#pls come back I need your ideas and thoughts

[thyras]

→ of unspoken truths

PAIRING → annatar | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 7.1k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → mild abuse (he chokes her), arguments, angst, manipulation

SUMMARY → when the truth comes to light it brings with it great sorrow and tragedy, and it would seem all is lost.

AUTHORS NOTE → this chapter broke me, like i'm gonna need a few days to recover. i really had not meant for this to go this way but the characters have a mind of their own and i went with it.

masterlist // series playlist // mood board

His index finger traced slow, circular patterns below your navel as you gazed up at him, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Moonlight poured through the balcony doors, bathing him in a silver glow, casting shadows along the sharp planes of his face. His sapphire eyes shimmered in the dim light, half-lidded with quiet reverence. Propped up on one elbow, he watched you with a lazy, indulgent smile, taking in the love-lorn expression that softened your features.

There was something so right about this—this moment, this union—that neither of you dared to speak, afraid that the illusion would shatter with a single breath.

Annatar leaned in, capturing your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss, his fingers flattening against your stomach in a tender caress. You smiled into the kiss, threading your fingers through his silken strands. He deepened it, his tongue gliding sensually against yours as his hand continued to trace over your womb with quiet reverence. The intimate contact sent shivers of pleasure rippling through you, your body alive under his touch.

When he finally pulled back, you were both breathless, your cheeks warmed with the afterglow of his affection.

"I still can't quite believe it," he murmured, his voice edged with awe as his gaze drifted down to where his hand rested possessively over your stomach. "A child. Our child."

You smiled, your own hand coming to rest over his, fingers intertwining. "I know. It feels like a dream."

And in many ways, it was. After centuries of love and loss, of separation and reunion, the idea that you now carried a piece of both of you—a tangible embodiment of your unbreakable bond—seemed too wondrous to be real.

You shifted into your pillow, your hand reaching up to trace the line of his cheekbone, down along his jaw, before cupping his chin. Your fingers rested there as you took him in—your husband. In all the forms your elven eyes had known him, this one felt the closest to the first, the one you had fallen for so long ago.

Yet, even as you stared at him now, you could not help but wonder. His human form seemed the most natural to him, almost as if it was the one he had worn the longest. As Halbrand, he had carried himself with ease, his movements fluid in a way they had never quite been in his elven guises. There was a quiet confidence in the way he walked as a man, as though it had been his truest self all along.

But deep down, you knew the truth. The form you had first fallen in love with was the one you held dearest in your heart—the one he had fashioned for your eyes alone.

You mourned its loss.

If only, just for one night, you could see it again—to feel the gentle caress of that form, to run your fingers through fiery strands that shimmered like molten copper in the moonlight, to drown once more in seafoam-green eyes that had once held the light of the world within them.

Would he ever take that form again, if only for you?

Would he understand how much you longed for it?

Or was it truly lost, a relic of a past that neither of you could ever reclaim?

As if he had plucked the thought straight from your mind, he spoke, his voice low and intimate.

“I can take that form for you and only you, my love,” he murmured, his gaze searching yours for the answer he already knew lay within your heart. His breath was warm against your lips, his presence anchoring you to this moment.

You cupped his cheek once more, your fingers brushing over the familiar planes of his face. He leaned into your touch instinctively, his eyes half-lidded with devotion.

“I thought it was lost as well,” he admitted after a moment of silence. “But now that I am stronger… and now that I have your memories—I could take it again if that is what you desire.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest, quick and uneven, as if it could barely contain the weight of the moment. Warmth spread through you, a mixture of anticipation and longing. The thought of seeing him once more as he had been—of slipping back into a time when the world was brighter, simpler—was intoxicating.

And yet…

You smiled, slow and tender, giving him your answer.

“Let my memories and my dreams be where that form lies, love,” you whispered, your voice carrying the bittersweet certainty of your decision. “Let it be hers alone—the one who loved you then, the one who lived in those days.”

You paused, letting your thumb trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone before sweeping down to the curve of his jaw. His breath hitched, just barely, at your touch.

“But this…” you continued, gazing into the depths of his eyes—the eyes of the being who had walked countless paths, who had changed and endured, who had loved you through it all. “Let this be the form of the one I love now, the one who stands before me.”

His lips parted slightly, as if he might argue, as if he might offer again, but something in your gaze stopped him. Understanding flickered across his face, followed by something deeper—something more profound than longing.

He lifted his hand to cover yours where it rested against his cheek, pressing it close. Then, with a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine, he turned his head, brushing a kiss against the center of your palm.

“As you wish, my love,” he murmured, the words a vow as much as a promise.

Annatar's lips lingered against your palm, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. When he finally pulled back, his eyes shone with a depth of emotion that stole your breath—love, awe, and a quiet reverence that humbled you to your core.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with feeling. "For loving me as I am now. For seeing beyond the shadows of the past."

Your heart swelled at his words, at the raw vulnerability in his gaze. You knew what this meant to him—to be accepted, to be loved, not for who he had been, but for who he was now. With all his flaws, all his scars, all the darkness he still carried within.

Slowly, you reached for him, drawing him close until your foreheads touched, your breaths mingling in the scant space between you. Your fingers curled against the nape of his neck, grounding him, anchoring him in the moment.

"I will always love you, Mairon," you whispered fiercely. "In every form, through every trial. That will never change."

Annatar’s eyes fluttered closed, a shuddering breath escaping him as he absorbed your words, letting them wash over him like a balm. A muscle in his jaw tensed as he fought to contain the storm of emotions within him. When he opened his eyes again, they gleamed with unshed tears, reflecting the moonlight that bathed you both.

"Mori," he breathed, the single word carrying the weight of centuries—of love and loss, hope and heartbreak. His fingers ghosted along your cheek, reverent, hesitant, as if afraid you might fade like a dream. "My divine. My everything."

Then he captured your lips once more, the kiss deep and consuming, filled with a desperation that spoke of long years of separation, of an ache that had never truly faded. His hands tightened at your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, as if to imprint your very essence into his soul.

You melted into his kiss, surrendering to the desperate hunger of his touch. Your fingers threaded through his hair, holding him close as you poured every ounce of love, every shred of devotion, into the meeting of your lips. In this moment, nothing existed but him—his warmth, his scent, the steady beat of his heart against yours.

When you finally parted, breathless and flushed, Annatar’s eyes were dark with desire, his pupils blown wide. His hand slid down, fingers splaying possessively across your stomach, his touch searing through the thin fabric of your nightgown. A shiver coursed through you, not from cold, but from the raw intensity in his gaze.

"Every day, I am in awe of you," he murmured, his voice low and rough, as if the weight of his emotions threatened to consume him. "Of the strength you carry, the light you bring to my world. And now..." His fingers flexed against your belly, reverence and something almost fragile warring in his tone. “I finally feel complete.”

Your heart ached with tenderness as you gazed up at him, your fingers lifting to cup his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes searching yours, as if committing this moment to memory. A quiet beat passed, the night air thick with unspoken emotions, before he spoke again, softer this time.

"I wish we had done this sooner."

A giggle bubbled past your lips, light and teasing, as you brushed your nose against his. “If it had been up to me, we would have,” you murmured, a playful smile dancing across your lips. You let the moment stretch, reveling in the warmth of his hold before adding, “But it has always been your choice, my love. You had to want it, not I.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening ever so slightly against your skin, and in his eyes, you saw it—the understanding, the unspoken gratitude, and the love that ran deeper than words could ever express.

And when he kissed you again, it was slow, reverent, a silent promise written in the language of his touch: I have always wanted you. I will always want you.

As your lips parted, you caught a flicker of something in his eyes—an emotion buried beneath his adoration, fleeting yet undeniable. Concern. Doubt. Something unspoken.

You ran your finger across his bottom lip before nipping at it playfully, a mischievous glint in your eyes, hoping to draw him back to the present, to chase away whatever shadowed his thoughts. But the worry lingered, stubborn and unresolved.

“What’s the matter, love?” you asked softly, settling back against your pillows. You pulled the linen sheets up over yourself, cocooning in their warmth as the night air whispered through the open balcony. Annatar’s gaze drifted past you, out into the darkness beyond, his eyes distant, lost in thought.

For a moment, you wondered if he would answer at all. But then, he turned back to you, offering a smile—pleasant, practiced, but not quite reaching his eyes.

“Nothing I wish to burden you with,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet evasive. He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

Your heart clenched.

Reaching up, you wrapped your fingers around his wrist, stilling him, holding his gaze for a moment longer. "Mairon," you murmured, your tone a quiet plea, an unspoken invitation to share what troubled him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but instead, he exhaled slowly, his thumb tracing absent circles against your skin. The weight of his silence pressed against you, thick with meaning, with hesitation.

And yet, you did not push—only waited. Because you knew, eventually, he would let you in.

“I am worried that Lord Celebrimbor no longer wishes to continue in this venture,” Annatar admitted, his voice quiet but laced with tension.

You frowned, confusion flickering across your face. “And what makes you think that?”

His jaw tightened slightly. “He refuses to aid me in forging the Rings for Men.”

A weight settled in your chest at his words. You swallowed hard, the action small yet unmistakable, and Annatar’s sharp eyes did not miss it. The warmth of his touch left your skin as he shifted, sitting up against the headboard, his fingers pressing against his temples. A long sigh escaped him, weary and edged with frustration.

“And now you are refusing,” he murmured, half to himself, his voice tinged with something dangerously close to disappointment.

Your breath caught. “Mairon,” you said, disbelief threading through your tone. You sat up beside him, searching his face, but his eyes remained closed. “I am not refusing. I only wish to understand—why does Lord Celebrimbor object? What are his reasons?”

A silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken things. Annatar’s fingers stilled against his brow, and when he finally opened his eyes, they burned with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I do not need his reasoning,” he said, voice low, measured. “I need his obedience.”

The words hung between you like a blade’s edge, their weight settling uncomfortably in the space you shared. And for the first time in months, you saw the light dim from his face, fading like the last embers of a dying fire.

Mairon.

This was not something he would have said before—not unless he was slipping back into the darker recesses of his mind, the shadows he had fought so hard to escape.

You took a slow breath, steadying yourself, then reached for him, seeking the warmth of his hand in yours. But before your fingers could close around his, he pulled away—subtle, yet deliberate.

Your heart clenched.

“Mairon,” you whispered, the ache in your voice betraying the sting of his rejection. It was rare for him to deny your touch, rare for him to shut you out like this. And yet, he did not so much as glance at you, his gaze locked on some distant point, lost in the tangled threads of his thoughts.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, a quiet chasm between you that you weren’t sure how to bridge. You swallowed hard, the weight of the silence pressing against your chest like an unseen force. Without another word, you slipped out of bed, the cool air brushing against your skin as you reached for your silk dressing gown draped over the back of your dressing table’s chair.

The rustling of fabric caught Annatar’s attention, and for the first time since the conversation had turned, his gaze lifted to you. His brow furrowed, his expression puzzled by your sudden movement.

You turned to face him, meeting his gaze with quiet resolve. The silence between you stretched for another beat before you finally broke it.

“I am going to see what this is all about,” you said, your tone measured but firm. “If you wish to come, then so be it. But I will not stand idly by while you let this consume you.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

You took a breath, gathering your thoughts before continuing, softer this time. “You have worked too hard these past few months to fall back into old habits, Mairon. Do not let this undo everything.”

His expression shifted—something unreadable flickering across his features. Guilt? Frustration? Perhaps both.

But still, he said nothing.

You tightened the belt of your gown and turned toward the door, determined to find the truth for yourself. Whether he followed or not, you would not let this fester in silence.

You strode down the dimly lit corridors with determined steps, the soft rustle of your silken dressing gown trailing behind you. The cool night air whispered against your skin, but you paid it no mind, your focus set on a single purpose—to uncover the truth behind Lord Celebrimbor’s reluctance and Annatar’s growing frustration.

The halls were silent at this hour, save for the distant crackle of torches lining the walls. You moved with purpose, your thoughts a storm of questions, doubts, and the lingering ache of Annatar’s retreat into himself.

As you neared the forge, the familiar scent of molten metal and parchment filled your senses. You hesitated only briefly before pushing the door open with deliberate care, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

Inside, the forge’s fire had long since dimmed, casting flickering shadows along the stone walls. And there, hunched over his workbench, was Celebrimbor. His brow furrowed in deep concentration as he scribbled across a sheet of parchment, utterly absorbed in his work.

The moment you stepped inside, a strange sensation rippled through you—a pull at your very core. The ring on your finger pulsed, subtle yet insistent, a warning whispering through your blood.

Something was amiss.

Before you could dwell on it, Celebrimbor’s voice broke the silence.

“Thilwen?” His head lifted, eyes widening slightly in surprise as he took you in. “It is late. I thought you would be sleeping.��

You exhaled softly, schooling your features into a pleasant smile as you stepped forward, the phantom pulse of the ring fading as you willed it away.

“I could say the same of you, my lord,” you mused, ascending the steps that led to his small study. The glow of the fireplace cast deep shadows across his face, accentuating the lines of exhaustion that marred his otherwise noble features.

You came to stand beside him, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder as your gaze flickered down to the parchment beneath his hand.

“What is keeping you awake?” you asked, voice laced with quiet curiosity.

You felt the subtle tension beneath your palm, the way his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly before he let out a slow breath.

“Many things,” he admitted, though there was something guarded in his tone. His fingers tightened briefly around his quill before he set it down. “But I suspect you already know that.”

Your stomach tightened.

So he was troubled.

“I do,” you breathed, shifting to sit beside him on the bench. “Would you care to tell me?”

Celebrimbor turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he studied you.

“He sent you, didn’t he?”

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by the suspicion in his tone. Shaking your head, you met his gaze with quiet honesty.

“I came of my own accord,” you assured him. “He mentioned you were troubled, and I realized I have been remiss in my duties as your faithful partner.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he turned back to his work. “It feels as though Lord Annatar has replaced me in that sense.” you finished.

But before you could say anything further, Celebrimbor reached for your hands, enclosing them gently within his own. His touch was warm, steady, reassuring.

“No, my lady,” he murmured, his voice rich with sincerity. “There is no one who could ever replace your wisdom—not even an emissary of the Valar.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest at his words, and a soft heat crept to your cheeks. You glanced down at your entwined hands, momentarily lost for words.

“You are too kind, my lord,” you whispered, then hesitated before continuing. “Can I offer you any of that wisdom to ease what troubles you?”

A heavy sigh escaped him as he withdrew his hands, turning back to his parchment. “I dare not burden you with that.”

A light laugh bubbled from your lips, though there was an edge of exasperation beneath it. “You know,” you mused, reaching up to touch his cheek, gently guiding his gaze back to yours, “you are the second person to say that to me tonight.”

He blinked at you, something shifting behind his eyes as you smiled softly.

“So tell me, mellon,” you urged, your voice dipping into something quieter, more intimate. “I do not wish for you to be burdened by whatever weighs so heavily upon you.”

For a moment, he only looked at you, his lips parting as if to speak. Then, at last, he exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing just enough for you to know that he would tell you—if only you were willing to listen.

“I feel as if he is not willing to listen to reason,” Celebrimbor began, his voice edged with frustration.

You bit back a knowing smile, amusement flickering in your chest despite the weight of the conversation. Mairon, unwilling to listen to reason? That was a tale as old as time. He had never been one to accept resistance, nor did he take the word no particularly well. It seemed that, even after all these ages, some things had not changed.

Celebrimbor exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “He wishes to craft something for those who are so easily swayed—so easily corruptible. Do you not see the danger in that? These rings would not be a gift; they would be a temptation. A power that many would wield not for good, but for malice.”

His words carried a quiet urgency, a deep-seated concern that weighed on his every syllable.

You studied him, the flickering forge light casting sharp shadows across his face. There was no doubt in his mind, no hesitation in his belief.

And yet, there was doubt in yours.

You had seen the best in Mairon, had known the warmth beneath the steel, the brilliance behind the ambition. He had changed—or at least, you had believed he had.

But had he truly?

Or had you simply wished so desperately for it to be true?

Had the cloud of joy—the miracle of carrying life within you, the warmth of being back in your husband’s arms—made you so blind to what was unfolding right before your very eyes? Had love softened your vigilance, dulled the instincts that once warned you of the dangers lurking beneath the surface?

You inhaled slowly, steadying yourself before speaking.

“I agree with you,” you admitted, choosing your words carefully. “I think it would be a terrible idea. I have never lived among Men, but I know enough to understand what they are capable of when given power. And I remember well the ruin they can bring upon this world.”

Celebrimbor released a slow breath, relief flickering in his eyes as a small, weary smile touched his lips.

“I am glad we see eye to eye on this,” he murmured.

You nodded, reaching out to brush your thumb against his cheek, a small gesture of comfort, of familiarity. He leaned into the touch for the briefest of moments before reaching up to take your hand once more, his fingers curling around yours with quiet reassurance.

“We have always seen eye to eye, my lord,” you reminded him, your voice soft, steady. “It is why we have accomplished so much together.”

His grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, his expression unreadable. And yet, beneath the warmth of his touch, beneath the quiet understanding that had always bound you, you could not shake the lingering unease that settled in your chest.

Because for all the certainty in his words, for all the trust between you—there was another bond, one just as strong, just as deep.

And you were not sure how long you could stand between them before you were forced to choose.

When you returned to your chambers, you found Annatar exactly where you had left him—sitting against the headboard, unmoving, lost in thought. The dim candlelight cast flickering shadows across his face, deepening the furrow in his brow, the tension in his jaw.

His gaze lifted as you entered, tracking your every movement as you crossed the room. You shrugged off your dressing gown, draping it over the back of the chair by your dressing table, and let out a slow breath, exhaustion settling into your bones. The weight of the conversation with Celebrimbor still clung to you, and you could feel Annatar’s silent scrutiny pressing against your back as you slipped beneath the sheets.

The silence between you was thick, suffocating.

Then, at last, he spoke.

“So… will he do it?” His voice was calm, but you could hear the tension coiled beneath it, like a blade pressed too tightly against its sheath.

You did not face him. Instead, you turned toward the open balcony doors, watching as the night wind stirred the gossamer curtains. You knew what was about to come out of your mouth would not go over well. But it had to be said. And coming from you—perhaps it would wound him less.

“No.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. You could feel it stretching between you, fraying at the edges. Then, suddenly, the bed shifted violently as Annatar rose in a swift, almost volatile motion.

You let out a slow breath, steadying yourself before turning to face him.

His eyes burned.

It was not the smoldering warmth you had grown accustomed to over the past months—not the quiet intensity of devotion or longing. No, this was something else. Something dangerous.

Something you had not seen in a long time.

And it frightened you.

“I agree with him,” you murmured, voice steady despite the way your heart pounded against your ribs. “You should not be giving power to them. They will only use it to hurt, Mairon.”

His name fell from your lips—a plea, a warning.

But the fire in his gaze did not wane. If anything, it burned brighter, sharper, flickering with something dark and unreadable.

And in that moment, you realized—this was not a conversation.

This was a battle.

One that neither of you could afford to lose.

“So you wish to turn your back on me as well?” Annatar’s voice was low, but there was an accusation woven into it, sharp as a dagger’s edge.

Your chest tightened.

“No,” you countered firmly, sitting up as the sheets pooled around your waist. “That is not what I am trying to do at all.”

But he was not listening—not truly. His stance was rigid, his gaze burning with something raw and unyielding.

Frustration bubbled up inside you, tightening your throat. “I am trying to make you see that you are pressuring someone into something they do not want to do. You are manipulating them, ignoring their warnings, dismissing their concerns as if they mean nothing.”

Your voice wavered with rising agitation, your emotions spilling over like a dam beginning to crack.

“The Dwarves needed our help,” you pressed, eyes locking onto his. “Men do not.”

The words left your lips with finality, each syllable deliberate, pointed.

Annatar stared at you, his expression unreadable, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.

For the first time in a long time, you wondered if he even heard you at all—or if he had already made up his mind.

What came out of his mouth next sent a tremor down your spine.

“I never thought you to be so prejudiced, Mori,” he said, his voice low, measured—dangerous. “You think like every other Elf.”

Your breath hitched, but your glare did not waver. Anger still churned hot in your chest.

“You feel you are better than them,” he continued, eyes burning into yours, “but as I see it, you are afraid of them.”

Your hands clenched against the sheets, nails biting into your palms.

“Why do you care so much?” you shot back, your voice laced with frustration. “You are not one of them.” Your gaze narrowed, sharp and unyielding. “You hardly seem to care what your Elven wife thinks these days, so why are they so much more important than me? Than our baby?”

The moment the words left your lips, you knew you had gone too far.

A flicker of something dark crossed his face, his anger boiling over, raw and unchecked.

A crack of thunder rumbled in the distance, as if the very air had sensed the shift between you.

The silence stretched, suffocating.

And for the first time, you were not sure whether the heat in his gaze was born of fury—or something far more dangerous.

“Get out.”

Your voice was low, a warning, a plea wrapped in trembling restraint. You needed space. You needed him to leave before this spiraled into something you could not control.

“Get out of my rooms.”

His eyes darkened further, shifting into the fathomless void of black that once haunted your worst nightmares. Your pulse pounded in your ears, sharp and unrelenting. But then—a chime.

The ring on your finger hummed with warmth, its presence grounding you, wrapping around your senses like a shield. Whatever he wished to do, it would protect you.

Annatar moved before you could react, closing the distance in a single, fluid motion. His fingers wrapped tightly around your neck, the pressure firm enough to cut air, though not entirely. A low growl rumbled from his chest as another clap of thunder echoed in the distance, the storm outside mirroring the one within.

“I am doing this for you,” he snarled, his grip steady, his breath warm against your skin. “For our child.”

Your hands flew up, grasping at his wrist, struggling against the strength that once felt so safe, so sacred. But now, it terrified you.

“As I always have,” he continued, voice laced with a desperate conviction that sent a shudder through you. “This has always been for you. I endured centuries of torture, of agony, so I could heal you—so I could give you the world you longed for.”

Tears welled in your eyes, blurring his face as you searched those black voids for something—anything—that remained of the man you loved.

The soft patter of rain began, the first drops whispering against the stone balcony as your tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“This isn’t love,” you choked out, your voice raw, breathless. “This is an obsession—an obsession to right a wrong you could never fix.”

His grip trembled for just a moment. Just long enough for you to see it—doubt. Pain. The ghost of something human.

And then it was gone.

The rain began to pour, heavy and unrelenting, mirroring the storm that raged between you. Your tears fell just as freely, unchecked and wild, carving silent paths down your cheeks.

“I have the power now to fix it,” Annatar growled, his voice filled with something between desperation and conviction. “And with these—”

“No,” you gasped, choking on the word as his fingers tightened just a fraction more.

Your vision blurred, a mix of tears and the pressure against your throat, but you forced yourself to speak, to reach him.

“I do not want it,” you rasped, each breath a battle. “I want my husband—the man I wish to welcome a child into this world with.”

Your chest heaved as you fought to keep your composure, licking your lips in a desperate attempt to steady your voice, to push past the sobs that clawed at your throat—not just from fear, but from the sheer, aching grief of what was slipping through your fingers.

“The man my very fëa sings for every single day.”

Something flickered in his eyes, but it was gone before you could grasp it. The moment hung between you, heavy, fragile.

And then—

“He’s dead, Mori.”

His voice was quiet, but the weight of those words crashed over you, drowning you in something colder than the rain that drenched the world outside.

“It’s about time you realized that.”

Your breath stilled.

Not from his grip.

Not from fear.

But because in that moment, you understood.

The man you loved—the man you had fought for, the man who had cradled your face with reverence and whispered your name like a prayer—

Was already gone.

The realization shattered something deep within you, a truth you had refused to accept for so long. The flicker of warmth in his gaze, the tender caress of his hands, the quiet promises whispered in the dark—they had all been an illusion. A fragile, desperate attempt to hold on to a memory, to a dream of what once was, of what could have been.

But now, as you stared into the fathomless void of his eyes, you saw it with painful, unrelenting clarity.

The man before you was not your husband.

Not anymore.

He was a shadow, a hollow echo of the being you had once loved with every fiber of your soul. He stood before you, flesh and form changed, but his fëa—his essence—had unraveled into something unrecognizable.

And no matter how desperately you wished it, no matter how fiercely you fought to bring him back—

He was lost to you.

Forever.

A sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the weight of that truth crashed over you, suffocating in its finality.

Annatar’s grip faltered for the barest moment, his fingers trembling against your throat, as if even he had not been prepared for the depth of your anguish.

But it was fleeting.

His jaw tightened, the storm within his eyes raging, though whether in frustration or something else—something weaker, something human—you could not tell.

You no longer knew him.

And that broke you more than anything ever could.

The cold, harsh reality of Annatar’s words settled over you like a leaden shroud, smothering the last embers of hope that had stubbornly flickered in your heart. The aching void his loss carved within you yawned wider than ever before, a chasm so deep, so vast, it threatened to swallow you whole.

You had spent so long believing in him, believing in change, in the quiet redemption you had sworn you glimpsed in the softness of his touch, in the reverence of his whispered vows. But it had been nothing more than a mirage—a cruel trick of the fading light.

Annatar’s grip on your throat finally loosened, his fingers slipping away as he pulled back. His face was an impassive mask once more, cold and unreadable, as if the firestorm of a moment ago had never existed.

But you hardly noticed the relief of air flooding your lungs, the easing of pressure against your windpipe.

All you could feel was the shattering pain radiating from your very core, splintering through you like fractured glass, sharp and unforgiving.

Your body buckled beneath the weight of it, and you sank onto the bed, your shoulders trembling as silent, wracking sobs overtook you.

Tears streamed down your face, unchecked, unstoppable, as you curled in on yourself, arms wrapped tightly around your middle—protecting, shielding, as if you could hold together the pieces of yourself that were breaking apart.

But nothing could stop it now.

Nothing could undo what had already been lost.

Annatar watched you crumple, his gaze unreadable, a flicker of something—hesitation? Regret?—passing across his features before it was swiftly buried beneath impassive coldness. He stood motionless for a long moment, his presence looming, the silence between you broken only by the harsh rasp of your uneven breaths and the relentless patter of rain against stone.

Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and strode from the room. The door shut behind him with a dull, final thud—an ending, a severing, a wound that could never be stitched back together.

But you barely registered his departure.

You were lost in the storm of your own grief, in the cruel, crushing realization that everything you had believed, everything you had hoped for, had been nothing more than a beautiful lie.

Your mind reeled, memories of tender moments and whispered endearments twisting like thorns in your heart, mocking you with their falseness. The warmth of his touch, the devotion in his gaze, the soft murmurs of love in the dead of night—had any of it been real? Or had you simply wanted it to be?

How could you have been so blind?

How could you have deluded yourself for so long?

A strangled sob escaped your lips as you curled further into yourself, clutching at the ache in your chest as if you could physically hold yourself together.

But you couldn’t.

You were breaking.

And this time, there was no one left to save you. Or the child that now grew in you.

The harsh, cold wind howled through the open balcony doors, carrying the scent of rain and the bitter sting of betrayal. It curled around you like a phantom’s touch, seeping into your skin, chilling you to the bone. You shivered, curling tighter into yourself, your body wracked with silent sobs. Each gasping breath felt jagged, each shuddering exhale a cruel reminder of how utterly alone you were.

Alone.

The word echoed in your mind, hollow and unforgiving.

After everything you had endured—centuries of longing and heartache, of hope and despair—you had somehow ended up right back where you started.

Bereft. Abandoned. Shattered beyond repair.

And now, there was no illusion left to cling to, no lingering dream to convince yourself that the man you loved was still somewhere beneath the ruin.

He was gone. Once more.

Yet, even as the realization tore through you, another truth settled over you like a second, heavier weight—a life stirred within you, a fragile ember in the darkness. A piece of him. A reminder of everything you had lost.

Your breath hitched, your trembling hands drifting to your stomach as the crushing reality pressed down upon you.

How could you do this alone?

How could you bring a child into a world where their father—their true father—would never brighten their skies?

A fresh sob tore from your throat, raw and aching, as the storm outside raged on.

And deep in your soul, you felt it—the quiet, suffocating certainty that nothing would ever be the same again.

The rain continued to fall outside, its steady patter a mournful requiem to your grief. The world beyond the open balcony blurred into darkness, the storm swallowing the distant lights of the city, leaving only the sound of the wind and the hollow ache in your chest.

Time itself seemed to still as you lay there, cocooned in anguish, your breath coming in slow, uneven shudders. The cold reality of Annatar’s words sank deeper into your bones with each passing second, anchoring you in a truth you had refused to accept.

He was gone.

The man you had loved, the man you had fought so desperately to save—he was nothing more than a memory now, a fading dream slipping through your fingers like smoke. Every whispered vow, every tender touch, every quiet moment of warmth had been built on a fragile hope that had shattered beyond repair.

And in his place stood a shadow.

A twisted reflection of the brilliance that had once burned so brightly within him.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if doing so could erase the image of his void-black gaze, of the fire that had flickered into something cruel and unrecognizable. But it was too late. It had already seared itself into you, a wound that would never fully heal.

And you were alone.

Truly, utterly alone.

Left to shoulder the weight of the life growing inside you without the warmth and strength of the one who had helped create it. The thought sent a fresh wave of despair crashing over you, suffocating, relentless.

You pressed a trembling hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest swell beneath your palm. A new life. A fragile ember in the midst of ruin.

How could you protect them?

How could you bring them into a world where their father—the man who should have been their guide, their protector, their light—had become something unrecognizable?

A sob broke past your lips, raw and aching, as the storm raged on outside.

His feet carried him away from you, the fire of his anger still burning, an inferno raging unchecked within his chest. Annatar strode through the darkened halls, his jaw clenched tight, his hands curled into fists at his sides. The storm outside roared in tandem with his fury, thunder shaking the foundations of stone, rain lashing against the walls like a relentless assault.

Each step took him further from you, from the sound of your broken sobs echoing in his ears, from the raw devastation etched across your face. The weight of your words clung to him like chains, an accusation, a wound he had not been prepared to receive.

For the briefest of moments, something inside him wavered.

He could still turn back. Could still return to you, take you into his arms, murmur soft reassurances until the pain ebbed away. The instinct to protect you, to keep you, still thrummed beneath the anger, an old and stubborn part of him that refused to die.

But no.

He forced himself forward, pushing past that flicker of weakness, burying it beneath layers of steel and ice. He could not afford it. Not now.

He had meant what he said.

The man you loved, the man you clung to with such desperate hope—he was dead.

Long lost to the ages.

Everything he had shown you over the past months—every lingering touch, every whispered vow, every tender look—had been nothing more than an illusion. A reflection of something that no longer existed.

And if you could not accept that, if you still clung to the past as though it could be salvaged—then you would be left behind, just like the rest of them.

His footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, each one a hollow reverberation of his bitter thoughts. Annatar moved with single-minded purpose, his robes billowing slightly as he strode forward, his eyes as dark and tumultuous as the storm raging outside.

He would not be deterred.

Not by Celebrimbor’s hesitation.

Not by your pleas.

Not even by the fragile life growing within you—the child he had sworn to protect and cherish above all else.

That promise, once sacred, now felt like a distant echo of another life. Another man.

It was as if something deep inside him had fractured beyond repair, a vital piece that had once tethered him to who he had been. The warmth, the compassion, the love that had softened his edges and guided his actions for so long—it had drained away, slipping through his fingers like sand, leaving behind only an aching void.

A void he filled with cold, unyielding resolve.

This would not be another failure.

This would not be another loss.

The world did not change through hesitation, through softness, through fear. It changed through will. Through fire. Through power.

And so he would see this through.

He would forge the rings, with or without Celebrimbor’s aid.

Let the world resist.

Let you resist.

It would not change what had already been set in motion.

[weirdsht]

I have this random idea and I neeed to yap about it here lmaoo

I'm just thinking about krs taking care of a teen around locks age, he met them at some point of the apocalypse and decided to take them under his wing.

let's say they transmigrated together or reader a bit after krs, but they meet at some point in the novel, anyways bc krs!cale took care of them for a good 3-4 years before the transmigration he subconsciously does the things he did before without noticing.

another random thing that came to mind:

idk someone: "wow young master, you really know this kid"

cale: "I hope i do i took care of them for a good 3 years"

random person: "when???"

ignore how this might not make sense storywise and probably characterwise, I'm really sleepy 🙏

Homecoming - Cale & Teen! Reader

a/n: i want to write more but my brain is all out of creative juices because almost all of my profs are making us write essays every day. not to mention that directing thingy i need to do for that stupid uni short film

tags: fluff, platonic, reader is unhinge if you squint, gn!reader

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Requests are open and welcome

Navigation Masterlist

“...What are you doing here?”

That was the first thing Cale asked you as soon as he saw you.

“And you are..?”

Was your question to respond to his question.

Because why is this random nobleman talking to you as if he knew you? Sure he reminds you a bit of Kim Rok Soo but still.

This guy is essentially a stranger and your big brother Rok Soo has taught you stranger-danger.

You can see the redhead sigh before pushing his hair back with his left hand. There’s a look of fondness and frustration in his eyes, another thing that reminds you of your big brother.

Kim Rok Soo wasn’t actually your big brother biologically speaking. Both of you were orphans who found each other in the middle of a ruined world. Two abandoned people who found solace within each other. 

You quite literally tripped into Rok Soo’s life a few months after he became a team leader.

The same way how you literally tripped into this weird noble’s porch. 

Speaking of which, that said noble is now telling everyone to give the two of you some privacy. He even asked the cute baby dragon to put a soundproof barrier around the room.

“Are you doing that to mask my screams when you kill me?”

You couldn’t help but ask once everyone was out of the room. Rok Soo had always told you about not letting your impulsive thoughts win but you couldn’t help it.

Cale sighed loudly and tiredly, exactly the same reaction your Rok Soo would do when you said something stupid.

“No I’m not gonna kill you, and no I’m not going to eat you either so don’t even ask.”

You clamped your mouth shut after that. The question dying on your tongue before you could even ask it.

“I’m going explain myself and then you’ll do the same okay?”

You nodded seeing as you don’t really have a choice. You’re in this guy’s turf and there’s no way you can outrun a dragon and whatever monster of a people this guy has with him. And so you behaved yourself and settled on the plush couch you were escorted to.

“My name is Cale Henituse, or at least that’s my current name. I used to be Kim Rok Soo back on Earth before I died.”

…okay what?

What now?

He was who?

Kim Rok Soo— well you guess he goes by Cale now — knows you well enough to know that this information would cause your brain to overdrive. And so he has a glass of iced water prepared for your poor self to drink.

“Wha- how- huh?”

You tried to formulate words after gulping the water but your mind is still reeling. There’s simply no comprehending this new information bought upon you.

But it’s fine since Cale is willing to wait for you to come around.

Even after 3 weeks of waiting, his still very patient.

He knows when to give you space, but also knows when to spend time with you. Cale knows exactly when you need him to be there for you and when your mind is confused about him being a stranger but also being the big brother you dearly love.

Of course, this raised some questions with the others. Cale suddenly took in another teen one day and he seemed to have known them all his life even though he just met them 3 weeks ago.

“Young master you seem to really know that kid.”

Hans asked one day. In a short distance, Ron was also listening in while dusting some decorative vases.

"I hope I do, I took care of them for a good 3 years."

Was Cale’s nonchalant answer before leaving the room in order to go to your bedroom. He had promised you that he’ll let you wander around the forest today after all. 

Meanwhile, the two servants are flabbergasted — Ron was just hiding it better than Hans.

“...3 years? How did he hide from us that he took care of a child, an entire human being, for three whole years??”

Hans asked and the only answer he got was the dust from Ron’s feather duster flying towards his face.

[the-original-skipps]

IM SO GLAD IM NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT THOUGHT SUO WAS A RICH KID

Like wdym he drinks all kind of tea? Wdym he wears silk?? Like he’s def rich and he can buy tea cakes from all over the world. He’s definitely rich.

Now think abt bf!Suo who spoils you, telling you to spend his money however you want as he slide his credit card into your hands like a smooth fucker and watch you drag him around into different stores to buy whatever you want and him watching you try on the different outfits. And he’s observant too, he’ll probably buy you whatever you laid your eyes on for more than a second which can probably get annoying since you’ll have gifts on your doorsteps everyday or if you live together, gifts all around the house for you to find…everyday

Like he’s the type to refuse to let you pay for the bill and if you try to fight for it…good luck to you. Speaking of dates, he would typically take you to fancy tea shops of all kind, from traditional Japanese ones to high end afternoon tea shops because he’s bougie like that

Yes I’ve thought about this and yes I’ve ranted this to other people, do I care? No. :D

- 🪷

I’m so sorry for the late reply I swear my ask box sometimes

AHHH I SEE WE SHARE THE SAME VISION tea ain’t cheap I see green tea in the super market and I’m like damn he gotta be rich rich for sure he even called sakura’s apartment a bachelor’s place like boy you must be living hella good to say that hahahaha

NOW SUO AS A BOYFRIEND PLUS HES RICH?!! I swear dude has a black card in his wallet shopping trips consists of him paying for everything I MEAN EVERYTHING oh you like that dior bag LEMME JUST GET FOR YOU PLUS HES A GENTLEMAN SO HE CARRIES ALL YOUR BAGS stop this poor man before everything you own is from suo lol

GOSH HES BOUGIE AS HELL FOR SURE I MEAN JUST LOOK AT HIM OH GOSH NOW IMAGINE WHEN HE GETS HIS DRIVERS LICENSE HE TAKIN YOU OUT IN THAT LIMITED EDITION BLACK PORCHE OR DUCATI?!! AHHHHH I CAN GO ON AND ON

SHARE WITH ME MORE OF YOUR IDEAS I LOVE EM

[jjscrybaby]

hi! can you one with rafe where his girl as asthma — maybe she’s had shortness of breath throughout the day and he can tell she’s not doing ok. or like at night, he wakes up without her and she’s needing steam from the faucet or shower to help her with her attack?

just an idea! i just love when he takes care of his girl xx

rafe cameron x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (asthma attack, cutie pie rafe, rafe being an amazing bf.)

thankyou for the req angel, hope you enjoy this! i don’t have asthma, so i did as much research as i could for this to be accurate so if it isn’t i very much apologise!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Rafe’s eyes blinked open, a soft groan leaving his mouth as he looked over to the window. It was still dark out, he definitely didn’t need to be awake yet. He closed his eyes again, turning over to throw his arm around your waist; his hand landed on an empty bed.

He opened his eyes in confusion, sitting up tiredly to look around the room. It was empty, no one there but him, but the bedroom door was ajar. He groaned again, forcing himself to his feet to go and find you.

The sound of the shower running caught his attention, he quickened his pace as he opened the door to the guest bathroom and stepped inside. You were sat against the bathtub, still clothed, taking sharp, croaky breaths. Steam filled the room, and he instantly knew what was going on.

“Hey, baby,” he cooed, kneeling down beside you. You let out another breath, it sounded painful. “Why haven’t you used your inhaler?”

“Can’t find it,” you croak out, he has to fight the urge to tell you off.

“Okay, baby. I know where the spare is, wait here one second, okay?” He murmured, running a hand through your hair as he stood back up and left the room.

He kept two spares, one in his bedside table and the other in his truck for when the two of you were out. He rushed to the bedroom and pulled open the drawer, grabbing it before making his way back to you. You’re now holding your chest, letting out wheezes and dry coughs.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he urged as he shook the inhaler and then pushed it past your lips. He pressed down on it and you inhaled the medicine slowly. “Good girl,” he praised softly as you breathed it in.

Your breathing slowly went back to normal, your chest loosening and your head starting to feel less dizzy. You leant against his chest, his hand rubbing up and down your back. You’d felt off all day, breathing had been difficult but not difficult enough for you to mention anything to Rafe.

“Why didn’t you wake me, huh?” He asked, reaching over you to switch the shower off. “Hate the thought of you strugglin’ in here by yourself.”

You looked down at your hands, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Didn’t want you to be mad that I lost my inhaler.”

“Silly girl,” he murmured, kissing your temple. He stood up and helped you to your feet, arm wrapping around your waist to lead you back to bed. “We’re gonna get a designated spot, yeah? You need that shit, y’know that.”

“I know,” you pouted, leaning your body weight on him.

He hummed, laying you down in bed before crawling in beside you. His arm wrapped tightly around your waist, tugging you backwards so you were fully in his arms.

“Next time, you tell me. What kinda boyfriend am I if you’re doin’ this shit alone?” He reprimanded, leaving open kisses to your cheek to soften the blow of his telling off.

“Promise,” you nodded, holding onto his hand that was wrapped around you.

“Get some sleep, baby. Know you must be tired out,” he urged.

He stayed awake until he was sure you were asleep, and he made a mental note to come up with a plan so you’d stop losing your damn inhaler. He just couldn’t bring himself to properly tell you off, not when it means he gets to take care of you.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

bonus i came up with when finding the header pics (i don’t want to talk about how long it took me to make, someone lmk what app they use for fake messages pls)

[muniimyg]

♡ 01: maybe it's all in my head

series m.list // taglist

note: hihiii ,, this jk has been rotting my mind for a while now ... time to ruin urs !!! enj the tension ,, (i miss being toxic) lmk what u guys think of their dynamic tho <3 excited to share their little story with u ,, mwaaaa

warnings: oc and jk are mean in this fic !!! pls don't comment being whiney abt it :') !!! oc overhears jk fucking someone ,, jealousy ,, banter

//

“oh. it’s you.”

leaning against the doorframe, jungkook looks at you half disgusted and half disappointed. his arms are crossed with one eyebrow lifted. he blocks your entrance.

“now, now,” you reach over and ruffle his hair. he shifts, dodging your touch. “don’t be so excited. i know your boring life just waits for my presence—oh. i get it. were you expecting someone? usually you’re thrilled to see me.”

jungkook’s expression doesn’t shift, though there’s a faint glint in his eyes. 

“thrilled is reaching, don’t you think?”

“is it?”

“yeah.”

you roll your eyes, brushing past him with a teasing smile. 

“right, so… which are you today? mr. save the dolphins or professor chem?”

jungkook scoffs at you.

“at least my marine conservation interest and organic chem major help the world. what’s your major again? yap-conomics or bitch-ology?”

“help the world?” you almost burst into laughter. “god, you are such a nerd.”

“nerd? i don’t know about you, but some of us care about—”

“yeah, yeah,” you wave him off. “are you waiting for a nobel peace prize or something? holy shit, jungkook. learn to relax a little. you’re so serious. it’s cute, really… but only when you aren’t so anal about it.”

cute?

jungkook feels his chest tighten.

before he can make a comeback, taehyung calls you to the living room.

“___? is that you? stop trying to edge jungkook! get in here! i need your data for our paper!” 

you stick your tongue out at jungkook before turning away and rushing to the living room. your lips curl into a smug grin as you saunter off, leaving jungkook muttering something under his breath. you catch him rolling his eyes just before you disappear around the corner, a small flicker of triumph igniting in your chest.

the living room is warm, filled with the faint hum of taehyung’s lo-fi playlist and the smell of old books—his aesthetic, no doubt. taehyung is sprawled on the couch, laptop open, an arm draped lazily over the cushions. his wide grin grows wider when he sees you. 

“i’m here!”

“finally! come on, genius. enlighten me,” he says, patting the seat next to him.

you plop down beside him, legs folded under you, your laptop balanced precariously on your knees. “genius? are you sucking up to me because you didn’t do your part of the project yet?”

“yup,” he says, shrugging, his head tilted lazily to the side. “if you don’t send me that data tonight, though, i might call you something less flattering.”

you laugh, the sound soft and light, and lean into the cushions, already pulling up the necessary files. 

“your boyfriend’s in a mood.”

“he always is when you’re around,” taehyung teases. “he only answered the door cos he thought it was his student. your face must’ve pissed him off.”

chuckling at his response, you ask another question. 

“where are the guys?”

“they’ll be home soon,” taehyung answers. “said they wanna eat out tonight after jungkook’s tutoring session. you coming with?”

“sure,” you agree. 

then, the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, bouncing ideas back and forth while taehyung clicks through your notes, occasionally throwing in a sarcastic remark or two that makes you nudge him with your elbow.

a few minutes later, you hear an unfamiliar laugh and footsteps approaching.

jungkook strides in, casual and confident as always, but this time a girl is trailing after him. 

she’s pretty. 

the two exchange a few murmured words before jungkook’s eyes flicker briefly in your direction. he raises a hand in a lazy acknowledgment, the girl following suit, and say hi. taehyung nods at them and then they’re gone—slipping upstairs in the blink of an eye. 

the sound of his bedroom door clicking shut echoes faintly.

and then, it rings in your ear. 

you blink, your fingers frozen mid-typing on the keyboard. something gnaws at your chest, sharp and unfamiliar, leaving a bitter taste at the back of your throat. taehyung, oblivious, scrolls through your notes, muttering about formatting errors.

but you… you’re somewhere else entirely. 

what was that?

no name?

no introduction?

did she think you were taehyung's girlfriend or something? that jungkook was all for her?

oh god.

there's a weird twist in your stomach. it feels like a prickle of irritation spreading across your skin like an itch you can’t scratch… you shake your head, trying to brush it off, but the image of jungkook—smirking as usual, leaning casually against the banister, that girl so effortlessly fitting into the space beside him—lingers, stubborn and unshakable…

what the fuck.

it’s not like you and jungkook are close. 

you’re frenemies, at best. 

unsure of when it started exactly—but it’s been happening long enough for it to be routine and well-known in the friendgroup. you two are the kind of people who throw jabs at each other during game nights and compete to see who can make the snarkiest comment without crossing the line. you’re always caught in this stupid cycle of one-upping each other, all for the entertainment of the group. sometimes, more for yourself. life gets boring pretty quickly, and jungkook is your fastest source of entertainment. 

yet, why does it feel like you’ve just lost some unspoken game?

your chest tightens, and you lower your gaze to your laptop, fingers hovering over the keys. you bite the inside of your cheek, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to kick… this icky feeling begins to take over and your mind races with reasons as to why.

maybe it’s because jungkook’s always been so good at getting under your skin. 

maybe it’s because, for all his teasing and relentless bickering, there’s this… comfort in knowing that he’s always there, right across the table, firing back at you like he knows exactly how to push your buttons.

and maybe that’s the problem.

because now, with someone else upstairs, laughing at something he probably said, you’re starting to realize that you might actually care more than you thought.

maybe you care because you’re not the one in his room he’s trying to make laugh.

after a few hours pass, everyone’s stomach beings to grumble. 

for the past 20 minutes, the guys have been begging you to go up and call jungkook down. he hasn’t been answering their texts and all argue that if they go up and knock; he’ll just ignore them. 

… but if you do it…

he’ll answer.

even if it’s just to insult you. 

you glance up at the clock, already mentally calculating the time. you're not really in the mood for another round of back-and-forth with him, but you know they'll just keep pushing you.

"please, please, please, ___!” taehyung cries, pouting. “i really need pad thai. like… so bad. like, i might die. please go get jungkook.”

you hesitate, your eyes flicking to the stairs. 

jungkook hasn’t come out at all. you don’t want to disturb anything and he’s a total grumpy-head when his study time is disrupted… what more if it’s a tutoring lesson? the last time you went up there, it ended with you calling him a dumbass and him tossing a pillow at you.

“i think you guys can go get him this time," you say, turning your attention back to your phone, pretending to scroll through a message.

"oh come on," jimin presses. "you know, at the end of the day… he only really listens to you." his voice drips with exaggeration, but it only makes you roll your eyes.

"yeah, that’s true…" hobi adds with a playful smirk, leaning back into the couch. "you’re like his… little bitch or something."

you shoot them both a look. “you think i’m his bitch?"

“either that or he’s your little bitch.”

you scoff at him. “please do not disgrace bitches by associating them with him.”

“fine, fine,” jin says with a dramatic sigh, raising his hands in mock surrender. “we won’t force you to go up… we’ll bribe you!”

your interest piques as you glance up at him, eyebrow raised. 

“bribe me? how much cash do you have today?”

yoongi and nam joon share a look. then, nam joon leans forward, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“milk tea," he offers, his voice low and enticing, like he knows exactly what will catch your attention. "… any boba store you want. any time… for a week, ___.”

you try to fight the grin that starts tugging at your lips. 

fuck it. 

you nod begrudgingly, slipping your phone into your pocket. 

“deal.”

taehyung bursts out laughing. “deal."

with a resigned sigh, you head for the stairs. 

as you climb up, you prepare yourself. 

you prepare yourself for his death glare and the innocent girl in the background. you prepare yourself for his snarky comments and his sweet tone of voice the minute he turns around to talk to her. you prepare yourself to feel sick to your stomach again. 

as you stand in front of his bedroom door and raise your fist to knock—you hear it. 

rather, you hear them. 

the unmistakable sound of his voice, muffled but clear enough that you can make out the low hum of his tone, followed by a girl’s laugh—a breathy, high-pitched laugh that makes your stomach twist.

you freeze, standing in the doorway, caught between disbelief and something you can’t quite name. your heartbeat picks up in your chest, your body tensing as the reality of the situation settles over you.

you’re not sure what exactly it is—maybe it’s the fact that it’s so casual, or maybe it’s the way the sound of it makes you feel like you’re intruding—but you feel a sudden flush creep up your neck and cheeks.

“oh my god, o-oh my g-god! t-that’s it, jungkook! oh god, baby… f-fuck!”

“fuck—you close, baby?”

“so close, baby. so fucking close. g-god, yes, yes, yes! nghh—fuck! so big, jungkook. oh my god, oh my god! fuck me, fuck me… j-just like that, baby. yes, y-yes–o-oh! mhmmmphhh—”

"shit, shit, shit..."

"fuck me harder, jungkook. please! o-oh? oh! oh my god! yes... yes! thank you, baby. thank you, thank you! ahhh... oh my god..."

you swallow, stepping back, retreating to the stairs. 

the guilt of overhearing makes your pulse race in an odd way, like you’ve been caught in something you weren’t supposed to see.

at the bottom of the stairs, you pause, your hand on the banister, unsure whether you should stay or go. 

you quickly decide. 

you’re already feeling the sting of something sharp and unfamiliar in your chest.

“guys,” you say quickly, trying to keep your tone light, but there’s an edge to it you can’t mask. "y-you know what? i think i’ll just head home. i’ve got a ton of work to do.”

they look at you, confused. taehyung blinks a couple of times, jimin frowning. 

“but we—"

"y-yeah,” you breathe. “i… i know. i just… it’s all good. you guys can go ahead without me,” you add, forcing a smile.

“slow down, ___. what—”

“i feel sick,” you confess. “okay? i feel sick.”

“okay… can one of us drive you home or something—”

“no. i’m good. thank you, though… i.. i gotta go.”

they all frown, their confusion morphing into concern, but you’ve already grabbed your things and hurried out the door before they can protest.

the cold night air feels like a slap to your face as you walk away, but it doesn’t quite shake the unsettled feeling in your stomach. 

you can’t stop thinking about it. 

about how you feel.

about what you heard.

about how much you fucking hate jeon jungkook.

it’s almost 10PM by the time you finish showering. your hair is still damp, hanging loosely around your shoulders as you brush it out in front of the mirror. the soft swish of the brush is the only sound in the room, your thoughts still lingering on what happened earlier. the image of Jungkook with that girl, the sound of their voices together, keeps replaying in your mind, and it won’t leave.

you shut your eyes and try to forget. 

taking a breath in—your moment is interrupted by a knock on your door. 

you frown, glancing at the clock before moving to the door, towel still hanging from your shoulders. it’s late, and you weren’t expecting anyone. 

heading towards the door, you wonder who it is.

then, when you open the door, you freeze.

there, standing in the hallway with a takeout bag in hand, is jungkook. his face is unreadable, but his eyes—those eyes—seem to be searching yours for something. you can’t quite figure out what.

you blink, caught off guard by the unexpected visit, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

“uh…” jungkook clears his throat, breaking the silence, his voice lower than usual. “the guys think i did something to piss you off… so i’m supposed to say sorry for… whatever i did.”

“you didn’t do anything,” you lie. “goodnight.”

just as you’re about to shut the door, he takes a step forward. 

“___,” he says, tone flat and annoyed. “don’t be a bitch. just tell me what i did so i can apologize, go home and tell them what i did wrong, and we can act like nothing happened—”

“okay,” you shrug. “you wore an ugly shirt today. there. say sorry.”

jungkook winces at you. 

“seriously?”

you shrug again. 

“what do you want, jungkook? i have nothing to say to you—”

“i don’t fucking understand where all this attitude is coming from. i didn’t do shit to you today. you know i didn’t… so, can you please use your tiny brain to make something up? something more convincing than hating my fucking shirt.” 

you nod, pretending to care. then, just as you reach for the door to shut it again; jungkook swiftly moves past you. he lets himself in. 

“they’re worried you didn’t eat,” he states. “did you eat?”

you groan at him. “why the fuck do you care?”

“i don’t.”

but his actions say otherwise. 

jungkook then takes off his shoes and heads to your coffee table. he sits himself on the floor and begins to unpack the food. silently, you watch as he does so and can’t help but feel like throwing up. 

“eat,” he commands. 

you glare at him. 

“get out.”

jungkook leans back against your couch. “eat, tell me what i did wrong, then i’ll leave.”

“leave first.”

“eat first.”

“get out.”

“holy shit,” jungkook scoffs. “are you even capable of forming a complex sentence, or is that too much for you? ___, this is called a conversation. you’re supposed to—"

“get out.”

jungkook sighs heavily. 

a silence falls upon you two. 

jungkook has had difficult days with you before.

this is nothing new… but for some reason, right now feels harder than the other days. partly because most days he knows when he’s being an asshole—but today? he has no clue. 

he’s in the dark. 

jungkook clears his throat. 

“i didn’t yell at you today,” he starts. “i didn’t call you names. you called me a nerd but that was it… your face ruined my day but i guess it made the others pretty happy since they were so pissed at me for being the reason why you left… so, hey… how about this? you tell me what i did wrong for the guys. not for me.”

you raise an eyebrow at him. 

his eyes plead. 

then, a moment passes. 

instead of answering him, you pick up your feet and sit on the floor beside him. you look at the door and take the utensils from the bag. poking at the food, you contemplate on telling him what’s going on in your head. 

just as you’re about to eat a spoonful of the food, you suddeny feel jungkook close to you. without saying a word, his fingers brush lightly against your cheek, making you hold your breath. his hand moves to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear, carefully pushing it out of the way so it doesn’t fall into your food. 

the gesture is so unexpectedly gentle that it catches you off guard, and for a second, you’re just left there, staring at him.

he looks at you sincerely. in his eyes, you can see his defeat. 

you don’t know if it was the gesture or the look in his eyes—but your words slip out of your mouth faster than you can think to stop it. 

“she was too loud.”

he tilts his head at you. 

“oh,” jungkook connects. his expression stiffens for a split second, then he schools it back into calm. “overheard, did you?” he asks, leaning in slightly, voice a low murmur. 

“oh, i definitely heard,” you reply, folding her arms, feigning thoughtfulness. “don’t act so cocky… she sounded like she was faking it.”

he stares, jaw flexing, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something challenging in his eyes. 

“that’s cute coming from someone who couldn’t even stay for dinner.”

suddenly that pang of jealousy again hits again. 

you know you should just brush it off… keep your cool and act nonchalant about it—but something about jungkook just makes you feel so off balance. 

“maybe i had better things to do,” you retort. 

“like what?” 

you shrug. 

“like leave.”

“you should’ve knocked,” jungkook smirks. “i would’ve opened the door. we don’t mind an audience usually.” 

there it is again. 

the sick, sinking, icky feeling. 

“you two fuck often?”

jungkook looks away, taking a moment to think. 

“yeah,” he admits. “what? surprised nerds get laid?”

you stay quiet. 

“i mean.. it’s not really any of your business…" he mutters, though there’s a tension in his voice that doesn’t match his casual shrug. you can tell he's trying to brush it off, but the way his jaw tightens betrays him.

you feel your stomach tighten, the words you threw out lingering in the air between you, each one heavier than the last. you weren’t expecting him to react like this—maybe a joke or a deflecting comment—but not this… 

tension.

"right," you reply, your tone softer than you intended. you glance down at your food, suddenly losing your appetite. the casual air you were hoping for is long gone, replaced by an uncomfortable silence that neither of you seems willing to break.

jungkook shifts uncomfortably, rubbing the back of his neck before clearing his throat. 

"look, it’s not like that," he adds quickly, but the words sound almost too defensive. "she’s just... i don’t know. it’s nothing serious."

you don’t respond immediately, still caught up in the strange mix of feelings his words stir in you. the way he said it—like it was nothing serious—feels too much like an attempt to distance himself from whatever was going on.

you’re not sure what you wanted from this conversation, but now all you feel is a growing knot in your chest.

"yeah," you mutter, trying to sound indifferent, but the weight of his words hangs in the air, making your throat feel tight. "whatever you say—”

“why do you care anyway?” jungkook’s voice is sharp now, a slight edge creeping into his tone as he looks at you, his expression shifting from defensive to something you can’t quite place.

you’re caught off guard by the question. 

you weren’t prepared for that, weren’t prepared for the way it makes your chest tighten. why do you care? it’s not like you have any right to, right?

you open your mouth, but the words don’t come out. Instead, you just shrug, trying to play it cool, but you can feel your pulse quicken. 

"i don’t. i just—"

"you just what?" he interrupts, his brow furrowing, as though he’s not buying the act. "you’ve never cared before. why start now?"

you clench your fists at your sides, feeling the sting of his words more than you want to admit. There’s a part of you that wants to tell him—tell him how seeing him with her, hearing them laugh together, makes something ugly twist in your stomach. 

but you can’t.

"i don’t know," you finally mutter, your voice quieter than before. “it's weird. like, of course i knew you weren't a virgin but... are you actually that good? then again… doesn’t take much to fake sounds like her.”

jungkook’s eyes flicker to yours, something unreadable passing through them before he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. then, he smirks. 

it’s more calculated, though… like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

"curious?"

"disgusted, actually."

a beat.

"what, you wanted it to be you?" he asks, his voice smooth, a challenge in his tone.

you almost choke on your breath, but you recover quickly. "me? sleeping with you? please."

he lets out a low laugh, but it’s not playful this time. 

it’s more mocking. 

“yeah, i mean, i don’t even want you that bad…" he takes a slow look at you, like he's mentally assessing you, deciding if you’re worth his time. "not even close."

the words sting more than they should, but you keep your composure. 

you try to look unbothered, but his next words twist the knife a little deeper.

“fuck you.”

"you wish i’d fuck you," he remarks, almost casually, like it's no big deal. "would make things easier, huh?"

your chest tightens, and something about the way he says it makes your blood run cold. It’s not just teasing anymore—it’s a jab.

but you refuse to let him see how much it affects you.

"i’m not interested in you," you shoot back, your voice betraying none of the discomfort you’re feeling. 

he leans in a little, eyes never leaving yours. 

"really?" 

“really.”

his smirk widens, and you can feel the tension crackling in the air. 

“guess what? i think you care more than you're letting on. you act like you don’t give a shit, but it’s so obvious you’re just pissed it’s not you in my bed."

you bite your lip, trying to keep your voice steady, but something betrays you in the way your heart races. 

"i’m not pissed," you mutter, the words coming out too quickly, like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him. "why would i be?"

jungkook watches you for a moment, taking in every little reaction. 

"i don’t know, ___," he says, his tone low and teasing, like he’s enjoying every second of this. "but it’s cute. you’re all flushed, trying to act like you don’t care, but i can see right through you."

you grit your teeth, wanting to snap back, but instead, you just look away. 

"shut up," you mutter, frustrated with yourself more than anything. "you’re such an asshole sometimes, you know?"

he laughs again, but this time there’s something darker in it, almost like he's reveling in your frustration. 

“i don’t think you’re as immune to me as you pretend to be," he says. "but hey, don’t stress about it, baby. i’m not that interested either. i mean, what’s the fun in fucking you? it’d be harder getting rid of you than getting in your pants.”

you feel the sting of his words hit harder than they should.

“are you done?” you mutter, forcing a nonchalant tone. "and don't call me baby. you called her baby. i don't want to be associated—"

"you think you'd fold as fast as she did?"

jungkook’s eyes flicker with something that could almost be amusement—or maybe something else. he clears his throat.

“shit, ___. i’m sorry—”

“yeah?” 

you don't know why, but something inside you snaps. 

you shift your body close to him. so close that you glance at his lips, then back up to his eyes, as if you’re weighing something—daring him to make a move.

jungkook’s body tenses, his breath shallow, like he's ready to close the distance… to make some sort of move. his lips part slightly as if he's about to speak, but before he can, you push him away. 

now, he’s tongue tied.

“shit, jungkook... i'm sorry," you mock him. "but you're wrong... this is fun."

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s. 

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side. 

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him. 

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night. 

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real. 

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word. 

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one. 

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair. 

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question. 

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to. 

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment. 

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth. 

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.” 

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up. 

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table. 

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you. 

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God. 

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out. 

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you. 

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially. 

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door. 

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal. 

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you. 

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you. 

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable. 

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong. 

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him. 

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss. 

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up. 

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine. 

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment. 

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze. 

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound. 

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text. 

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling. 

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will. 

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough. 

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty. 

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly. 

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan. 

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck. 

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak. 

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you. 

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more. 

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?” 

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent. 

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him. 

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet. 

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about. 

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers. 

Long night, huh? I remember those days. 

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all. 

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor. 

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning. 

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated. 

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation. 

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away. 

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.” 

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him. 

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see. 

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken. 

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away. 

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down. 

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem. 

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve. 

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently. 

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad. 

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what. 

But that’s not the topic at hand. 

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow. 

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response. 

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting. 

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers. 

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back. 

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting. 

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here. 

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough. 

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you. 

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list. 

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough. 

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice. 

He can’t not worry. 

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him. 

-

part nine

[spencerreidenjoyer]

please, please, please | spencer reid x reader

wc: 2.8k, rating: explicit/18+

tags/warnings: office sex, professor!spencer/student!fem!reader, age gap (20 years?), rough sex, blowjobs, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, title kink (being called sir), questionable relationship, dubious consent (they both want it but again it’s teacher/student so…)

a/n: read too many professor!spencer fics and decided i had to throw my hat in the ring. i feel crazy and i need him desperately. pls go crazy with me too. (ao3 link here!)

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice how Dr. Spencer Reid fails to hide the way he stares at you in his lectures, his eyes always lingering on you even when he’s addressing the entire classroom. 

Maybe you’re just sensitive to his gaze, because he’s an extremely intelligent man whose attention you’re more than happy to have on you, given the fact that he is insanely attractive.

Maybe you’re just as attracted to him as he seems to be with you, because you absolutely preen at the attention Dr. Reid gives you in class, words of praise over your ideas often free-flowing from his lips.

Maybe because you know how hot you are, you shouldn’t have come into Dr. Reid’s office in a low-cut top and a short plaid skirt asking to discuss your final essay in his Criminal Psychology class. 

Both you and Dr. Reid know you’re more than capable of acing this paper, your in-class ideas clearly brilliant enough to impress Dr. Reid himself. And yet, you’re in his office, seemingly worried about how to get your thoughts across on paper. 

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice how you’re positively bluffing, a little too eloquent to sound truly uncertain of yourself in your work for Dr. Reid’s class.

It doesn’t take an FBI profiler to notice the way Dr. Reid is staring at your tits in your top, eyes only flicking back up to your face when he realises he should be looking at you while you speak instead of at your… assets.

“Sir, did you catch what I just said?” You prod, very aware he most definitely did not hear you. You note how his eyes widen when you call him sir. 

“Um– Well, I–” Dr. Reid starts, but it’s no use. 

You stand up, putting your hands on the desk as you sigh, “Dr. Reid, I’m sorry if I’m boring you with my thought process.”

Your arms frame your tits just right, and you catch the way Dr. Reid’s eyes inevitably flit down to your cleavage. It’s so obvious when he looks back up at you, and you see his face redden. You quirk an eyebrow at him as a challenge of sorts, and he looks somewhat apologetic. 

Dr. Reid clears his throat. He avoids your eyes for a moment, as he moves to take off his blazer. “I apologise. I’m just… distracted at the moment.”

“I wonder why that is,” you hum, twirling a piece of your hair with your index finger, like you’re deep in thought. Then, like the already-obvious answer just hits you, you add, with a pout: “Oh! Do I distract you, sir?” 

“What are you doing?” Dr. Reid asks, and you can hear the way he’s trying to keep his voice steady, calm.

“I don’t know, sir,” you shrug. “Maybe you should share your thoughts with me.”

Dr. Reid blinks at you, takes the sight of you in. “Well, you’re giving me a hard time right about now.”

“Why?” You cock your head to the side. He closes his eyes and breathes in deep, just for a moment. 

Your professor’s tone biting, he answers candidly, “Your revealing clothing choice makes it difficult for me to focus. I didn’t expect you to dress like a slut when you were coming into my office for a simple consultation.”

Your sharp inhale is audible in the pindrop-silent room. Dr. Reid meets your eyes. He pauses for a moment, and you watch his tongue dart out to wet his lips. His eyes are dark. With a flick of his finger, he says, “Come here.”

You think of leaning over the desk just to fuck with him even more, but Dr. Reid looks so serious you think you might be in actual trouble. You scurry over to his side of the desk, standing next to him. He turns his chair towards you, and you can see the bulge in your professor’s pants. He’s big.

“You want this?” Dr. Reid says gently. It’s a loaded question. 

Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “Yes, sir. I want you.”

“Good. Then get on your knees.” It’s a command, in a deep voice you’ve never heard from Dr. Reid in the past three months in his lectures. You hope your knees won’t bruise from the way you fall to them in a heartbeat.

“I didn’t think you would be such a slut.” Dr. Reid smirks, and it makes a shiver run down your spine. His hand reaches towards you, cups your cheek. He slaps your cheek gently, but the suddenness makes you gasp. “Fuck, you drive me crazy in class, but now I have you like this? I must have done something amazing in a past life to have you on your knees for me now.”

“Sir,” you exhale shakily. His touch is soft, his thumb stroking your cheek with a surprising sweetness. 

“Let’s put that mouth to good use, hmm?” Dr. Reid says, his tone warm, syrupy sweet. He reaches for his belt, the metal clink as he undoes it making heat quickly pool between your legs. The belt gets tossed aside and he unzips his fly, pulling his half-hard cock out. You watch as his large hand wraps around himself, as he strokes his cock absentmindedly. His eyes are only on you. Your body flushes hot with arousal.

Dr. Reid beckons you closer with a finger. You look up at him, and you take his cock in your hand. His eyes tell you everything you need to know. You lean forward to take him into your mouth. You wrap your lips around the head of his cock softly, the warmth of your mouth probably feeling like heaven as Dr. Reid moans quietly as you do. You swirl your tongue over his tip, tasting the saltiness of his precome.

His hand comes up to the back of your head as he watches you suck his cock. You’re kitten-licking at his tip, which doesn’t seem like enough for him. Dr. Reid pushes your head down on his cock, forcing you to take more of him into your mouth. He’s big, so the sudden fullness of your mouth coupled with the way he hits the back of your throat makes you choke slightly. You glance up at him. He’s smirking. 

“I’m sure you know how to suck cock, don’t you? Like this, sweetheart.” His tone is close to condescending, as the fist in your hair drags your head up and down on his cock. While it’s not like you don’t know how to please a man, Dr. Reid treating you this way makes you swoon – his teacherly mannerisms turning you on impossibly. 

You gag as Dr. Reid fucks your face down onto his cock, his groans mixing with your wet, choked noises. He clearly seems to enjoy this, using you how he pleases, uncaring of your own arousal. It’s so hot you feel like you might explode. You hope you’ll get more out of this than just sucking your professor off, because if he doesn’t reciprocate you might have half a mind to report him for unprofessional conduct.

But Dr. Reid is moaning into his fist, eyebrows furrowed as you blow him, and you’ve always wanted to please your professor; be it in class or right in this moment.

You reach up to grab Dr. Reid by his wrist, tapping his arm to get his attention. His eyelids flutter open, revealing his gorgeously deep brown eyes. He looks at you, slightly concerned. “What’s the matter?”

You swallow hard. “Sir, I– Will you fuck me? Please? I want- I want to feel you inside.”

Dr. Reid closes his eyes for a moment, breathes through his nose. “Holy fucking shit,” He murmurs to himself, before he says, louder, “Okay. Yes. Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

You don’t get up from your knees, not just yet. You look up at him, hands in your lap, waiting for him to tell you what to do. You smirk up at him. Dr. Reid sighs, rubbing his face with his hand, and says, “You little minx. Get up on my desk.”

He extends a hand to help you up, your legs shaky from being on your knees. You look behind you to figure out how to get yourself onto the desk, but Dr. Reid is also on his feet now, and he hoists you up onto the desk, easily getting between your spread legs. You steady yourself by placing your hands out behind you, and shudder when Dr. Reid’s big, warm hands grab at your thighs. He squeezes at the flesh, before one hand comes down to your clothed pussy. He swipes his thumb over your clit, over your hole, and he tuts. “You’re so wet already. You must be desperate.”

You shudder. Dr. Reid’s touch is not enough to feel good, as he barely teases you over your panties. “You should do something about it, Professor.”

“I will,” he says. Dr. Reid exhales, looking down between where your bodies are pressed close, his hard cock pressed against your cunt. “Look at what you’ve done to me. You’ve ruined me.”

“Sir,” you say sultrily. “You should fuck me now.”

“I will,” he repeats, his hand on your hip. He looks you up and down, and then Dr. Reid’s hand is sliding across your thigh, his fingers slipping up the hem of your skirt. You feel calloused thumbs teasing at the waistband of your panties, feel them dip past the elastic to pull them down. 

Cool air hits your cunt, as Dr. Reid slides your panties off your legs. He’s looking down at you, between your legs, clearly enjoying the view. You clear your throat, and he looks up at you, almost sheepish. He says, his voice cracking slightly, “You’re gorgeous.”

You smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, Dr. Reid.”

“Yeah?” He laughs. “I’m glad you think so.”

As you talk, Dr. Reid has mindlessly started to rut his cock along your leaking cunt, your steadily-flowing slick making the slide easy. It’s so good, even just the friction of your professor frotting against you. You hold back a moan, looking up into Dr. Reid’s eyes.

“Sir– Oh, fuck,” you moan, as his cock slips inside of you with the way he grinds against you, your hole letting him in too easily. You’re so wet that he’d just slipped in. The feeling stuns you both, wet heat around Dr. Reid’s cock. He’s still rocking his hips back and forth, which pulls him out of you and pushes him back in. The head of his cock pushes back into you, and you both moan. You cry, “More, Dr. Reid.”

Dr. Reid steadies himself as he starts to fuck you, the movement of his hips shifting as he thrusts into you proper. There’s a practised ease in his thrusts, confident as he takes you on his desk. Your head falls forward, hair in your face, as your body takes in the feeling of your professor’s cock buried inside of you.

“You feel so good,” Dr. Reid grunts, his cock fucking in and out of you. He’s filling you up just the way you need it, his thickness stretching you out so deliciously. You clench around him at the praise, and his hips stutter. “So tight for me, sweetheart.”

And then, you can’t explain what you do next. You can’t help yourself, as you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his neck, smelling his musky perfume and sweat. You whimper. You feel so good you don’t know what else to do with your body, but Dr. Reid doesn’t push you away. One of his arms wraps around your waist, his hand on the small of your back feeling so warm through your thin top, even though you’re feeling so hot you could explode. 

You feel yourself being pushed onto your back onto the heavy wooden desk, Dr. Reid’s weight pressing down on you. Like this, you feel his cock press inside of you impossibly deeper, and it’s so good you feel like screaming – you don’t, obviously you can’t, but you muffle a moan into his shoulder instead.

“Such a good girl,” Dr. Reid murmurs softly, his cock punching deep inside of you. Each of his thrusts sends electric pleasure up your spine, through your nerves, and you’re tearing up from how good this feels. “Fuck, I wish I could hear you scream for me.”

You whimper, a broken cry pressed against his neck. “Dr. Reid–”

“Oh, I know, sweetheart,” Dr. Reid coos softly. “You’re doing so good, keeping it down for me. So good for me.”

You don’t like feeling so pathetic, but Dr. Reid makes you feel safe even while you’re vulnerable, while he’s fucking you on his office desk. You sob, “Dr. Reid, it’s too good– I’m gonna cum, I– please–”

“Come on,” he grunts, his voice laboured as he pants. “Cum for me, my darling.”

Your gasp is louder than you’d like it to be, in a professor’s office of all places, but you feel too good to remember to keep it down. You shudder through your orgasm, unable to control the way your body reacts to all the pleasure given to you. 

“Fuck,” Dr. Reid blurts, his cock sliding out of you faster than you expect. You whine, but Dr. Reid is cumming all over your cunt, thick, hot spurts all over already-slick skin. “Oh, shit. Fuck.”

You’re thankful Dr. Reid didn’t cum inside, only because he didn’t have a condom on. You feel like a mess, but Dr. Reid’s looking at you like you’re a goddess. You feel his softening cock resting on your thigh. You want to go again, to feel him inside of you again, but perhaps that’s too desperate. 

When his head is clear, Dr. Reid is quick to step back, reaching into the desk drawer. 

“Sorry, let me just–” The commandeering, dominant Dr. Reid you just met is now gone, back to his slightly silly, bumbling self. He takes two wipes out from the packet of wet wipes he had pulled out from the drawer in his haste, but his hands are gentle when he wipes you clean. His touch is soft, sweet, and you feel so special in his hands. “I’m sorry I made a mess of you.”

You chuckle. “Dr. Reid, I’m more than okay with it. I think it comes with the territory.”

He smiles, albeit a little awkwardly. “Yeah, you’re right. I just don’t do this often, I suppose.”

“Oh, please. As if you don’t have other students throwing themselves at you too, Dr. Reid,” you laugh, waving him off.

“I do, but I’ve never done anything with them. Even if they try to proposition me, I tell them to leave my office. I’ve only… It’s just you.”

You’re stunned for a moment, blinking up at him. “You… Seriously?”

He frowns slightly. “Does it seem like I sleep around with my students often?”

“No! No, I just– I didn’t expect that. I thought you would be more… experienced? Considering how readily you let me… seduce you. I guess.”

“You’re definitely convincing,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Besides, I think you’re really special. I’ve never had a student like you.”

“Oh,” you say, because what else can you say in this scenario? Should you say anything else? It’s starting to hit you now, the implications of what you’ve just done walking into your professor’s office like this. “That’s… flattering.”

He tilts his head, brows furrowing. “Your pause seems to imply you don’t really mean that.”

“Oh, no, Dr. Reid, not at all, I–” You shake your head. “I’m really flattered that you think I’m special, I just– I’m not sure how I can navigate this. We’ve had sex, and it’s really hitting me now that I should not have seduced my professor because that’s definitely a violation of conduct, and–”

“Hey, relax,” Dr. Reid says, putting his hand on your shoulder. You breathe in deep. Dr. Reid looks at you warmly, and says, “I know we probably shouldn’t have done this, but I couldn’t resist you. And besides, it’s already done. We’re close to the end of the semester anyways. If you– I– If you want to continue this… outside of campus, I’d be more than happy to.”

“Dr. Reid,” you gasp, shocked that your professor would even be interested enough in you to suggest something like that. A relationship, outside of class? Or whatever it is he was thinking of. Frankly, even if Dr. Reid wants to meet once a month just to fuck, you’d take whatever you could get, especially with a man as gorgeous as him.

“Call me Spencer. Please,” he smiles. “Outside of class, at least.”

You grin. “Okay, Spencer.”

[nevvdrinksteaa]

pairing: spencer reid x reader

warnings: 18+ nsfw smut, porn w/o plot, afab reader, p in v sex, post prison spence, praise (no one can ever take the phrase good girl from me, it’s mine), HEAVY breeding kink (pls someone give him a child (by someone i mean me)), phrases like “make you a daddy” and “fill you up” etc

word count: 650

i cannot get this idea out of my head and i need to write it down so i can finally sleep peacefully

~~~

“you gonna fill me up?”

the words that came out of your mouth were rapid and unsuspecting, spencer brought the conversation up to you earlier that morning, the idea of a baby, starting a family, settling down. you told him you weren’t sure and would have to breach the idea another time, after you had some time to think about it. but after seeing how good he was with jj’s kids at rossi’s dinner party, you quickly had your mind made up.

you felt spencer’s hips stop, the once quick motions of him moving his dick in and out suddenly pausing. you opened your eyes, feeling your brows furrowing in confusion.

“what’s wrong?” you moved your hand from spencer’s back to his face, stroking his cheek lightly.

he moved your hand from his cheek up to his mouth, placing a gentle kiss before interlocking your fingers.

“say it again”

you smiled to yourself, chuckling softly before you rolled your hips up to his, restarting the motions. you pulled spencer’s head down, your lips trailing up his neck, peppering kisses on his skin. you moved your lips from his neck before whispering in his ear. “i want you to cum deep inside”

spencer’s hips started back up, moving in a deep sensual manner. “you want me to fill you up baby? fill up this little pussy?”

spencer moved his hand to your breast, pulling and pinching at your nipples. you felt yourself clench around him, becoming hotter at the words between the two of you.

“want to give me a baby spence? make you a daddy?” you heard a loud groan, his grip on your hips getting tighter. you could hear the wetness of your cunt, the sound squelching from the quickening pace of spencer’s hips.

spencer moved back, pulling your legs up to his shoulders, deepening the angle. he moved one of his hands to your stomach, fingers glazing lightly. “gonna fuck you full of my cum baby, fuck it deep into you. want you to give me a baby”

you couldn’t think straight, the knot in your stomach forming and your mind full of fuzz. your brain couldn’t form a coherent sentence, quickly nodding as tears started to prickle in the corners of your eyes.

“can feel you squeezing me so tight darling, i can feel you’re so close” spencer’s hand fell to your clit, rubbing in quick circles, keeping his other hand firm on your stomach, like if he moved it, the whole idea wouldn’t work. “so good for me, such a good girl for taking me like this. gonna fill you up right here” he placed two gentle taps on your stomach, right above your bellybutton.

“fuck spence, i’m gonna cum” your voice sounded distant, like it wasn’t your own, following your statement with a string of please.

“look so pretty for me, gonna put a baby in you”

you felt yourself come undone with a loud moan, your thighs shaking and eyes rolling back. spencer’s pace quickened, hips snapping against yours at a brutal pace, sweat forming on his brows, face and chest red, before you felt his beat skip. his throat releasing a string of sharp curses, eyes pinching shut, and his dick stopped deep inside you, filling you up. spencer leaned forward, keeping your bodies pressed together. he pressed his lips to yours, placing his forehead on yours upon release. he let out a small sigh and you chuckled, curling his brown locks around your fingers.

“not that i’m complaining but i thought you said you needed time to think about it” he moved his face down to your neck, marking you up, eager to go again.

“i made up my mind fairly quickly, i know you’ll be such a good dad spence, we’ll be such a good family.”

[milkloafy]

WE FIGHT AND MAKE UP — ALHAITHAM

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: you and alhaitham get into a heated argument and give each other the cold shoulder. at night, you sleep on the couch and alhaitham comes out to find you. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: gn!reader, established relationship, fluff, kaveh cameo ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 0.9k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: this little drabble has made me fall in love with alhaitham i am currently commissioning some selfship art as we speak i love this man pls enjoy if ur a fellow alhaitham lover :>

It wasn’t often you and Alhaitham truly fought. But the few times you did, it usually started with abnormally raised voices and ended in silent treatment that lasted late into the night.

At a certain point in time, the silent treatment would go on for so long, it became more like a battle of perseverance— Who would cave and speak to the other first?

You were stubborn, you had to admit, but Alhaitham could take it to a whole new level. Even when you tried to extend an olive branch, he would continue to keep to himself and draw out the silence between you.

You huffed as you wrapped a blanket around you. Kaveh had passed by your sorry state bundled up on the couch and wordlessly brought you a spare pillow and blanket. If there was anyone who understood Alhaitham’s stubbornness even more than you, it would have to be his roommate for years and former friend since the Akademiya, Kaveh. 

There was no explanation needed as Kaven patted you on the head before going back into his own room. 

Sighing, you laid down on the couch in the cold living room while Alhaitham was likely warm and cozy, snuggled up in bed without you. 

Dejected, you turned to your side and hugged the pillow Kaven gave. At this point, you were no longer even mad at Alhaitham. Sure, the two of you blew up on each other, but the heat simmered out and you were ready to make up and move on. 

It was too bad Alhaitham wasn’t, you thought to yourself, glaring at the cushion in front of you. 

You tossed and turned into the late of night, unable to get comfortable when your thoughts were focused on your boyfriend you were apparently still fighting with. Just as you were about to give up on sleep for the rest of the night, you heard a door creak open and the sound of footsteps coming from down the hall. 

Thinking it was only Kaveh again, you sat up and signed loudly, hugging your knees to your chest. 

“You’re still out here?”

Your spine straightened when you realized that voice was certainly not Kaveh. It was lower, deeper, much more familiar. Alhaitham.

Letting out an exhale, you shrugged without turning around to face him. “Where else would I go?”

Alhaitham sighed, walking around the sofa and taking a seat next to you, keeping a respectable distance away.

“You could go back to our bed,” he said quietly.

When you didn’t respond, he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You peered up at him with a look of reservation on your face.

“I’m sorry for letting you stay out here alone for so long,” he continued in a strained tone. 

You examined him, heart softening when you saw his tired and worn eyes, red skin at the edges. Although he hated showing it, you could easily see how much he was effected by this argument. 

“I’m really sorry. Won’t you come back to our room? I…miss you.”

Your resolve cracked after hearing those words. All you wanted for the past few hours was to make up. Now that he was the one holding up the peace flag, you toyed with the idea of making him grovel to make up for it. But a bigger part of you simply wanted to be in his arms again. 

“I miss you, too, Haith,” you said, moving closer to him. “I’m sorry for being so stubborn.”

Alhaitham gently took your hand into his and gave it a squeeze. “Perhaps we were both a little obstinate. But I love you too much to allow this stalemate to continue on.”

You nodded in agreement, burrowing your head into the crook of his neck. Breathing in deeply, you took in his familiar scent and let it warm your heart. 

“I hate the silent treatment,” you proclaimed, sniffling haughtily. “Let’s never do it again. I’m sorry for being a meanie.”

Alhaitham chuckled before planting a kiss on your forehead. “I was mean, too. I’m sorry for that. And you are forgiven.” He leaned his chin against the top of your head, not applying his full weight. “Now, let’s go to bed?”

“Yes, please.” You stood up slowly beside him. “I’m so tired. I can’t believe we were fighting for this loong over the existence of aliens!” 

He snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. “Our debates can get heated at times. But I enjoy that about us. Always being agreeable is too…mundane.” 

“I second that. But I just still can’t believe you don’t think aliens are real! In a world where gods and dragons exist… Aliens of all things are too farfetched?”

“Y/N,” he said in a warning tone.

You giggled, ruffling the top of his head with an exaggerated pat. “Okay, okay. Tonight, we make peace. I get it.”

“Mhm.” Alhaitham began walking to your room, holding your hand as you followed behind him. “Tonight, we make up. Tomorrow, we prepare our arguments and have a more structured debated.”

“Kaven can moderate the discussion,” you offered.

Alhaitham nodded. “I am agreeable to those terms. For now, please get in bed with me.”

You grinned at his pleas, closing the door behind you as you tackled him into a giant hug. “How about you kiss me first?”

Alhaitham smiled as he obliged, cupping your cheek in his warm hand. “As you wish, my love.”

[saymio]

Gyeong-seok Headcanons | NSFW

Pairing: Park Gyeong-seok (player 246) x Fem!reader

Genre: headcanons, smut

Warning: dead dove do not eat, manipulation, age gap, cum eating, might be more but im too lazy to write it down

A/N: not proof read. I def made him pretty ooc but he's just too hot I cant make him vanilla I CNATTT

gyeong seok, the man that watched you from afar. watching your every move as you sat there alone on the bed you had just woken up in.

gyeong seok, the man thats way too scared to approach you.. it was embarrassingly obvious how much older he was than you..if he had to guess itd probably be 20 years. he didn't want to scare you away.

gyeong seok, the man that saved you during red light green light. wrapping his arm around your waist before you could fall last second.

gyeong seok, the man that felt nothing but happiness when you came to him like a puppy searching for an owner. thanking him for saving your life and how you'd never forget him.

gyeong seok, the man that you had stuck with after the first game... glued onto him 24/7. it was clear you were scared and wanted someone who could protect you, and gyeong seok was just that.

gyeong seok, the man that gives you his milk. insisting that you need it more because you're young and need all the nutrients you can get.

gyeong seok, the man that excuses him self to the bathroom to get off when you tell him your age. its so fucked up but he just couldnt help the feeling of his pants tighten a little when you told him you had just turned 20.

gyeong seok, the man that will come back from jerking off to the thought of you like nothing had happened. patting your head and continuing your conversation as if he wasn't imagining all the things he'd do to you that second.

gyeong seok, the man that just couldn't get an inch of sleep when you asked if you could climb onto his bed and sleep with him. he almost picked you up and starting fucking you at that second when you wrapped your legs around him in your sleep.

gyeong seok, the man that convinces you to sneak into the bathroom with him because if it werent for him you wouldve died during the second game. using his generosity as a reason you should help him just this once.

gyeong seok, the man that shoves his cock deep into your throat. grabbing your hair roughly and helping your rhythm against his dick. if he weren't in so much stress he woulve came to just the sight of your drool dipping all over his dick.

gyeong seok, the man that forces you to drink his cum. he'll slap your face if you refuse. "I saved your life twice, and gave you extra food. this is how you repay me?" is all he says before he sees you swallow his thick seed.

gyeong seok, the man that will force his fingers inside of you while the lights are off. even if you say no and try pushing his hand away he wont stop. pumping his large fingers in and out of your hole until you cum all over them. your small hands covering the little noises you make

gyeong seok, the man that can switch up at any second. "if you don't listen I'll kill you, can you just be good" to "I love you y/n, don't leave me. never leave me, I need you." the next second. he always keeps you on edge and scared...sometimes you regret sticking with him.

gyeong seok, the man that promises the two of you will get out so he can introduce you to his daughter. proposing the idea of you moving in and taking care of her while he works. like a normal family should be.. moments like these make you forget the mean things he's done and said... maybe he's just under a lot of stress..once the two of you get out, he'll change right?

Another note: I FEEL LIKE I STILL MADE HIM BORING KMSKMSKMS I made him ooc for nothing....hes so hot doe pls I need more fics of him... hehehhe

TAGLIST: @pollys-doublelife @gongyoosgf

[biteyoubiteme]

am/pm

fem!reader x bangchan 

synopsis: you start your new job at a book cafe and start falling for your coworker. 

warnings: 🔞!!! friends to lovers ?, praise, nipple play, oral (f!rec) multiple orgasms (f!rec), protected and unprotected sex (be safe pls they tried), creampie, use of the name baby, she/her, brat!reader kinda, whiny chan, choking (m!rec), spitting, cum eating, alcohol use, slight overstim (f!rec), prob forgot some sorry

wc: 7.4k big oops lol kinda lost the plot

 an: breaking the norm from my regularly scheduled yeonkai post lol feedback is appreciated :)) not proof read sorry! [m.list]

you were nervous for your first day of work, worrying teeth leaving your lips red and sore. when you applied you thought it would be easy money, slow shifts where you could study at the register, the coffee shop attached giving you one free drink a shift. it was perfect but your anxiety was eating at you the entire walk to the bookstore. even the location was perfect, three minutes on your bike, a few more to walk. you didn’t even need to pick up new clothes, your usual attire fully excitable as long as you had your nametag visible. 

the store won't open for another hour but you need to come in early to go over the basics. Your boss told you that although he wasn't going to be there his best employee would show you the ropes. When you get to the building the door is locked and you have to knock on the glass to try and get someone's attention but you can't see anyone from where you are. When someone does notice you you're pacing the sidewalk picking at your nail polish. “so sorry about that i forgot you were coming in early today,” the accented voice mutters, the ding of the bell making you turn around. 

“It's okay,” you nod after a second. The man before you smiles, dimples and teeth on display, devastating enough to take someone out with a single glance. He holds the door open with his palm spread wide, still standing in the doorway so that when you pass you have to brush against his chest with your shoulder. 

“I'm Chan, I work at the cafe most days now but I was told you would be working the store register and stocking?” 

“Yes that's right,” you nod, taking in the small store, the dark hardwood floors creaking underfoot as you move further in. You had loved the store since your freshman year of college. The cafe at night was one of the only places that sold caffeine until late, the warm ambient lighting making it cozy. Even now with the morning light pouring in through the floor to ceiling glass windows, it was comforting, the smell of the freshly brewing pots of coffee waking you up. 

“Great, I worked that job for a while so I should be the best help with setting you up,” Chan pulls the door closed behind you, locking back up. He moves around you waving to follow after him to the back room. To get there we have to weave through the stands of books laid out on tables and stacked on shelves and you feel in over your head looking at all the inventory. “for the most part it's mostly register work. When we get a new release it goes out on the front tables and then the old ones get pushed back to the shelves. nothing too major. I'm sure once you get a hang of it you will be very bored,” 

“It's okay I brought homework,” you say, lifting your tote at your side. 

“ahh, good idea. and if you get bored of homework you could come mess with me at the cafe, I'm always trying to come up with new drinks although I've been told by the other baristas that I'm not very good at that,” he chuckles deep in his throat before turning a corner and pushing open another door. “break room and the cubbies for your stuff. I haven't had anything stolen but if you're worried the front has enough space under the counter for your bag or even if you want to have easy access to your books that's fine too,” he gestures at a desk in the corner, “you clock in and out there, I'm sure you were told how to set up your checks to be deposited?” 

“Yes,” you nod trying to pay attention to all the information. 

“Okay great so let's get your name tag I think it's…oh here! there you go,” he passes you the little magnetic tag for you to put on. you glance at his name tag, the koala sticker faded but still cute. “Then let's see the register and go over that before we open the store, it's a Monday so we are usually really slow so during your shift we can walk around and go over the sections but the computer will tell you where to find most any book here. there is also a map taped to the counter to help customers so you can see that to help you,” 

“got it, thank you,” you follow Chan out and the rest of the hour goes by with him cracking jokes and pointing out what shelves hold what books. When it was time for the doors to be unlocked it was anticlimactic because you only went back to having no one in the shop but the two of you. chan sitting on the stool behind his register for the cafe and you sitting on yours directly across the room. Chan had a book propped up to pass the time and you got started on your homework. your nerves are now officially gone with how calm it was going. 

Even when customers did come in, you breezed through it, Chan's watchful eye not prying but comforting enough to know he would swoop in and help if it was ever necessary. 

When another slow lull came and there were no customers Chan called across the short distance to ask you your coffee order, “I may be bad at coming up with new drinks but that doesn't mean I don't make mean drinks to begin with,” that dimpled smile hitting you right in the stomach. 

“surprise me I'm okay with anything when it's free,” 

“best perk about the job,” he agrees, turning to make you your drink. When he is done he brings it over to the register a small grin on his face as he passes the warm drink over. “go on try it,”

you take a sip humming your approval, “Oh wow that's really good,”  there was no lid on the paper cup to show off his latte art, the heart feathering out to where your lipstick stain hugs the rim. you wipe at the corner of your mouth catching the stray foam on your thumb and licking it off. 

chan is stuck watching your every move, all day he's been finding it hard to concentrate on anything he's doing. he was trying to play it cool even after your introduction, but he was caught the moment you turned around when he opened the door, your perfume making him want to lean in when you brushed past him. It didn't help that he was right across from you all day, the perfect seat for him to make sure you weren't struggling although that was an excuse because he knew how easy the job was he just wanted to watch you. 

Now you're basically moaning over something he made and he feels bad for having any thoughts about you. then you swipe at your lip, thumb in your mouth, how is he supposed to think about anything else? 

“cinnamon and apple?” you ask your gaze so attentive. 

“warm and cozy,” Chan smiles watching as you take another sip that hum caught right in the back of your throat and he wishes he could swallow the sound himself. but the jingling of the bell by the door jolts him back to reality. “let me get back,” 

“Thank you!” you call after him while the customers make their way through the shelves. Chan waves your words away,“Anytime,” 

later when both of your replacements come in for their shift Chan helps show you how to clock out and where you can find your schedule. “looks like we have morning shifts together,” he comments, “I'll have to give you my number so when you get to the door I can let you in,” it's an excuse really he could leave the door unlocked after he gets in, no one ever tries to come in that early anyways most of their customers come to study after class. 

“sure that works perfectly,” you smile unlocking your phone and passing it over, he does the same and you type your number in for him. 

“best barista?” you laugh when you see the name he plugged in. 

“Seungmin might not like that but who cares,” he chuckles, “best AM barista might be better,” 

you both walk out together and you notice you're headed in the same direction, “do you live over on Sixth?” 

“yeah, do you?” 

“the first apartment building on the corner,” 

“Me too!” The two of you were a few steps away from each other and Chan took the opportunity to catch up. “official walking buddies now? can't change fate,” 

“yeah okay,” you laugh, falling into step next to him. 

“The boss said you were in school, the campus right up the road?” 

“yeah, I have a lab at five actually,” 

“The shop is the perfect job for you then, my classes are also kinda late in the day so I get it,” he ruffled his hair and pushed back the strands from his forehead only to have them fall right back into place. The two of you make comfortable conversation until you make it to the lobby of your apartment building, Chan holding the door open for you before you press the elevator button. 

when you two make it into the elevator you ask him, “What floor?” as you press your own button. 

The space is small and he leans over to see the button panel, body heat, and his colleague filling the space. and you didn't mind it at all, he smelled like a mix of baked goods and sandalwood. “looks like we live on the same floor,” he chuckles, pulling back to stand straight. both of you are silent eyes trained ahead as you mutter, “Small world I guess,” 

“Very,” he nods, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip. When the elevator dings and opens you wave goodbye as you both move down the opposite halls. He was about three doors down and when he got his key in he looked up with a smile waving before walking in. When you close the door to your apartment you lean against the door letting out the longestsigh you could muster. of course, your hot coworker shares your schedule and lives right down the hall. of fucking course. 

-

The following morning you're tugging on your coat, pulling the door closed and your tote bag keeps sliding down your shoulder. You're muttering profanities quite enough as you try to get the key into the lock when you don't hear Chan approach. you flinch so hard you think your heart stopped. “You scared me!” and Chan's giggling reached out for your tote bag pulling it from the crook of your arm where it kept falling. 

“I'm sorry I thought you heard me say good morning,” he slings your bag over your shoulder as you finally lock the door.“I was running a bit late so I thought why not just wait anyways since we are headed to the same place?” he's a little shy as he says it following you to the elevator, “although I know that defeats the purpose of giving you my number but you know thought that counts and everything right?” he's rambling his grip on the tote bag strap turning white-knuckled, his free hands at the back of his neck messing with his hair. 

“That works perfectly with me and I can carry my own bag,” the elevator dings as you say it and Chan shakes his head stepping in before you holding his hand out so the doors stay open. 

“I don't know how you carry this thing around its like a bag of rocks it's so heavy,” 

“textbooks,” you correct, leaning over him to press the lobby button. “although you're right I should get a better bag to carry them around but that one is so cute,” you run your fingers over the design that made you buy the tote in the first place, “everything is worth the struggle as long as its cute,” 

“agreed,” Chan nods, watching your fingers run up and down the fabric, your nails painted the prettiest shade of blue and he has to swallow to push away his thoughts of you wrapping your hand around him. but the image won't fade so he shakes his head trying to think of all the things he needs to do to set up for the day. 

He holds the door open for you the same way he had your first day, letting you brush past him only this time he's following you to clock in watching your hips sway in your skirt all the way to the break room. and when the day starts to go by he tries not to look your way as you press your pen to your lips every once in a while jotting down notes in the margins on sticky notes. watching you smile up at customers and helping them. 

chan brings you a coffee halfway through your shift when it is slow, this time it is sweet with caramel, “oh wow definitely best AM barista material,” you nod licking the whipped cream from your top lip. he flushes a deep red chuckling, “its nothing,” but he was starting to realize he would learn any drink combo to hear that hum over and over again. 

and when you're walking home together you laugh at his dad jokes making his heart flutter, he already can't wait until tomorrow to see you. 

-

You've been working at the store for about a month, and your routine is always the same. Chan waits by the elevator for you to walk, he makes you a new drink halfway through your shift, walks you back and you do it all over the next day. you realize it's the best part of your day and when you have the day off you're stuck wondering what Chan's doing, if he's wondering the same thing about you. it's late on one of your off days when he texts you, do you smell that or is that just my side of the hallway? and you know exactly what he's talking about. 

someone was cooking dinner in their apartment and the savory smell was wafting through from under the door making you hungry. 

definitely smelling something good if that's what you're asking

I think it's the people in front of me. Would it be wrong to show up with a bowl and ask for some?

not if you ask really really nicely I'm sure they will cough some up 

no, I'm too shy if they reject me I won't be able to ever leave my place again 

I'll bring my own bowl they can't turn away both of us if we beg 

seriously tho are you hungry because I'm starving and Seungmin texted me the cafe specials menu 

You're sure Chan would be able to hear you squeal all the way in his apartment. It wasn't a full-on offer out but it was close enough and your fragile little heart was consumed with its crush on Chan. he had you kicking your feet like a school girl and you couldn't help but smile. 

The best PM barista does make a mean sandwich 

be ready in 5? 

if he didn't hear you before the whole floor definitely did now. you jumped up from your couch to get ready. Maybe it was nothing, just two friends, coworkers, even going out, to your place of work, for a casual dinner. only you could tell yourself that all you wanted but it didn't stop your excitement. sure you saw Chan nearly every day but not usually when you weren't already scheduled to see each other. only once when you were both crossing paths in the lobby and that didn't count because you were late to class and rushing and he was with a friend, but that didn't stop the butterflies you felt when he gave you a wave and smile as you passed. 

You were ready in five minutes pulling your door closed to find Chan leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, a dark jean jacket over a hoodie, his jeans fitting him just right. “ready?” he asked, pulling himself up to his full height. 

“yup,” it's a squeak as you say it, your cheeks colored in embarrassment. He was wearing a beanie with his ears peeking out from under the fabric. When you stepped outside you realized how cool it was outside, your thin sweater doing you no good. 

Chan holds the door open for you to lead the way, your arms crossed before you feel the heavy weight of his jean jacket slung on your shoulders. “You look a little cold there,” he smiles and you push your arms through the warm sleeves. it smells like him without the coffee scent usually following him after a shift. 

“thank you,” your fists wrapping around the oversized sleeves. 

When you make it to the cafe it's filled with light chatter, the golden glow from the lamps making the hardwood look shiny as you both stand in line for the cafe. your other coworkers behind the counters joking around as they make drinks and call out orders. You have gotten to know most of them when you have an occasional late shift but not as well as you got to know Chan. That was mainly because you two didn't have many customers in the morning time and you could talk even across the store without worrying about someone listening or scolding us. The night shifts were busy and most of the time a little loud. 

When you make it to the counter seungmin's warm smile greets you, “I know you,” he points but you can't miss the way his gaze falls to the jacket you're wearing and back to Chan his eyebrows raising but he doesn't ask. 

“We are here because I heard Chan's trying to come for your title of best barista,” 

“he can't make a coffee to save his life,” 

“Hey! I make excellent coffee,” 

“Because I taught you,” the smug smile on Seungmin's face made his cheeks round. “what can I get you two?” 

You both order reaching for your bag when you feel Chan's hand in the pocket of the jacket you are wearing. He is standing behind you, one hand on your arm and the other wrapped around to pull his wallet from where it's at your hip. “I got it,” he mumbles so close to your ear you almost shiver. “you can get it next time,” 

you give a slow nod trying to catch your breath before Seungmin asks, “Hey are you two coming out with us tomorrow night? they opened this new club downtown we wanted to go try,” 

“oh I don't know,” you shrug and Chan adds, “I'll go if you go,” he looks almost hopeful for you to say yes. 

“Well then sure why not? we can Uber there together,” 

“perfect i'll let the guys know,” Seungmin hands over the receipt with your order number, “should be out in a few,” 

“Thank you,” you and Chan say together, moving to the other side of the counter to wait for your things. When they come out Chan takes the tray and when you think he's going to turn to one of the empty tables he keeps going over to the bookstore side. you follow after him as he weaves his way to the break room. 

“kinda loud out there,” he says, setting the tray down on the little table they have set up. 

“Definitely different from how we usually see the store in the morning,” you agree, pulling out a chair to sit. The break room wasn't like most other breakrooms you had been to in other jobs. this one was set up like a cozy office, the building was old and well-kept enough to make every space look cozy. the lamp in the corner of the room giving the warm glow the others made in the cafe. you take a sip of your fruity drink not picking out a coffee this late when you didn't need the aid for an all-night study session. “now this is really good,” you say nodding down at your straw. 

“new menu item I haven't tried yet,” Chan sips his drink, an iced tea. “this one's good too, try it,” he slides his glass across the table toward you. 

Chan watches you take your sip from his drink, the hum he loves showing itself for the second time tonight. “good?” 

“Amazing, here try mine,” and so he does, nodding in approval. 

the two of you chat not even noticing how late it's getting by the time you're done and taking the tray back out to the cafe. most of the building is cleared of people, seungmin wiping down the counters when you leave. It's noticeably colder outside and you wrap your arms around yourself happy to have chan’s jacket for warmth or you would have had a cold the next morning for sure. Neither of you asked if this was in fact a real date or something between friends. you don't even notice that you have taken his jacket back to your apartment until you're changing for bed and realize you never took it off. 

-

The next morning when you leave for work you pass it back to Chan who smiles as he takes it back. “Thank you for that last night,” you say waving your hand as if you could cut through your embarrassment. Why was it that crushes made you feel like everything you did was so awkward? you were returning a jacket for crying out loud. It was totally normal, especially between friends but you couldn't help but blush. 

for the rest of the day, you two fall into your routine. Towards the end of your shift, a customer knocks over a display of books and you assure them you will pick them up once you're done checking them out, and it's no problem at all. Once they leave you bend to get the books picked up and Chan can't look away. you're wearing a skirt, the simple black panties you're wearing flashing him every once in a while as you reach over. He doesn't even notice he's overfilled the coffee cup in front of him until the coffee splashes down to his shoes. “oh fuck,” he mutters catching your attention as you restack the books. hes red from his cheeks to his ears as he wipes up the mess. but as he pushes the black rag around he can only think about you bending over, the fabric of your underwear hugging your skin dimpling the flesh of your ass. now he's over-wiping the counter thinking about it, so lost in thought he doesn't notice you come up to stand right at the till. “guess we both are having messy days,” your voice pulling him from his thoughts and he stammers over his words, “y-yeah messy,” 

but the word only fuels him, if anything was to be messy it needed to be you, he wanted too badly to make a mess of you. 

“I just saw the next shift workers walk in. Are you ready to head out?” 

“yes yes let me just put a lid on this, do you want anything to go?” 

“No, I'm good I don't need all that caffeine before heading out for drinks tonight,” Chan had forgotten about that but now he was thinking about what you were going to wear, about what it would be like going anywhere else besides work and the apartment building with you. 

When it's time to leave for drinks that night you text Chan you're ready and you book the Uber to come pick you two up.when you lock the door to your place and turn around to find Chan there you could have fallen to your knees at how downright edible he looked. those slouchy jeans showing a thin strip of the elastic to his underwear, the black tank hugging him in all the best places under his leather jacket. you wanted to hook your finger in the loop of his jeans and tug him to you and never let him go, link him to you like he was a keychain you couldn't remove easily. and his eyes were tracing up your bare legs, over the short ruffled shorts you wore, your own tank hugging you giving you the best cleavage. Chan's blush was so contradictory to his outfit and it made him so much cuter, eyes jumping to yours to not make it obvious that he was checking you out just as much as you were checking him out. “cars out front,” you say brushing past him. 

at the club, Chan could not stop watching you. 

you were sitting in the booth next to him and seungmin, lips around the straw of the drink in your hands, paying all your attention to Felix talking about a customer who gave him a hard time. 

“he just kept asking for a blue book over and over and I could not tell you how many blue books I pulled off the shelves for him,” your giggle was more intoxicating than anything in that room. 

“Did you find it?” 

“no! he walked out on me and to this day I question if he was just fucking with me or not,” 

The rest of the group was finally showing up and the booth was only so big. Chan rested his arm behind your head scooting until his leg was flush against yours so that the rest of them could fit comfortably. He hated how jealous he was feeling as you paid everyone more attention than he was getting. and when Hyunjin asked you to dance he could have ground his teeth to dust. “sure!” your drink is empty in front of you. 

you were in the middle of the booth and Hyunjin was on the end so he stood making room for the others to move but they didn't hear the request over the sound of the music. “Just jump over,” seungmin laughed but you followed his suggestion like it was the best idea, mostly because you were a little tipsy and needed to be out of the booth after being squashed in it for over an hour. you brought your knees up to your chest before putting your hands on Chan's shoulder to push yourself up to stand on the seat. As if you were a beacon all of them turned to watch you if they weren't listening before they would be now. Chan's hand reached out to your thigh to steady you, the warmth of his palm sinking right to your stomach. there were only two people besides you to jump over and both of them leaned back as Hyunjin reached his hands out to help you. you laughed as you jumped over, hyunjin's hands on your waist helping you most of the way but the second Chan's hand was gone you wanted it back. 

Hyunjin pulled you to the dance floor keeping you within the eye line of the table. the bodies of everyone pushing you and Hyunjin together until you were completely pressed with your back to his front. “Want to make Chan jealous?” his mouth pressed into your ear so that you could hear him over the music. 

“What?” hyunjin's hand slid over your waist right where your tank top met the top of your shorts. 

“We have a bet going that he won't last two songs until he's dragging you away from me,” Hyunjin guides your hips to grind against him and your eyes flicker to find Chan's gaze burning into you two. if looks could kill Hyunjin would be six feet deep. 

“he won't fall for it,” you shake your head but not for wanting to see if it actually would work. 

“want in? or do you not like him like that? because he sure as hell likes you like that I mean look at him,” and you do, the rim of his glass pressed to his bottom lip, eyes devouring you as Hyunjin's hand slips your tank up revealing a thin strip of skin. he's still with his arm slung over your empty seat, the rise and fall of his chest showing off his pecks. you raise one arm reaching behind you to tug on Hyunjin's hair and Chan follows the movement, jaw tight as he sets his glass down.  

“how much if he doesn't last one song?” 

“a lot more than if he doesn't last two,” Hyunjin chuckles and maybe it is the drinks talking but you nod, “Add me in, I'll Take that bet,” your free hand covers one of Hyunjin dragging it up your ribs as you let him guide your hips against his. 

it doesn't take long for Chan to leave the booth at all. 

Chan does not know what comes over him as he watches you with Hyunjin only that he needs to be the one touching you if anyone at all is to be doing any touching at all. Hyunjin lets you go with no question, slapping Chan on the back before making his way back to the booth. you honestly can't believe it worked as well as it did, the way that Chan didn't even last half a song let alone two. “I didn't know you felt that way about me,” your smile teases as Chan grabs your waist and pulls you into his chest as if he can erase the feeling of hyunjin on your skin. 

“Seriously? The heavy staring hasn't been enough because I thought my cover was blown the first day,” his smile is lazy, the drinks hitting him in just the right way. 

“first day? not just because your friends set you up?” 

“nope,” his hands slide down the curve of your ass until they are cupping you, tugging your body even closer to him, he's hard in his jeans, the bulge digging into your stomach. “they definitely didn't need to try hard at all, not when I want you this bad already,” 

your hands slide up his chest and round to the back of his neck, “Maybe I'm a little oblivious and I need you to tell me in great detail that you like me or I might not be privy to believing you at all,” the way that you're looking at each other is consuming, so much so that you don't realize him dipping closer until his nose is brushing against yours. eyes fluttering shut you tilt your head ready for his kiss when he stops right as they barely brush, “if you needed me to praise you all you needed to do was ask,” 

“Isn't that exactly what I was doing?” you nudge your nose against his trying to reach his lips as he pulls away grinning wide, dimples on display. 

“I guess you could say that,” one of his hands slid up your back to hold the base of your skull. 

“You're teasing me,” your pout made Chan want to kiss you even more. 

“I think they have another bet going that I can't last one song before dragging you out of here and I'm pretty sure once I get my mouth any closer to you they will be right and I'll lose out on $100,” Chan can feel you laugh against his chest, the rumble in your chest drawing him closer. 

“What makes you think I'm leaving with you?” You're taunting him now, fingers running through his hair as he squeezes your ass hard enough to make your pussy lips open. 

“We drove here together,” he states and you fuck with him a bit more, “but I heard Hyunjin has a car I can catch a ride in,” 

Chan can't stand the sound of anyone else's name coming out of your mouth when he's this hard when you're pressed so close to him. he finally kisses you, soft lips tasting like tangy alcohol. he wants to channel the last month into this kiss, every want and glance. he can hear his friends cheering from the table but he couldn't care less not when you're here. 

when you pull away you're breathless, “do you still win if I drag you out of here?” 

Chan can't form words before you pull him after you, your hand fisted into his top. his tongue pressed to his cheek, his grin so wide no one could miss it even if they tried. when you walk past the table you point at them, “You own me!”  

but they are all forgotten the second you're out in the cold air. you shiver, pulling out your phone to order an Uber and Chan slings his jacket over your shoulders just like the night before. The leather is warm and soft against your skin and he wraps his arms around your hands sliding past the jacket and wrapping around you. his bare arms rippling and you could bite him with how good he looks flexing right now. you don't even care that he could be getting cold when this is the view. 

Chan is all over you once you climb into the Uber, “safety first,” he mutters into your mouth before he pulls your seatbelt around you to buckle. You could laugh at how cautious he is but the seatbelt doesn't stop him from trying to pull you close enough to almost be in his lap, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck and to your chest. never in your life have you ever spoken in an Uber let alone almost strip in the backseat but if Chan had asked you would have. and when you're in the elevator you almost forget to press what floor you're trying to make it to, chan asks if you want to go to your place or his, and your response is you pulling his keys from his front pocket fingers brushing his straining cock making him whine in your ear. “Yours,” you say into your kiss, pressing the keys to his chest before he's dragging you to his door fumbling with the key ring. 

Chan pushes his jacket from your shoulders once the door is closed and locked behind him. your hands jolt out to grab both his biceps and he stops in his tracks, “do we need to slow down?” the pure concern on his face is enough to make your knees weak, “we can stop if it's too much,” you will kindly choke on him for being so worried. 

“no, I want you to fuck me I just really wanted to see sturdy the handles ill be holding will be when you're in me,” your nails dig into his arms and he gives a soft whine. 

“You're so fucking perfect,” it's a groan into your mouth as he wraps himself back around you walking you backward towards the bedroom. he slaps the lights on before you make contact with the bed. he breaks the kiss letting you sit, the comforter soft against your bare legs. chan gets to his knees in front of you tugging off your boots, kissing the inside of your knee, and sending a bolt right to your center. “How many times do you think I can make you cum?” He asks pulling off your socks before kissing up your thigh. He runs his hands up your calves before grabbing the back of your knees and spreading your legs. 

“I don't know you might have to try really hard to get me there once,” he scoffs before nipping your inner thigh with his teeth, your knees instantly try to close but he shakes his head. 

“Maybe we start our own bet, I get you to come at least three times and then you owe me another date,” 

“Another one? could you remind me of the first time?” 

“I haven't fucked you hard enough to forget simple things yet baby,” he stands tugging his tank top off by pulling the back of the collar. your mouth is dry at the sight of him leaning back on your hands to take him in. Those jeans are low on his hips as he toes out of his shoes, “take your top off,” he nods, popping the button of his jeans. 

you follow your orders, you're braless, nipples already hard and aching for attention. “You listen so well,” he tugs the zipper of his jeans down but doesn't pull his pants down. Instead, he leans over you, kissing you down your neck until he makes it to your tits, sucking one nipple between his teeth and rolling the other one between his fingers. you open your legs to him, your shorts are too tight all of a sudden, too hot. lacing your fingers in his hair you throw your head back as he gives your nipple a tug with his teeth before switching to the neglected side. you moan rolling your hips into his clothed bulge and he sinks deeper into the cradle of your hips. “the prettiest girl making the prettiest sounds,” you whimper at his words knowing you are completely soaked. 

chan pulls away letting you lay out on the mattress before he hooks his fingers in your shorts and panties tugging them down your legs. he moans at the sight of you laid out before him, he tugs one of your legs to the side to reveal more of you to him, glistening under the lights. never has he been so excited to devour someone and that's just what he does, not waiting before his mouth is on you. he groans against your clit the vibration making your knees weak, “you taste as good as you look,” he wraps his arms under and around your thighs to spread you wide before diving back in. 

your hands twist in his duvet, your orgasm building faster than it ever has before. your back arching off the bed before you start riding his face so close to the edge that you don't expect his fingers until they are pressed right against the gummy spot inside you and you’re seeing spots as you cum. Chan is licking you clean as you ride out your high before he stands fingers in his mouth watching your legs twitch. “That was one,” a cocky grin present as he moves around to the nightstand to pull out a condom. 

you sit up on your elbows watching him strip, thick veiny cock hitting his stomach. He climbs up on the bed resting against the pillows and headboard before rolling the condom on. “if your legs still work I'd love it if you gave me a ride,”

“and if they don't?” you ask watching him spit into his hand before grabbing himself and tugging loosely. 

“I'll sit here and finish by myself but wouldn't it be so much fun to watch me disappearing into you?” you can feel yourself flutter at the thought. pulling yourself up and crawling up the bed to chan he grabs your hips to help steady yourself as you straddle him. you sink your hips down letting your wetness coat the condom, Chan's head is thrown back as he whines, “Please don't tease me,” his thumbs digging in hard enough to bruise your waist like a belt. 

“Whiny baby,” you coo, pressing a kiss over his pulse, the rapid beating so similar to your own as you reach down between you two to guide him to your entrance. Chan is gasping when you sink onto him, slowly inching down and rising every few strokes before you're finally stretched enough to sink fully seated on him. his tight stomach fluttering under your hands as you use him as leverage to rise again. you can feel him so deep he's kissing your womb, right in your throat.“god you're so fucking warm, just fucking right,” he moans half-lidded eyes watching where your bodies meet, you'regoing too slow for him and he flicks his hips up to watch himself disappear in the sweetest cunt he's ever had. 

“you're so big,” you whimper reaching for one of his hands to press into your pelvis, the added pressure makes your head fall forward in a moan, “you feel so good,” 

“Choke me please,” he moans head on the pillows as he plants his heels to get more leverage to thrust into you, “please,” the whimper he lets out nearly sends you over the edge. you use one of your hands to wrap around his throat, the vein pulsing under the tips of your fingers. “harder baby I can take it,” you nod at his words increasing the pressure you have on him, his eyes fluttering shut as he snaps his hips up into you. He keeps his hand pressed to your pelvis and he can feel each thrust meet the heel of his palm. your knees planted firmly against the mattress he lets go of your hip to press his thumb into your clit. you cry out as he keeps up his brutal pace rubbing your clit in circles and driving you over the edge. you can't even move as he pulls out not wanting to cum at the feel of you squeezing him just yet. your hand still around his neck as you come down from your high, breathing labored. 

“That was two,” he smirks when you sit up, twitching when your clit brushed his thigh. “onto three,” he wraps his arms around you flipping you over so that you're now laying where he had been. he pushes your legs up so that your shins are against his chest. he can't help himself, he's not even in you and he's trying to rut against your legs, his whines and moans sounding almost pained. “please I need to feel you, all of you,” he begs, “I promise ill pull out I just want to feel you,” his breathy pleas pressed right into your ear, hair sticking to your sweaty cheeks. You're holding onto his shoulders nodding without thinking twice because you need to feel him so bad. He reaches down to roll the condom back off not caring anymore about anything but being in you as deep as possible. As close as possible.  

you cry out when he sinks back in, so much warmer and thicker than before, every ridge in his cock fitting perfectly with you. your hands slip down to his biceps nails digging back in as you hold on as Chan snaps his hips forward moaning deep enough that you feel the rumble in his stomach pressed against your legs. 

chan is fucking you so hard the headboard is hitting the wall, he's pounding in over and over that your toes are curling. Then he sinks his hips finding a new angle until he's hitting your gummy spot, your head falls back and he presses his open mouth to your neck moaning against your skin the feeling singing all the way to your teeth. “I needed to feel you, I needed to feel that you're mine,” his words are choppy as he keeps up his pace. “you feel so fucking right,” he pulls back enough to push your legs a bit wider and he's back to his pace, your back arching into him. You're full of electricity, every nerve humming as he rocks back and forth. you can feel him twitch inside you and Chan knows he wouldn't be able to pull out even if he tried. 

he fully seats himself in you as he cums, thick hot ropes of it filling you up. his moan is so loud in your ear and the feeling of his release triggers your third orgasm, your cry half scream as you follow right after him. 

Chan's never cum so much in his life, his hips moving lazily as you flutter around his cock taking everything he has to offer. when he pulls out a trail of your mixed fluids follows, so much so that it makes a puddle on the duvet under you. Chan runs his finger through the cream rubbing it up your clit and back down to your entrance before he leans over and licks you clean. “Chan!” your knees are shaking, tears threatening to spill as he pulls himself back up pressing his mouth to yours and letting some of the cum he's collected spill onto your tongue. he kisses away the saltiness before pulling back, to gaze down on you, “that was three, looks like you owe me one more date,”

[beloveds-embrace]

your omega simon idea makes me both soft for him and salivating at the thought of protecting such a big strong guy, urgh i love it. Giving Si and you a big forehead smooch, i love your brain😩 Very much hoping that your brain keeps thinking about omega simon so we get to feast on this damn good food too

Omega simon does unbelievable things to me 😩 and I am giving you a very big and loud smooch back!! <3 have this little Drabble that i wrote fast (so pls excuse any rushedness and mistakes 😔)

The hangar was buzzing with activity as they finally touched down on base, but neither you nor Ghost paid it any mind. The moment your boots hit the concrete, exhaustion weighed heavier than any gear strapped to your bodies. Without a word, without even glancing back at the others, the two of you slipped away like smoke. Silent, deliberate, and entirely focused on one thing: rest.

Price, Gaz, and Soap barely had tme to finish unloading before they noticed your absence.

“Where the hell did they go?” Soap asked, looking around like the two of you might reappear from thin air.

Price’s eyes scanned the hangar for a sharp second before he sighed, already putting the pieces together. If anything, he’d expected this. “Probably holed up somewhere to rest.”

Gaz groaned, though he couldn’t hide the fond smile that cracks on his face. “They could’ve at least told us first.”

“They didn’t have to,” Price said knowingly. “You saw the state they were in.”

And they had. Weeks of back-to-back missions, constant stress, and frayed nerves had worn everyone thin, but you and Simon had carried it differently. Instincts that screamed for comfort, security, and stability, but the battlefield offered none of that. Now that you were finally safe, it made perfect sense for the two of you to disappear and soothe those raw, overworked instincts.

It took them almost an hour to track you down, and when they did, it was clear why you hadn’t wanted to be found.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of detergent and something softer- vanilla and Simon’s deeper cedarwood scent. Blankets, pillows, and their clothes had been piled high, creating a warm cocoon against the outside world. You were curled up in the center, tucked against Simon’s broad chest, your breathing slow and steady for the first time in days. He had one arm wrapped protectively around you, his mask discarded, revealing a rare look of peace on his face- what part of it that wasn’t buried in your hair.

Soap hesitated at the door, lowering his voice instinctively. “They look…”

“Content.” Gaz supplied, leaning against the frame.

Price crossed his arms, face softening the longer he looked at the two of you. “They needed this.”

It was rare to see Ghost so unguarded, but here- with you- he looked safe, grounded in a way the others knew only you could manage. Your hand was fisted lightly in the fabric of his shirt, and his nose rested in your hair like he’d been breathing you in for hours.

“They’ll come out when they’re ready, let’s leave them to rest.” Price murmured, already turning to shepherd the others away.

“Should we leave food out for them?”

Gaz snorted, rolling his eyes, and gave Soap an amused look. “They’re not strays, Johnny.”

But the idea stuck, and before long, supplies were quietly left at the edge of the nest- water bottles, snacks, and extra blankets. None of them entered the space, knowing better than to disturb their omegas when they were finally at rest.

And when the two of you eventually emerged, bleary-eyed and loose-limbed, the pack was waiting- ready to gather you both into steady, grounding embraces. No words were needed. Just their presence was enough to reassure you that everything was okay.

You and Simon had each other, but you also had them. And in a world that demanded too much, that was enough.

[floraisunwell]

Promise | s.r

who? post-prison!reid x ex gf reader (she's a nurse)

category: angst (bold move ig)

summary: Spencer left you 5 months ago without a word for undisclosed reasons but he comes teary eyed to your door after seeing a girl that looks a little too much like you.

based on (very loosely lol): promise by laufey. the fic does not follow the events of the song at all but i love the "if it weren't for the sight of a boy who looked just like you standing out on Melrose avenue" part right at the end so it's all on that line.

word count: 1.6k

a/n: my first fic ahhhhhhh, i'm so nervous and happy rn, this is my baby and ik there's a lot of space for improvement but i'm proud of my writing, this comunnity is full of amazing people and if it wasn't such a lovely space i would have never posted this. shoutout to @lilacsandlavenderhaze for being the first to hear my idea and telling me i should go ahead and write it; @spencersbabymama for telling me to cut the bullshit and self deprecation and post this; and to @esote-rika for being my first readerrrr. love y'all <3

dividers by @aquazero

English is not my first language pls tell me about any spelling and grammatical mistakes. enjoyy!

The air was cold and crisp, a light drizzle could be felt dampening the streets – a scene typical for this time of the year in Washington. Spencer had gone out with the team to get some drinks after a hard but successful case, he was happy, of course, the fact that they had caught the killer pleased him but everything inside the building felt overwhelming: the voices, and the drunk conversations, all the limbs touching a little too much, the overly loud music. He was out of it and to be honest he had been out of it for quite some time now, actually some months, everyone noticed how the breakup made him feel.

Funny, because he was the one to leave.

After you came back from a long shift at the hospital excited to cuddle with the love of your life (or so you thought) but the only remnant of him you found was a sticky note placed on the cover of a book you were reading at the time:

"I'm sorry, I can't do this anymore"

That was all he said before destroying everything you two had built over 3 years, 3 years of love, pain, and learning, 3 years of giving everything for each other, destroyed in less than 24 hours like nothing.

He hadn't been the same for a long time, though—not since prison. You didn't blame him; you tried to understand him, give him space, time, and everything one could need to heal. He was not the same, of course. You weren't expecting the same Spencer to come back, sure, but you also were not expecting whoever he had become: some cold and distant version of the person you used to know.

Your relationship with Spencer is divided into two eras: Before Millburn and After Millburn.

Before Millburn, you guys were somewhat happy. Both of you were overworked and stressed but happy. You would tell him about your work, and he would tell you about his. In the rare times, he got a day off work, he would hug you whenever he could, like he was making sure you wouldn't slip away.

After Millburn, you didn't talk much, not unless it was necessary, he didn't hug you a lot anymore, in fact, the last time he hugged you was when you went to pick him up at the correctional facility, all the emotions running high, you remember thinking he looked and smelled different, you didn't know he would be so different when you wrapped him in your arms, placed a kiss on his shoulder and whispered that everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. It was all so not fine and everyone around you two could tell. Yet you could have never imagined that Spencer, the man who made the hopeless romantic in you thrive would leave in such a disheartening way.

Back at O’Keeffe’s, the team was still at it. The count of how many rounds of drinks Rossi had paid long lost, Emily and JJ leaning suspiciously close to each other, Rossi nursing some unnecessarily extravagant drink, Garcia and Morgan somewhere on the dance floor and Hotch nowhere to be seen. Spencer had gone outside, hoping the sensory overload would ease with the fresh air, it did slightly but the agglomerate of people was no better than the one inside, so many people, reeking of alcohol, walking like zombies, and saying nonsensical things. As he was standing near the entrance, hands stuffed into his pockets, the soft rain dampening his hair, Spencer let his mind wander and it ended up where it always does: him contemplating if leaving was the right decision.

He was so deep in this thought that didn't even notice the man approaching until it happened- a hard shoulder bump that took him away from his thoughts.

"Sorry dude" the man muttered not even caring to glance back as he moved past. Spencer blinked, shocked as he watched the man move swiftly toward a small group of people nearby. A group that included you.

His heart jumped to his mouth. No - not you. But she looked like you, uncannily so. She even acted like you, the way she threw her back when she laughed or how she scrunched her nose in an attempt to put her sliding glasses in place - he could've sworn it was you.

For a fraction of a minute, he actually thought it was you. His breath caught in his throat and he took a step forward before reality sank in and he retreated. It wasn't you; it was never you.

But as he watched her wrapping her arms around the man's neck, as his hands almost automatically moved to her waist, and they both smiled like idiots in love. He couldn't help but feel like he had been stabbed and the knife was being twisted inside him. Was this some type of fucked up joke by the universe? "This could be you, bad thing you lost her" The thing is, he didn't lose you- he gave up on you which was worse because maybe if he had stayed, and tried a little harder, you would still be together.

He staggered back a few steps, and if he hadn't reached the wall, he would've fallen considering he already felt his knees buckle as all the bottled-up emotions from the past five months came crashing onto him; he was overwhelmed by his own feelings, eyes blurry with tears as a lump formed in his throat and the weight on his chest got heavier.

Blindly, almost unconsciously, he reached for his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket. His thumb hovered above your name in the contacts list. The message he typed was brief:

"Are you home?"

He didn't get a reply, he wasn't waiting for one. The moment he hit send his legs were already moving, practically running towards the street to hail a cab. He gave the driver your address, and it came out of his mouth easily, as if he had never stopped saying it.

You were in the shower when his message came through, you didn't pay the loud notification much attention, not even caring to glance at the device when you heard the familiar ding. You prioritized the small occasions you got to take care of yourself when your job is to take care of others.

Now freshly showered and in the kitchen making tea- the next step on your little routine- you hear a knock on the door, a distinct knock, a knock you could never forget, not even a billion years from now. Your heart stopped for a moment, heartbeat pounding in your ears, you didn't quite register you were moving towards the door until it was open and he was standing there, his brown eyes open wide once he registered your presence, reacting as though you opening the door was the last thing he expected. You just stood there for a few seconds, staring at each other until Spencer wrapped you in his arms like he used to, his nostrils flooding with the smell of your shampoo and body wash, smells he recognized all too well, smells that felt like home.

You pushed him away, shattering the brief feeling of happiness he had started to feel.

"What are you doing here?" You asked almost a little too loud in an attempt to hide the hurt in your voice

"I miss you" he replied eyes searching for yours.

You stood there, arms folded, trying to hide how weak those words made you feel. He had no right to miss you, not after leaving the way he did.

Why should I care? You thought to yourself. He made it clear that he didn’t care about you, but you cared, you cared so deeply that it made your heart ache.

You were not going to let him in.

"You can't just stop talking to me and then come here like nothing happened, Spence." You couldn't help using the nickname, your voice falsely steady, trying to hide the pain.

"I know, I just-can I come in?" No reply "Please"

You hesitated, gripping the door handle tighter as a tornado of emotions swirled on your chest. Anger. Hurt. Loneliness. You wanted to slam the door in his face, make him feel a small fraction of what you felt over the past 5 months. But buried beneath all these harsh feelings, there was something softer, something you felt ashamed to acknowledge: the echo of all the nights you stayed up worrying about him and what could happen in his work, all the mornings you woke up without the smell of coffee lingering through the apartment.

You let him in.

You tried to convince yourself that letting him in was about answers- you deserved an explanation, some sort of closure at least. But as you stepped aside and watched him walk past you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Because no matter how much he’d hurt you, part of you still longed for the man he used to be.

“This doesn’t change anything.” You muttered, as much to yourself as to him. He gave a slight nod in reply, eyes watering. Damn him and his big brown eyes.

 As you were turning around after closing the door behind you, he captured you in a hug again and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around him too.

★

Somehow, he ended up asleep in your bed and as you gaze at his peaceful resting face, your mind tells you to wake him up, tell him to go home and never come back, tell him that he doesn't get to leave and reappear whenever it suits him, tell him that he can fuck off for breaking your heart like that. Yet, you don't do any of that, because your heart tells you not to.

tysm for reading, likes and reblogs are always deeply appreciated

@angellic4l it's finally here bestieee!

[takes1]

aaa HI OMG!!!i love ur writing . i ate UP that kuroo x hard-to-get!reader.

i have a req; could youuu… write kuroken x reader nsfw? >< u can choose the gender, established relationship, reader is sooo neeedy, kuroo/kenma both please them together and continuously praise them for taking it all so well…

>_o whatever the answer may be to this,THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME!!!!!

p.1 kenma sharing you with kuroo

hi babes!! love this idea and it came at a good time too. this is a soft continuation of the needy!kenma fic

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / third!kuroo / established relationship / kuroo being so horny for you and kenma / crushing on kuroo / kuroo being rough / adult conversations / angsty smut / porn with plot / heavy petting / ass grabbing / getting walked in on / praise kink!reader / kenma being a great partner / 2.4k words / hopefully just a two-parter / pls reply to be added for next part!

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. part two here. final part.

"Ohh-Hooo-h shit-!"

Kuroo stuttered, eyes briefly getting their fill of that pretty body perched atop his best friend- who was- god damn- far more hung than he would've guessed.

Kenma raised his voice, half-sitting up to help cover you, with an incredulous, "Dude!"

That's right- he forgot that he was just standing there, mouth open under his palm. He was checking out the way you covered your tits with one arm, and attempting to cover your boyfriend with your free hand.

His surprise morphed into a guttural laugh at his honest mistake. He slammed the door closed behind him.

You could both hear a cackling that seemed like it was generated from the walls themselves.

"You okay?"

Kenma's hand cupped your face, cooling your warm skin down. It took you back to what had been a very intimate moment.

The sudden interruption, though nerve-wracking, didn't turn you entirely off like you thought it might. You leaned into his touch, a bit of worry on your brow, but didn't demand any extra coddling.

"I'm- I'm oka-y," You kissed his palm with a shaky sigh.

It didn't need to be a spoken thing; Kenma threw some sweatpants on, careful to keep an eye on you to ensure that was the truth, and slipped out to deal with Kuroo.

Kenma held his aggravation in a more grumpy, rather than wrathful, way. Where most guys would have flown off the rails, maybe keen to pick a fight with him, Kenma shut the door softly. He kept his tone even.

The taller of the two knew it was serious when he kept steady eye contact. That didn't necessarily mean he would suddenly stop finding the situation funny, but he respected -or, at least tolerated- the idea of privacy and 'territory.'

"Why are you here?" He mumbled, accusatory.

Kuroo raised his hands with a shrug, then let them flop to his sides in a defensive motion, "I was checking on you! It sounded like you were having a heart attack over the mic,"

"-I had no idea you were..."

His looked right through him, trailing over your lingering form in the door. He bit back a smirk.

It was such a prestigious opportunity at his fingertips. If he played his cards just right.

Kenma followed his eyeline to you, clad in his shirt that barely touched your thighs if you stood up straight. Good thing you were leaning on the frame, pulling a little on the hem, waiting for him to come back. His groin ached with the need to cut this short.

His voice lowered at your presence, "-Having so much fun."

The suggestive tone, worsened by the filthy expression that always made him look somewhat guilty, had you both warm at the topic.

"Well, thank you-," You were little raspy from what you had been doing, and moved forward to put a supportive arm around Kenma's waist, slowly pulling him back towards the bedroom, a little 'Let's Speed This Up.'

"For- um, checking on him."

Your partner couldn't help but smile, a soft and distracted look on his face as he turned to press a kiss to your cheek.

Physical touch, PDA, all wasn't a big deal to Kenma. It was how he loved, both with you and his friends. Kuroo had been an enthusiastic witness to some pretty raunchy stuff, over time.

Even a blind man could see that you two were checked out of this conversation already. You moved back into the bedroom, that shirt simply not enough fabric to cover your ass.

Before you could tell Kuroo 'Thank you,' one more time, he put a hand against the door.

He wedged half of his body in, like he was trying to squeeze into an already crowded elevator. You stayed standing just a little behind Kenma- not because you were threatened, but mostly because you didn't want to get in the way of their conversation. It felt like this should stay between two long-term friends. To make matters worse, the way you felt about Kuroo was confusing, and you weren't ready to dissect it yet.

"Ah-haha, you know," He laughed at himself, unable to find the right thing to say for the first time in a while, "I- I...I joke about it a lot-- but,"

He cleared his throat, mostly looking to see if Kenma was going to stop him, in the midst of what you all knew he was going to say.

"If you're looking to... 'spice things up,'" His nervousness was secondary to that cocky smirk across his jaw, "I know a guy who's available right now."

The 'You need a third?' joke was replayed so much that you and Kenma had grown desensitized to it. Now, it was catching up to you. You wished you had talked about it, sooner.

Satisfied with leaving Kenma to speak, you looked away, but realized all your toys were still out. The sight made you squirm, hoping Kuroo had not noticed (he did), and when you looked up- they were both staring at you.

"What?" Was so quiet that it was barely a word- so you swallowed and gave a panicked look to Kenma, whom you trusted, and figured would handle this in a conventional 'No, thank you' way-, "Why are you--?"

He wasn't so confident, especially not as sure as you'd have preferred, "I mean... It- doesn't sound too bad."

It felt like a test.

"Sweet," Kuroo laughed and stepped further inside- the only one able to be so lighthearted, with no difficult questions to consider.

"Wait-wait, wait, are you--," You were trying to decipher Kenma's passive demeanor here, "Are you serious? He's your friend."

Kenma nodded slowly, eyes closed, "I know."

He sighed, and made sure to be gentle with the way he worded this and the way he delivered it. It still felt like a knife to the stomach when he turned to you, took your hands, and said:

"But, I know you like him."

Heart racing, you looked both guilty and upset, and though you tried not to look at Kuroo, you couldn't help it. He was standing still, arms crossed, with one hand covering his mouth in concentration at the scene playing out before him.

"Hey," Kenma brought your attention back to him, "Hey, I'm not upset about it- look at me, baby."

You had to sit down. How could he know that, when you didn't- at least not yet? That wasn't what you had deemed it to be. In the midst of your conversation, Kuroo quietly slipped out of the room once more to give you both some emotional space. He did not mean for it to get that serious.

You were so faint that it was difficult to hear you, even standing right in front of you. He held your face in his hands and attempted to rub your stress away.

"I wouldn't say that, exactly--," You took a shaky breath in, and tried to find the right way to word it, "I think he's- attractive, I guess, but you know I love you. You're mine."

Kenma kissed your forehead a few times, relatively unbothered, "I know. And- I love you too. A lot."

You both smiled at one another and found comfort there.

"I'm just saying... It's okay to like him, too." He was the only one who could eye contact. The concept of it bothered you, but you liked the way you were being acknowledged, and validated.

"I promise."

His thumb brushed your cheek, and he caught another pretty, but still repentant, smile.

"It doesn't bother me," He asserted one more time for good measure, and let his lips fall onto yours.

It was warm, and kind, and soft- an 'I love you, no matter what,' in physical form.

His hands shifted, gentle and slow, up into your hair, his tongue swiped across your bottom lip before sucking on it, just to close out the kiss.

"We-," You lost your breath, so you took a moment to catch it, as he straightened back up, "Um- we don't have to, if you don't want to."

Five feet away, Kuroo was silently punching the air, absolutely geeking over the possibility that after all of that, there was still a chance he wouldn't get to fuck.

Kenma wiped his mouth of the trail of spit you hadn't caught in time, a little raise on his brow.

"I just wanna try this out."

He sounded so sure. Like he was only waiting to check that you were game, first. Where was the hesitation for him? Was this something he had already worked through, on his own time?

You watched him adjust, then rub a hand on the back of his neck.

He called to Kuroo.

His head peeked through the door, "Are you guys- uh, all good, ooor?"

Kenma opened the door wide for him. Their body language was just a little off. You couldn't tell exactly how, other than the energy between them as they looked each other over. It certainly wasn't aggression, like it had been before your conversation.

Kuroo stepped inside, rubbing his palms together, a big grin on his face.

"Good to see that you made the right choice."

Two big, rough hands had you by the middle so easily, so casually, that it startled you out of your wits. The instant reaction was to shut him down like you usually did. You pushed on his forearms with an awkward laugh.

He kept you plastered to his front after a small struggle, hand guiding your chin. Having to look up was new.

"Wooah- I know your little boyfriend just said you were into me-," His lids were low, and his grip was so strong that it made you weak in the legs, "So don't act all shy."

Kuroo was only single because he couldn't keep his attention limited to just one person. There had been countless times in the past year of dating Kenma that his girl trouble was the talk of the school; so-and-so was upset with what's-her-name because she was distracting Kuroo in class. Or, he was being too touchy with his girl-best-friend while trying to juggle two others in secret.

It was a good reminder that too much attention could spoil an otherwise great, fun-loving, guy.

In your attempt to look away towards Kenma- sweet, familiar Kenma, you finally felt his comforting presence behind you.

"Well," His hands trailed over your hips, eyes downcast at the way your ass was poorly hidden in his shirt. He hiked it up, a warm palm squeezing the fatty muscle there-- you couldn't help but slip your arms around Kuroo, hiding your warm, embarrassed face in his shirt.

"She's normally pretty shy."

You felt the bass in Kuroo's chuckle resonate through your chest, and remembered how surprised you were a year ago to hear him speak. He had a voice that always felt a little too deep.

A hand massaged through your already messy hair, grounding you.

His interested, "Oh, yeah?" made you clutch his muscular back.

Kuroo watched from over your head, fisting more of that shirt up to your mid back, as Kenma pressed his clothed hard-on between your supple flesh.

It felt exhilarating, both having somebody to hold onto and a dirty observer to all your bedroom activities. Kuroo's cock was already firm, trapped under his clothes, against your tummy. That didn't stop him from grinding into whatever he could.

The height difference would seriously take some adjustment. You and Kenma could fuck standing up-- you would need a step-stool for his bigger friend.

You gasped at his another hand gripping your ass, harder, sharper than you were used to. Kenma felt so good, even confined, grinding against your folds.

"Mn-!" Was muffled into Kuroo's t-shirt.

It should've been no surprise that he fisted a handful of your hair to make you look at him again.

You shut your eyes, resisting his hold, because you couldn't stand to look at him in this context. It was too new.

Instead of letting you go, he gripped you harder, eliciting a short, "A-ah!"

He took advantage of that, too, and tried to steal the kiss that he felt owed. But you turned your head at the last second and made it into a sloppy, unfinished cheek kiss. The remnants of which remained smeared across your warm cheek.

A defeated, audibly frustrated sigh-- he lost his grip on you, and in the process, you pushed him away.

Kenma pulled you close and out of Kuroo's arms. Onto his own chest, instead.

"The fuck?" Was a pitiful groan, and a look that you were embarrassed to receive, from Kuroo. He palmed himself freely, but stared at you like you broke some sacred pinky promise.

He ran a hand through his hair, stressed, and motioned to Kenma, "I thought you said she was into me. This- this isn't 'into' me. This is- is- like, fuckin' scared of me."

"She is into you-," His grip was soft, and nice, and though firm, it was still reassuring under your shirt.

Kenma laughed, thinking, as he kissed the side of your head. You still couldn't bring yourself to look at Kuroo, but you still found the strong desire to show off in front of him.

"Man, you're just--," He sighed, about to finish his thought.

"Just what?" Kuroo insisted, pissed off.

"You're too rough. Just... slow it... down."

Kuroo's hands rubbed down his face, brow working hard- he looked completely out of sorts, all frazzled and distressed.

An uneven tone, still worried as he tilted his head down, sideways, at you.

"O-kay, okay- yeah, I can..." He blew out a breath, "I can be... gentle."

As Kenma slowly peeled his shirt off of you- turning you around to face his best friend- revealing everything he ever wanted to see under that stupid uniform- his mind was made of stone.

He was not going to leave without touching you, tasting you. Kuroo lost a bit of feeling in his legs; he swallowed, dry, and nodded like a dumbass, over and over again.

"Yeah...Yea-h, I can slow it down for ya," He mumbled, mostly in an attempt to hype himself up. He pulled his shirt off by the back and closed the distance, with a different approach this time.

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu.

[haikyuuhoo]

tired eyes

pairing: gojo x reader

wc: 790

warnings: light angst, minor manga spoilers

a/n: tagging @shotorus in this bc sel your sleepy gojo thoughts made me unable to stop thinking about this idea I've wanted to write. I know this is so different to the vibes of what you were talking about but I figured you deserved the tag since this lil drabble finally made its way out of my head bc of you <3 (pls don't feel like you need to read this I'm nervy just tagging you lol)

Gojo’s keys clang loudly against the bowl on the table in the entryway, and he has half a mind to cringe at the noise, seeing as it’s so late and you’re probably asleep by now. He unzips his jacket as he drags his feet in the direction of the bedroom, heaving out a sigh and finally letting his shoulders relax a little, letting some of the tension he’s been harboring for days leave his body. He's so tired that he feels like he could fall asleep in his clothes without even crawling beneath the duvet, though he knows he should at least shower first. But that's all forgotten when he steps into the warm glow spilling into the hallway from the light on your nightstand, and he hesitates for a moment when he notices that you're not asleep—in fact, you're very much awake, like you've been waiting for him.

Your gaze darts up when you see the figure in the doorway, a smile immediately lighting up your face. “You’re home,” you say as you set aside the book you were reading and pull your headphones off.

Gojo raises an eyebrow, making his way to the edge of the bed where you rise onto your knees to meet him. “You’re still up?”

And you nod, shrugging one shoulder slightly as you bring your hands up to cup his face. “Of course. Can’t really sleep well when I’m waiting for you to come back from a mission, ya know?” You say it so casually, but it makes him frown knowing you’re referring to the nineteen agonizing days he was gone from you. You lean in to close the distance between you two, pressing your lips to his in a hungry kiss that has him grasping your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Well, as much as I wish you wouldn’t stay up just for me, I’m glad you did,” he murmurs into your mouth.

“Mmm,” is all you hum in response, pushing your fingertips underneath his blindfold. And then you kiss his nose, then his forehead, and then briefly his lips again.

And those lips fall into probably the prettiest pout you’ve ever seen. “You gonna take it off?” he asks, his voice low, and normally the tone would have you moving quickly to take everything off of him, but not tonight. Tonight, his voice is low with exhaustion, and you'd noticed the way it seemed to seep into his bones the moment he entered the room.

“No,” you say softly, and he nearly whines, “you’re tired. Your eyes—” You gently let your fingertips smooth across his eyelids over the blindfold “—I’m sure they need the rest.”

Gojo had a penchant for coming home with migraines after missions, all that time with his blindfold off to help him fight draining him and making his eyes even more sensitive than normal, and you’re sure tonight is no different.

“But I want to see you.”

The corner of your mouth tilts up. “I may not know exactly how your technique works, Satoru, but I know you can see me.”

And this time he does whine, squeezing your waist and pressing his forehead against yours. “You know it’s not the same. I wanna see you.”

You hum, stringing him along like you’re thinking about it and toying with the edge of the black fabric. “Okay,” you finally say, “just a peek, yeah?” Before he even has a chance to respond you're lifting it off and dropping it to the side. His hair falls around his face, messier than it normally is, and you gently brush it back.

Gojo blinks a couple of times to adjust his eyes to the light, and your chest tightens at the sleepy smile he gives you, at the way his eyes seem dimmer than usual. “Hi,” he whispers.

And you’re suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion that has you blinking back tears. “Hi.” You cup his face again, thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “I missed you.”

He flashes you a grin. “Aww, no need to miss me too much, you know I can’t stay away from you.”

And you both know it’s his attempt to lighten the mood, to pretend that someday there's going to be a time when you’re not waiting up for him, when you can be at peace despite knowing his responsibilities will always take him away for days at a time, when he's not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders—when there's not a very real possibility that someday he may not come home to you.

So you decide that today you two will pretend, and you let your tears fall, giving him a wobbly smile. “I know.”

reblogs & comments always appreciated <3

[gladiatorcunt]

🎾 - #LOVE ON THE FLOOR !!

cw: unrealistic public sex on a tennis court 💀 (it’s nighttime and no one else is there), college era, afab reader, gross friends to lovers, strip tennis, soft dom!art x inexperienced!reader, vaginal fingering + titfucking + brief analingus (afab reader receiving), implied (soft) obsession & toxicity like art would marry you tomorrow, teasing (towards reader), nipple sucking (m receiving), art putting in overtime to hit on oblivious!reader, reader is so comically unaware pls just roll with it and suspend your disbelief, mandatory Patrick™️ mention, 3.5k of pure need, art’s so horny in this like 😔 (+subtle implications of him either being a manwhore or a porn addict, as a little treat), lowkey canon typical mind games, unedited

this was requested by a bot looking blog that i had to block but the idea still slapped! combined with an ask for inexperienced reader

Art Donaldson sees your instagram story that’s only a repost of a Ethel Cain song and tries not to click his heels together. It’s not like he’s happy you’re clearly going through something, but if the story is a result of what he thinks it’s a result of… then he’ll comfort you through it however he can. With his words, his tongue, babying you in the bath and washing your hair, etc. Just getting to be intimate with you at all is an opportunity he’d never turn down.

Suddenly you’re bursting into Art’s dorm like a bat out of hell, tears dotting your waterline and lower lip wobbling. His heart lurches and leaps in equal measures, his backwards cap feels like it constricts around his head as he resists the urge to fidget with it.

“He… he didn’t show up!”

Art shoots up and gets off his bed, rushing to you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms, “What are you talking about?”

He gives you a lingering hug and passes you some of your favorite fast food that he always keeps in the little fridge in his dorm. Somehow knowing that it’d be just what the doctor ordered, you’re so lucky to have such a caring friend. You two haven’t left each other’s side since you bumped him on the first day of class, bringing a clice to life by spilling your coffee all over his polo. Sometimes you still lie awake at night and cringe at yourself, trying to assure yourself that he’s stuck around your awkward ass for a reason.

You’re hiccuping through your story while munching on your chicken sandwich, “Mark acted so exicted yesterday, and now he’s stood me up. I waited in front of the café for an hour, people were staring…”

Art eyes you from his position on the bed, crowding against you due to the size and having half of his torso glued to your back. He doesn’t giggle at the adorable way you get frustrated when the pickle in your sandwich always slides out in between your teeth during a bite, but he thought about it! He reaches up and brushes his fingers against your hair, wanting to just touch it more than move it.

“I don’t know what to tell you, he’s an idiot and you’ll move on. It’s not like he’s the only person in the world.” He grumbles, not quite pouting as he hooks his chin on your shoulder.

“Okay now you’re just grumpy because I beat you at uno.” You tease, gesturing to the scattered pile of brightly colored cards on the bed.

He’s definitely made you feel better though, he always does. You both finish your food and Art stands up from the bed to grab his tennis bag. He pulls you up too and winks, saying that you can’t beat him at everything. You ask what he’s doing and he only grins, telling you to come with him. You nervously glance around as you’re pulled to race through the halls to the court. There’s a simmering feeling weaving in and out of your tightly intertwined fingers.

divider

Art lets go of your hand to drop his bag on the ground, leaving your palm feeling strangely cold without his warmth.

You’re still not sure you should even be out here, you know that you’re definitely not allowed but Art seems to sense your hesitation because he rushes towards you and cups your hands in his.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble or anything, y’know that?” He chuckles, gently knocking the tip of his nose against yours. “Look up for me, the moon’s really pretty tonight.”

You follow his lead and tilt your head back to gaze up at the goregous crescent moon high in the oil colored sky. You don’t notice that he’s looking at you instead, that he doesn’t say that the moon reminds him of you but he feels like the one orbiting around you instead of the other way around. Luckily there’s not a cloud in sight, just a floating city of stars with a glowing center. Art lightly pulls on your wrists, clearly wanting your attention back on him, so you comply.

You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you don’t miss the odd glint in his eyes as he narrows them slightly.

His eyelids crinkle as he smiles charmingly, “Don’t you trust me?”

You answer with your heart, “Yes, of course I do.”

He beams at you and explains the rule of the game he dragged you all the way out here to play. It’s just like a regular game of tennis so you really shouldn’t sweat it, he says. His expression shifts when he makes a show out of being unable to look you in the eye when he tells you the special rules, knowing full well you can see him try to tamper down a self satisfied laugh. Whoever scores gets to pick whatever piece of clothing the other takes off, and the loser of the game has to get completely naked if they aren’t already.

Your cheeks warm and you gawk at him, “Isn’t it weird that you’ll see me… like that?”

“So you already know you’re gonna lose, huh? And it’s not like i haven’t seen most of it before.” Art laughs, not bothering to hide the blush on his face. “You’ve seen all of me, anyway.”

It’s true, you usually laze around in nothing but your underwear and that’s been the norm for you two. Art’s no different, he’ll change in front of you and will literally walk around butt naked around your dorm. More often than not, he’ll answer the door in only a towel around his waist and sitting on his hip bones, no matter if it’s one of your other friends or a project partner. You're constantly having to text the other because you forgot that you left your toothbrush behind. You’ve never had a chance to be embarrassed by it. It’s been like that for the longest time and anytime you’ll tell Art that your friends keep asking if he’s your boyfriend, he’ll just reassure you that you guys are just really close. And isn’t that a good thing?

“Besides, I think this’ll help get you out of your shell.”

You’re embarrassed at the reminder of how inexperienced you are. Sure, you shouldn’t have a whole thing about it or whatever, but it just is kind of alienating from other people your age to not be able to say you’ve done what they’ve done. And you would’ve been able to have some stories of your own if you could manage to hold down a date. But tonight isn’t supposed to be about you wallowing, you’re supposed to be having fun. Even if the sight of your best friend in tight fitting sporty clothes makes your pussy throb.

divider

You giggle nervously when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around you, swaying you from side to side before moving his grip up to your arms.

“Relax, i’m just checking your form. Being close to you is just a bonus.” He winks and presses his stomach up against your back.

It’s so cheesy, the situation and the pose. But you lean into his touch and pretend to care about how he’s showing you the right way to hold a racket and all that, he doesn’t even really care if he’s being honest. It’s romantic though, and he can’t resist the opportunity to get a taste of what it’d be like to pin your body down with his weight. He guides you through a few “practice” swings and then throws a two finger salute at you as he jogs around the net to his side of the court.

It’s your serve, and despite you being very much a beginner, you get the first point.

Art stands there expectantly, cocking his head to the side and bouncing on his heels in anticipation. You honestly didn’t consider that you’d actually be telling your best friend to take off his clothes for you, but you’re new thing is taking shit in stride, you guess.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” He shouts and hovers his fingers around the collar of his polo, ready for you to say the word.

You take the coward’s way out, “Your shoes.”

Art frowns but obeys the rules, swiftly unlacing his sneakers and tossing them to the side. The court’s not so rough that it’d be hell on his feet, but he’d do it for you even if it was all a bunch of jagged rocks cobbled together. The game goes on with Art scoring the next point, and then the one after that. He has you discard your necklace, one of those cheesy half heart ones that matches with one he has, and your shoes as well. He doesn’t wanna scare you off, but he knows what he wants to have you take off for him.

You score the next time, down goes his pants. Without them, few things are left to the imagination. Every time he’d walk around you naked you’d always keep your face firmly glued to your phone or something. But being faced with the very… detailed outline of his bulge through his underwear, that’s another thing entirely. It looks so long against his thigh it might as well be a third leg. There’s already a little wet spot where the tip must be.

You must’ve been taking too long to ogle him, because Art yells at you to “Focus on the game, yeah?”

You’re lucky it’s not a cold night when he gets the next point and has you take off your pants, which are really just glorified shorts. You unfasten them and shimmy them down your legs, letting them pool around your ankles and kicking them away from you. You haven’t shaved today, but you know that Art doesn’t care about that sort of thing. He’s made sure to tell you as much many times when you complain about how much your back hurts after you get done with it.

Art takes his sweet time dragging his gaze down your legs, already imagining bringing them around his waist or over his shoulders. Your panties are so cute too, cupping your pussy so closely that he can see the shapes of your puffy lips from all the way on the other side of the court, a “camel toe” or whatever you call it. He thinks it’s so hot, but you’re shy about it, asking him to see how you look in jeans that are a size too small. He always does a thorough inspection.

Whoever scores next wins the game, and you’re too busy trying not to fall on your ass to put any effort into it. It’s not a real game away, and besides, it’s not like anything has to happen when the loser completely undresses. Out of the corner of your eye you see Art’s dick twitch in his briefs and you get so distracted that you freeze and miss the neon yellow-green ball hurtling past you. Art whoops and cheers as you process the fact that you lost.

“You know what that means.” Art grins from ear to ear. “Make a show out of it for me.”

divider

You don’t even mind the staring, it’s such a common thing that you’d be more pissed off if he wasn’t looking at you at all. The way his eyes devour every inch of bare skin and drop of sweat that you earned during the game. You pull your tank top up and over your head, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your bra isn’t a frilly thing, you wear it mainly for support, but Art can’t seem to tear himself away from the view of your pushed up tits rising and falling as you breathe.

You…. don’t know what to do now, the big appeal of the game is over, you awkwardly laugh it off and bend over to pick up your clothes. Art shakes his head to snap himself out of his horny fever dream and races over to you, latching onto your wrist and stopping you from getting dressed again.

“You’re supposed to take it all off, remember?”

You drop your clothes, noticing that he still doesn’t let you go.

Heats fills your cheeks as he steps closer, delicately sliding his fingertips up the inside of your arm and around your back. He plays with the hook of your bra, gazing down at you with a look full to brim with unknown intent and purpose. He doesn’t do something as bold as unlatching it right out the gate, no, he just stares into your soul.

“I remember.” Your eyes drop down to his lips, and that’s when you know it’s over. “Can’t exactly do it myself if you’ve already got one foot in the door.”

You’ve gotta know when to fold ‘em, and all that.

Art softly smiles and loops his fingers under your bra strap. You have to remind yourself to breathe, but you don’t really get much of a chance to. Before you can stop yourself and think with your head, you’re canting up to press your lips to his. Art immediately kisses you back, chuckling into the kiss when you gasp as he expertly unhooks your bra with one hand.

In the blink of an eye, you’re flat on your back on the court, Art having hastily thrown his shirt under you while you were tangling your tongues together. He presses an array of wet open mouthed kisses down your body, paying extra special attention to the trimmed patch of hair at the top of your mound.

“Smells so good, ‘s cute, too. It figures you’d have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He coos, dragging a lone finger down your slit before gently pushing it inside.

You gasp, wrenching your eyes shut tight at the intrusion. He takes good care of you, slowly sinking his finger in to the knuckle and sliding it in and out of you. He gradually adds more fingers as the minutes pass. Your walls throb around him, and if Art were a weaker man (like the guy you almost went out with) he would’ve said fuck it and plunged his dick into your cunt in one smooth stroke. But you deserve the best first time possible, and all the distractions he’s used have helped him be patient enough to refrain from humping you like a dog.

“You’re okay, you can take it. It’s nothing compared to what this pussy’s going to be taking later anyway, baby.” He hums and nuzzles his nose into where your inner thigh meets your mound.

As he’s languidly thrusting his fingers into your puffy pussy, Art strains his neck to lap at your ass. He holds one of your fat cheeks in his free hand and spreads you open, diving in to suck on the puckered hole between them. He sharpens his tongue and jabs it into your ass, his cock throbs when you let out the sweetest little squeals at the squelching and throaty noises he’s making. He can feel your hole unfurling with every slurp and suck, something that only makes him increase the speed of his long fingers in your pussy, maintaining a breathtaking steady rhythm.

Eventually his poor leaking cock can’t take anymore grinding into the ground, so Art crooks his fingers and (albeit a bit cruelly) jams them into your sweet spot. The velvet grip of your pussy strangles his digits like a dream, you’d take dick so beautifully. Your eyes fly open and your throat spasms around a mangled moan. He pulls his fingers out of your soaking wet pussy, smirking up at you as he sucks them try like a professionally trained whore. Your clit receives a loving kitten lick as an apology for neglecting it, and with that Art hovers over you at an even eye to eye level again.

“Holy shit…” You pant and flick his pebbled nipples, absentmindedly rolling them around with your thumb. “Are we really doing this?”

“Yeah, we are.” Art sighs, his head falls back as you duck down to suck his nipples into your mouth, the saliva you lathered them with dripping down your chin. He grabs the back of your head and pushes your face into his chest, arching his back.

“Relax, I bribed security and told them to fuck off for the night.”

That doesn’t concern you as much as it should, you’re too transfixed on Art wrenching your mouth off of his pecs and moving to straddle your chest.

“Can you push them together for me?” He breathes hard and grinds his weeping cock against your tits, mesmerized by how his precum makes your skin glisten.

“Oh, fuck.” He groans when you do, making quick use out of the delicious new friction the little pocket provides. “Thanks, honey.”

You keep staring at the tip of his dick, loving the little peek you get of it as he fucks your tits and it pokes your chin. You don’t even realize you’re doing it but you let your mouth hang open, angling your head down so his cockhead pecks your tongue at the end of every thrust. You make sure to lick every drop of pre cum away as it oozes out of him, looking so nice against the flushed pink skin of his tip. Art groans when he finally summons the strength to watch you do it, the sight hurtling him over the edge before he has the time or vocal ability to warn you.

His thick load jets out to land all over your tits, half of it on the lower half of your face. You’re almost sad it didn’t get high enough to clump your lashes together, it would’ve made for the perfect contact picture. Oh well, maybe next time. It’s amazing, the switch you’ve made from the shy friend to the writhing slut underneath him. You blame it on the honest to God sweet taste of his milky white cum, surprisingly making you think of the pineapples he always snatches from your plate when you eat at school together.

(Another painstaking effort made just for you, love)

It’s a miracle you get back to his dorm, some of your clothes are swapped and put on incorrectly and you both didn’t clean up at all. As soon as you reach the door, Art practically shoves you inside and onto the bed. He gets so frustrated with having to get your clothes off again that he just rips them right off of you, promising to take you to the mall tomorrow (or whenever he lets you leave the bed) to buy replacements. You literally couldn't care less if he shackles you to the wall, you need him to rearrange your guts so badly, you’d kill for it. Should you be having deep conversations about your feelings and what the future will look like? Absolutely, but your clit is clouding your sense of rationality and you don’t mind that right now.

“Do you even know how much i’ve wanted this? To fuck you so hard that we end up attached at the hip?” He bites, breaking away from your lips to suck bruises down the column of your throat. “We can have a baby- please have my baby, fuck!”

There’s something so weirdly romantic about the leftover scent of the court combined with the twinkling stars outside. Art’s moans and hands scrambling to pin you down so all you have to do is take it, you’re doing things all out of order, but this was always going to happen sooner or later. Art is a clumsy manipulator but he’s so handsome… you find yourself agreeing to every frantic declaration flying out of his mouth as he spears his long cock into your sopping wet pussy. You claw red lines into his shoulders and back, and Art nearly creams on the spot. The sting and the fact that you’re so out of it, you’re marking him up, are crossing the wires in his brain. His taut thighs burn with the effort of fucking you so far into the mattress.

You’ll get to cum four more times than he does, and by the end of it you’ll wish you never came at all. Your soul’s goikg to be so far away from your ruined mess of limbs that you won’t notice the sacred promises being muttered into your sweaty hair or pay attention to your phone being out on Do Not Disturb. You’ll be right where you should be, inevitably molded around the shape of his dick and branded by all the love bites that litter your body. You’ll think you passed out during most of them, but you’ll give him a loopy smile, hook your pinky around his, and let yourself melt away.

It feels as if your walls are still clenching around a dick that’s no longer buried to the hilt in them.

“I love you”’s are for early mornings with coffee and pancakes. Gloating to Patrick will be for hours before then, Art blocking him when you’re deep asleep and unable to mend the growing rift between them.