. It felt like all of it had happened in slow motion, right up until the moment that everything finally went still and silent.

Then he’s sprinting with only one thing racing through his mind.

You’re currently inside of that building.

He yells your callsign over the comms, but the only thing he gets back is the crackle of static. It doesn’t mean you’re dead. For all he knows your radio has short circuited or was damaged either by gun fire or even hit by debris as the building went down. A silent radio doesn’t mean you’re dead, he repeats to himself…

Unless you’re buried beneath all of that rubble. It could have killed you on impact or you’re trapped under there, slowly and painfully suffocating.

Please don’t let that be her fate. Just let her be okay. Just let me hold her again.

He doesn’t even know why he’s begging or who he is even trying to beg to. It’s not like any of his previous prayers were ever heard. Every word or thought falling onto deaf ears as everything is stripped away from him again. History repeating itself and all of that. In spite of all of that though, he continues to hold out hope. Simon refuses to write you off as dead and gone until he has your lifeless body as proof in his arms. And he really fucking hopes that doesn’t happen.

How can he carry on living if it does?

The dust is irritating his eyes, making them itch and burn. He blinks rapidly, causing tears to streak down his face as he does his best to try and clear them without actually reaching up to rub them. Which is impossible to do because of his mask. He yells your callsign again, ordering you to answer him or goddammit he will have you doing pushups for life. But like before all he receives back is static. All it does it make him even more frantic as he searches for you. If it comes down to it he will claw and dig through the rubble, tearing apart his gloves and skin, wearing himself down to the bone, just to find you.

Please don’t take her from me.

Through all the dust that still hangs in the air, continuing to limit his visibility, he starts to make out a silhouette ahead of him. Simon stops in his tracks, his grip tightening on his gun as he watches the figure closely as he reminds himself. While it could easily be you, he is still in the thick of enemy territory and it could just as easily be one of them instead. 

He takes a deep breath as he looks down his scope. His heart is hammering against his ribcage. He still can’t make the person out properly, but he can see the way that they stumble with each step and they’re clutching their arm. Even if they had been a threat at one point, they very clearly aren’t anymore. Still, he doesn’t move a muscle. Watching and waiting until the wind blows the dust, finally revealing the person ahead of him.

It’s you. 

Before he can think, his feet are already moving forward as he starts rushing toward you. You have been plastered white by the dust, the only bits of colour being the red from your injuries and your skin colour coming through the tear trails that streak down your cheeks. 

“Ghost?” you choke out. 

The sound of your voice and the sight of how injured you are has his heart cracking.

“I’m ‘ere. You’re safe,” he says. His hands come up to cup your face, eyes scanning your face and head, taking in the sight of your injuries. There’s blood coming down from your hairline and trailing down the side of your face, your bottom lip is split open and there are numerous scratches and scrapes on your face and neck. The worst of your injuries is the gash in your shoulder. Your clothing and gear is saturated with your own blood. It’s a fucking miracle you’re even able to stand right now. 

“This is Ghost. I need an immediate medical evac now!” He doesn’t waste a second shouldering his gun and scooping you up into his arms. He seriously doubts that you’re able to be stand any longer and he’s got to move quickly. “Johnny, need you to cover us.” 

”You’ve got it, L.T.”

Simon moves quickly, but carefully. Doing his best not to jostle you around too much while also keeping an eye for any threats. Though he trusts that Soap will see and dispatch them long before he sees them. 

“Keep your eyes open, Sergeant,” he orders you when he sees your eyelids starting to drift shut. Immediately your eyes open again, meeting his. Your brow creases, tears falling anew down your face as pain wracks your body. If his heart was cracked before, it’s absolutely shattered now. How badly he wishes that there was a way that he could take your injuries and the resulting pain away from you and give it himself instead. 

“Just a little bit further,” he tells you. The evac zone is in sight and the sounds of helicopter blades is deafening, but very much welcomed. 

Simon keeps you close to him the entire helicopter flight, your head resting on his lap while one of his hands plays with your hair. His other hand has hold of one of yours, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of it. Your injured arm has been immobilised and your shoulder has been packed. Throughout the flight you have just been staring at the ceiling of the helicopter. Your eyes are hazy and every once in a while your brow creases and you swallow thickly; along with new tears falling. Which he gently wipes away each time. He keeps up with playing with your hair and rubbing your hand, hoping that it will help soothe you until you’re in the hospital.

“Hey,” he says. For the first time since getting onto the helicopter, you look at him. He pulls up his mask just enough for his mouth to show and leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I love you.”

He doesn’t need you reply because he already knows that you love him back. You tell him every chance that you get. And even now, your brain foggy from the agony you are in won’t even stop you. “Love you, Si.”

He smiles, his thumb gently sweeping over your cheekbone, wiping up another tear. 

Thank you for not taking her from me.

[prettyboypistol]

OMG the Beetlejuice fic well has been DRY lately so I would really love a Beetlejuice x gn reader where Reader and BJ play hide and seek in the town model and then somehow... I'm not sure how but I bet you would be creative enough to figure it out for me... Reader confesses and then they kiss or something teehee 🫶 ty feel free to ignore if you want

Found You~ || Beetlejuice x GN!Reader

You weren't scared of Beetlejuice when you first summoned him in your death. Honestly, you were just lost, looking for a friend, and called out his name when you found his ad. He was... not what you imagined, to be honest. He was sleazy, crusty, and gross in every sense of the word. But that didn't stop your feelings from developing.

You two were great friends in the netherworld, with Beetlejuice dragging you along on misadventures as his "apprentice in bio-exorcism" which was just an excuse to drag you out to the land of the living once every blue moon or so.

You two had found a lovely little home in the Maitland's town model behind their backs. Adam went full-on with open doors in the buildings and mini furniture- which made it great for hide-and-seek.

You two were being the overgrown children you both are, scaring each other by jumping out behind corners and yelling, but this time, you were lost in thought. You wanted to confess your feelings for the "ghost with the most". Would he even like you? He was clearly hung up on Lydia- for manipulation purposes or not, he clearly was obsessed with her. Who were you kidding, you didn't stand a chance.

"BOO!" A shriek jolted you out of your daze as you screamed in fright.

"Jesus Christ!" You yelled out as you caught your non-existent breath. "You- holy shit Beej, you scared the fuck outta me!"

"I was aiming for scaring the life outta you, but hey, that works I guess. Whatcha thinkin' about? Am I too boring for you?" Beetlejuice teased as he boxed you into a half-kabedon, clearly trying to pry. You rolled your eyes and shoved him off playfully.

"Nothing, just thinking about how much of a gross creep you are." You responded, just as playful.

"Ooooh, tryin' to hit on me, are you?" Beetlejuice winked as he intentionally popped his eyeballs out to look you up and down.

"God no." You laughed, lying.

Beetlejuice stopped for a moment, trying to figure you out. It made you uncomfortable as he suddenly became more slightly more serious.

"You gotta be kidding me, right?" Beetlejuice muttered.

"What?" You asked, confused and slightly unnerved.

"Hun, I'm a demon, I can smell when people are sinnin', and you just broke..." He leaned closer to you and inhaled slowly. "Number... nine? Nine is the lying one, right? Anyways, perks of being a demon-ghost-thing."

You froze.

"Uh- you good?"

You tried to speak, but nothing came out. You felt your face turn a bright red, despite not having a circulatory system.

"Fuck you." You mumbled. "I hate you and your stupid powers."

"Oh."

Beetlejuice took a second to realize what you said.

"Oh."

"Well uh- I- damn babe, you got me tongue tied! Haha! It's not like me to be caught off guard. Not to say you ain't smokin'- it's just uh- I never thought about you in that way before."

"Yeah, no, just forget I even said anythin-"

Beetlejuice cut you off by pushing you against the wall of the building and kissing you. It was rough, unpracticed, and utterly disgusting with far too much tongue for a first confession kiss, but it was wholly Beetlejuice, which made it perfect.

[tfgalore]

Test Of Time

“One…two…three…four….” I grunted as I struggled to lift the plate loaded bar. I set it back down, panting as I sat up, annoyed at myself. The last few weeks, and even months, I’d been getting weaker. Thanks to my aging body, I was getting weaker, it was harder to build muscle in the gym, and even people were coming up to me, telling me I looked tired or pointing out slowly graying hairs. I sighed, knowing that my 60’s was something I’d have to deal with eventually. I was suddenly snapped out of my thoughts by a excited whoop from my left. I turned to look, seeing a younger guy benching almost thrice my weight. His muscles were bulging, and he had a grin on his face. He was clearly in the prime of his youth, which made me jealous. If only there was a way to get back my youth…

That thought was the beginning of my obsession with witchcraft. At first, I just looked for ways to turn back the hands of time, to get my body back to its 20’s but I came up with nothing. Just as I was about to give up, I came across a possession spell. An idea clicked in my mind as memories of the hunk from the gym flashed in my mind. A grin spread across my face, as I delved into more research about it.

A week later, I was back at the gym, prepared to take my new life. I wiped my sweaty palms on my sweatpants, gulping as beads of sweat dripped down my face, a nervous expression plastered on. I had no clue if this was actually going to work, but I had to try. As the hunk, who’s name is learned was Sam, walked by, I quickly grabbed him by the wrist. He locked eyes with me, in confusion as he tried to pull away, but I started to mutter the spell, and our worlds seemed to spin.

I could feel my body changing. My wrinkled skin started to tighten, and glow with renewed youth as his started to crinkle slightly like creased paper. My muscles started to inflate and bulge, newfound strength flowing through them as the same happened to my legs and calves. I grinned as I looked down to see I now had muscular and toned thighs just like Sam had before. Our faces started to shift and warp. Sam was panicking. He clearly had no idea what was happening, other than the fact that he was getting weaker and weaker. I stared back up, only to come face to face with my previous self. It was like looking into a mirror, except now, I looked exactly like Sam had before.

I pulled away from the other, grinning. A quick look in the nearby mirror had me smiling from ear to ear as I flexed my bicep and rolled my abs. The control I had over each muscle was amazing. “Holy shit…it worked!” I grinned. Meanwhile, Sam was having a breakdown. He grabbed me, trying to force me to undo whatever curse I’d just done. A slight altercation and a phone call to the police later, Sam was getting dragged out by security guards, cursing and screaming that I’d stolen his body. Everyone assumed he was crazy, a man going senile after the stress of work and age had finally caught up to him.

Ever since then, living as Sam has been such a blast. Everyone was surprised when I came out as gay, but now I’ve got plenty of guys lining up at my door just to be fucked or fuck me. Sam has a huge trust fund too, but instead of dipping into that, I decided to start up an OnlyFans. Something about having guys pay to watch me jerk off or have sex just turns me on beyond anything, and I make some good money from it. I wonder if the old Sam is subscribed too. I’ve even graduated from college now. The old Sam wasn’t doing too well, but with my previous knowledge, I’ve managed to turn that around, graduating as one of the top students. Life really couldn’t get any better…and the best part, I never have to worry about getting old again. All o have to do is find another hunk when the time comes.

[toga-003]

ϞTHUNDER LOVEϞ

summary: you've known kashimo ever since 400 hundered years ago, yet he was busy chasing the non existing opportunities to challenge strong opponents up until his old age to his death, but hey he got another chance in a better era, why not make most of it....

warnings: slight mature & sexual themes - unprotected sex - dirty talk - language - violence - mentions of obsessive behaviour - sub/dom mentions - friends to lovers - smut and fluff :3

prior: due to the jjk underated charater poll here's the winner:

☆KASHIMO

400 years ago, both you and kashimo were great friends, being the two strongest sorcerers of that era you both got into battles with each other constantly despite that kashimo always seemed to be yearning for the thrill of a new strong opponent of his level. you were always there to ease his boredom but....somehow he never wanted to injure you badly or else you'd die, well it didn't matter anyway because you ended up leaving this world way ahead of him. he was one of the very few sorcerers who lived to see old age despite being as strong as he was.

but he met his limit and died afterwards due to old age, undefeated....not for long anyway.

now reawakened in the new era all thanks to the deal he made with kenjaku, Returned to a youthful body with a second chance at the prime of his life, Hajime quickly dominated the Culling Game and became the first player to add a new rule. Hajime effortlessly eliminated at least forty other players in only twelve days and gained notoriety throughout the Tokyo colonies. Hajime considered all those he eliminated to be far too weak, even more so than those from 400 years ago. he was currently walking around in boredom after having gained a few extra points from killing two players a few minuets ago, yet he quickly stopped in his track after having sensed another players approaching presence.

his eyes widened as his eyes met yours, he was standing face to face with no other than you, also back to your old youthful self, he seemed to recognize you instantly “No way! Is that you [name]!?”

Kashimo jumped onto the building you were on and gave you a light pat on the back.“I knew they resurrected some people but I didn’t think you were one of them! Hell things just got so much better.”

you couldn't help yourself as you suddenly hugged him tightly as you replied “made a binding vow to join the culling game with kenjaku way before i died, but i don't care as long as i got to meet up with you again.”

in someway what you said was stiring something deep within kashimo he never knew you might feel, Kashimo chuckled and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Same here, buddy. Let's see what kind of trouble we can stir up together."

He then spun around, landing gracefully on the roof below you, and extended a hand to help you down. As you joined him, he cracked his knuckles, clearly eager for a fight "Now, let's go find someone to fight worthy of our names!"

kashimo groaned, gripping your hips as he brought your ass back to meet his thrusts, fucking his cock into your g-spot with pinpoint precision, after hearing a pained moan slip your lips at the first penetration he started to thrust intoyou slowly, making sure you were enjoying it. kshimo's grip on your hips tightened, making you moan softly against his lips. He wanted to hear your moans, he wanted to hear you beg for more as he had never thought this would ever happen, he never Imagined he'd have in this lewd position inside one of the empty bases he claimed during the culling game.

having to the privilege of fucking you so nicely, Cherishing every moment of of having your body against his like this, looking into your eyes as he treated your body like the prize you are, at that moment you were his treat. “fuck, baby....you're doing so good- just hold up a little more for me, will ya'?”

all he got out of you were a long song of moans and a few sweet whimpers that filled his ear “H-Hajime!...”

“That's more like it, baby.” He praised, the sound of his hips smacking wetly against yours filling the air as he started to move in a swift fast rhythm, He reached down with one hand to grope your ass, kneading it roughly as he started to fuck you faster.

“Hajime! Please...” You whimper, hips stuttering as shivers fall down your spine. Your body littered with goosebumps, yet still on fire, a light sheen of sweat coating your skin. “Oh fuck!” You gasp, hands gripping the bedsheets that he's rotting you into tightly as your orgasm approached quickly, tears brimming your eyes.

He hissed as he felt himself grew painfully closer to his orgasm, he spanked your ass as he grunted into your ear. “i'm close and m'not waiting another damn second, cum with me baby, will ya?!” His other hand moved to grope your tits roughly, almost aggressively, as he pounded you deeply into the mattress with his hips. his voice thick with lust as he felt the walls of your pussy clenching around him. It wasn't long before your orgasm hit, rippling through your body as kashimo continued to pound into your poor cunt. “Yes, that's it. coat me in your cum...” he gave a final thrust, his hips bucking forward as he filled you with his seed to the brim.

your 'friendship' was never the same again ever since.

made by: @toga-003

[brokenpieces-72]

Dark Reader Anyone? Haven't seen any of that anywhere. Like it's always dark 141 this or that but never DARK READER.

I disappear to the abyss now

Oh we going into the darkness now… excellent. To be honest didn’t know how this would go. Now it’s sort of an alternate timeline to the current hybrid story line. For some context you’re the mother in this one.

TW: Dark reader, Manipulation, obsessive parent, kind of yandere, mentions of a foster system, mentions of child neglect, let me know if I’ve missed any.

A young girl with antlers and rabbit ears, it’s hard to over look that description. You’d finally get your daughter back but she was working for mercenaries. All you had to do was enlist. You had your own methods of persuasion, it was a matter of using them. Each proved a challenge, but once you showed an interest in Hunter beyond making the other hybrids jealous it was easy enough.

Rodolfo is human, and while his mutts were protective of their vessel it was easy enough J to garner favour with them. Working with him got you closer to Alejandro too, but of course you couldn’t let them know that. Rodolfo was the only one you were focused on around him. If he brought up Alejandro on his own then you would talk about him, learning more about weaknesses. Rodolfo is a caring person, you understand that.

Alejandro, such a good kitty. He taught you to fight and you didn’t back down from him. A gentleman, maybe but you had him in your clutches with a smile. The only thing that could kill Alejandro was Alejandro, but you don’t need him to die. You just needed him to know your troubles. With a few comments and subtle hints you got him to build sympathy for you, brushing off initial inquiries. Then an invitation for a private conversation, concerned words, and his worry for your little one is matched to yours, but of course you love your baby more.

Johnny was a sweet puppy and showed himself to be friendly enough. He was so easy to play with, oh if you could keep him all to yourself you would. And when he shifted to full size, trying to impress you, it was adorable. He was on an easy leash in no time.

Kyle was stuck in his shell only poking his head out to help everyone else. Some eggs needed to be cracked. A visit with him and confessing you were a mother who lost your baby girl to hunters all because she was different was so easy. He offered to look out for anyone by your daughter’s description, wanting to help you. Such a pretty bird he was, willing to watch over you, and retrieve your baby bunny for you.

Simon, what could you say about Simon. He was a hard, cold man. There was a darkness surrounding him constantly. A hurt, one that you would try to remedy but a soft touch made him pull away almost immediately. He took the longest to gain trust from. Showing an understanding of boundaries was perfect, as he slowly opened them to you. Learning more about his past you show sympathy, despite you knowing he was an absolute monster. No way in hell would you want him near your precious child. Clearly he was in control now, but you needed to be careful. One wrong move in front of him meant losing everything you were working on.

Price was the key though, one that took pleasure in the pleasure of his men. If his men felt safe and happy, he was content. Joining his hoard wasn’t easy. Now you may as well be the shining jewel, proving yourself to be invaluable. You understood medical, were a great shot, and pushed yourself. Your relationship with each of them was strong, but something did bother him. Your past was redacted in some areas, so he called you to his office one day. Seeing the file your heart skipped a beat, fearing what he may have found.

“You have a daughter?” He asked. You nodded.

“I’m sorry sir.” You said.

“She was taken from you.” He continued. “Hunters found her and she was removed from your home. They assumed neglect. What is your side?”

You looked up at him finding concerned eyes. Eyes that wanted to help you. The face of a man who was empathetic.

…perfect.

“I had to raise her as a single parent. Sometimes life was difficult because she couldn’t always go out with her friends. I should have noticed it sooner but she became very sick, and when I was out one night she wandered outside. With her antlers and ears and her clothes being torn and dirty…” you cleared your throat, biting back your tears. “Couldn’t give her a good life so they took her away from me.”

You didn’t make eye contact with the captain, feeling ashamed. You know you did your best, you tried so hard to make her happy, but everyone kept trying to take her from you. She worked hard for you too, hunting and finding food for herself. It wasn’t good enough though. Price was still quiet, while you played with your hands.

“We’ve found her.” He said. You looked up at him, his face showing he cared. There was a hint of a smile, pleased to see your hopeful gaze. Behind it, there was a catch. Something that would make it difficult to see your sweet girl again. “Your daughter was put in a program intended to help rehabilitate hybrids, much like a foster care program. They’re assigned a mentor of sorts to keep them safe, teach them about their abnormalities, help them with basic education, etc. and your daughter was recently assigned to a position.”

“How do you mean?” You asked, voice shaking. They were helping you, they would get your daughter back.

“Hybrids can be assigned to companies and work positions where their abilities can be beneficial. Sergeant Garrick had been looking into some of the organizations and learned about your daughter’s placement. Which brings me to another question.” The captain said. You tensed a little, knowing what he would ask about.

“Your daughter is labelled in her file as a jackalope hybrid but with a shifter form. A Wendigo.” Price went on. Your expression told him everything you wanted. That you had no idea, no one had told you, information about your baby girl had been kept limited.

“No no… she’s…” you trailed off. The captain sighed, letting out some wisps of smoke. You were a poor mother who had her child ripped from her with little explanation. Now you’ve learned your daughter this whole time had been a monstrous man eater. It’s hard not to laugh at how easily Price was falling for it.

“I can imagine it’s rather difficult to hear this.” Price said. “She was placed in KorTac, a group of mercenaries. They have other hybrids there, and her mentor is still present ensuring her diet is kept regulated so the Wendigo does not endanger anyone.”

“Why would they put her there?!” You blurted. A moment of weakness in your facade hearing your precious daughter had been placed in such a dangerous environment. Price’s tail flicked once, a little startled by your outburst. To be expected though he figured. You cleared your throat, apologizing for your behaviour.

“We believe it’s related to her Wendigo side. She’s okay there, and missions are kept simple for her at the moment along with proper training.” Price continued. You nodded, trying to show some understanding. There was a paise before you asked the very question any caring mother would ask.

“Would it be possible to see her?” You asked.

“No.” Price said, empathetic. You nod as if you could understand why.

“We intend to get her back for you.” Price said. When you looked back up, you see a smug look on the captain face. You give him a hopeful smile, trying to hide your desire to laugh at him. He was so willing to go head first into danger with the rest of the team. Price stood up and circled around his desk looking down at you, arms crossed.

“I’m not about to let one of my best be denied her rights. That little girl deserves her mama.” Price said. You stood ready to go as soon as he gave the order. For now you’re given his gentle hands on your shoulders, and a gaze from the most pleased dragon, with a hint of glass.

“It will take some time, but we will get her back, kicking and screaming if we have to.” Price assured you. You’re dismissed and you returned to your room, tears running down your face. The other men offer some smiles to you, and you return them until you get to your room and shut the door.

Finally, you’d have your baby back… and you had a task force of monsters in the palm of your hands ready to kill anyone standing in your way.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends

[petrova121]

leave all your worries at door…please and thank you!

"Don't trust a lion"

-lately I have been obsessed with moulin rouge and cabaret so here you guys go.

-Part 1 -Part 2

°:. *₊ ° . ° .•

Song- I put a spell on you by Nina Simone

warnings- threats, death, blood, fighting, fluff, smut (it will be in later chapters)

enemies to lovers

≈☆≈

Klaus needs help getting a witch on his side for Wolfsbane, which is running low. The best idea coming to mind is bringing along Elijah as ... a form of reinforcement. but things always take their turns 

★・・・・・・★

New Orleans is known for its wide variety of performances and shows and for its interesting people, to say the least. On the small side of town, one building lit up, the lights blinding if you stared too long. The two men walked strides with purpose until they reached the entrance. Posters were all over the walls of all the shows that had been performed and it was messy, maybe a bit unclassic for Elijah's taste. The unpleasant look on his face spoke volumes looking at each poster. 

“Are you sure you will..find what you need from here?” Elijah said coolly looking at the sign above “Le solitaire” What a fitting name. “Oh trust me we will and we’ll get a show while we're at it,” Klaus said smirking opening the door to what was a dimly lit room. The walls were painted dark red and blue. The smell was in between a disgusting odor of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat. Then a smell of a sweet almost vanilla-like perfume clouded the air. It was packed, to say the least, and a lot of what seemed to be a mix of humans and vampires. Tables were full but one in the front all the way in the corner.

“It still hasn’t changed, just how I like it,” Klaus said walking over to a table and waving the waiter over as Elijah sat down. The seats creaked a little as they settled down. 

“What can I get you two gentlemen?” The waiter said, taking out his notepad which was wrinkled. “Two glasses of whisky,” Klaus said with a smirk plastered on his face. 

“Your finest whiskey,” Elijah said a bit sharper than he was intending to say. if he was here at least let the drinks be good. “Alright that's all?” the waiter asked, both brothers could tell he didn't know what was going on.

After what seemed like a long wait, the lights dimmed down to it just being a black room. There were mummers and chatters and the spotlight was targeted towards an empty stage. Then the sound of heels tapping the wood was heard and the audience could see a solute of a lady as she appeared from the shadows with a bright smile, clearly practiced. Her lips were a shade of dark maroon color. The Jazz band started softly playing in the background as she spoke. “Ladies and…gentlemen,” She said slowly, smiling. She walked to the center of the stage where she was more visible. Elijah's eyes slowly widened taking in the lady before his eyes. She most certainly had everyone's attention, especially his. She was wearing a striking navy blue dress that was laced up by a corset. On her head a sort of hat, a top hat if you had made it miniature. “And that's our leading lady for all our problems” Klaus whispered to Elijah.  His eyes lit up with a mischievous glint in his eye. “That's the lady we came here for?” Elijah said back quietly. 

“Yes, what did you think I brought you here to watch some old hag?”  “The way you were speaking about her made me think she was a century old,” Elijah said, the sarcasm in his voice evident. It brought Klaus to a low chuckle, shaking his head as he took a sip of his whiskey. Elijah glanced and caught eye contact with the women and he didn't intend to break it. 

She kept a smile while talking or singing but always her gaze would land on Elijah to her he was the mysterious man in a nice suit. She knew that there was something off with him and the man next to him. Once she finished her performance it was time for the next lady to come up. She quickly gave a bow and a wink to the coward and disappeared off. 

Y/n walked back to the hallway where some of the dancers were. She could hear groaning coming from the main dressing room which made her roll her eyes annoyed. Y/n walked over to the mirror on one of the walls to check her appearance. Rory, a redhead, blue-eyed bitch in y/n’s mind.   “Oh come on, no going down to the guests tonight? Have you gone soft?” Rory teased y/n because it was used to her being a total flirt with the crowd, gaining an extra couple of bucks if she could. Unfortunately, tonight wasn't the night for her especially after that strange man gave the worst but best feeling in her gut “No….. wasn’t feeling up to it… and anyways I’ll leave some for the rest of you” She answered fixing her hair in the back hallway.  “Heard there are two money machines down there, blonde and the guy in the suit,” Rory said, lighting up a cigarette leaning on the wall opposite from y/n. Then she got that bad feeling in her gut again. “Yeah I saw, the guy in the suit has a big staring problem,” She said reapplying her lipstick. She sounded annoyed, Rory could tell, and handed her a cig, which she took and waved her hand over the end and lit it up. The dancers close to the stage gave them both dirty stares as the smoke clouded the little hallway but they both could be less bothered. 

“Well if you're not going to make a move I will,” Rory said smirking  “Tell me how that works out for you” Y/n scoffed knowing Rory wasn't the brightest in the bunch there and she was most certainly not going to be able to pull a stunt like that. “Stop acting like you're better, any of us here can do exactly what you can,” Rory said.

Her eyes narrowed.  “I'm not better, I just have comprehension, I know when to back off a member of the audience you DON’T,” Y/n said bitterly. “Self-centered bitch” Rory mumbled. Rory was on her third strike with the owner one more and she would be out. Y/n prayed for the day that would happen

»--•--«

After an hour or maybe even two. The crowd was getting rowdy and so was the music. Losing its taste. That's how you would know the show was soon to be over.

The show was over to Y/n’s relief and she rushed to her dressing room waiting for Smith to come unlock it. Smith was the owner and had a very strange rule 15 minutes before show time every performer needed to be out of their dressing room or else they would be locked in there. No performance and no money for the night. “Smith will you hurry” She called from her door as he was taking his sweet time turning the corner. Then he came and opened the door. “Be patient will ya?” Smith said annoyed with a toothpick in his mouth. He was an old guy, wearing a worn-out leather jacket, and a worn-out hat. Everything about him was worn out. Y/n went into her dressing room and shut the door sinking into her couch. She let out a sigh of relief for

a brief moment until her senses were going ballistic on her. All she could hear was

Run, run and run! 

Don’t trust the lion

She absolutely hated the ancestors and their horrid timing when warning her, she didn't know what. scratch that she knew exactly why. Her mind went back to the two men in the front corner. “Shit” she mumbled to herself, undressing and putting on a silky one-piece that went to her thighs and a long sheer robe. Her heart was quickly pounding as the voices kept repeating. She took off her jewelry and her palms were sweating. She almost dropped her necklace and caught it just in time to hear a knock on her door. Her head snapped to look at the door. Two more knocks followed. She felt a lump beginning to form in her throat. 

“Who is?” she called out as normal as she could proceeding to stand straight. “Open up love. We’re not here to cause any harm…..” Klaus said smirking, she could hear a threatening undertone to his call. Elijah was by his side as they waited for the door to open up. The door slowly opened and enough for them to see the young lady with a neutral look on her face. 

“What do I owe the pleasure of you two gentlemen?” She said with a tight smile, the voices finally stopped as if they had left it up to fate if she were to die or live.

“Mind if we come inside? Looks like a lovely room you have in there” Klaus said, his voice dripping with false innocence that any smart being could tell it was all an act. “I’m not supposed to let people, especially strangers,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. 

Klaus realized it would be a little harder to get her to let them in. “I’m Klaus, Klaus Mikaelson,” Klaus said. A smirk quickly grew on his face as he saw the color slightly drain from her face. 

“And here is my dear brother Elijah,” Klaus said, taking a step at her door and his hand gesturing to Elijah. “Hello,” Elijah said, finally speaking. Stepping along with his brother. 

“What do you people want from me?” she asked. She had now come into contact with the originals themselves, and two of the worst. “Let us in and we’ll have a quaint little chat,” Eijah said leaning on the door frame causing her to open the door more they got a peak of the dressing room. Even though she didn’t want to, she knew the other girls would be out soon and it wouldn’t be a good look for her if there were two attractive and wealthy men at the doorstep of dressing rooms. She could hear the rumors already. “Come in” Y/n mumbled stepping aside as both of them stepped inside. Her room was a bit messy, there were bottles of bourbon, wine, and whiskey on the coffee table, some opened, some closed. Few dirty shot cups, and one singular cup of wine. A long wide couch on either side of the room.The one on the left-hand had dresses thrown on it and lingerie.

The right had books piled on top of it, along with a basket of herbs and other assortments. Both brothers looked at each other, both thinking the same. She was a very messy witch. She could see the judgment through both of them. “Forgive me, if I knew I had… visitors I would have cleaned up better,” She said acting sorry, but she wasn’t. She’d be damned if it was her dressing room, she could do whatever the hell she wanted. Elijah could sense her false remorse and if he was being honest as stunning as she was he wasn’t totally in the mood.  “You don’t have to put on your theatrics with us here tonight, trust me the last thing we need from you is lies. We know you're a witch so we will be getting to the point  I think I've spent just enough time in this god-awful place ” Elijah said, the distaste in his mouth clear. She got annoyed crossing her arms and leaning on her vanity letting out a deep breath. This man and his audacity” she thought to herself. Klaus was already sitting on the couch to the right, making himself comfortable moving things around as if this was his own room. “Well you know I'm a witch, what a great thing to come in and say I really am glad my dark little secret is out to the world Mr.Mikaelson,” She said sarcastically as she lit up a cigarette. “Well, I'll be quite forward with you, I know you have access to Wolfsbane,” Klaus said, looking her up and down. 

“And I'm looking to get it,” he said, picking up a jar of herbs. Her heart sped up, great another thing she hated, was wolfsbane. Known for its ability to be lethal to the werewolf kind, she knew exactly why he needed it. She had heard rumors of the hybrid coming back to New Orleans and taking down Marcel, giving a lot of the witches the power to practice magic freely but knew about the loophole he created by getting a werewolf pregnant. 

“Because you want to control the werewolves, why? There already out of New Orleans Marcel drove them out years ago” she said quietly trying to play dumb for now. “Well let me inform you now, I'm back and I'm here to stay, and let's just say the werewolves have made their comebacks. Especially with the mother of my child…. I need to take necessary precautions to keep them in line in case” Klaus said explaining and Y/n kept her eyes to the ground every now and then staring at Elijah's very nice shoes. Her eyes slowly drifted up looking at him from his feet to his eyes. He was already staring which caused shivers to go down her spine 

“And if I refuse?” she asked her eyes drifting to Elijah and Klaus knowing the answer. 

“You die,” Klaus said, shrugging. He said it as if it was nothing. To him, her life was nothing, he could always find another witch anytime he wanted and she wished he did. 

“Help me and you are promised safety. A newfound place in my little kingdom” Klaus said, lacing his deal with false promises, sweet words. 

“Don't trust the lion,” she remembered in her head. Klaus was clearly the lion, with blonde hair, devilish eyes, and stalking his prey as such.  her eyes darted to Elijah. If she couldn’t trust the lion then could she really trust his brother? But she, as any other, heard the tales of the nobleman. The most common story is the nobleman and his word. He didn’t break it, never broke it. Elijah prided himself on that.

“I want your word,” she blurted out. Klaus raised his eyebrows in surprise. Elijah had a smirk, small but noticeable, filled a small portion of his face. “For what exactly?” He asked taking a singular step closer. “That I won't die or get fucking double-crossed,” She said, trying to not sound nervous.  “You two fuckers can’t walk into my dressing room threaten me to take my life and then give me false promises!” She said finally getting a little angry more than scared. Klaus had an amused look and got up and walked up to his brother. “Deal with it,” Klaus said simply and left. The door clicked shut. Now it was just her and Elijah. 

“Are you sure you want to negotiate with me? It is really unheard of” Elijah said, straightening the cuffs of his suit. “Here I thought you were better than that tyrant” she muttered. Elijah just got more amused, “I am, or I’m not it depends on who you ask. But why was my word? My brothers not enough for you?” Elijah asked. She took a deep breath. 

“First your brother is widely known for double-crossing and well his heinous acts of murder,” she said uncrossing her arms. “You on the other hand while I know you two aren’t too different you have more honor than him, you keep your word you try not to harm people,” she said plainly walking one step closer. 

“ Ancestors do talk, don’t they? I will say I am flattered that good things are said” Elijah said smiling. His accent was thick, she couldn’t help but like that. “Don’t be cocky too soon I’ve heard just as bad about you” she said distasteful. Her eyes look at the posters around the walls of past shows. It didn’t wipe the smile off Elijah’s face just yet. “Well, how about this? Do you actually have wolfsbane?” Elijah asked, there was a part of him that was a bit suspicious of her. Witches weren’t always reliable. He learned that through the thousand years, he was alive. Either you had to compel them to make sure they stepped out or simply just had to kill them. But he could smell Verveine coming off y/n and her blood. So no use trying to compel her.  She went to a little drawer pulled out a little glass bottle filled with a little sample and threw it over to him. He caught it quite sharply. He popped the lid off and he could already smell it. 

“I suppose you, are not a fraud,” Elijah said, putting the small vile in his suit pocket

“Well?” She said still waiting for his word 

What?” He said. His smile turned into a smirk. If he was being honest, he was getting a little kick out of this. Playing dumb was a bit fun he did have to admit it himself 

“Don’t play dumb” she spat out annoyed. Her belt to her robe fell down and her robe was open. Elijah looked, and looked away. “Have some shame” he told himself in his head to stay in control. 

“You have my word, Miss…?” Elijah said bit of a questioning tone trying to figure out her last name.He raised an eyebrow waiting for her to speak

“Y/L/n” she said quietly. She was relieved she had his word.

“Miss Y/L/n that no harm will come to you ... .as long as you keep your end of the bargain supply us with what we need for the amount of time we need it” Elijah said standing now right in front of her. 

“I suppose we have a deal,” she said, lifting her head to meet his gaze. He was immortal and quite perfect. His face was sculpted amazingly and his eyes looked like they could suck anyone in.  Y/n never understood vampirism and never wanted to. She knew enough to make her dislike them. She took a long deep breath of her cigarette and let out a very long puff. The smoke went all over both their faces. Even then she could see him stare and the stupid smirking on his face she could only wish to wipe off.

might be a slow burn;)

-part 1-

[jujutsutrash]

(the best of a) simple thing

sort of a follow up to (don't look) but I want it, tho more of a prequel Pairing: Yuta x reader Word count: 2723 Warning: some slight mentions of nsfw stuff but mostly ok

When you walked into his apartment - and effectively into his life - Yuta never imagined he’d become so hooked on you. You had seemed like a bad company, like clear trouble. But you’d found him through a mutual friend, so he let it slide. He needed a roommate, and the worst that could happen would be having to kick you out. Or so he thought.

He never thought he’d become obsessed with you.

Well, obsessed is a strong word. Heavily infatuated could do. You plagued his mind constantly, and just your presence was enough to have him red in the face. Yuta thought that it was just a sexual thing, over time it would fade. It didn’t. And sharing an apartment with you, getting to know you, only made it worse. On one hand he’d be jerking off furiously to the thought of you, on the other he’d be aching to do the most domestic type of shit.

One thing he found himself desiring pretty quickly was to see you dressed in one of his clothes. It was hot, yeah, but it also felt cute as fuck. Sure, he didn’t tower over you, but his oversized shirts would still look bigger than your frame. To Yuta, the thought alone was enough to have his heart leaping - and his cock hardening - in less than a second.

Though, he never thought that would actually happen. Until it did. The first time he got a chance to see you in one of his clothes was on a rare day that he was going from college straight to your shared apartment. It was a day off, and he had plans for it, until it started raining out of the nothing while he was still in class. When it came time to leave, the rain had turned heavy, water falling from the sky with rage and bringing a cold wind with it. Yuta considered himself lucky for always having an umbrella lost somewhere in his bag.

To his surprise, when he came to the arched entrance of the college building, he saw you, looking into the rainy street with a desolate expression. It was rare for him to see you at campus, the buildings where the visual arts students had their classes couldn’t be further from his own. Slowly, he walked up to you, coming to stand by your side as he watched your expression.

“You forgot you your umbrella again?”

You almost jumped by his side, and Yuta couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from his chest. He muttered a sorry when you looked back at him, eyes burning with anger. Even that was cute. Looking at you now, he also couldn’t help noticing how you had your hands rubbing your arms, body closing in tight on itself. You were dressed in just a tshirt and jeans, clearly not expecting to get cold any time soon.

“Yeah,” you respond with a pout, “this is ridiculous, it was sunny when I left home!”

“The weather changes a lot around this time of the year,” he adds with a shrug, pulling the umbrella from inside his backpack. “I can give you a ride if you want?”

“Don’t you have to go to the office?”

“Nah, got a day off today, I was heading home anyway,” Yuta says with a smile, watching as your face lights up at the offer, his heart warming up at the sight. 

“Oh, shit, Yuta, thank you so much. You are a lifesaver,” you smile, and he can feel the blush that’s creeping its way on his face.

“Don’t need to thank me, really, I’m just glad to help,” he responds in a gentle tone, voice growing more concerned as he looks over you again. “Are you cold?”

“A little, I really wasn’t expecting this.”

“Well, I,” he pauses, unsure if he should stay what he is thinking before he decides to go for it anyway. “I can give you my hoodie, so you don’t have to walk back while cold.”

Yuta looks over you, hand tugging at the fabric of the white hoodie he was wearing. He is pretty sure he is blushing, but he can’t focus on that right now. On one hand, you were cold, and he really just wanted to help. But on the other, well he is pretty sure that if you accept, he is gonna have the image of you in that hoodie burned into his mind forever.

“Oh, you don’t need to do that, you are gonna feel cold,” you shake your head, chuckling as you wave one hand in front of your face.

“I’m not that cold anyway, it’s fine really,” he insists, looking into your eyes with a warm smile.

You hesitate for a second, but then you nod, muttering a thanks when he places his backpack and umbrella on the floor. Yuta reaches a hand to his back, fingers digging into the soft fabric of his hoodie as he starts pulling it off. When he wrangles himself off of it, he passes it to you with one hand, the other fighting to readjust his hair.

He watches you smile and put it on, his heart skipping a beat at the sight. The shoulders of the hoodie seem a little loose on your frame, the end of the sleeves just about reaching your fingers. Yuta wasn’t that much bigger than you, but yeah, this was good enough. The walk to your apartment would be short, but he caught himself wondering if maybe he’d be lucky, and by the end of it his hoodie would smell like you.

When you look back up at him, he quickly averts your eyes, busying himself with picking up his backpack and umbrella, getting ready to leave. You two walk and chat, shoulders touching as you share the protection of Yuta’s old umbrella. He is almost sad when the walk ends. The minute he is inside his room, hoodie back in his hands, he brings the piece of clothing to his nose. Under the faint notes of his cologne, he finds it, the sweet smell of your body lotion. He’d for sure be sleeping with that hoodie tonight.

The second time Yuta got a chance to see you wearing one of his clothes was when you’d taken him with you to that bar you loved so much - Devilock, you called it. From the outside the place looked like a shady, hole in the wall type of bar, from the inside it looked just better enough to be sanitary. Truth be told, Yuta had never been one to frequent those places. Between the loud noise and his aversion for social situations, it felt like too much. Yet, he couldn’t say no when you invited him.

The punkest thing he could muster from his wardrobe was a beaten up plaid button up thrown open over a black shirt and some dark jeans. Compared to you, he was a normie, but that was the best he could do. Though, your presence made him feel a little less awkward when you entered the place. The bar wasn’t utterly packed, but it was full, and that was already enough stress, so Yuta would take whatever little solace he could get.

Still, there was a silver lining to this all - aside from the amount of people in the bar counter, forcing you two to sit side by side, shoulders pressed against each other. No, the silver lining was that he got to watch you, free and at ease in your own element, dancing in a skin tight shirt and jeans shorts. Yuta could endure the awkwardness he felt from not knowing how to dance if he got to see you like that.

Shit, you were too hot, and as you both returned to the bar he still couldn’t stop staring, even as you downed another drink, droplets of the cocktail spilling past your lip and down your neck. Maybe the alcohol helped you not notice his wondering eyes, but the bartender sure caught his stares. From behind the counter, the tall, long haired man looked like serious trouble, especially as his black locks shadowed those fox eyes when he leaned menacingly forward. Okay, that was enough to make Yuta look away, for now. Near the end of the night, however, something else happened that had butterflies working up a hurricane in his stomach.

“Yuta!”

When you cried out for him, he could already recognize something off in your voice. You’d both found your way to the arcade machines in the bar at that point, and Yuta felt a little more in his territory this way. Though, you had gone to get a drink for yourself, and it was really off putting to have you return with worry in your voice.

“Hey,” Yuta responded, calling out your name as he turned around. “Everything ok?”

“Ah, mostly,” you chuckled. “But I think my shirt snagged in someone’ jacket and one of the straps torn,” you gave another awkward chuckle and Yuta’s eyes went straight from your own to the hand tightening the knot holding your shirt strap together - the other hand clutching a beer.

“Shit,” he stuttered, torn between the desire to help and the desire to just see the thing fall. “People should really be more careful, they could have hurt you.”

“It’s ok, really, it’s just an inconvenience,” you laughed softly, placing your beer on top of the arcade machine you were. “Tho’, I think I might have to inconvenience you now.”

“Y-yes, whatever you need,” it was almost shameful how fast Yuta responded, he knew it, but he just couldn’t help but jump at the idea of you needing him in any way.

“Could you lend me your shirt? I’m not sure how safe this knot is,” you chuckled.

Yuta froze for a moment at your words, voice muffled by the song playing. Though, he quickly snapped out of it, eager to see you in his shirt. He knew he should be more worried about you, he knew he shouldn’t be thinking as he was at that moment, but there was just something about seeing you in his clothes. Shit, he’d refuse to wash that shirt for the next few days.

Taking out the shirt in a rush as he nodded frantically, Yuta almost knocked down the beer bottle on top of the arcade machine, getting one arm pathetically stuck in the sleeve as he tugged it free. When he handed you the shirt, you thanked him, swiftly putting it on and buttoning it up. You looked gorgeous in it - as you did in absolutely anything, but there was a special charm to this particular sight. Fuck, he could feel his cock hardening already.

The rest of the night goes by uneventfully - although not exactly easily. Yuta had to spend the whole time fighting his own desires and the erection that threatened to sprung up and make things a lot more awkward. When you both finally get back home and return the shirt to his hands, he almost feels desolated. Almost, because the chance to sleep with a piece of clothing that smells like you again is enough to have him in high spirits.

The third time Yuta gets to see you in one of his clothes is in a more permanent situation. One he admits he lucked out on, a bold strike of fortune he will be forever thankful for. After you first moved in, you requested to share the space of his large office - the only spare room in the apartment. He agreed, obviously, he couldn’t say no to you, so he just let you set up your easel and materials in the office, but in the beginning it was awkward. Overtime, though, he grew comfortable in your presence - and learned to watch you paint from the occasional reflections on his monitor.

Besides, Yuta couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the sight of you working on your pieces. Although you could be a powerful distraction, sitting in front of your easel, wearing only small shorts and an old shirt - even this casual, you were gorgeous. At times, it was an exercise in self control, one he didn’t always win, forcing Yuta to take breaks from his work just to leave the room. Still, he wasn’t really complaining.

One day he catches you frowning while looking at the washing machine, browns pulled together and shoulders slumped. When he asks you what's wrong, you pull a torn up garment from inside the machine - from the gray color and paint stains he recognizes it as the remains of your old work shirt. As you mumble about needing to retire another t-shirt to put in its place, an idea crosses Yuta’s mind. 

He sees a chance, and he has to take it - or at least try to, while he is feeling brave enough for the task. Sure, if this goes right, you are going to become even more of a distraction than you already are, but fuck it if he cares right now. So as you sigh in frustration, he is quick to offer you to take one of his t-shirts, claiming he has an old one he was gonna start using as pajamas anyway. When you seem hesitant, he doesn't give you time, stepping into his room fast and bringing you a white oversized t-shirt that he places in your hands, insisting you take it.

“Yuta,” he glances at you through the reflection as you call for him, seeing you turn from the easel towards him, “you sure I can use this? It feels so nice, the paint is just gonna destroy it.”

Yuta feels beyond lucky that on the very next day, he'd already gotten to see you wearing his shirt. Though, it's posing a slight inconvenience as now he's having to try and answer you without fully turning his chair around - lest you notice something you shouldn't. He turns just enough to glance at you, body still turned to his screens, anything below the hips mostly covered by the blessed shadow of his desk. 

“I told you it's fine. Is it comfortable? If you like it, you can just keep it,” he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. “This shirt is old, and it was nothing special to begin with.”

He lies straight through his teeth, the plain white shirt had been an expensive one - you'd probably just never know because he'd removed the tags long ago, they always pinched his skin. But he didn't mind that, not one bit, no price could pay for the sight before him. The oversized t-shirt went all the way down to just below your ass, covering a third of your thighs. Better yet, it almost swallowed your shorts, and from certain angles, it looked like you were wearing just the t-shirt. Wearing just his t-shirt. Yeah, he didn't mind the price tag.

You look into his eyes for a long second - a stare down Yuta is driven to win, despite the growing discomfort for every moment he had to spend holding his gaze into yours. But it was for a good cause, at least from the point of view of his own selfish desires. When you hum and look down, he holds his breath in anticipation. 

“Ah, it is really comfortable,” you trail off, glancing at him again before shrugging, Yuta finally letting go of the breath he was holding. “Guess if you say so, thanks Yuta, you are a lifesaver!”

You cheerfully thank him with a bright smile and a sweet chuckle, stretching your arms above your head before going back to work. Yuta can feel his face burning, and he can only hope it doesn't look as red as it feels. You are too sweet, too cute - and it's not helping at all the sick images running in the back of his mind. Oh, how he wanted to have you sprawled on his bed wearing only that shirt, oh the things he wanted to do.

Fuck, now he could feel his pants straining already. Just as he imagined, this was worse than before - though, it was still a price worth paying to see you in his shirt almost every day. If he could have it his way, you'd only wear his clothes around the apartment anyway.

[nyeddleblog]

A little piece of heaven [Part 5]

Pairing: Wade Wilson x Original Female Character x Logan Howlett. Summary: In Wade's timeline, Iris is his supernice upstairs neighbor. In Wolverine's, she's his beloved dead wife. A/N: This is a Wattpad Fic with an original character of mine that you can find here. Warnings: Deadpool & Wolverine spoilers, kinda.

PREVIOUS PART.

Chapter 5: Tension.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her. It didn't matter if it was a memory or dream. He saw her. He was haunted by her memory and this aggravating, irresponsable version of her felt like a punishment sent by god. Not only did he have to deal with her last words engraved in the back of his mind, always whispered in his ear, but he also had to manage not to cry whenever Iris did something so particularly Iris. He couldn't ask her no to be her.

Wade insisted on getting to know her better, but Logan didn't know what would be worse, if she was just like her, or if she was nothing like her. So the conflict in his mind was constant.

But, not only was she incredibly unpredictable; her relationship with Wade was puzzling. They were constantly flirting, touching each other, cuddling each other, hanging out, and his advances seemed genuine, yet she had no clue. Logan didn't understand if she was playing dumb, or if she was actually that fucking dumb.

And he didn't understand Wade's goal either. He would jolt awake at times, and he'd be there, surprisingly gentle with his soothing touch and his annoying, yet comforting jokes, like some anchor he rarely found in his past life.

Logan felt like an outsider then, sitting next to Wade in the couch. He saw Iris rest her head on Wade's knee, her hands tracing the test she was grading. It was the last one, then she'd take a shower and the three of them would go out to the shitty bar he'd been going to every night for the past week. He didn't truly know if he was okay with that.

"...And, another kid who's actually listening to me" she muttered triumphantly, leaving the tests with the rest of the pile. She stood up and offered them both a cute smile, "I don't know how I'm gonna be able to keep my job if they smell what I've been smoking, so can you guys keep the windows open while I get ready?"

Iris didn't wait for an answer, she left straight for a shower. An eerie silence invaded the room, tension building between them. He could feel Wade's eyes fixed on his hands, then on his tense shoulders and slowly rising up to his eyes.

"All good in that sick mind of yours, big guy?"

Logan let out something akin to a 'yes', avoiding his friend's eyes. He knew Wade knew it was a lie, but then again, they didn't become friends because he was one to open up. His gaze lowered, fixed on the red stain on one of the kid's tests, "Does she always drink and smoke when she works?"

He was judging her, that much was clear. Wade knew that Logan hadn't stopped comparing Iris to his dead wife since the very moment they met, so he just shrugged, "Wouldn't you if you had to bring work home every weekend?"

In Wade's defense, he wasn't told that the Iris he knew and Logan's late wife were the same person, he followed the clues himself. It wasn't like Wolvie would tell him his whole love story, or be very detailed about her character. He more or less told him her name and that she died in his arms. Wade figured it had to be his neighbor because she was obsessed with Logan before she even met him, and therefore he felt he owed no explanation.

"Relax, peanut. It's just a little weed and wine..." he shrugged, holding his hand out to point at the table "It's not like she doesn't give a fuck about them! She's been on this all day for a reason!"

Logan didn't respond, his gaze still fixed on the red stain. He was still trying to keep his mouth out of snapping at him, or worse, out of agreeing. But Wade cared, he clearly did. He cared about her and he cared so much about him. Too much.

"You know, Luna Lovegood over there is actually really good at what she does..." he continued to defend her, "I mean, she's a bit of a space cadet, and I barely understand what she's talking about or why she uses the worst colors in existence, but she loves those kids, you know?" he then looked at the door and back at the grade, "In a totally admirable, non-creepy way..."

Logan finally didn't avoid his gaze, but stared right back. Wade opened his mouth to say something else, but he stopped himself when he realized that under all that annoyance, Logan didn't seem as opposed to his words as he usually was.

His eyes rebelled with a defiant glint and slowly traveled towards his mouth. The silence became suffocating then, specially for Wade who didn't know if this was actually happening and was fighting the urges to joke about it with all his might.

Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and rough, "Maybe she's not so bad."

Wade's heart pounded in his chest, his mind racing. He could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable. This was new territory for both of them, "I think... I think there's precum running down my leg..."

TAGLIST: @l3xi3luv @sagemastah @leobabbyyy if you want in or out of the taglist, let me know<3

[onyourhyuck]

Popular. | N.JM | PART 5

— Prologue: “Enjoying the view, Beautiful?”

— Summary: Revenge becomes love? Old faces become new faces? Where you enroll back to your old school where you got bullied, to get revenge on Na Jaemin but he cannot recognise you.

— Genre: Popularboy!najaemin x goodgirl!y/n. Revenge plot with romance and smut. Mention of bullying. Plot twists. Very sensitive subjects no minors. School sex(?) exhibition. Jaemin’s obsessed with y/n. Enemies to lovers (kinda)

— Notes: Popular — The Series Masterlist.

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“Delete that photo of me right now, Chenle.” Ningning spat across the room where the three of them were lounging in one of the most expensive rooms ever. The Zhong household, more like a mansion-hold, was large spacious and everything in it probably costs so much more than the earth itself. It was ridiculous, how rich Chenle and his family are. At this point it wasn’t a silver spoon he was born with. It was a golden spoon.

The three of them were meeting up later at night considering the fact that their dear friend Ningning was still not over the fact that someone posted the hideously private baby photos of her when she was younger which will make everyone talk about her in the negative spotlight which is something that should’ve never happened, someone here was clearly targeting here.

In the luxurious lounge room, Ningning and Chenle scrolling through every blog on their school website made up of every student in it, they delete and report every repost of Ningning. Anything to do with what happened this morning, they will report and block it. Chenle was stuck doing that because his best friend was rather dramatic about this and he knows how Ningning’s mental breakdowns can be like. It’s not fun at all.

However their friend Jaemin was busy spam texting you all the time. The moment between the both of you never broke and he wasn’t even helping his friend. He just thinks some guy was messing with Ningning and trolling her. Jaemin doesn’t actually think it’s a big deal.

Neither does Chenle but of course Ningning feels embarrassed because it is her that was targeted. And her one insecurity was looking back at old photos of herself. Heck, whoever posted this to Ningning hit her old wounds deep and opened them up again so they can bleed once more.

The girl looking over when their friend was rather silent right now. Ningning appears on the left by Jaemin’s shoulder seeing who he was texting all this time. Who could be so much more important than her?

But the minute the eye saw the name contact, Ningning’s eyes widen. She looks at Jaemin with a frown. “Why are you texting Y/n? You’re meant to be comforting me right now. Don’t you care that your friend has a crazy psycho who stole information about her?”

“Hm?” A sound comes out of his mouth, slowly he looks up because he weren’t even listening right now to Ningning’s words. He smiles. “What we’re you saying? Can you repeat that?”

She glared at him. “Forget it. Go text your dumb girlfriend.” Ningning scowls rolling her eyes at him. Jaemin saw the girl walk away and he opens his mouth when he saw Ningning scowl at him. “Y/n isn’t my girlfriend. She’s my wife.” He retorts delusionaly.

The phone in his hand slips back into the front jean pockets, the body adjusts on the beige cream couch colour with leather fabric shining on every light reflection. The clothes he wore was a loose red hoodie that he loves so much, a white short sleeve shirt with the chain he wears almost everyday. The jeans were loose and baggy almost street style wear. Hair neatly parting right above the eyebrows bone. Jaemin slips the phone in the jean pockets with a devious smirk and the raised up eyebrows always upbeat with the flirtatious smile and expression the boy wears like the day depends on it.

The room fell in to silence until they saw Jaemin stand up and walk across the large open windows looking over the view to the city. The buildings ahead were shining bright light across. They can see the entire Seoul out of the building right now.

“I don’t think you realise this but you’re so different. You changed Jaemin.” His friend said with arms crossed on her chest.

Jaemin turns to her with a little smirk that was so unserious unlike Ningning’s firm and stern expression with the same tone matching the face. “I changed? I feel the same though.” He responds with a meek laugh as he sat down next to Chenle. The boys share a small arm wrap around while their legs spread forward to get comfortable sitting down once again.

The girl can’t believe her two friends right now. One was quiet and the other wasn’t taking this as seriously to see you like a threat. You clearly are a problem between the three of their friendship and their reputation!

You need to be exterminated some way or the other before you get rid of them all together. Ningning has always seen you as trouble but, these two don’t see you as a threat at all. They have fell for your innocent disguise.

“Do not patronise me, Jaemin.” Ningning spat. “You know Y/n isn’t innocent like you think she is. There is something wrong about her. You two are so blind to see it and when you realise I was right you will come crying to.”

The two boys share the same glance at one another they just screams ‘Ningning has lost her mind’ and it seems like they knew their friend would at some point go crazy and mental breakdown everywhere but they never expected it to be over someone as kind as you. Chenle and Jaemin find no fault in you. Unlike Ningning who was against you since day one. They break away to face their friend again.

With a deadpan expression Chenle sang in a voice that makes Ningning slightly annoyed again but it makes her give up on trying to change their foolish minds. “I think you’re just jealous because Y/n is getting popularity in school real fast.”

He jokingly adds. “And I think you’re trying to blame Y/n for what happened to you. Look here you had stalkers before. I bet it’s just another stalker situation.” Chenle said now making a good point but then again Ningning feels like this situation felt different than from the previous stalkers she encounters with.

Jaemin shifts aside from Chenle now and pulls Ningning to sit next to them and he wraps an arm around the girl shoulder.

She sighs when her friend now pulls her closer as he spoke to her in a teasing voice that is trying to lighten up her mood. “Come on. Don’t blame Y/n and give her a chance? Maybe, she can join our group?” Jaemin trails.

Ningning glared at him when he mentions in letting you join their group. They were meant to be a trio. You’re ruining them slowly one by one, especially their friendship.

“You can’t be serious?” Ningning grumbles with her soft face going into a jealous gaze changing when Jaemin saw her face twist.

She stands up now walking away from them. Pacing around the room back and forth with the high heels clicking on top of the marble flooring reflecting her shadow. “You lost your goddamn mind, Na Jaemin. What did she do to you?” Ningning’s hands make large movements in the air as she held her head feeling dizzy just by seeing how their friend has become a different person. What was this? Jaemin was never this invested in a girl before. Sure Jaemin was always with a woman one way or another but none of them last. He doesn’t keep them around for long. Ningning by now would’ve thought he’d dispose of you already.

But no, you’re still here. Like a giant but she cannot get rid off out of her life. You’re ruining them and it’s damaging their friendship. Ningning feels her blood pressuring rising because of how angry she can get when it comes to you and Jaemin. You changed him! Completely! It’s driving Ningning insane over here.

“We are meant to be a trio. If you add her in. I’m leaving.” Ningning threatens now.

Jaemin wasn’t impressed. Not even mildly impressed when he heard the beautiful girl’s outburst right now so he looks away sighing. The group was facing a crisis. They never heard her threaten to break up with them before so this was definitely a serious threat she had made.

“You’re being dramatic.” Jaemin throws at Ningning. “But fine, forget I said anything. Can you at least calm down?”

He swore Ningning had always been dramatic but tonight he wasn’t having any of it. Jaemin’s tolerance to Ningning was growing lesser by the day. She looks at them both before she looks away holding a deep exhale.

The one to diffuse the tension between Jaemin and Ningning was Chenle when he suddenly stood up grabbing the car keys. “Come on guys let’s go on a drive and go spontaneously drinking?” He wraps both hands around his friends who glare at one another clearly not happy with the conversation. They had no choice but to agree with Chenle.

“Fine but you’re paying.” Jaemin trails with a cheeky grin as he walks with Chenle and Ningning now. They make their way down the stairs to go down another stairs to the underground garage. Chenle was so filthy rich it sometimes felt like a fairytale to Jaemin to see, how rich do you have to be to have an underground garage with different cars and flooring? So rich apparently.

They make their way in the garage and seeing the multiverse of cars lining in each parking space makes them wow. Ningning took an eye off the pink motorcycle. The two wonder apart for a while until they saw their friend Chenle drop the keys along with his own headspace when the sight of the car clicking with lights out, was smashed to pieces? What the heck? Jaemin and Ningning wonder what happened in the front so they both tag along with.

“Who the fuck… who the fuck vandalised my car?” Chenle said in gasps as he wonders who would be able to get in this place?

Ningning gasps back when the sight of the car with broken windows, dents and broken glass on the floor spread. One headlight completely twisted out of the sockets. The bonnet of the car drenched with more dents and scratches. It makes Chenle feel so light headed and angry. The amount of money that car cost and the worst part? It’s a brand new, brand new freaking car that was damaged.

“Holy shit…” Ningning spoke back quietly, under her breath it feels like a deep snowfall because of how shocking the situation was.

The boy next to them looks around the place seeing broken window in the underground garage and he turns to the broken car. It looks like someone entered and broke in with force, with whatever they had in their hand they used the same weapon to damage the car but seriously? Why? Who would do this to him? Chenle swore he has no enemies. At least that’s what he believes.

Jaemin frowns. Two of his friends were targeted tonight it feels now like something was right. It’s starting to look a little bit more suspicious.

Chenle walks around the car and he feels like throwing punches in the air, the amount of times he yells out finding something new to complain about was a record. “Ah! Seriously this guy whoever he is i’ll have him arrested. This is vandalism and breaking entering!” He shouts punching the nearest air.

“Whoa whoa whoa calm down Chenle. We’ll find whoever did this to your property.” His friend said with a firm tone and Chenle couldn’t stay calm no matter what to be honest. No one has ever touched and damaged his property knowing how damn expensive it would be. Chenle’s one power was attacked head on.

His money suddenly felt like a twisted game of poker but he feels blind. Too blind to see who could ever do something like this to his freaking car.

Chenle glares at him. “Calm? You want me to stay calm when my freaking car looks like a bunch of junk scrap? Do you know how much that car cost me?!” The boy feels his heart race and the redness heat up his face even more as he breathes fumes.

Jaemin looks at him and he takes a step back, looking at the broken car. There was something wrong with this…

You definitely pulled some sleeves on this piece. And they have no idea it’s you.

The wind brushes past your arms out in the open as you’re wearing a white small tank top cami while watching the people play sports up ahead. You are sitting out on the football game the gym class decided to all collectively play in today’s lesson. You feel rather comfortable sitting and watching everyone do something. Meanwhile everyone was running around.

You feel a sudden cold rush bring to your temple. Your attention moved to the arm stretching out and it was Jaemin who took a seat next to you. Shirtless. You look away with a frown. Why did he decide to bother you today? He wasn’t even meant to be on this side of the long grass in the field pitch, because his gym class was on the opposite end. You move down the bench away from him. Jaemin laughs a little finding this amusing how fast you moved away from him.

Your eyes were glued on his bare chest however. You never thought you’d see Jaemin’s shirtless body ever coming in your life, but here you are, staring at them trying not to be so freaking obvious.

“Enjoying the view, Beautiful?” Jaemin said amused, watching your eyes check him up and down.

At this point you try to focus on getting your revenge onto Jaemin now. You managed to get your sweet revenge on Chenle. Luckily it was an easy break in and you knew it’s bad since you did commit a crime twice now. But can you blame yourself?

They hurt you first. They abused you in every way possible so now you’re only giving them a taste of their own medicine. Their own consequences they have to get over. And they have to suffer just like you did which forced you to be homeschooled.

“Y/n why are you social distancing from me?” He peeks up behind your shoulder and stares down at you what you’re wearing. It looks nice to see your beautifully angled shoulders and the way your ponytail was revealing slight of your nape. It really urges Jaemin to just smoothly place a kiss on it but he fought those urges, biggest conflict of his life he’s ever had to do. You sigh when he sat down next to you again even though you moved.

He puts the cold drink on your lap now. “Drink up. It’s really sunny today.” You think you find those gestures to be sweet but it’s Jaemin giving it to you and it makes you question if he had any ulterior motive all the time when he’s with you.

“Why are you here? Your class was on the far end.” You now ask him as you’re trying to figure out why he is here and not bothering Chenle or Ningning. Why was he trying to bother you first?

Smirking now he leans closer humming in the same flirtatious accent that makes your breath race and pop up from your lips everytime he speaks. It makes your skin crawl with how deep his voice goes lower octaves.

He laughs a bit. “You looked like you missed me.” You want to vomit right now. As if you looked like you even missed a single bit of his presence. Your reaction was the same bland and flat tone. “I was actually happy today until i saw you.”

Jaemin somehow knew you were lying there. He must know you are warming up to him, or at least he wants to believe you are slowly warming up to him.

Then the eyes fell at the cold drink he got for you. You haven’t even touched it once. He looks at your face that’s watching the front with your beautiful chanting eyes.

“Why aren’t you drinking it?” He now asked you. Your voice was replying in a repaying sound that doesn’t even show a bit of emotion. Nonetheless Jaemin was hooked on it like a drug addict. “Because I don’t want it. It’s your drink. You bought it.”

“How am i supposed to spoil you when you won’t accept my gifts?”

Jaemin now said back to you questioning as you are always rejecting his gifts and thoughts of gestures. The acts of service he was giving you all this time was never successful but he can tell you might just be scared to let him get close to you.

It was a feeling he has when he’s around you. You’re not letting him in but Jaemin was determined to get inside your door and one day see you accepting his affections. He’s never been this attentive to any girl before either. You should feel lucky.

You groan. This was stupid he won’t leave you alone unless you try that stupid drink he bought you. You lift your hand around the cold canned drink and slowly open it.

You warn him. “Fine just stop pestering me.”

Jaemin saw you taking a sip of the drink now with a precious proud smile. It makes him happy that you tasted it. Even though your expression wasn’t the happiest. He still felt happy.

Watching somewhere he shouldn’t be; specifically your lips as you drank and tasted the peaches drink. Jaemin’s eyes were watching your bottom lip with a dripping peaches water running down the corner of your lip soon to your chin nearly. He lifts your face to suddenly watch him. He came closer with his face and suddenly your breath stops coming to your lungs. Your heart was a marathon runner racing like a bolting stride. The eyelashes flutter as the handsome boy leans down with a smirk. You hate feeling like this when you shouldn’t. He’s an enemy. He’s your bully. You shouldn’t be having your heart racing for this boy at all.

Pushing the thumb down the corner of your lips to wipe the peach water. He smiles seeing your cheeks slowly heat up. The boy loves seeing the effect he has on you but you always tend to hide it away with your tough personality. You’re even more beautiful close up and it’s a shame that this will be an one time thing when he can see your beautiful eyes this close watching him. Your eyes were so big he could see himself in. “You had some water on your lips.” Jaemin whispers with a smirk.

Your eyebrows flutter back down. “Your mind games don’t work on me.”

Jaemin was stunned but amused. What mind games are you speaking about? “What do you mean by that, pretty girl?”

You pull away clearing your voice. “Are you perhaps scared you might fall in love with me?” Jaemin said now slanting forward as his lips were close to your cheeks and your eyes watch him like a hawk. You don’t want him to move forward more but, why did a part of you also want him to move forward…?

“There’s no such thing.” You said confidently but your eyes said something else. Jaemin saw some truth behind them. He whispers. “What if i fell for you?”

“Very funny.” You sarcastically say. “As if the most popular guy in school would ever fall in love with someone. Everyone knows you are popular and only care for your popularity.”

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and follow me for more information on the masterlist chapter!