#that is the main inspiration for this thing

[reidmarieprentiss]

Say Don't Go

Summary: You are given the opportunity of a lifetime, Spencer urges you to take it. Even if it means leaving him behind.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: time jumps, typical BAU crime, mentions of drugging/kidnapping/robbery, brief alcohol consumption by reader and friends, clubs, break up(?), talks of marriage, forced choices/decisions, happy ending !

Word count: 15k

a/n: so what if this pulls inspiration from the train scene in glee... SO WHAT ... and so what if i named a character after kurt

main masterlist

December 2008 – Present

"You’ve been with so many women you don’t remember their names?" Spencer asked, laughing at Derek.

"Are you surprised?" Emily snorted, raising an eyebrow.

"This has never happened to me before," Derek defended, sounding genuinely incredulous.

"It’s never happened to me before either," Spencer chimed in, grinning as he started toward the conference room.

"It can’t happen to you—you have an eidetic memory," Emily teased, her smirk unmistakable.

"Plus, you only have one name to remember," Derek added with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Ha ha," Spencer replied, forcing a laugh, though the words cut deeper than he let on. Derek wasn’t wrong.  

He only had one name to remember. One that mattered above all the others.  

But Spencer had messed it up. He had let you get on that train. He had let you walk away.

Spencer's regrets weren't always loud or obvious; they often whispered to him in the quiet moments of his everyday life, weaving their way into his thoughts like unwelcome visitors he couldn’t shake.

It was in the mornings, when he brewed a pot of coffee in his lonely apartment, and his hand hovered over the second mug he used to pour for you. He’d catch himself mid-motion, the pang of realization that you weren’t there cutting through him like a knife. He’d take his coffee black, staring at the empty chair across from him, and wonder if you were having your morning cup too—if you still took it with two sugars and a splash of cream.

At work, it was the little things that brought you to mind. A joke Derek would make, or the way Emily tilted her head while teasing him, reminded Spencer of how you used to laugh with him, soft and genuine. He could still hear your voice in the back of his mind, offering your take on a case or pointing out something he’d missed. Those moments were the hardest—because they reminded him of how much better everything had been when you were there to share it with him.

And then there were the books. Spencer couldn’t walk into his favorite bookstore without being overwhelmed by the memory of browsing the aisles with you, debating over which novel to pick for your next "couples read." Now, those shelves felt empty, even when they were fully stocked. He’d run his fingers over the spines, pausing at titles he knew you would’ve loved, but he never brought himself to buy them. What was the point if you weren’t there to read them with him?

Evenings were the worst. After a long day at the BAU, when he returned to his dim apartment, the silence was deafening. He’d sit at his desk, pulling out old case files to distract himself, but his eyes would always drift to the small keepsake box he kept on the shelf. Inside were the remnants of your time together—a movie ticket stub, a pressed flower from a date, a Polaroid of you laughing at something he’d said. He’d told himself he’d put it away to move on, but instead, it became a shrine to his mistakes, one he visited more often than he’d like to admit.

And then there were the nights when the ache became unbearable, when he’d lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, haunted by the image of you boarding that train. He could still hear the sound of the wheels on the tracks, still see the tear-streaked expression on your face when you looked at him through the window. Those nights, he’d wonder what he’d say to you if he had another chance—what he’d do differently if he could go back. 

The regret wasn’t just a feeling; it was a constant presence in his life. It was the realization that, in trying to give you what he thought you needed, he’d taken away the one thing he needed most: you.

—

June 2008

“Spencer?” you asked cautiously, looking over at your boyfriend as his car came to a stop in front of the train station.  

You could see him take a deep, trembling breath, the shakiness audible even as he tried to steady himself.  

When he turned to face you, his eyes were already brimming with tears, spilling over before he could even speak.  

“You said we were going to dinner,” you reminded him, your throat tightening as dread began to settle in your chest. You were trying desperately to ignore the sinking feeling you couldn’t shake, clinging to the hope that you were wrong.  

Spencer cleared his throat, but it didn’t stop his voice from breaking as he said, “No.” He shook his head, and the weight of his next words seemed to crush him as he continued, “You’re going to New York.”  

“What?” Your voice shot up as you stared at him in disbelief, as if he had grown another head. “What do you mean? I turned Aubrey down.”  

“I know,” Spencer sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands on the steering wheel as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I can’t let you throw your dreams away for me.”  

“My dreams?” you repeated, your voice rising in anger and heartbreak. “Spencer, you are my dream. I love you!”  

“I love you too,” he choked out through his tears, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “That’s why I’m letting you go.”  

“But—” you tried, your hands reaching for his as if grounding him could change his mind.  

“No, Y/N.” His voice was firmer now, though the pain in it was unmistakable. “I—I called Aubrey. She still wants you. I told her you accepted the position. That you’re coming.”  

“Why?” you cried, the single word breaking into a sob. Tears spilled down your cheeks as you searched his face, desperate for an answer that would make this make sense.  

Spencer’s lips quivered, and he looked away, unable to face the devastation in your eyes. "Because you deserve to have everything you’ve ever wanted," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the lump in his throat.  

"But I already have everything I want!" you shouted, your hands gripping the sides of his face, forcing him to look at you. "You’re all I need, Spencer. You’re it for me!"  

He let out a shuddering breath, his tears falling freely now as his hands reached up to cover yours. For a moment, you thought he might give in, that he might change his mind. But then he shook his head again, his expression resolute despite the anguish etched into every line of his face.  

"You’ll resent me one day," he said, his voice cracking. "You’ll look back and wonder what you could’ve done, what you could’ve been if you hadn’t stayed for me. I can’t live with that. I can’t live knowing I held you back."  

"That’s not fair!" you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of your sobs. "You don’t get to decide what’s best for me! I chose you, Spencer. I chose us!"  

"I know," he whispered, his hands tightening over yours as if trying to memorize the feeling. "And that’s why I have to do this. Because I love you too much to let you give up your future for me."  

"My future is with you!" you insisted, but he was already pulling your hands away from his face, gently but firmly.  

"I called Aubrey," he repeated, his voice hollow. "She’ll be waiting for you at the station in New York. Your ticket is already bought. Your bags… they’re in the trunk."  

You froze, staring at him in disbelief. "You… you packed my things?"  

Spencer nodded, his expression breaking entirely under the weight of your hurt. "I knew you wouldn’t leave if I didn’t."  

"You had no right!" you shouted, shoving at his chest. "No right, Spencer!"  

He took it, letting you pound against him until your strength gave out, until your sobs consumed you, leaving you trembling and broken in his arms. "I’m sorry," he murmured over and over, pressing his lips to your hair. "I’m so sorry."  

But he wasn’t sorry enough to stop you from going.  

As the train whistle sounded in the distance, Spencer gently pulled away, his hands lingering on your shoulders. "You have to go," he said softly, his voice thick with tears. "The train won’t wait."  

"I hate you," you whispered, the words cutting him deeper than anything else ever could.  

"I know," he said, his voice barely audible as he let his hands drop to his lap. "But one day… I hope you’ll understand."  

He opened the car door for you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, staring at him with tears streaming down your face, your chest heaving with the weight of everything unsaid.  

Finally, you whispered, "Goodbye, Spencer," your voice trembling as you stepped out of the car.  

He didn’t respond, didn’t say anything as he watched you walk away, each step feeling like a dagger to his heart.  

And when the train finally began to pull out of the station, Spencer felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. The reality of what he’d done crashed into him like a freight train. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, his legs were moving, carrying him toward the train. "No," he whispered to himself, his voice shaky and panicked. "What have I done?"  

His feet pounded against the pavement as he ran alongside the train, desperate, tears streaming down his face. He called your name, his voice breaking, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear him through the thick glass and the noise of the train.  

Inside the train car, you were curled into the seat, staring blankly out the window, your face streaked with tears. You weren’t expecting to see him. But then, there he was—running alongside the train, his expression frantic, his lips forming words you couldn’t quite hear.  

Your heart shattered all over again. The sight of him, so desperate, so raw, made it even harder to leave. Your hand instinctively pressed against the cold glass, a futile attempt to reach for him.  

Spencer’s legs burned, his lungs screamed for air, but he kept running, the distance between him and the train growing with every passing second. His vision blurred from the tears, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.  

But you… you couldn’t bear to watch. Your tears fell harder as you pulled your hand away from the window and turned your head, unable to keep looking at him. You had to look away, even though it felt like it was tearing you apart from the inside.  

Spencer stumbled, slowing as the train picked up speed, his legs finally giving out beneath him. He collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air, watching helplessly as the train—and you—disappeared into the horizon.  

He buried his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. "What have I done?" he whispered to no one, the words echoing into the empty night.  

You were gone. And Spencer knew, deep down, that he’d just made the worst mistake of his life.  

—

September 2008

You loved your new life. How could you not? You had everything you had once dreamed of—your new position as second in command to the CEO of your favorite designer brand was everything you’d worked so hard for. The thrill of overseeing campaigns, approving designs, and brushing shoulders with some of the biggest names in the industry was exhilarating.  

You’d settled into your new routine as well as anyone could when starting fresh in a bustling city like New York. Moving in with Aubrey Wilkes, the CEO herself, was daunting at first, but she made it easier. Her mentorship was invaluable, and her sharp wit and genuine kindness turned her into a friend as much as a boss.  

Your days were filled with meetings in glass-walled boardrooms, late nights spent poring over designs and strategies, and the occasional glamorous event that kept your calendar full. You had the life you always said you wanted.  

And yet...  

Every single day, Spencer found his way into your thoughts.  

It wasn’t always obvious at first. Maybe it was a book you saw in a shop window that reminded you of one of his recommendations, or a classical piece playing softly in a café that you knew he loved. Sometimes it was the sound of someone’s laugh that carried the same rhythm as his, or the sight of a man at the train station holding a bouquet of daisies like the ones he used to bring you.  

Other times, it was the silence that brought him back. At the end of a long day, when you’d kick off your heels and collapse onto your couch, you’d find yourself wishing you could tell him about your wins and your struggles. You’d wonder how he’d react to the stories you had to tell, imagining his soft smile or the way his hands would flutter nervously when he was excited for you.  

There were nights when it hit harder—when the city lights felt too bright and the penthouse apartment too cold. On those nights, you’d curl up in bed and stare out at the skyline, wondering if Spencer ever thought about you, too. If he regretted what he’d done. If he missed you as much as you missed him.

Because no matter how perfect your new life seemed on paper, a part of you still felt like it was missing. And that part had a name. Spencer Reid.

—

February 2007

It was a crisp evening as the warm glow of the restaurant's candles reflected off the polished surfaces, casting a cozy light over the two of you. Spencer had chosen this place because it was where you first met, a sentimental touch to the holiday of love that made your heart swell. The quiet buzz of conversation and the clinking of glasses provided a soothing backdrop as you both enjoyed your meal, the comfort of each other's presence making the night feel perfect.

You were mid-laugh at something Spencer had said when a woman approached your table, her eyes wide with admiration. "I’m so sorry to bother you," she began, her voice apologetic but earnest. "But that is the most fabulous dress I have ever seen. Can I ask where you got it?"  

Caught off guard, you felt heat rush to your cheeks as you glanced down at the material that clung to your body in all the right places. You smoothed your hand over the fabric, feeling both flattered and shy under the woman’s praise.  

Spencer, noticing your blush, smirked proudly from across the table. His hand reached out instinctively, wrapping around yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch grounded you, reminding you that he was there, always your biggest supporter.  

"I–um," you stammered, your voice soft as you tried to find the words. "I made it."  

The woman’s face lit up with genuine astonishment. "You made it?" she repeated, her tone filled with awe. "That’s incredible. You have such talent."  

Spencer’s smirk deepened into a full-blown grin as he interjected, his voice laced with pride. "She’s amazing, isn’t she? I keep telling her she could make a career out of this, but she’s too modest to listen."  

"Spencer," you mumbled, playfully rolling your eyes at him as your blush deepened.  

The woman smiled warmly at the exchange, clearly charmed by the both of you. "Well, if you ever decide to give your talents to the world, give me a call." With a quick admiring glance at your dress one last time, she handed you a business card before turning to rejoin her party, leaving you and Spencer alone once again.  

You stared at the card in your hand, the golden lettering catching the soft glow of the restaurant’s lights. Your heart nearly stopped as you read the name printed at the top—Aubrey Wilkes.  

Your favorite designer.  

The logo you’d admired countless times on magazine covers and in shop windows felt surreal in your grasp. For a moment, you couldn’t breathe, the weight of the opportunity this might represent sinking in.  

Spencer noticed the stunned look on your face and tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. "What’s wrong?" he asked, his tone soft yet concerned.  

You slowly turned the card toward him, your hand trembling slightly. "It’s… her," you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer leaned closer, his eyes scanning the card before widening in recognition. His lips curled into a delighted smile, the kind that lit up his whole face. "Aubrey Wilkes?" he exclaimed, excitement evident in his tone. "Y/N, do you know what this means?"  

"I…" you began, but words failed you. It felt too big, too unexpected to process.  

"It means you’re amazing," Spencer continued, his voice steady as he reached across the table to take your free hand. "And now someone else sees it too."  

You looked back at Spencer, who was still holding your hand, his thumb now tracing gentle circles over your knuckles. "I told you people would notice," he said, his voice soft but insistent. "You’re incredible, and you should let the world see it."  

Your eyes softened as you gazed at him, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. "Thank you, Spencer," you whispered.  

"Always," he replied, his expression filled with a quiet devotion that made your heart flutter.  

The moment lingered between you, the restaurant and its patrons fading into the background as the two of you shared a look that said more than words ever could.

—

April 2007

"Spencer, I’m not going," you sighed, the weight of the conversation pressing heavily on your chest as you leaned back in your chair. His persistence, while well-meaning, was starting to wear on you.  

"Y/N," he began, his tone both patient and pleading, "this isn’t just some casual opportunity. This is Aubrey Wilkes. She gave you her card. She wants to see what you can do. Do you even know how rare that is?"  

You folded your arms across your chest, avoiding his gaze. "I know exactly how rare it is, Spencer. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going to New York."  

Spencer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly as if physically holding himself back from pressing harder. "Why not?" he asked softly, his voice tinged with frustration but also genuine concern. "Is it fear? Because I know you, Y/N. You can do this. You’re more than talented enough."  

"It’s not fear," you shot back, though your voice faltered just enough for him to notice. You stared at the floor, your fingers gripping the edge of your chair. "It’s… it’s everything else. I have a life here. I have a job. I have you."  

Spencer’s heart clenched at your words. He reached out, his hand brushing against yours. "I know, and I love our life together," he said earnestly. "But I don’t want you to look back in ten years and wonder ‘what if.’ I don’t want you to resent me for holding you back from something you were meant to do."  

You flinched at his words, your head snapping up to meet his eyes. "You think I’d ever resent you? Spencer, you’re the best thing in my life. You’re the one who’s always supported me, encouraged me to believe in myself when no one else did."  

"And I’m still doing that," he countered gently. "That’s why I’m pushing this. I can’t stand the thought of you letting this slip away because you’re scared to leave me behind."  

"It’s not just that," you admitted, your voice breaking as tears pricked your eyes. "I don’t want to lose us. What if I go, and everything falls apart?"  

Spencer reached for your hands, cradling them between his. His thumbs traced soothing circles over your knuckles as he looked at you with all the tenderness in the world. "You won’t lose me, Y/N," he promised, his voice steady but thick with emotion. "I’ll be here, cheering you on, no matter where you are. I’d rather see you chasing your dreams, even if it’s from a distance, than staying here and giving up on them for me."  

Your tears spilled over, and you shook your head, torn between love for him and the fear of what leaving might mean. "I just don’t know, Spencer," you whispered, your voice cracking under the weight of your emotions.  

"I do," he said softly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "I know how much you’re capable of, and I know you’ll regret it if you don’t at least try. And I love you too much to let that happen."  

His words hung heavy in the air, the weight of them settling between you like an immovable wall. You shook your head, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill again. “I’m just—I’m not going. Leave it alone,” you said firmly, your voice quieter than you intended but laced with finality.  

Spencer hesitated, his hand still outstretched as if reaching for you might close the growing distance between you. “Y/N,” he murmured softly, his tone a mix of frustration and desperation.  

“Can we be done with this, please?” you interrupted, your voice trembling but resolute. You didn’t want to cry again, didn’t want to feel like you were fighting with the one person who always understood you.  

Spencer stared at you for a long moment, his brow furrowed, his lips parting as if he wanted to argue further. But then he closed his mouth, his shoulders slumping as he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

The word hung between you, filled with unspoken emotions—disappointment, worry, and love all tangled together. Spencer looked down at the table, fiddling with his napkin as if it held answers he couldn’t find in your eyes.  

You turned your gaze away, your chest tightening as silence settled over the room. It wasn’t the kind of silence that came with comfort—it was heavy, suffocating, filled with everything neither of you was saying.  

And though you had put an end to the conversation, it didn’t feel like a victory. It felt like a crack in something you weren’t sure how to fix.  

—

August 2007

"Who was that?" Spencer asked as you walked back inside from the patio, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity. He had noticed the look on your face as you ended the call—something between apprehension and surprise.  

You glanced down at your phone, the screen still lit with the call log. "Aubrey," you said hesitantly, tucking the device into your pocket.  

Spencer tilted his head, his interest piqued. "Aubrey Wilkes?"  

"Yeah," you admitted, your tone cautious as you avoided his gaze. "She… uh, she got my number. I don’t know how, but she did." You let out a nervous laugh, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear.  

Spencer’s expression shifted to one of intrigue and concern. "And?" he prompted, sensing there was more to the story.  

You took a deep breath, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "She asked me to consider coming. Said there’s a spot opening next year—her number two is supposed to leave for another job in Milan."  

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his eyes searching your face as he processed the news. "That’s… huge," he said slowly, his voice laced with both excitement and hesitation.  

"I know," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It’s… it’s everything I dreamed about. She said she’d hold the spot for me if I wanted it."  

Spencer stepped closer, his gaze softening as he tried to read the emotions flickering across your face. "What did you say?"  

"I didn’t say anything," you admitted, looking up at him with wide, uncertain eyes. "I told her I needed time to think about it."  

He nodded, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took a moment to respond. "And… are you thinking about it?"  

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to the floor. "I don’t know," you said quietly. "I told you I wasn’t going. But now… it’s like she’s dangling everything I’ve ever wanted right in front of me, and I don’t know if I can ignore it anymore."  

Spencer’s heart ached at your words, but he forced a gentle smile as he said, “You shouldn’t ignore it.”  

You sighed heavily, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a storm cloud. "It’s just too much to think about right now," you murmured, walking over to where he sat. Without hesitation, you nestled into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as his arm wrapped protectively around you. The warmth of his embrace was like a balm, soothing the whirlwind of thoughts in your mind.  

"Will you read to me?" you asked softly, your voice tinged with exhaustion.  

“Of course, my love,” he replied without hesitation, his tone tender. He reached for the book he had been reading earlier, adjusting slightly so you could be more comfortable.  

As his calm, steady voice filled the room, weaving through the story’s narrative, you felt your nerves begin to settle. The cadence of his words acted like a lullaby, each one wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Spencer kept reading, even when he noticed your body growing heavier against his, your breathing slowing to a steady rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.  

He paused mid-sentence, tilting his head slightly to glance down at you. You were wearing a sweater you had designed and crafted yourself, the intricate stitching a testament to your talent and creativity. In your peaceful state, with your lips slightly parted and your lashes resting against your cheeks, you looked serene.  

Spencer’s chest tightened as he watched you, a flood of emotions washing over him. He felt an overwhelming admiration for you—for your strength, your brilliance, your passion. But beneath that admiration was a deep-seated fear.  

He didn’t want you to give up this massive opportunity, the one you had dreamed of for so long, the one that could change your life. And yet, he couldn’t shake the gnawing guilt that maybe he was the reason you were hesitating.  

The thought that he might be holding you back, even unintentionally, was almost unbearable. He wanted to be the one who supported you, who cheered you on, who encouraged you to take risks and chase your dreams. But as he held you in his arms, he wondered if his love for you was making it harder for you to leave.  

Spencer pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as he whispered into the quiet room, “I just want you to be happy.”  

He knew that when the time came, he would have to push you, no matter how much it hurt. Because loving you meant wanting the best for you—even if it meant letting you go.  

—

March 2008

You and Spencer were strolling through the mall, casually browsing the stores as you searched for the perfect gift for your grandmother’s upcoming birthday. The two of you laughed together as you passed by store windows, debating what she might like—a scarf, a brooch, maybe a fancy tea set.  

But then your steps slowed, your attention caught by something glinting behind a clear glass case. It was almost subconscious, your feet carrying you toward it before you even realized what had drawn you in.  

"Rings?" Spencer asked, his voice soft and amused as he came to stand beside you. His eyes flicked to the sparkling display before landing on your face, a tender smile curling on his lips.  

"Do you ever think about getting married?" you asked suddenly, your gaze still fixed on the rings, their polished surfaces reflecting the light.  

The question caught Spencer off guard. He blinked, his smile faltering for just a second before it returned, gentler this time. "Of course," he said softly, the vulnerability in his tone unmistakable. "Do… do you?"  

You finally tore your eyes away from the display, turning to face him with a grin. Your heart swelled at the look on his face—so earnest, so full of quiet hope.  

"Yes," you admitted, your smile widening as you decided to tease him just a little. "Preferably to a tall, nerdy doctor. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers."  

Spencer’s cheeks flushed, his lips pulling into a bashful smile as he looked down at you. "I think you might be in luck," he said, his voice laced with warmth and a hint of playful humor.  

"Oh?" you asked, tilting your head and feigning surprise.  

"Yeah," he murmured, his eyes glimmering with affection. "I hear there’s one who’s absolutely crazy about you."  

Your laughter bubbled up, filling the air between you as you leaned into his side. He wrapped an arm around you instinctively, pulling you closer as you both stood there, the sparkling rings forgotten as you focused entirely on each other.  

In that moment, with his arm around you and the warmth of his love so evident, you couldn’t help but imagine a future where one of those rings might be yours—and that future felt a lot closer than you’d ever thought possible.  

—

May 2008  

“Aubrey,” you sighed into the phone, keeping your voice low as you closed the bedroom door behind you. Spencer had finally fallen asleep after hours of tossing and turning, his fever making rest nearly impossible. The last thing you wanted was to wake him now. “I told you I can’t.”  

Unbeknownst to you, the sound of the door clicking shut had stirred Spencer. His eyes fluttered open, confusion washing over him as he realized you weren’t lying beside him anymore. He sat up slightly, his head still heavy with fatigue, and strained to hear your voice coming from somewhere outside the room.  

He didn’t mean to eavesdrop. At least, that’s what he told himself. But the moment he heard Aubrey’s name fall from your lips, his chest tightened, and his focus sharpened.  

“No… no… it’s not that…” Your voice wavered, and Spencer could picture you chewing your thumb nervously—something you always did when you were stressed. “I can’t leave. My whole life is in Virginia… well, no… he told me to go… yes, I know—”  

Spencer’s breath hitched, his heart clenching at your words.  

“I love him, I love my life with him,” you continued, and Spencer felt his chest ache in equal parts relief and guilt. “Obviously… I’m sure it would work, but—” You sighed deeply, the sound heavy with frustration and longing. “My answer is still no. I’m sorry.”  

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed what he’d just heard. He could feel the weight of your words pressing against his chest, a reminder of the sacrifice you were making. He knew he was the reason you were staying. You were giving up your dream for him, and as much as he loved you for it, he couldn’t let it happen.  

Hearing your footsteps approaching, Spencer quickly laid back down, shutting his eyes tight like a child pretending to sleep past their bedtime. He tried to even out his breathing, though his heart raced beneath the covers.  

You slipped back into the bedroom quietly, the dim light from the hallway casting a soft glow as you moved toward the bed. Sliding under the covers, you nestled into his side, resting your head on his chest. Your lips pressed a tender kiss over his heart, and you whispered, “I love you so much, Spencer Reid.”  

Spencer’s chest swelled at your words, his arms instinctively wrapping around you as he fought back the wave of emotions threatening to overcome him.  

As your breathing steadied and you drifted off to sleep, Spencer lay awake, staring at the ceiling. He couldn’t shake the echo of your words—“I love him… he told me to go.”  

By the time sleep finally claimed him, his mind was filled with plans. He had to get you to New York. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how much it scared him, he had to make sure you followed your dreams—even if it meant losing you in the process.  

—

December 2008 – Present

"Reid, are you paying attention?" Hotch’s firm yet concerned tone cut through the fog in Spencer’s mind, snapping him out of his reverie.  

Spencer’s head jerked up, his eyes meeting Hotch’s piercing gaze. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, his voice steady though his heart wasn’t.  

"Good. Let’s keep it that way," Hotch grumbled, clearly not in the mood for distractions.  

The team was seated around the conference table in the BAU’s jet, discussing the details of their latest case. They were headed to New York, where several women had been drugged and abducted from exclusive nightclubs in the Upper East Side. The unsub’s profile was slowly taking shape, but for Spencer, focusing on the details was harder than usual.  

Even hearing the name New York was like a dagger twisting in his side. It brought with it a flood of memories he had tried and failed to suppress—memories of you.  

He could picture the night you had finally told Aubrey no, the way your voice trembled with conviction when you said you were staying in Virginia. And yet, here he was, sitting on a jet bound for the very city where you were supposed to be building your dream.  

Spencer clenched his jaw, trying to push the thoughts away. This is my job. Focus on the case. He repeated the mantra in his mind, forcing himself to look at the crime scene photos spread across the table.  

But as the jet began its descent into the city, he couldn’t stop his gaze from drifting to the window. The glittering skyline of New York City came into view, and his chest tightened. He wondered, not for the first time, what your life might have looked like now. Would you be walking those streets right now, thriving in a world that had always been meant for you?  

"Reid, thoughts?" JJ’s voice broke through his spiral, and Spencer quickly blinked, realizing the team was looking at him expectantly.  

"Uh…" He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter. "The unsub likely uses a combination of charm and familiarity to gain the victims’ trust. Based on the timeline, he’s calculated and methodical, which suggests he’s not working impulsively. He might be using the same clubs regularly to scope out his targets."  

JJ nodded, taking notes as Morgan chimed in with his own observations. Hotch seemed satisfied that Spencer was back on track, but Spencer could still feel the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.  

As the jet landed and the team prepared to disembark, Spencer grabbed his bag and fell into step behind the others. He reminded himself that the job came first, that the women out there needed them to be focused and sharp.  

But as they exited the airport and the cold New York air hit his face, Spencer couldn’t help but feel the ghost of what could have been following close behind.  

As the team settled into the precinct, the familiar buzz of activity filled the air—phones ringing, officers shuffling papers, and the hum of conversation about the case. Spencer sat at a desk, his eyes scanning over a map as he worked on the geographical profile. On the surface, he looked focused, but internally, he was at war with himself.  

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get you out of his head. The sharp lines on the map blurred as his thoughts drifted.  

Which building do you live in? The question looped through his mind like a broken record. He knew you had moved to the Upper East Side with Aubrey when you first came to New York. But that had been months ago—almost a year, actually. Maybe you didn’t live with her anymore. Maybe you had your own place now.  

And then, more troubling thoughts crept in. Are you being safe? His chest tightened at the idea of you walking these streets, the same streets where women were being drugged and taken.  

Spencer’s eyes darted back to the photos of the nightclubs spread across the desk. He knew it was unlikely you frequented places like these. You’d never been one for the nightlife, always shying away from loud music and crowded spaces. He remembered how you used to fidget at gatherings, instinctively seeking out quieter corners where you could breathe.  

But the thought of you even being near these places, of someone seeing you, targeting you—it made his stomach churn.  

God, I hope you’re safe, Spencer thought, clenching his jaw as he tried to shake the image of you from his mind.  

“Reid, you okay?” Morgan’s voice broke through his spiraling thoughts, pulling him back to the present.  

Spencer blinked, his hands tightening around the edges of the map. “Yeah,” he said quickly, his voice a little too sharp. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to sound calmer. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just trying to piece together the unsub’s movements.”  

Morgan studied him for a moment, clearly unconvinced but deciding to let it slide. “Alright, well, let me know if you need a second pair of eyes.”  

Spencer nodded, returning his gaze to the map. But even as he tried to refocus, his mind kept drifting back to you. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t heard your voice, hadn’t even been able to convince himself to reach out.  

And yet, here he was, in your city, wondering if you were okay, if you were happy, if you were thinking about him too.  

After spending the day checking out the crime scenes and canvasing the surrounding areas, the team returned to the precinct to deliver their initial profile to the local police. Spencer sat near the back of the room, his hands clasped tightly in front of him as he tried to keep his focus on the case.  

Emily stood at the front, presenting the profile with her usual confidence. "We believe the unsub is targeting wealthy women," she explained, her tone even but firm. "Women who appear successful and independent—CEO’s, CFO’s, designers, singers, dancers, actors, chefs, etcetera. He sees them as trophies, not just victims. He uses their wealth and status to justify robbing them, taking their IDs, and eventually breaking into their homes after he’s done with them. This is about control and power, and his choice of victims reflects that."  

Spencer’s stomach churned as he listened, each word cutting deeper into his already frayed nerves. His mind was no longer on the women they were profiling; it was back on you.  

Every victim they described could have been you. Successful, talented, determined—everything about you fit the profile. You had climbed to the top of your field, a name that carried weight and admiration. You were exactly the kind of woman this unsub sought to dominate, to tear down.  

Spencer swallowed hard, his gaze flickering to the board where photos of the victims were pinned. Each face reminded him of you in some way—the confident smiles, the elegant postures, the undeniable strength that radiated from their pictures.  

He tried to push the thoughts away, to remind himself that you were likely far from this mess, probably tucked away in a luxurious apartment or a designer studio, far removed from the chaos he was immersed in.  

But the fear gnawed at him anyway. What if you weren’t safe? What if you were walking these streets late at night, lost in thought or distracted, completely unaware of the danger lurking nearby?  

Morgan’s voice pulled him back to the moment, but Spencer barely registered what was being said. He felt frozen, paralyzed by the weight of his thoughts and the eerie similarities between you and the women they were trying to protect.  

The briefing ended, and the room began to clear out, officers heading back to their tasks. Spencer stayed seated, staring blankly at the photos on the board. His chest felt tight, his mind racing with all the possibilities he didn’t want to consider.  

"Reid?" JJ’s voice broke through the haze, her expression soft as she approached him. "What’s up with you? Is something wrong?”

He blinked, forcing himself to shake his head. "No," he lied, his voice flat. "Everything is fine."  

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close. Every instinct in him screamed to find you, to check on you, to make sure you were okay. Because no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought that this case wasn’t just about catching an unsub—it was about protecting you from a danger he couldn’t control.  

—

You were getting ready with Aubrey and the rest of your group, the energy in the room buzzing with excitement. It was Blake’s 27th birthday, and they had chosen to celebrate with a night out at the clubs.  

The leopard-print dress you wore hugged your frame perfectly, its bold design a gift from Aubrey herself. As you zipped up your deep burgundy leather boots, the rich color catching the light, you couldn’t help but glance at your reflection. The outfit was striking—you felt sexy and confident.  

“Shots!” Kurt’s voice boomed from the living room, drawing laughter and cheers from the group. You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as you finished adjusting your boots.  

“You ready to go, superstar?” Aubrey teased, leaning in the doorway with a knowing smile. She looked impeccable, as always, her outfit radiating confidence and style.  

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied with a grin, standing and smoothing out your dress.  

“Good,” Aubrey said, linking her arm with yours. “Because tonight, we’re leaving all the stress and work drama behind. It’s Blake’s night, and you, my dear, are going to have fun.”  

You laughed, letting her guide you toward the rest of the group. As the music played loudly in the background and someone handed you a shot glass, you tried to push away the unease creeping in. This wasn’t your scene, but for Blake—and with your friends by your side—you’d make the best of it.  

What’s the harm of one night out on the town?

Aubrey, with her effortless charm and impressive connections, had managed to get your group into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city. As you approached the entrance, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of excitement as you passed the long line of people waiting to get in.  

The bouncer gave your group a once-over before glancing at his clipboard, where your names were already on the list. He nodded to the hostess, who gestured for you to follow her inside. You exchanged amused glances with Aubrey, her confident smirk making it clear she was in her element.  

The energy of the club hit you immediately—a pulsing rhythm of music, vibrant lights reflecting off chandeliers and mirrored disco balls, and the faint scent of expensive perfume mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.  

You were quickly led to a private VIP lounge area, tucked away yet with a perfect view of the dance floor. The sleek leather seating, soft glow of ambient lighting, and low table with a bottle of premium alcohol chilling on ice made it clear this was luxury at its finest.  

As you settled in with the group, Aubrey leaned over with a grin. "Not bad, huh?"  

"Not bad at all," you admitted, finally starting to feel the buzz of excitement that the rest of the group had radiated all night.  

Kurt popped the cork on the bottle with a celebratory cheer, pouring out drinks as Blake laughed and raised their glass. "To the best birthday ever!" Blake called out, their joy infectious as everyone clinked their glasses together.  

You took a sip, letting the fizzy warmth spread through you, and glanced out at the dance floor, watching the kaleidoscope of lights play over the crowd. For the first time in a long while, you let yourself relax, leaning into the moment. Tonight wasn’t about anything else—it was about celebrating Blake, being with friends, and maybe, just maybe, finding some joy in the chaos.  

It wasn’t until later in the evening, as the excitement of the night wore on, that you noticed something was wrong. Analise hadn’t returned from the bathroom in a very long time. At first, you didn’t think much of it—maybe she’d gotten caught up chatting with someone or had taken a phone call. But as the minutes stretched into an hour, unease began to settle in.  

You mentioned it to Aubrey, and soon, the rest of your group was involved, searching the crowded club for her. You checked every possible place she could be—the bathroom, the dance floor, the bar. You even tried calling her phone, but it went straight to voicemail.  

A sinking feeling twisted in your gut as you decided to check with door security. Maybe she’d decided to leave early and hadn’t told anyone. But when you explained the situation, the response you got made your heart drop.  

“She left about 40 minutes ago,” the bouncer informed you, his tone matter-of-fact. “She was with a man.”  

Your blood ran cold. Analise was a married lesbian woman with children. There was no way she would leave with a man.  

“That’s impossible,” you said, your voice shaking. “She wouldn’t… she would never do that.”  

The bouncer frowned, his expression darkening as he realized the weight of your words. Aubrey, ever composed, stepped forward, her voice sharp and commanding. “We need to check the security footage. Now.”  

The staff moved quickly, pulling up the tapes as your group crowded around, watching with bated breath. And there it was—clear as day. Analise stumbling out of the bathroom, visibly dazed, as a man wrapped an arm around her, guiding her toward the exit. You could see her trying to resist, her movements sluggish and uncoordinated, but she was no match for him.  

Your stomach churned as the man led her out of the club. It was clear she’d been drugged and coerced.  

“We’re calling the police,” one of the security staff said, already reaching for his radio.  

The next thirty minutes passed in a blur. The authorities arrived swiftly, questioning the staff and reviewing the footage. Your group, shaken and worried sick, was told to wait outside. When the police finally addressed you, it was to inform you that they needed to take statements from everyone who had been with Analise that night.  

Before you knew it, you were sitting in the back of a police car, the flashing lights reflecting off the club’s exterior as it faded into the distance. Aubrey sat beside you, her normally composed demeanor fractured by worry. The rest of your group was being transported in other cars, but you all shared the same fear: What if it’s too late?  

As the car sped toward the station, you stared out the window, your mind racing with a million thoughts. Analise’s face, her laugh, her stories about her wife and kids—it all played in your mind like a reel you couldn’t stop. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was your fault, that somehow you should have noticed sooner, should have done something.  

Aubrey reached over, squeezing your hand tightly. “We’ll find her,” she said firmly, though her voice wavered.  

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach didn’t loosen. All you could do now was hope the authorities could act quickly enough. Analise’s life could depend on it.  

Your group was led into a quiet room, far from the noise and chaos of the precinct. The space felt sterile and impersonal, and the tension in the air was palpable as you waited, all of you exchanging worried glances. One by one, your friends were called out by law enforcement to give their accounts of the night’s events.  

You tried to steady your breathing, but your heart sank when one of the officers mentioned that the Behavioral Analysis Unit was on the case. The BAU, you thought, your stomach twisting into knots. That could only mean one thing—Spencer.  

Your mind raced. Please, let him be out in the field. Let him be anywhere but here, you silently begged. The idea of seeing him again, especially under these circumstances, felt overwhelming.  

But then a petite, pretty blonde woman entered the room, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to your spiraling nerves. She scanned the list in her hands before looking up and saying your name with a polite smile.  

You hesitated but stood up, smoothing your dress as you followed her down the hallway. She led you to a small interrogation room, where the walls seemed to close in just a little too tightly.  

“Have a seat,” the woman said gently, gesturing to the chair across from her. She handed you a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma filling the room.  

“Thank you,” you murmured softly, clutching the cup between your hands as if it were a lifeline.  

The woman gave you a reassuring smile, her blue eyes warm and steady. “My name is Jennifer Jareau,” she said, her voice calm and professional. “I’m an agent with the BAU, and I just have a few questions for you. You’re not in any trouble; we’re just trying to get a clear picture of what happened tonight.”  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Okay.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her posture open and non-threatening. “I know tonight was difficult, but anything you can tell us might help us find your friend and bring her home safely.”  

You took a deep breath, letting her words settle over you. As much as you were afraid of what this moment represented, you knew you had to focus on Analise. You began recounting the evening, walking her through everything you could remember—how Analise had gone to the bathroom, how long she’d been gone, and how your group had discovered she had left the club with a man.  

JJ listened intently, taking notes but never breaking eye contact. Her steady presence made it easier to keep talking, even as your voice faltered at times.  

When you finished, she nodded thoughtfully. “You’ve been really helpful. Thank you for being so detailed—it makes a big difference.”  

You offered a small, shaky smile. “I just want her to be okay.”  

“We’re going to do everything we can,” JJ said firmly, her voice filled with quiet determination.  

You nodded again, but as she stood to leave, a new wave of anxiety washed over you. What if Spencer really is here? What if he walks through that door next? You weren’t sure you were ready for that moment. Not now. Not like this.  

—

When the call came in about a new abduction, Spencer held his breath, his stomach tightening as a familiar sense of dread crept in. For a brief, harrowing moment, he waited to hear your name. But it wasn’t.  

“Analise Bordeaux,” Penelope said over the phone, her tone efficient but tinged with urgency. “She’s a top-rated journalist for the New York Times. Married, with two kids. Her wife also reported her missing earlier tonight after she didn’t return home at a previously agreed time.”  

Spencer let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, but the relief was fleeting. Another brilliant, accomplished woman was in danger, and the unsub’s pattern was becoming even clearer.  

“Morgan, Reid,” Hotch’s voice cut through the tense moment, bringing everyone back to focus. “I want the two of you to head to the club. Talk to the staff, review the footage, and see if anyone remembers anything unusual.”  

“Got it,” Morgan replied, already grabbing his jacket.  

Spencer nodded, silently falling into step with his partner. The ride to the club was quiet, the weight of the case settling heavily between them. Spencer’s mind wandered, as it often did in moments like this, and despite his best efforts, his thoughts drifted to you. Were you okay? Were you being safe in this massive, chaotic city? The idea of something happening to you gnawed at him in a way he couldn’t shake.  

When they arrived at the club, the music still pulsed faintly in the background as staff cleaned up after the night’s events. The bouncer and several employees were waiting for them, and Derek immediately took the lead, flashing his badge and asking for access to the security footage.  

Spencer scanned the room as they worked, his sharp eyes noting every detail. The club was upscale, the kind of place that catered to high-profile clients, which fit the unsub’s victimology perfectly. He and Derek pored over the footage, watching as Analise stumbled out of the bathroom, her movements sluggish and disoriented. The man who had escorted her out didn’t seem remarkable at first glance, but Spencer’s mind was already analyzing every subtle detail—the way he scanned the room, the calculated calmness in his movements.  

“This guy fits in with the crowd,” Derek muttered, narrowing his eyes at the screen.  

Spencer nodded. “He knows exactly how to stay under the radar. He’s blending in, using the chaos of the club to his advantage.”  

After questioning staff and gathering everything they could from the scene, the two men left the club and headed back to the precinct. The weight of what they’d seen hung heavily in the air between them, but Spencer was unusually quiet.  

“You good, pretty boy?” Derek finally asked, glancing over at him.  

“Yeah,” Spencer lied, his voice quieter than usual. “Just… thinking.”  

Derek didn’t push, but Spencer could feel his partner’s eyes on him. 

When Derek and Spencer arrived back at the precinct, they headed straight to the makeshift conference area where the rest of the team was gathered. The atmosphere was tense but focused, with everyone comparing notes and piecing together the puzzle of Analise’s abduction.  

JJ was finishing up her report on the interviews she had conducted with Analise’s friends. She held a notepad in her hand, skimming through her findings as she updated the team.  

“We have a list of people Analise spent the evening with,” JJ said, holding up the notepad. “Her coworkers and a few close friends all confirmed she wasn’t acting like herself before she went to the bathroom. Said she was dazed, disoriented in the footage—classic signs of being drugged. One of them even mentioned they tried calling her, but her phone’s off now.”  

As JJ spoke, Spencer’s gaze landed on the notepad in her hand. Something about it nagged at him—a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite place.  

“Can I see that?” he asked, pointing to the list of names.  

JJ didn’t hesitate, handing the notepad over with a slight frown of curiosity. “Sure,” she said. “What are you thinking?”  

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned the list quickly, his brain processing each name at lightning speed. And then he saw it.  

Your name.  

It hit him like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, the room seemed to tilt. His breath caught in his throat, and his grip on the notepad tightened as if he needed to steady himself.  

You’re here.  

“What is it, Reid?” JJ asked, her voice breaking through the sudden rush of emotions.  

Spencer forced himself to look up, his expression carefully neutral. “Um,” he muttered, his voice tight. “I just… wanted to see if anyone stood out.”  

He handed the notepad back to JJ, his hand trembling slightly. He hoped she didn’t notice, but Morgan, standing nearby, narrowed his eyes at him.  

Spencer’s mind raced. He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t spoken to you since the night he let you go. And now, here you were, tangled up in a case involving dangerous predators and a missing woman. He clenched his jaw, trying to suppress the panic rising in his chest.  

“You recognize anyone?” JJ asked, her tone casual as she flipped back through the list.  

“No,” Spencer lied once more, his voice steadier this time.  

But inside, he felt like he was falling apart. Because no matter how much he tried to focus on the case, on the unsub, on finding Analise, one thought overpowered everything else: You were here.  

“What do you think, Hotch?” Rossi started, leaning back slightly in his chair. “Should we let them go?” He gestured vaguely, referring to your group still waiting in the designated room.  

“No,” Spencer said quickly, speaking up out of turn. His voice was firmer than he’d intended, and everyone turned to look at him with raised brows.  

“They’re safer here,” Spencer continued, his tone more measured now. “The unsub might have seen them. If they were with Analise all night, they could’ve been noticed, even targeted.”  

“Reid’s right,” Hotch said, nodding as he turned back to Rossi. “We’ll keep them here until we have more information. JJ, did any of them mention recognizing the unsub from the footage? Or if Analise recently changed anything in her routine that might have drawn attention?”  

JJ gently took her notepad back from Spencer, giving him another curious glance before flipping through her notes. “Uh… yes,” she said, stopping on a specific page. “One of them—Y/N Y/L—mentioned that Analise had just gotten a promotion at work. They went out to celebrate at a new restaurant last Thursday.”  

Spencer stiffened at the mention of your name, doing his best to keep his expression neutral.  

“Alright,” Hotch said decisively. “Let’s bring Y/N back into the interrogation room. She might have seen this man at the restaurant and didn’t realize it.”  

“I’ll go get her,” JJ offered, already rising from her seat and heading toward the door.  

“I’ll come too,” Spencer blurted out before he could stop himself.  

Everyone turned to look at him again, surprise flashing across their faces.  

“May—maybe a second set of ears,” Spencer stammered, quickly trying to justify his outburst. “Um, a new perspective might help.”  

Hotch studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read Spencer’s motives. Then, with a curt nod, he said, “Fine. Go with her.”  

JJ gave Spencer a questioning look but said nothing, motioning for him to follow her. As they walked down the hallway toward the room where you and your friends were waiting, Spencer felt his chest tighten with every step.  

He hadn’t seen you in so long, hadn’t prepared himself for this moment. And now, he was seconds away from coming face-to-face with the person he’d never stopped thinking about.  

—

You were just starting to lose your patience, shifting in your seat and glancing at the clock for the hundredth time, when the door opened again. The same woman from before, Jennifer, stepped inside with her calm and professional demeanor.  

“Y/N?” she said with a polite smile. “Can we see you again?”  

Your friends exchanged questioning glances, murmuring words of encouragement as you stood. “Good luck,” one of them whispered as you followed JJ out of the room and down the hallway.  

You tried to steady yourself, reminding yourself this was all routine. Just more questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. But as you stepped into the cold interrogation room again, the air felt different—charged, heavy.  

And then you saw him.  

Sitting in the chair across from the table, Spencer.  

Your breath caught in your throat, and the room that had felt icy before now felt like it was a thousand degrees hotter. You froze for a moment, your mind racing to make sense of the sight in front of you. He looked the same, yet different. His hair was slightly longer, his face a little more tired, but those eyes—the same deep, thoughtful eyes you’d once adored—were unmistakable.  

Spencer’s head snapped up as you entered, and for a second, he looked just as startled as you felt. His mouth parted slightly, but no words came out.  

“Y/N,” JJ said gently, breaking the heavy silence. She gestured toward the chair across from Spencer. “Have a seat.”  

You nodded stiffly, forcing your legs to move as you crossed the room and sat down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you couldn’t tell if it was from nerves, shock, or something else entirely.  

Spencer cleared his throat, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. “Hi,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You blinked, your throat dry as you nodded again. “Hello, agent,” you replied, equally quiet.  

JJ glanced between the two of you, her brows furrowing slightly in confusion, but she quickly masked it. “Y/N, we just have a few follow-up questions,” she said, sitting down beside Spencer and pulling out her notepad.  

But it didn’t matter what she said. The only thing you could focus on was Spencer, sitting right there in front of you, as if the years between you had suddenly disappeared.  

The questions started simply enough—where had you and your group gone to dinner? How many people were there? Did anyone stand out or seem to take special interest in you?  

“There was one person,” you said after a moment of thought, tilting your head slightly as you tried to recall the details. “He was a busboy, I believe. But he kept coming by our table to check on us.”  

Spencer, who had been taking notes alongside JJ, immediately perked up at that. “He wasn’t your server?” he asked, his voice calm but focused.  

You shook your head, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “No, our server was a woman. She was very attentive, but this guy—he kept showing up. At first, we thought he was just really good at his job, but it started to feel… I don’t know, a little strange.”  

JJ leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. “Strange how? Did he say anything to you, or was it more about his behavior?”  

“It was mostly his behavior,” you replied, frowning as you tried to piece together the memory. “He’d clear away plates that didn’t really need to be cleared yet, or refill water glasses that were barely half-empty. And every time he came by, he’d linger for just a second too long. It was subtle, but… noticeable.”  

Spencer exchanged a quick glance with JJ before asking, “Can you describe him? Anything about his appearance that stood out?”  

You nodded, your eyes narrowing slightly as you focused on the image in your mind. “He was average height, maybe a little shorter than you,” you glanced at Spencer. “Dark hair, clean-shaven. He had this kind of… intense way of looking at people, like he was trying to figure them out.”  

Spencer scribbled furiously in his notebook, his pen moving so fast it almost blurred. “Do you remember if he wore anything unusual? Jewelry, a watch, anything like that?”  

You paused, biting your lip as you thought. “I… I think he had a tattoo on his wrist,” you said finally. “It was hard to see because of the uniform, but when he reached over to clear a plate, I noticed it. It looked like… a triangle, or something geometric.”  

“That’s good,” JJ said with a nod, giving you an encouraging smile. “That’s really helpful, Y/N.”  

But your gaze shifted to Spencer, who was still scribbling notes with an intensity you hadn’t seen from him before. When he finally looked up, his eyes met yours, and for a brief moment, the weight of everything unsaid passed between you.  

“Anything else you remember, no matter how small?” he asked softly, his voice steady but carrying an edge of something deeper—something that felt almost personal.  

You shook your head slightly. “No, I think that’s it. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now…” You trailed off, a shiver running down your spine at the realization of how close your group may have been to danger.  

Spencer nodded, his expression unreadable as he set his pen down. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  

JJ stood, glancing at her notes before giving you another reassuring smile. “We’ll follow up with the restaurant and see if anyone knows him. You’ve been really helpful, Y/N.”  

You nodded, rising from your chair, but your eyes lingered on Spencer for just a moment longer before you turned to leave the room. And as you walked back to your friends, you couldn’t help but feel like this encounter had stirred up more than just memories of the night—it had brought something long-buried between you and Spencer back to the surface.  

Before you could reach the room where your friends were waiting, you felt a gentle hand on your arm. The unexpected touch made you stop, turning instinctively.  

There he was—Spencer, standing just behind you, his face filled with an urgency that took your breath away. He looked like he was holding back a storm, his words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.  

“Can I see you before I leave?” he asked, his voice low but rushed, as if afraid you might say no.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, your mind scrambling to process the request. And before you even realized it, you nodded. “Okay,” you said softly, the word leaving your lips almost automatically.  

Relief flashed across Spencer’s face, but he didn’t linger. He simply gave you a small, grateful nod before turning back toward the team. You stood there for a second, trying to collect yourself, before heading back into the room with your friends.  

As soon as you sat down next to Aubrey, she leaned in, her sharp eyes scanning your face. “Was that Spencer?” she asked in a hushed whisper, her voice filled with curiosity and concern.  

You nodded again, unable to bring yourself to speak.  

“Are you okay?” Aubrey pressed, her hand resting lightly on your arm.  

This time, you shook your head. The motion was small, but it felt monumental, like admitting the weight of everything that had just happened. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, the sharp pressure a weak attempt to distract yourself from the knot of emotions tightening in your chest.  

Aubrey frowned, her expression softening as she studied you. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

You shook your head again, swallowing hard as you tried to push the overwhelming feelings down. “Not yet,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Aubrey nodded, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “Alright. But I’m here when you’re ready.”  

You gave her a faint smile, grateful for her understanding. But as you sat there, surrounded by your friends and the low hum of their conversations, your mind was elsewhere—focused on Spencer, and the inevitable conversation that now loomed on the horizon.  

—

Luckily, your information turned out to be exactly what the team needed. With Penelope’s tech skills and the restaurant staff’s confirmation, they were able to identify the unsub and locate Analise.  

The relief was almost overwhelming when the news came in: Analise was found unharmed, aside from the lingering effects of the drugs and the red marks on her wrists where she’d been bound. The man hadn’t had the chance to carry out his full plan—robbing her or doing worse—thanks to the swift intervention of the police and FBI.  

By the time everything was resolved, the authorities had cleared you and your friends to leave that same night. The long hours of tension melted away as you gathered your things, and your group began heading toward the precinct exit.  

You stuck close to Aubrey, practically glued to her side as you wrapped an arm around her waist. Her presence grounded you, the warmth and familiarity of her reassuring after everything you’d been through.  

“Finally,” Aubrey murmured as the two of you reached the doors, her tone light but laced with exhaustion.  

You nodded, tightening your hold on her as you pushed through the glass doors into the cool night air. But as you stepped outside, your eyes darted around instinctively, searching for a glimpse of Spencer.  

And there he was, standing just a short distance away, speaking with Morgan and Hotch. His back was to you, but even from where you stood, you could feel the weight of the moment.  

You immediately turned your head, your arm tightening around Aubrey as you kept moving. You didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk Spencer catching sight of you—or worse, calling out to you.  

Aubrey glanced down at you as the two of you walked quickly toward the car. “You okay?” she asked softly, her voice steady despite her own obvious fatigue.  

“Yeah,” you whispered, though your grip on her waist betrayed your nerves.  

As you slid into the car, your heart still raced. The thought of seeing Spencer again—even after everything—left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. And yet, there was a tiny, nagging part of you that wondered what would’ve happened if you’d let yourself stop.  

But for now, you were content to let an officer drive you home, the city lights blurring outside the window as you leaned against the seat, trying to process the night’s events—and the man who still had the power to shake you to your core.  

The incessant ringing of your phone jolted you awake, the sound cutting through the fog of your restless sleep. You groaned, squinting against the morning light as you reached for your phone on the nightstand.  

Your heart skipped a beat when you glanced at the screen. No name was displayed, just a number. But it was a number you could never forget, no matter how hard you’d tried.  

You had deleted Spencer’s contact months ago, telling yourself it was for the best, a necessary step in moving on. But his number was burned into your memory, a string of digits that you could recite as easily as your own name.  

For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your thumb hovering over the answer button. The ringtone seemed louder, more insistent, as if demanding a decision.  

Your chest tightened, and a million thoughts ran through your mind. Why is he calling? What does he want? Can I even handle hearing his voice right now?  

But before you could overthink it any further, your thumb moved almost of its own accord, pressing the button and bringing the phone to your ear.  

“Hello?” you said softly, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

There was a pause on the other end, just long enough to make your heart race, and then you heard it—a voice you hadn’t heard in what felt like a lifetime.  

“Y/N,” Spencer said, his tone cautious, almost tentative. “I… I’m sorry to call so early. I wasn’t sure if you’d pick up.”  

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “What’s going on, Spencer?” you asked, your tone carefully neutral.  

He hesitated, and you could practically hear him piecing his words together. “I just… I couldn’t leave New York without talking to you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not after last night. Not after seeing you again.”  

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you didn’t respond right away, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken emotions.  

“I know this isn’t fair,” Spencer continued, his words tumbling out now, “but… can we talk? Just the two of us? Please?”  

You closed your eyes, leaning back against the headboard as you exhaled slowly. You didn’t know what to say—didn’t know if you were ready to reopen wounds you’d worked so hard to heal. But the sound of his voice, the raw emotion in it, made it impossible to say no.  

“Okay,” you said quietly. “When?”  

“Now?” he asked, his voice tinged with hope and hesitation. “I can come to you, or we can meet somewhere—whatever you’re comfortable with.”  

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table, your mind still racing. “There’s a café a couple of blocks from me,” you said finally, giving him the address. “I’ll meet you there in an hour.”  

“Thank you,” he said, relief evident in his tone. “I’ll see you soon.”  

As the call ended, you sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand. Part of you wanted to crawl back into bed and pretend none of this was happening. But another part—the part that had never really let Spencer go—knew this was a conversation that was long overdue.  

—

November 2004

“Excuse me, miss?” a voice spoke from behind you, polite but a little unsure.  

You turned around, confused, to find a lanky man with slicked-back hair and glasses standing there, looking at you expectantly. He wore an awkward smile, his hands fidgeting slightly as he shifted on his feet.  

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head, trying to place him.  

“If it’s no bother, we would really appreciate the check. We were just called into work,” he explained sheepishly, gesturing to a man sitting at the table behind him, who was watching the interaction with an amused grin.  

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “Um,” you started, your tone hesitant, “I’m sorry, but I don’t work here.”  

The man sitting across from him burst into laughter, shaking his head. “Nice going, Reid.”  

The one who had spoken—Reid, apparently—turned bright red, stumbling over his words as he tried to apologize. “I—I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to assume, I just—your outfit—it looks just like the uniforms the waitstaff are wearing!”  

You frowned, glancing down at your clothes—a crisp white blouse tucked into sleek black slacks. Then it clicked, and a laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “Oh, wow,” you said, grinning at him. “That’s… actually kind of funny. I designed the uniforms, so I guess I subconsciously dressed accordingly.”  

Reid blinked, his eyes widening behind his glasses. “You designed them?” he asked, his embarrassment giving way to genuine curiosity.  

“Yeah,” you said with a shrug, glancing around the restaurant. “I work for the owner—well, freelance. They hired me to design uniforms that were professional but stylish.”  

“That’s… really impressive,” Reid said, his tone sincere as he adjusted his glasses. “They’re—um, they’re very nice. Clearly convincing,” he added, his cheeks still pink.  

The man at his table laughed again, shaking his head. “You’re lucky she’s nice, kid. That could’ve gone way worse.”  

You smiled, brushing off the comment. “No harm done,” you said, waving a hand. Then, looking back at Reid, you added, “Just maybe double-check next time before you assume.”  

“Noted,” he said, offering a sheepish smile. “And again, I’m really sorry.”  

As you walked away, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, shaking your head at the interaction. Little did you know, it was the beginning of something much bigger than a misunderstanding over a uniform.  

—

December 2008 – Present  

You sat at the small table in the café, nervously fidgeting with the edge of the tablecloth with one hand while biting your thumb with the other. The café was quiet, the gentle hum of conversation and the hiss of the espresso machine creating a soothing background. Still, your nerves were anything but calm.  

You hadn’t seen Spencer yet, but you felt his presence looming, the anticipation making your chest feel tight. Your mind raced with a million thoughts—what he would say, what you should say, how this meeting would go after all the time that had passed.  

“Excuse me, miss,” a familiar voice interrupted, laced with a soft, teasing tone. “You don’t happen to work here, do you?”  

Your head snapped up, and your lips parted in surprise, only for the tension in your chest to loosen when you saw him. Spencer stood there, looking both nervous and amused, his hands tucked awkwardly into his coat pockets. His hair was slightly tousled from the cold, and his glasses caught the soft glow of the café lights.  

You couldn’t help it—amusement took over as you remembered the very first time he had said those words to you. “Seriously?” you said, a small smile creeping onto your lips. “You’re going to lead with that?”  

Spencer shrugged, his lips curving into a sheepish grin. “I figured it worked the first time,” he said, his voice soft as his eyes flickered to yours.  

Your heart stuttered at the look he gave you, and for a moment, it felt like you were back in 2005, standing in that restaurant, completely oblivious to what the future held.  

You shook your head, gesturing to the seat across from you. “Sit down, Reid,” you said, your tone light, though your voice still carried the weight of everything unsaid.  

Spencer moved carefully, as if afraid to disrupt the fragile moment between you. He slid into the chair, his hands resting on the table, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve.  

“You remembered,” you said after a beat, unable to stop yourself.  

“Of course I did,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “I remember everything about you.”  

The weight of his words settled between you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, slowly, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.  

“Well,” you said, breaking the silence, “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”  

Spencer nodded, his expression serious but filled with something you couldn’t quite place—hope, maybe? “Yeah,” he said. “We do.”  

And just like that, the conversation you’d both been avoiding for years finally began.  

Spencer folded his hands on the table, his long fingers twitching slightly as though unsure of where to begin. He glanced down at the tablecloth before looking back up at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but no words came out right away.  

You tilted your head, studying him. “You’ve never been one to struggle for words,” you teased lightly, trying to ease the tension that hung thick in the air.  

He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” His voice was soft, almost tentative.  

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—weighted with years of unanswered questions, unresolved feelings, and all the things neither of you had said when you had the chance.  

Spencer finally spoke, his voice low and earnest. “I shouldn’t have forced you to go.”  

Your heart clenched at his words, the directness of them catching you off guard. You opened your mouth to respond, but he pressed on, his words tumbling out in a rush, as though he’d been holding them back for too long.  

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he said, his gaze locked on yours. “I thought I was giving you the chance to live the life you deserved, to follow your dreams without me holding you back. But all I did was hurt you. And…” He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. “I hurt myself too.”  

You blinked, stunned by the raw honesty in his tone. You hadn’t expected him to dive in so quickly, to say the things you’d spent so long wondering if he even felt.  

“Spencer,” you began, your voice wavering slightly, “you didn’t just hurt me. You made a decision for both of us without even asking how I felt. You thought you were protecting me, but you didn’t give me a choice.”  

He flinched slightly at your words, but he didn’t look away. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I know I handled it all wrong. I’ve replayed that night a thousand times in my head, and every time, I wish I’d done it differently. I wish I’d just… trusted you.”  

You swallowed hard, the vulnerability in his words stirring something deep within you. “You think I didn’t want to go? That I didn’t think about what it could’ve meant for my career? I stayed because I loved you, Spencer. You were my dream. Not New York. Not Aubrey. You.”  

Spencer’s hands tightened on the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. “And I threw it away,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.  

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. “You didn’t throw it away. You made a choice. We both did. And we have to live with that.”  

He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. For a moment, you thought that might be the end of it—that he would drop it and let you both walk away again.  

But then he looked up, and his eyes were filled with something fierce, something determined. “I don’t want to live with it,” he said firmly. “Not anymore. Not if there’s even the smallest chance I can fix this—fix us.”  

Your breath caught, your heart pounding in your chest as his words hung between you. You wanted to say something, to respond, but you weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to speak.  

So instead, you just stared at him, waiting for him to keep going. And in that moment, Spencer Reid, the man who rarely hesitated to explain every detail, every fact, every statistic, did something unexpected.  

He waited too.  

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hope, for any clue as to how you might respond. You could see the vulnerability etched into every line of his face, the desperation for you to believe him, to give him a chance.

“Spencer,” you began softly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the storm of emotions swirling within you. “Fix us? There is no us anymore. You made that abundantly clear when you kicked me out of my home.”

Your words were sharp, cutting through the fragile hope that had been lingering in the air. Spencer flinched as if you’d physically struck him, his face falling with the weight of your statement. He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his lips pressing into a thin line as he struggled to find the right words.

“I didn’t—” he started, but then stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t kick you out, Y/N. I thought—”  

“You thought you knew what was best for me,” you interrupted, your tone more firm now as the hurt you’d buried for so long began to surface. “You didn’t even ask me how I felt. You made a decision for both of us and expected me to just accept it. And when I didn’t? When I tried to fight for us? You pushed me away like I didn’t matter.”

“You mattered,” Spencer said quickly, his voice cracking. “You still matter. I—I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was protecting you.”  

“Protecting me?” you repeated, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You weren’t protecting me, Spencer. You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d resent you, so instead, you pushed me out of your life completely. And guess what? It hurt just as much—maybe even more.”  

His shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his hair, the gesture so familiar it made your chest ache. “You’re right,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was afraid. I was terrified. Not just of you resenting me, but of… of failing you. Of not being enough. I convinced myself that letting you go was the selfless thing to do, but all I did was hurt you. And myself.”

You looked at him, his confession hanging heavily in the air between you. Part of you wanted to lash out, to make him feel a fraction of the pain you’d carried for so long. But another part of you—a part you didn’t want to admit existed—still ached for him, still felt the pull of the man you’d once loved so deeply.  

“You can’t just come back now and expect to fix everything,” you said, your voice softer but no less firm. “It’s not that simple.”  

“I know,” he said quickly, his eyes pleading. “I know it’s not. But I had to try. I couldn’t leave New York without telling you how I feel, without letting you know that I’m sorry—for everything.”  

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you tried to steady yourself. “And what happens after this, Spencer? What are you expecting? That I’ll just forget everything and we’ll go back to how things were?”  

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t expect that. I don’t expect anything from you, Y/N. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking as he added, “I just needed you to know that I never stopped loving you. Not for a second.”  

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The sincerity in his voice, the pain in his eyes—it was all too much.  

But so was the weight of everything that had happened, the scars that hadn’t fully healed.  

“I never stopped loving you either,” you said finally, your voice trembling again. The admission felt heavy, like a weight you had been carrying for far too long, now released.  

“Really?” Spencer asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he was afraid to believe it.  

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Well, it’s only been half a year, Spencer. I thought I was going to marry you. That doesn’t just go away.”  

“No,” he agreed, shaking his head slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, it doesn’t.”  

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the quiet of the café wrapping around you like a fragile cocoon. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you and the raw, unspoken emotions lingering between you.  

Then, Spencer shifted in his seat, his hands fumbling around in his bag as if he were searching for something. You watched him curiously, your heart pounding in your chest as he finally pulled out a small box.  

“What is that?” you choked out, your voice barely audible.  

Spencer held the box in his hand, staring at it for a moment before looking back up at you. “I bought this the day we went to the mall,” he began, his voice soft but steady. “When you asked me if I ever thought about marriage.” He paused, his fingers brushing over the edges of the box as if grounding himself. “When you went into the lingerie store, I went back and bought the ring you were staring at.”  

Your breath hitched, your mind racing. “How did you know?” you whispered, the words barely escaping your lips.  

“I’m a profiler,” he said with a small, almost shy smile. “I know—knew you so well. It wasn’t hard to see which one caught your eye.”  

“It’s—the ring is in there right now?” you asked, your voice trembling.  

Spencer nodded, his expression cautious but hopeful. “Do you want to see it?” he asked tentatively, his fingers tightening slightly around the box.  

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Then, slowly, you nodded, unable to find the words to say anything else.  

Spencer opened the box, turning it toward you, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe.  

The ring was simple yet elegant—exactly the kind of style you’d always admired. A delicate band of platinum, with a perfectly cut diamond set in the center, surrounded by smaller stones that sparkled as if they held their own light.  

“Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, your eyes never leaving the ring.  

Spencer’s head snapped up, his brows knitting together in confusion. “What?” he rushed out, his voice filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope.  

“Yes,” you said again, louder this time, your gaze shifting from the ring to meet his wide, questioning eyes.  

“Yes… what?” Spencer asked, his voice trembling, as if he couldn’t allow himself to believe what he thought he was hearing.  

You took a shaky breath, your emotions swelling and threatening to overflow. “I’ll marry you,” you said firmly, the words filling the space between you like a beacon.  

Spencer froze, his lips parting slightly as he processed what you’d just said. For a moment, he looked like he might cry, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as his hand tightened around the small box.  

“You will?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, full of awe and disbelief.  

“Yes,” you said again, nodding for emphasis. “I love you, Spencer. I never stopped. And I don’t want to waste any more time pretending like I don’t.”  

Spencer’s hands trembled as he reached for yours, his grip warm and steady despite his obvious emotion. “I—I don’t even know what to say,” he admitted, a nervous, breathless laugh escaping him.  

“You don’t have to say anything,” you replied, your voice soft but certain. “Just… ask me.”  

Spencer blinked, his lips curving into the smallest, most genuine smile you’d seen in years. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he slid out of his chair and knelt on one knee, still holding the box open.  

“Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you, and I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”  

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks as you whispered, “Yes.”  

Spencer slid the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking as he did so, and when he stood, you launched yourself into his arms. He caught you easily, holding you tightly as you both laughed and cried, the weight of years of pain and longing finally lifting.  

In that small café, with the world around you fading into the background, the two of you found your way back to each other—against all odds, against all fears. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything felt right.  

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

tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls @person-005 

[prettyngeto]

your lips, my lips (apocalypse) - 18+

satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: if someone told you you'd be screaming out the name of notorious fratboy satoru gojo for a reason other than to berate him, you never would've agreed to come to this party.

content (mdni): nsfw, college au (reader and gojo are both twenty), fratboy!gojo, gojo is an annoying little shit but he's hot so it's okay, fingering, creampie, multiple orgasms, dom!gojo, sub fem!reader, praising, dumbification, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!) inspired by this fanart by yunonoai

word count: 6.7k

playlist: fluent in bullshit

main masterlist || gojo masterlist || ao3

The air was thick with the smell of alcohol and sweat, bodies moving drunkenly against each other to the sound of the music blasting from the multiple speakers around the house. Multicoloured lights were dancing around every surface visible, your face scrunching in disgust as you caught sight of a half naked couple practically eating each others' faces off against a wall. All in all, it was a typical Saturday night for the infamous Jujutsu High frathouse. Red solo cups littered the floor as you manoeuvre your way through the crowd, eyes scanning around for your best friend. Your hand moved to fish your phone out of your pocket, immediately calling her for assistance, because if there was one thing you were good at - it was getting lost and right now you were most definitely lost. However, it seemed like luck was not on your side tonight because of course tonight is the one night she decides to not pick up. A small whine of frustration left you as you craned your head, going up on your tiptoes to continue your search in vain. 

“The hell ya cryin’ for?” The deep familiar voice of the living and breathing embodiment of irritation rang through your ears. 

Satoru Gojo.

Yeah, luck was most definitely not on your side tonight. 

Gojo had been a constant in your life since you were kids, and not in a good way, in fact he was like that pesky fly that kept buzzing around your room at night even though the window was wide open. On top of this he just happened to be the president of the Jujutsu High frat - something he never failed to remind others of, so although it came to no surprise to anyone that he was here, his presence always seemed to antagonise you. The vice president and one of your mutual friends, Suguru Geto on the other hand was much more tolerable compared to the devil's spawn that currently had his arm languidly thrown over your shoulder as he leaned down to talk into your ear. His smirk widens when you roughly shove his arm off your shoulder and he goes to hold his hands up in a show of faux surrender. "Woah easy there princess, what's got you all worked up huh?" You click your tongue in exasperation and turn away from him, "You ever learn to mind your own business Gojo or do you get off on annoying everyone around you?" 

The glare you send his way only serves to intensify the smirk on his face, his tongue reaching out to lick his lips before he answers. "Nah not everyone, I only get off on annoying you, get it right y/n." The cheeky tone in his voice makes you groan in annoyance before you spin on your heel and walk away from him, the sound of his grating laughter echoing behind you. 'Seriously what was his problem? Someone needs to teach him how to shut the fuck up.’ The dynamic between you and Gojo has always been an… interesting one. It mostly consisted of him doing everything humanly possible to get on your nerves, from pulling on your hair in kindergarten to throwing scrunched up paper to the back of your head in high school and in return, you used him to learn how to perfect your punches, (which admittedly always hurt him but he'd never let you know that). 

“Y/NNN THERE YOU AREEE!” The squeal of your name had you turning around only to become entangled in the long limbs of your best friend, Yuri, simultaneously catching the attention of several others in the room due to the volume of Yuri’s voice. Yuri was the other (more enjoyable) constant in your life, a ball of sunshine who always got a smile out of you since the both of you had met at the ripe age of five. But she could also be a bit… loud, ultimately making you two the centre of unwanted attention wherever you went. “Bitch I’ve been walking around trynna find you for so long. Ugh, I think this is the most exercise I’ve done this whole year.” Yuri pants out once you’ve finally managed to get out of her surprisingly strong hold. You huffed, a small pout forming on your lips. “Yu, don’t be dramatic, it’s your fault anyway. I called you but someone decided to not pick up and then I had to deal with that annoying piece of shit. By. My. Self.” 

“You talked to Gojo? Gojo Satoru? Alone? And the room is still intact? Who are you and what have you done to my violent best friend?” The glare you send her way has Yuri giggling, an arm hooking into yours as she drags you upstairs to the room in which the rest of your friend group were currently playing some stupid games. Excited smiles and waves greeted you as you walked through the door, Yuri pulling you down to sit in between her and Shoko. “You two are right on time, we were just about to start a riveting game of seven minutes in heaven.” The sarcasm in Shoko’s tone made you stifle your laughter, head falling onto Yuri’s shoulder, as she gave you a playful wink in response. “Seven minutes in heaven seriously? What, are we horny 13 year olds again or something?” Yuri groaned, her head tilting to rest on top of yours. You hummed in agreement, boredom already evident on your face, “Yeah who’s dumb idea was this anyway?”

Suguru has a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he answers you, "Google's. We didn't know what to do so we searched up 'fun games to play at a party.' " He was met with blank stares until Shoko nearly choked on the puff she was taking from her cigarette at his confession, the room now filled with the sound of laughter and Utahime frantically rubbing Shoko's back in an attempt to stop her from coughing up a lung. "Oh by the way did anyone see Satoru, we can't start without him or he'll start whining. Fucker said he went to the toilet, it's been like twenty minutes." Suguru's voice broke through the laughter as he leaned back onto his hands, head tilting in curiosity. Your mood immediately soured, letting an audible groan at the sound of his name and to make things worse, this was the moment Gojo decided to make an appearance. His presence was overwhelming to say the least, and the fact that he was aware of the effect he had when he walked into the room definitely did not help his exploding ego. Grey hoodie slung over his shoulder, and hands tucked in the pocket of his matching grey sweats, a lazy smirk made its way onto his face, "Hope you guys didn't miss me too much." His eyes caught yours as he sat down opposite you next to Suguru who smacked him up the head for taking his 'sweet fucking time,' resulting in Gojo readjusting the black baseball cap he was wearing backwards with a whine. 

His sky blue eyes were shining with mirth as he looked you up and down from across the circle you all had formed, arms crossing and an eyebrow raising up at you in challenge. Your eyes immediately narrowed into slits as you stared him down, unintentionally locking onto the way his biceps flexed across his chest in the black compression shirt he never seemed to take off. He followed your eyes down to his arms, smirk widening as he not so subtly flexed his arms even more, watching in amusement as you try to hide the flustered expression in your face by rolling your eyes and looking away with a scoff. 

Shoko cleared her throat impatiently, "Are you two done eye-fucking each other now or can we get this stupid game over and done with?" She asked with a bored expression, looking between you and Gojo with a raised brow. This only seemed to fuel Gojo's amusement, snickering as your jaw went slack at Shoko's words, face twisting in disgust.

"You two. Cut it out. Shoko - you're right and I love you but we don't need Satoru bleeding out on my carpet tonight okay?" Suguru Geto ladies and gentlemen, ever the peacemaker. 

Utahime shot up from her spot next to Shoko, hands clapping in excitement as she retrieved a small black bag. "Okay everyone put something in the bag so we can figure out pairings. And thennnn, all you gotta do is go to the storage room next door for seven minutes. Simpleee!" She announced this with way too much excitement for your liking. Once everyone had dropped one of their belongings into the bag, it was simultaneously decided that Utahime would choose her partner first. Eyes scrunched closed, she dipped her hand into the bag, pulling out what was unmistakably Shoko's lighter. Loud hollers and cheers filled the room all the while Utahime sat frozen, face painted a bright shade of red. Wordlessly, Shoko sat up walking towards the storage room next door. Upon noticing that Utahime still hadn't moved, she turned around, tilting her head, a small smirk appearing on her face, "Ya comin' or not?" Let's just say you had never seen Utahime move so quickly in your life.

Seven minutes later, the pair walked back in the room with flushed cheeks and equally red lips that were sporting matching smiles as they both sat back down. Unfortunately for you, it was your turn to pick from the bag. Your hand reached out tentatively, rummaging through the contents of the bag as your fingers latched onto something cold. Pulling your hand out and opening your eyes, you were met with the sight of Gojo’s infamous silver chain pooled into your palm. Silence. Complete and utter silence… that is until Suguru’s dumb ass started cackling like a possessed soul, slapping his knee with tears of laughter gathering at the corner of his crinkled eyes. “I fucking love this game,” His words came out as what could only be described as wheezes, one hand on his chest as he tried to calm his breathing down. Meanwhile, Gojo was still wearing that ridiculous smirk of his, once again eyeing you up and down as you stared daggers into his soul, cheeks puffed out in anger. 

“I refuse.” Your words were sharp and precise, arms crossing in defiance.

“That’s not how it works y/n…” Yuri’s defeated voice came out in a whisper next to you.

“Well too bad that’s how it’s gonna work now.”

“Says who.”

“Says ME.”

The sigh being let out next to you indicated Shoko’s clear irritation with your antics as she stands up, dragging you with her by the elbow as you splutter out excuse after excuse. Gojo on the other hand, has been uncharacteristically quiet this whole time. Your weak protests were interrupted when you were shoved into the empty storage room, followed by Gojo falling unceremoniously onto you, both of you crashing onto the floor. Before either of you could register your situation, the doors slammed shut encasing both of you in darkness. Gojo was still pressed against you, arms caging your head as a result of him trying to break his fall - and as far as he was concerned, he had no intention of getting away from you anytime soon. 

"Satoru Gojo get the fuck off me right now" you seethed through your teeth, your palms weakly pushing at his chest in an attempt to shove him off of you. 

"No can do sweetheart, I kinda like being this close, don't you?" You could practically hear the smirk in his voice, feeling his hot breath fan across the side of your face as he leaned impossibly closer to you to whisper in your ear. "Oh for fuck's sake Satoru are you fluent in bullshit or something? Get off meeee…" Your words trailed off into a small whine, clearly irritated by his antics but the teasing smile on his face only widened at your words, "Ooo first name basis already huh? This day just keeps getting better. You got a crush on me or something y/n?"

"Shut up Gojo, I hate you and you know it." You hissed out through burning cheeks, and you were struggling to figure out whether it was out of embarrassment or from the newfound fluttering in your heart. "You hate me huh?" His voice lowered, sending a shiver down your spine and you found yourself wishing his lips were closer to yours. 

“Yeah, I do. I hate you and your dumb voice and the way you always wear that stupid compression shirt to show off your stupid muscles and I hate your dumb attractive face and the way you're so stupidly tall and-” Your words catch in your throat when Gojo leans down to be face to face with you, his sapphire eyes darkening as they pierced into yours. 

“Oh yeah?” The husk in his voice paired with his proximity had you subconsciously squeezing your thighs together, breaths coming out in short pants from your ranting as you stared up at him wide-eyed. "Looks like it's you who's fluent in bullshit sweetheart cos this sounds more like a love confession to me," One of his hands reached up to grab your chin and tilt your face up towards his, thumb brushing teasingly over your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth and pressing lightly onto your bottom teeth - giving you no choice but to open your mouth, embarrassment coursing through you at the gesture. His smirk only widened at the action, his thumb pressing lightly onto your tongue, mind already racing with different scenarios, ‘Hm, maybe another time…’ he thought as he took his thumb away to grab the back of your neck to lessen the gap between you two.

You subconsciously lean into him, your body betraying you in every way. Eyes fluttering shut, heart beating impossibly fast, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You feel the warmth of his palm as his hand rests on the back of your neck, pulling you close, - closer and closer until his lips meet yours in a tender kiss. Your hands travel up from his chest, knocking over his baseball cap in the process, nails grazing his undercut softly, drawing him impossibly closer to you. Fingers moving further into his hair, you pull the soft white strands in a show of desire, resulting in a deep groan being let out into your mouth by Gojo as he presses his hips into yours in retaliation. A soft whine leaves you and you swear you feel him smirk before gently prodding his tongue against your lips. You part them for him, his tongue intertwining with yours in a dance of passion, your own hips now greedily grinding up into him. The warmth from his mouth disappears, his hot breath hitting your neck bringing you back to reality as your eyes slowly open only to find him staring at you with that cheeky smile of his. “Someone was enjoying herself hm?” His voice was gravelly as he spoke, eyes flitting back to your lips every so often. “Shut up Gojo.” You whispered, still very obviously affected from what was possibly the best kiss of your life as you rolled your eyes. 

“Oh come onnn, I think we’re past this, say Satoru for me baby.” Twinkling cerulean eyes bored into yours, watching you become increasingly flustered at the pet name. You turned away from him defiantly, refusing to speak but that only urged him on further, voice like dripping honey as he leaned down to speak into your ear. “C’mon sweetheart, you can do it, I believe in you. Look at me and say my name with that sweet voice of yours for me hm?” Gulping, you look up at him with wide eyes and warm cheeks, mouth parting ready to speak, when there's a series of knocks against the closet door, Suguru's deep voice a mere echo in your ears. A loud groan was let out above you as Satoru threw his head back in annoyance, “Ugh, so close. It’s okay princess, I’ll make you scream it soon enough,” he said with a wink as he finally got off of you whilst picking up his forgotten cap from the floor and placing it backwards on his head. He looks down, a hand reaching out to help you up. You take his hand and he pulls you up, biting his lips when you look up at him with those pretty eyes and for some reason he can’t bring himself to look away, both of you forgetting the fact that you were supposed to be getting out of the room.

"Yo Satoru, time's up get outta there." Light floods in as Suguru flings the door open, and your throat gets dry once you notice the desperation darkening Satoru's eyes. With heavy breaths, heaving chests and faces flushed with passion, neither of you seem to be able to look away from the intensity emitting from each other. At this point, there isn't a single thought in your head other than the man standing in front of you, looking at you with so much passion that you fear you'd never be able to look at another man without being reminded of him. The sound of a throat clearing brings both of you back to reality, Surguru watching you with a knowing smirk and crossed arms. Satoru on the other hand, doesn’t even acknowledge his best friend, instead opting to reach for your wrist, practically dragging you away down the other end of the hallway to where his room is. “Fucking took them long enough my god…” Suguru mutters under his breath, making his way back to his room already excited to tell the others about your escapade. 

Meanwhile, Satoru has you pushed up against the door of his bedroom, lips impatiently clashing with yours, hands caressing each other frantically. His cold hands had slipped under your shirt making you hiss slightly. His hands continued to make their way up, his thumbs teasingly rubbing your nipples through your bra, your whimpers getting lost in his mouth. Your own hands were gripping the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer to you. You feel one of his hands moving down to unbutton your jeans, his pinky finger swiping the skin just above the waistband of your underwear, making you buck your hips needily into him. “Fuck baby, I can feel how wet you are through your panties. Messy girl aren’t you?” He mumbles, nipping your ear softly as his fingers start to tease your slit through your underwear. Your whimpers only encourage him further, pushing your panties to the side, tips of his fingers rubbing your clit. Your body was growing responsive to his touch, leaning further and further into him, face buried in his chest as you feel yourself get impossibly wetter. Soft pants left your mouth, one of your hands shyly reaching down to grab his bulge through his sweatpants making him moan into your neck, your eyes widening when you feel just how big he is. You let out a particular loud squeal when two of his long fingers entered you without warning, body squirming as you tried to adjust to their size. Satoru had resorted to biting and sucking your neck in order to hold back his moans as you continued palming him, your cute little whimpers making him harder underneath your hand. His voice comes out in a growl, eyes now boring into yours, fingers relentlessly going in and out of you, painting stars in your vision. “T-toru…” The whimper escaping you had his gaze softening slightly, “I know baby, I know. Be a good girl for me and take it, yeah?” Your eyes screwed shut as you nodded weakly at his words, the praise making your pussy clench around his fingers.

"Shit baby you're so fucking tight around my fingers, you sure ya can take my cock? I don't think it'll fit in that tight little pussy of yours" He leans down to playfully nip on your ear and there's a taunting smile playing on his lips when he meets your eyes again. A defiant look crosses your face, the need to prove him wrong still as strong as ever, even if he is currently turning you into a brainless mess. "I can take it…" your retaliation would've been much more believable to him if your words weren't beginning to slur, coming out in soft pants. So Satoru did what he knew how to do best.

He teased. Mercilessly. 

"Aw my pretty little baby thinks she can take it? Yeah well, you're gonna have to cum around my fingers first if we wanna fit my dick in you sweetheart. But I don't know how much I'm willing to let you cum." His taunts are followed by a cruel curl of his fingers, his knuckles bullying your inner walls, your juices dripping down onto his wrist from how wet you were. You were so so close, fingers clenching around the front of Satoru's shirt, your head buried in his chest as your eyes were scrunched closed in pleasure, small tears threatening to fall from your lash line. 

“You fucking dickhead let me cum please,” you mumble out into his shirt, his fingers relentless in their teasing turning your desperation into frustration. 

“Yeah? You wanna cum baby? Beg for it.” The words coming out of his mouth were nothing short of torture for you as he stopped his movements, fingertips now rubbing your clit in gentle circles, all the while looking down at you with that infuriating smirk of his. See, usually it would take more than those three words for you to listen to Satoru Gojo of all people, but considering the fact that his fingers alone were making you see stars, it was clear to all what your choice was. 

“Please…” you breathe out, face finally coming up from your hiding place in his chest to look up at him with blown pupils, tears still pooled in your eyes and wobbly lips. Gojo’s breath hitched when you made eye contact with him, his throat going dry at the mere sight of your already dishevelled appearance. Fuck, it made him want to ruin you even more so who was he to deny your pretty plea. “Only cos you asked so nicely”, he whispers into your ear, teeth scraping against your lobe, his fingers going in and out in the most toe-curling ways. You felt your eyes roll back as one of your hands clutched the front of his shirt, the other palming him through his sweats, mouth open, letting out what Satoru believed was the prettiest sound he’d ever heard as you squeezed around his fingers, thighs shaking ever so slightly as he continued rubbing soothing circles on your clit.

Satoru’s half-lidded eyes were stuck to you, the image of you cumming on his fingers now permanently etched into his mind. He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, a groan emitting from the back of his throat, but of course he couldn’t help himself from muttering yet another cheeky remark. 

“You know, for someone who claims to ‘hate’ me so much, you seemed to enjoy cumming on my fingers a bit too much.” The glare you throw up at him would usually have more venom but seeing as you just had what could only be described as the best orgasm of your life (although you would never admit this to his face), all your ‘glare’ did was make Satoru’s smirk widen. 

"F-fuck you Gojo,” 

"That's the plan sweetheart."  

In a matter of seconds, you felt arms snaking under your thighs, lifting you up effortlessly and dropping you onto the middle of his bed, navy blue silk sheets rippling underneath you. Of course he would have fucking silk bedsheets, rich prick. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted when you see Satoru standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you with nothing but lust in his eyes, his tongue coming out to swipe across his lips hungrily as he slowly starts taking that damn black compression shirt off, making a show out of it as he does so. Trust him to be able to turn into a stripper at will. You gulp, scanning him down whilst he makes his way over to you, eyes locking onto the outline of his cock through his grey tracksuits. He’s now on top of you, forearms on either side of your head caging you in, soft strands of white hair falling over his eyes; eyes which he hadn’t taken off you since he locked the door. 

“You’re awfully close,” The words leaving your mouth are barely louder than a whisper and he could feel your breath hitting his lips as you spoke. 

“Problem, sweetheart?” He whispers back, leaning his face down impossibly closer to yours, his fingers gently snaking in between yours at the sides of your head. You bite your lip in anticipation, “No but it will be if you don’t fucking do something,” the retort leaves you before you could think, impatience radiating off you as you look at him through your lashes.

“Knew you secretly had a thing for me this whole time.” He lets out a low chuckle and before you could snap back at him, his lips come crashing down onto yours, hands squeezing yours essentially pressing you down further into his annoyingly comfortable mattress. He grabs both of your wrists into one of his hands, the other making its way down your hips and into your jeans, tracing the waistband of your panties. Meanwhile, your lips have resorted to leaving small kisses across his jawline, sucking little marks down the side of his neck making Satoru let out a soft whine into your ear. And you decide very quickly that you like the noise he just made so, of course, you bite down onto the junction between his neck and his shoulder, one of your hands leaving his grip and sneaking into the waistband of his tracksuits, straight into his boxers stroking his (very hard) length, causing him to let out a quiet growl, his face buried in your neck. 

Evidently, this was his last straw. 

Here you were getting up close and personal with his neck and the next thing you know he’s flipped you over onto your stomach, hands dragging your jeans and panties down your legs, throwing them onto the floor carelessly. “Fuckkk I can’t wait to ruin you,” he practically growls the words out as his palm lands a loud smack onto your ass, a squeal of surprise escaping you, your head turning back to look at him with narrowed eyes and you swear you nearly came on the spot from seeing him kneeling behind you, toned abs on full display, that stupid baseball cap still backwards on his head as he admired your half-naked body sprawled on his bed.

“What? I’m only saying the truth” he shrugs whilst ridding himself of his tracksuits, dragging his boxers along, his hard cock springing up hitting the base of his stomach. His hand comes up to stroke it lazily, and you keep looking back at him, your pupils blown wide, almost mesmerised by his actions as he lets out a soft moan when his thumb swipes across his tip. Your body squirms at his actions, the need to feel him inside you growing by the second and he notices, of course he notices his gaze hasn’t been anywhere else but you this whole time. You feel his cold hands grip your hips, a shiver running down your spine as he manoeuvers your hips upwards, “Ass up for me sweetheart,” he mumbles, his knees pushing yours outwards and spreading your legs open in the process. 

“There we go, good girl. So wet for me hm?” His sweet mumbles went straight to your core, your pussy getting embarrassingly wetter with every word coming out of his mouth. You let out a staggered breath, feeling him get closer to where you needed him most, the tip of his cock teasingly rubbing up and down your slit, eyes fixated on how your pussy seemed to clench around nothing. “Satoru I swear to god if you don’t- ” your grumble was interrupted by a loud squeal as he finally inserted himself into you with one swift movement. 

“Fucckkk you’re so tight, this what you wanted princess?” he groaned, throwing his head back in pleasure, his hat falling off his head in the process. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hips reached back to retrieve his hat, placing it haphazardly on your head, a wide smirk gracing his lips as he admired you, your ass still squirming against him as you tried to adjust to his length with soft whimpers leaving your lips. He pulls out, leaving only his tip inside you before slamming himself back in as you whine out a loud “Toruuuu” into the pillow that was currently clutched to your chest, forearms pressed into the mattress to hold yourself up. He starts moving in and out, irritatingly slowly at first, just to antagonise you that little bit more, make you that little bit more needy for him. Because, fuck he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy seeing the mouthy brat that always had a snipy remark for everything he did be at a loss for words, going dumb on his cock when he hadn’t even started fucking her yet. 

“Is this what all the girls were raving about? Cos right now I’m incredibly unimpressed Satoru,” you breathe out, a cheeky smile playing on your lips as you turn your head back , eyes finding his behind you. His eyes narrow as they stare back at you, not amused by your taunts in the slightest - so he picks up the pace, hips slamming into you as your mouth falls open, fingers tightening around the pillow underneath you, head falling down to your chest as you try to muffle the sounds threatening to escape you from the sudden pleasure. One hand is gripping your hip so hard, you were sure there would be a mark there and the other is teasingly running up and down your clothed spine. 

“O-oh fuck why do you have to feel so gooddd” you pant out begrudgingly, the end of your sentence forming into a whine as your hips moving back in sync against him. “Yeah? Ya still unimpressed? Or should. I. Go. Harder.” Each word was accompanied by a particularly hard thrust, your moans getting too loud for your liking, and you lose all sense of control in your body as you feel yourself move up the mattress with each thrust. The hand teasing your spine bunches the back of your shirt in his fist as he pulls you back onto his cock, “Now where do you think you’re going sweetheart? God, you have no idea how fucking good you look right now.” he breathlessly mumbles out, his voice deeper as he watches you struggle underneath him, your hair splayed out on your back, his hat still on your head, knuckles turning white from clutching onto the pillow so hard and the sweetest sounds leaving your swollen lips. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet in your life, feeling yourself leaking down your thighs and of course Satoru takes note of this, his free hand swiping the dripping wetness from the inside of your thigh with his nimble fingers, moving to circle your clit in slow movements, his thrusts getting faster. “S-so good holy fuck~” you whine out, eyes rolling back into your head. 

A snicker escapes Satoru as he watches you fall apart further, mouth open and drool threatening to drip down the corner of your mouth as your cheek is squished onto the pillow underneath your head, your soft whimpers and pants making him want to fuck you harder. He moves his hand from your clit to grab your jaw, making you twist your head to face him as he rudely shoves two of his fingers into your mouth and you instinctively start sucking on them, drool now freely dripping down your chin as he pushes his fingers deeper into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue in the process. He kisses his teeth in faux annoyance “Tch, messy girl aren’t you?” He taunts, leaning his body down onto yours, his other hand brushing back the hair sticking to your forehead in an almost sweet gesture in comparison to the way he was practically slamming into you, and the cute moment was effectively ruined when he bunches your hair into a makeshift ponytail pulling your head back, his hat falling off your head all while thrusting into you deeper. You let out a particularly loud squeal, muffled by his fingers in your mouth and his smirk widens, repeatedly hitting that same spot with the same vigour as he leans down to whisper in your ear, “Fuck you’re taking me so well, such a good girl for me.” He removes his fingers from your mouth, tilting your jaw to the side as his lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, his hips never seeming to falter in the cruel pace he’s set out for your pussy. All you could do was whine into his mouth, any semblance of speaking having already left you the second he had put his cock in you and with the way he was hitting that spot inside you, you don’t think you’d be able to speak again. He pulls away from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you, spit dripping down your chin as you look at him with clouded eyes and a flushed face. 

“Look at you pretty girl, fucked you stupid haven’t I?” he mutters, looking at you with such awe, his hand still gripping onto your jaw as he leans his body down onto yours, his cock now reaching deeper into you as his thrusts start to become harder, your body jolting and your moans getting louder with every move. “T-toru, ‘m close,” I pant out, letting out small sniffles. “Yeah? You wanna come for me?” he taunts, his hips slowing down on purpose, the hand holding your hair pulling your head back further with a harsh tug for his lips to scatter soft kisses and nibbles on the sides of your neck as you nod impatiently, tears brimming in your eyes. Another whine escapes you as you look at him pitifully, pupils blown wide and lips trembling as you become desperate for release, grinding back onto his dick for in need of more friction. He tuts, his hands moving to grip your hips, stilling your movements. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he grits out, the hand on your jaw moving to the back of your neck and pinning you down, cheeks squished onto the mattress. “You wanna come, you beg for it like the good girl I know you are, understand?” Tears of frustration were now freely running down your cheeks, your face an absolute flushed mess of tears and drool and the sight of you was enough to make Satoru cum right there and then. He thought he should be getting an award for the amount of self control he’s shown so far. But he was quickly brought back to reality when he heard your precious, albeit muffled, voice whimper out a “Toruuu pleaseee~ please lemme cum”, paired with those pretty big eyes of yours and your pussy walls clenching almost teasingly around him, made him choke back a moan. And when you were begging so prettily, how could he say no to you? 

“That’s my girl” he groaned, pressing a soft kiss on the side of your head before his hips once again began snapping into you relentlessly, the warmth from his body almost lying on top of your back making your head spin. His thumb found its way back into your parted mouth once more, pressing into the back of your bottom teeth, forcing your mouth open further causing even more drool to spill from the corners of your mouth, rendering you a helpless mess underneath him. His free hand slithered its way down to your clit, fingertips rubbing it tantalisingly slowly, your legs were already shaking and his ministrations on your clit made you want to close your legs. Your actions were quickly stopped by Satoru, his hand gripping your thigh pushing your leg further out, your fingers gripping onto the sheets in front of you for dear life at this point. “Keep 'em open,” he hissed out, fingers going back to your clit once he felt your walls squeeze around his dick. “C-cumming Toru~” your words were muffled and barely comprehensible as you babbled around his spit-covered thumb in your mouth. “Yeah? Cum for me sweet girl, c’mon you can do it,” He purred out, the sound of your wet pussy and his hips snapping into yours filling the room. Your jaw went slack, his thumb leaving your mouth to now rub soothing circles onto your jawline as he watched you come undone beneath him, his breath staggering as his self-control was slowly disappearing. “There you gooo, such a good girl. You did such a good job for me baby~” He cooed into your ear, his other hand going gently up and down your spine. “Can you hold on a bit more f’me?” he asks, checking in on you with a soft look in his eyes, and you nod, still dazed from your orgasm. He lets out a small chuckle at the state of you, “Good, cos I’m not done,” he grits out, flipping you over onto your back and resuming his thrusts in you all while looking down at you, his chest glistening with sweat, the front strands of his hair sticking to his forehead slightly. You bite your lip, looking up at him with wide eyes and you bring your arms up tiredly looping one around his neck bringing him closer down to you as the other brushes away the hair from his forehead, mimicking his earlier actions.

“Fuck ‘m so close sweetheart” he whimpers out, his head falling into the crook of your neck as his steady rhythm wavered slightly. “Cum f’me Toru~” you breathe out sweetly into his ear, your hands tangled in his hair as you hold him close to you and Satoru swore he saw heaven when he heard those words in his ear as he lifts his head from his spot in your shoulder, panting out. “W-where do you w-” before he could even finish his question you looked him straight in the eyes and whimpered out your answer, wrapping your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, pulling him impossibly closer to you.. “Inside please…” A loud groan leaves Satoru’s lips as he throws his head back at your words. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me sweetheart,” he grumbles out, his hips staggering as he cums, filling you up with his warm load and you stare up at him through wet lashes, clenching around him purposefully just to hear him whimper again. 

He collapses on top of you, sweaty chest sticking to your equally sweaty shirt, letting out a huff, mumbling in your ear, “Best. Fuck. Ever.” and you couldn’t help but stifle a giggle, running your fingers through his hair gently. “Shut it Gojo,” you retort, biting back a smile when his head whips out of his hiding place in your neck, face contorting into an expression which could only be described as complete disbelief and confusion. “Sweetheart I just fucked you speechless on my cock and you wanna go back to last name basis? Be so for real right now.” Although your face flushed at his words, you burst into giggles at his last statement. Trust Satoru Gojo to still have the audacity to be sassy after sex. 

“Sorry Toru~” you purr out, nails grazing up and down the back of his neck.

“Better.” he mumbles out, lips formed into a slight pout as his face plops back down onto your chest. 

“So like… you still hate me?”

“Ehhh, guess you’re not so bad after all.”

“Are you just saying that 'cos I made you cum?”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking brat.”

ミ★ notes from star: the ending was a bit rushed but i hope you enjoyed it lovelies!

prettyngeto © 2024. all rights reserved - please do not plagiarise, translate, steal and repost any of my works on any social platforms for whatever reason.

[minisugakoobies]

Match My Freak | JWW

Pairing: Voyeur!Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: smut, non-idol!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: non-consensual voyeurism, dirty talk, non-consensual use of camera/recording, masturbation (f), use of sex toy (vibrator), mentions of masturbation (m), mentions of oral sex (f receiving), cumming in pants, unreliable narrator, Wonwoo is not a good guy here (ymmv)

Word Count: 1.8k

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own SVT - they just inspire me

Summary: Your neighbor loves it when you put on a show for him.

A/N: Yeah so... I just like the thought of a Wonwoo who likes to watch. 🤷‍♀️

🚨 IF YOU ARE NOT COMFORTABLE WITH NON-CONSENSUAL VOYEURISM, DO NOT READ! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. DO NOT COMPLAIN TO ME - YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ. 🚨

Unbeta’d as usual. If you like this, please let me know! I’d love to hear what you think (but please be kind I’m fragile 🥺) 💕

SVT Masterlist 💜 Main Masterlist

The sun’s beginning to set when Wonwoo takes his seat in the ratty old armchair by the open window. He removes his glasses, carefully wiping them clean with a cloth he pulls from his pocket before placing them back on his nose. He’s a little early tonight, but it’s fine. He’ll wait. He’s a patient man. 

The minutes fall away like dominoes, each one ticking into the next. The sun dips lower, casting dark shadows over the alley that separates his apartment building from the one next door. A flicker catches the corner of his eye and turns to look, gazing into the window directly across from his bedroom. As he sits quietly, patiently drumming his fingers on the soft cushioning of the chair, a figure enters the room.

Wonwoo has loved you from the moment he first saw you. It’s been a little over six months since you moved in across the way. In all that time, he hasn’t learned what you do or where you’re from or even what your full name is. But it’s fine. None of that matters. 

He’s sure you were made for him.

You walk around your bedroom, following the same well-worn path that you do every evening. Disappearing into your bathroom and emerging a few minutes later in a silky bathrobe. Sitting at the vanity to attend to your skincare routine, gently massaging your beautiful skin with rich creams and moisturizers. Wonwoo appreciates the way you care for yourself. He likes that you have your nightly rituals. He has his own, too.

He reaches for his camera.

It’s late summer, the time of year when there’s no relief to be found at night, the air just as warm and suffocating as it is during the day. Sweat prickles on Wonwoo’s forehead, but he ignores it. He’s glad your landlord is as cheap as his. Air conditioning units would only make this difficult for him. He’d figure it out, of course, but it wouldn’t be as easy as it is now. 

Sometimes he thinks it’s a sign from the universe, how easy this is. Proof that the two of you are meant to be.

He brings his camera to his eye, playing with the focus, until the pretty face reflected in the vanity mirror is perfectly clear. Click-click-click goes the shutter, the only sound that can be heard in Wonwoo’s bedroom, other than his heavy breathing. 

His room is pitch black around him. Wonwoo’s always been comfortable with darkness. It hides all manner of sins. It hides him from your view on nights like this, even when you walk over to your window to lift the sash. A light breeze ruffles the bottom of your bathrobe, exposing more of your thighs to Wonwoo’s hungry eyes. His finger strokes the shutter button again. 

You undo the belt of your bathrobe, letting it fall open, and Wonwoo captures the reveal of the sheer babydoll chemise beneath. It skims the tops of your thighs, not quite covering the matching pair of panties you wear with it. Wonwoo’s gaze roams over your body, admiring the way the clingy material highlights your skin. He loves when you dress up for him. You never bring anyone home. Who else are you wearing these things for, if not him?

Of course, you’ve never acknowledged his presence. That’s part of your game, isn’t it? To display yourself for him but never look at or talk to him. Put on a show but never react to him taking your photo or touching himself. 

He’s very good at playing your game. After all, he wants to win. 

You’re a worthy prize.

You recline on your bed, propped up against a stack of pillows, and start scrolling on your phone. As he watches, shutter clicking, your free hand slides down your torso. Your fingers curl, pressing into your covered pussy, rubbing in slow circles. Oh. Wonwoo swallows thickly. 

It’s one of those nights. 

Silently, he puts his camera down again. Locates the button that switches from photo to video. And clicks it. 

The red light flickers on. 

Wonwoo quickly brings the camera back to his eye, practically cracking his glasses in the process. He fixes the focus, aiming the lens at the hand between your legs. As you start to caress harder, your legs part slightly, giving him a clearer view of your panties. The tiniest swirls of lace are visible to his eye, as is a growing wet spot. He silently thanks the universe that he splurged on an expensive camera model. 

Your nightgown is rumpled up around your waist as you press your hand more firmly against your cunt. It isn’t enough, judging by how you dip your fingers beneath your panties to glide over your slit.

“Come on, baby.” Wonwoo wasn’t planning on adding narration to this recording, but the words slip out anyway, in a low, urgent tone. “Slide them in.” He zooms in again, on the wetness gleaming on your fingertips. 

He’s disappointed when you pull your hand away, but that feeling is short-lived when he sees what you’ve reached for - the bright red toy that you keep under your pillow. It’s long and thick and Wonwoo feels his cock jump at the thought of it spreading you open. 

He could use it to help stretch you for him. 

Swiftly, rather desperately, you shimmy your panties down your legs, and Wonwoo’s mouth floods with saliva, nearly choking him as he stares entranced at your bare pussy. He wants to put his lips on it, kiss it until you’re squirming, pleading for him to slide his tongue inside. You’d make such a beautiful mess of his face. 

His earlier impatience is forgotten now as you work yourself up, dipping the tip of the vibrator in and out of your soaking folds, the quickening rise and fall of your chest letting Wonwoo know how much you’re enjoying teasing yourself. By the time the toy disappears into your cunt, Wonwoo’s just as breathless himself, and hard as a rock. 

“Yeah, just like that,” he murmurs, adjusting his lens again to capture the deft movement of your hand. “Fuck yourself for me.” For him, just him, and no one else. 

As if obeying his very command, your hand moves faster, and your mouth drops open in a pleasured gasp. Wonwoo groans. If only he could record the sounds you’re making, too. But you’re not loud enough for his camera to pick them up from here. 

He clucks his tongue. There’s no way he’ll accept such weak noises when he’s the one fucking you. He’ll coax loud cries from you any way he can. 

Your body undulates like a wave, hips canting as you plunge the toy deeper, and something inside Wonwoo snaps. There’s too much distance between you right now. With an aggravated huff, he slips off the chair, kneeling in front of his window. He lets his camera rest on the window sill as he lines up his shot. It’s better. But it’s not enough.

He needs to be closer.

As quietly as he can, he clambers out onto the fire escape. 

He’s taking a risk by being out here. There are no lights in the alley, but the glow of the moon is bright. That doesn’t stop him. He moves silently, crouching against the chipped metal railing, camera peeking through the slots, closing the distance between you as much as he can. 

For now, anyway.

His grip on the camera turns to iron. He’d rather fall off this fire escape than drop it. He glances around the alley, double checking that there’s no one else around. Once he’s reassured that it’s just you, him, and the moonlight, he refocuses - first his mind, then the lens. 

His breathing quickens as the toy slides into your folds again and again. He’s never envied an inanimate object more. He licks his lips, imagining the taste of you on his tongue. You’re not sweet, he’s sure of that. There’s nothing sweet about you, the way you tease him, leaving your curtains open like this. Inviting him to watch. 

Tempting him to do more.

His cock strains against the fly of his jeans, and he drops a hand to his crotch to squeeze himself, biting back a moan. Desire overwhelms him, but he can’t risk jerking off out here. The absolute last thing in the fucking world that he needs right now is to get caught. That would fuck up his plans. That would destroy him.  

Your other hand plays with your breasts, pushing your babydoll up until one is exposed, thumb rolling over and around the nipple. Wonwoo pictures himself there, lying beside you, head bent to take your other nipple in his mouth. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold himself back and allow you to finish yourself off. His fingers twitch at the thought of taking the toy from you and fucking you with it, through orgasm after orgasm, until you’re both drenched in sweat and exhausted.

He shoves the fantasy aside for later and retrains his steady gaze on your motions. He grips himself again when you start to pump the toy in and out faster. Your hips rise to meet each thrust, and Wonwoo might ruin his boxers at the sight. Fuck, he can see through the zoom how soaked the insides of your thighs are. He palms his erection slowly, trying to give himself just the slightest bit of pleasure, not enough to tip it over, only enough to feel good, and that’s when you start to come. 

As he gawks open-mouthed into the lens, your pretty pussy swallows the tip of the toy one last time. Then your hand suddenly lets go, grabbing a fistful of sheets instead. You shudder and writhe, and Wonwoo nearly drops his camera as he loses control too, the wet warmth of his cum spreading in his pants. 

Doubled over on the fire escape and breathing hard, it takes him a moment to regain his composure. Once he’s recovered, he stops the recording, and lifts the camera to his eye again to take another look. You haven’t moved from your bed, but you did remove the toy, and now have one hand tracing lazy circles around your clit. He wonders if you’re going to go again. Some nights you seem insatiable, seeking your high with a fervor that gives him chills to recall.

He’ll make sure you get your fill, when it’s time. 

For now, he’ll keep on watching. 

He’s always been a patient man. 

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

© 2024 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[boundinparchment]

All these leaks have me convinced I’m just not meant to enjoy Natlan, lore wise or character wise 💔

Hot take I guess, sorry in advance

[kit00ily]

Analyzing vol 1 and vol 42: the story of mha told through covers

The pro heros were always seen as celebrities or god like figures that were playing a part on a stage. In volume 1, all the heros are in red, not shown fully to the viewers, their costumes are the main things that stand out. They look like they are taken straight out a comic book page. Whereas, in volume 42, they are all smiling and can be fully seen. Their faces are what is the most emphasized. After the war, heros are finally humanized and seen as actual people outside of their hero work. They aren’t put on a pedestal anymore.

Izuku being in his tshirt that was given to him in the war, showing that he is a true hero, even without a quirk.

“Can someone without a quirk become a hero like you ?”

The last manga cover is symbolic that Izukus dream to become a quirkless hero was made possible. Deku is the first quirkless UA teacher and later the first quirkless pro hero. That was all made possible by class 1A and shows that they were finally able to make a better hero society where people can feel safe with or without a quirk. Dai being on the cover shows Izuku inspiring the next generation like all might did but this time as a reachable hero instead of an unreachable symbol.

[emmaelt]

This is right on actually. But I don’t think it’s *just* the workplace. No areas of society are neurodiverse or disability friendly.

However, the best we can do is our best. Incremental changes are better than no change at all. Every tiny effort in the short term will lead to bigger change in the long term. Work done now will inspire and inform future work.

For me in particular, work has always been a struggle. But the main thing I’ve realised is that certain types of work will never suit me, even if I reduce the hours I work or the amount of stress I think that work will cause me. Part of the work I need to do is to find what employment suits neurodiverse brains. Part of it is finding a specific manager who doesn’t just hold diversity as a value but puts it to the forefront of every action and choice (which is such a rare thing to find, but I’ve had one so I know it’s possible!).

I need to focus on working out my own boundaries, needs, strengths and weaknesses. What works for someone else might not work for me. What works now might not work in the future. It’s also self selection, both in terms of what where you apply to but also what you apply for. It’s posting reviews of your work place, manager, team - so other people in the same boat as you know to not even bother applying there.

one of my hotter takes is I don't actually think you can make a lot of workplaces "neurodivergent friendly"

I follow a few LinkedIn people who try to train workplaces and managers to be more 'inclusive' of neurodivergence. and while I think that's an admirable goal, I don't think it can be achieved without RADICALLY changing how workplaces operate on a fundamental level. and I just don't see that as a realistic prospect

a lot of inclusivity training around gender/ sexuality/ race/ ethnicity/ religion/etc CAN actually be helpful because it is mostly teaching people how not to say and do offensive things in a work context (typically independent of the actual work that is being done 98% of the time).

to make workplaces neurodivergent inclusive, you'd have to retrain EVERYONE on ALL basic communication. How they talk to one another, how they write emails and slack messages (the content, the number of them, the timing), how they conduct meetings, etc. you'd also have to completely change a lot of workflows. you'd have to level a lot of your basic processes and norms, and re-start FROM SCRATCH. and you'd have to significantly alter habits of MOST of the employees to do this.

it's a whole other level/degree of change. and most employers simply are not going to take on that level of radical change.

I think advocates for neurodivergent inclusivity have to think more broadly about how to address the this issue, rather than acting like it can be addressed through simple inclusivity seminars. you might be able to make some very marginal improvements like that. but you aren't going to address the FUNDAMENTAL issue that way. labor and communication norms would have to be revised on a societal level for it to actually have substantial impact

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

THE BATH- J. WASHINGTON

pairing: bf!josh x fem! reader

word count: who knows. small drabble

summary: you keep trying to have a bath at the lodge to warm up, but your golden retriever boyfriend josh keeps trying to come in and talk while you relax

warnings: none! nudity and light drinking, but all fluff

not proof read sorry for any mistakes!

not inspired by any song, but i listened to she calls me back by noah kahan while i wrote this, if people like music for vibes<3

got inspired for this drabble by none other then my cat, who keeps pushing the bathroom door open while im in the bath, and then leaves, and then when its shut he meows like crazy. yes josh is like a clingy cat.

it had been a long day, and the clock hadn't even struck ten yet. from hauling suitcases (josh hauling suitcases) and hours of (josh) driving, you had finally found yourself at blackwood mountain.

it was a relief, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia for the place, despite the dust and creepy noises from the old pipes. everyone had already arrived by the time josh rushed in to start a fire for you, after he sae you shiver.

he had rushed you up to the doors, wrapping you in his coat and sticking his beanie on your head, making his pretty dark hair all tossled. you smiled at the thought that had happened a few hours prior, the pepper of kisses all over your face as he rushed you inside, wrapping you in fresh blankets- leaving the mothcovered ones for mike and chris.

it was weird in a way, to be here this year.

this was the first time you were here as a couple. before this, it had been years of slight touches and teasing, drunk forehead kisses and praises. but finally- finally you had gotten your wish. and apparently, josh had too.

a little knock sounded at the door, and you poked your eye open towards the door, neck rolling lazily from where it rest on the side of the bath.

"mike if you come in here right now i will chuck this candle at you." you called. the door poked open a creak, and a familiar eye peered over at you. "am i immune to candle throwing?" josh asked, making you giggle.

"you're in the clear." you smirked, water sloshing as you adjusted yourself so your elbows perched on the edge towards him. "hi handsome. whats up?"

"i missed you." he shrugged crouching down to be at your height, a soft smile on his face. "i think its been.. like twenty? twenty mintues maybe?" you teased, making him roll his eyes.

"i also wanted to take advantage of this whole, bathroom thing. you know how many times i wanted to come in before? now i can. boyfriend access only." he smirked, hand coming up to brush your warm cheek, tucking a strand of loose hair behind your ear. his hand lingered and you leaned to kiss his inner wrist, savouring the softness of his skin.

"i think you're just a pervert. and clingy."

josh rolled his eyes. "god forbid men have hobbies. can i not be both?"

you laughed, kissing him again.

"i just wanted to come in to see if you needed anything. and cause i missed you, and chris is drunk and trying to get me to play president with him and matt."

he nearly became asshole in that game everytime. he was terrible at cards.

"what, you dont wanna be asshole again?"

"something like that. i like your ass though."

your eyebrow raised. "don't we all." you teased. "but hey, if you're offerring me something... maybe.. a glass of wine?"

he stood quickly, giving you a firm salute. he drank with you enough times to know exactly what kind you wanted without needing to ask. "godspeed pilgrim!" he ran out of the room, leaving the door wide open as he left.

"HEY! DOOR?! CLOSED PLEASE? IM NAKED!" you yelled out.

"OOOH NAKED?" you heard sam call out from the main room, making you roll your eyes. now you had them all riled up.

two seconds later, josh reappeared, glass of white in hand, water in the other. "thank you honey, but maybe next time shut the door? i almost had an audience." you cringed, taking the chilled wine glass from his hands. you took a sip, the sweet, dry liquid coating your throat.

"i get front row next time." he shrugged, planting a kiss on the top of your head before he snagged your towel.

"kay i'll leave you be baby. but im taking this so you have to come find me naked to dry off." he smirked, dangling the fabric in your direction before slipping out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

before you had time to protest, he was gone. you closed your eyes, sighing as you took another sip. he was such a tease. but thats what you loved about him. he never failed to make you laugh, he was so quick and witty.

it also meant he liked to get on your nerves, lovingly.

no longer then five minutes later, a knock was on your door. "yes?"

"its me again." josh murmered from behind the oak. you smiled, laughing softly.

"come in joshy." he sheeplishly smiled, sliding his large body through the doorway, firmly shutting it behind him. a deck of cards was in his hands as he approached you, sitting down on the tile floor next to the tub.

"can you play president with me?" he asked, starting to take the cards out of the paper box.

"baby, you can't play with two people."

he frowned. "well, can you teach me how to do this again? so i can kick everyones ass?"

you smiled. "of course baby. my sore, sore loser."

[deesseshesca]

PAC : If I were to drop a viral TikTok, what would it be about? (Tipsy edition)

Is my red flag era making a comeback ?

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PILE 1

Bestie, your viral TikTok would totally be you serving main character energy while spilling some major tea about your glow-up. Picture this: you start with a montage of your “before” era—sad, stuck, whatever—and then BAM, you hit us with the ultimate transition. The vibe? “I’m not who I was, and thank God for that.”

It’s raw, real, and dripping with "soft life" energy. The caption? Something like, “POV: You stop resisting change and start thriving.” Everyone’s gonna eat it up because it’s not just aesthetic—it’s giving phoenix rising from the ashes. Comments? Full of people saying, “I needed this,” and “Girl, you just inspired my rebrand.” Iconic. ✨

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

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PILE 2

Bestie, your viral TikTok? Oh, it’s definitely a “secure the bag” moment. Picture this: you casually flexing your savings, investments, or something lowkey bougie you worked hard for, like a designer bag or a cute lil apartment glow-up.

The vibe is “I'm not just collecting things, I’m building my empire.” The audio? Something sassy like “I’m not lucky, I’m disciplined.” And in the caption, you’re like, “POV: You stopped overspending on vibes and started saving for your future.”

The comments? Full of people tagging their friends with “We need to be like her.” Manifesting rich girl energy! 💸

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

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PILE 3

Girl, your viral TikTok would be pure drama and icon behavior. Imagine this: you start with the wildest montage of your life falling apart—like messy breakups, bad decisions, or that one time everything just went WRONG. Then, BAM, you hit us with the ultimate comeback moment.

It’s giving “Yeah, I lost it all, but look at me now.” The caption? “POV: The breakdown was just the plot twist for my glow-up.” Everyone in the comments will be shook, like “Sis, HOW did you bounce back like that?!” Total queen vibes. 👑

PREVIOUS READING

2) Wanna know the love story the universe has for you? 💫 In 8 parts, I spill all: first meet, first kiss, confession, sexy time, and more. Don’t miss out! 👀💖 (LINK)

3) ALL READING ON SALE (70% OFF) (Recent review 🎀)

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

"So, this is it? After everything we have been through, you won't even try to keep us together?"

Your voice cracked as you tried to hold it together. Tried to stop your body from shaking. Because you knew that if you didn't, if you had one less iota of control, you would start brawling. And that was not something you are willing to let this man witness. It's enough to make you lose your mind that he was sitting all casual on the sofa with a visage made out of stone.

It has been five years now. Five years of memories being flushed down the drain. Does he even give a single fuck? As this thought wedged itself into your brain, a bitter unnamed feeling lodged in your throat.

You watched with trembling lips as Jihoon finally stood up. Without breaking eye contact, he took small unsure steps towards you. He only stopped when he came close to you. Finally, he asked softly, "What else do you want me to say? I already told you I am sorry. You deserve someone better than me."

Those words were an instant punch to the gut. Bowlegged and stumbling, you put both hands on his shoulders and started shaking him like a maniac. You didn't even notice when tears started pouring from your eyes. You almost screamed out your next words,

" I-, I deserve better? I deserve b e t t e r ?! Then why wasn't I worth getting better for? Why can't you be better for me? Why won't you be better for me?" Feeling lighthearted and almost breathless, you took a step back and continued, "Our anniversary was two days ago, Jihoon. And you only came back today. You didn't even send a text."

With resignation felt in every bone in your body, you dealt the final blow, " Am I not worth a text?"

You heard him release a pained whimper at this. As if it physically hurt him. But you were beyond caring. You cared too much and that was the problem. Using both hands to wipe away your tears (You don't even have a boyfriend now that would do it), you picked up the suitcase and started walking.

It was then when you heard a mangled "I love you" come from Jihoon. Without turning back, you replied, "Do you? I haven't felt that for a long time. Even if I believe you, the problem is, I love me too. I never expected to be your main priority. But it turns out that I wasn't even a priority."

You opened the door and gently whispered your parting words into the wind, "It's not about you forgetting to send a happy anniversary text. It was never about it. I hope you know that. Yet it was my last straw. I love you, Jihoon. I don't know when I will stop loving you. But I just can't do this anymore."

In the sudden silence that followed, only the sound of a door clicking shut was heard. And in the next moment, Jihoon fell to his knees. It was as if someone cut all the strings holding him together. Unbiddenly, a tiny box fell out of his pocket. It was the sole thing keeping him company through the dead of the nights that followed.

a/n: it's woozi's birthday so i wanted to celebrate it in my own way. he is my bias wrecker and therefore i wrecked him in this fic. oops ( i am joking, hehe). but, on a serious note, he is the one who made me fall in love with seventeen's music. he is the one who redefined the meaning of friendship for me. his mindset inspires me everyday and i look up to him so much! so, happy birthday to our hardworking singer, producer, dancer, idol, and artist, mr lee jihoon. i hope you will always be happy and healthy <3

(also, this is the post that inspired this whole mess.)

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

If anyone has an idea for a title, help a girl out

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[rebouks]

Do you have any recommendations for starting a story? Yours is so good and it really inspires me to try and make one of my own but idk where to start

Hmmm a tough question! I think we all just kinda start and learn as we go? It's the best way tbh.. if you look back at the beginning of most simblr stories they've usually come a long way! Here's a couple tips that I think might be handy tho...

Maybe we could start a thread and everyone could reblog this with their own tips?! 🤩

Decide if you want to build your own lots/sets or not. If you do you'll probs wanna start off with the main places you'll use that're full of personality, like a main characters house or place of work etc. you can always download some neat lots and edit them to your liking if you're not a builder, or maybe even download a whole save file!

Start a character page (or make an intro post for em if you can't be arsed with the technicalities) - not essential but useful for you and the readers to keep track of who's who and maybe state a few facts about them etc.

Start collecting some poses and ideally rename them so they're easy to find! I personally like to add smth like [PETS] or [KISSING] etc to mine (in s4s) in conjunction with twistedmexi's pose finder to make things easier to grab.

If you use reshade/gshade, taking the time to find or create a nice preset will save you a bunch of time editing.

For the love of god if you're gonna make a bunch of extras, try and dress them in maxis clothes/hair.. I'm so SICK of having to redress everyone every time I clear out a bunch of cc skjdksj 🙈 you can always give em an extra, fancy cc outfit for specific scenes on the day but yeah, do yourself a solid where possible to save time/pain in the future. Same goes for lots you don't use often, try and limit the cc you use!

Figure out if you're a planner or not! If you can't manage without a plan it's okay to take some time before starting to figure everything out and get a detailed outline going. If you're more of a pantser (like me!) you can always just get going with a rough idea in mind and see what happens!

If you're gonna go with the flow I'd still recommend creating at least a rough outline, you don't have to stick to it like glue but it'll probs help you stay on track and I wish I'd have done this in the beginning, esp if you're gonna have a plot heavy story.

Characters > plot.. (imo!) like.. you could have a super interesting plot in mind but if no one really knows or cares about your characters it's gonna have a limited impact/amount of interest. They don't even have to be likable lmao

Give your characters some flaws! It's fun and it makes them more relatable.

Start with a small cast - not a complete must but it'll be probably be easier for people to get to know your pixels if they're aren't a million of them right off the bat. You can always add more later.

Try not to shoehorn your characters into situations they wouldn't end up in just to further the plot.. a hard one to explain and mostly based on intuition but if a scene feels boring, out of place or forced, it probably is! aka.. be willing to kill your darlings. Maybe you've already established that your character is poor or smth but have this fun idea of a road trip montage or whatever.. like you can't just give them a car and the money to drive a million miles just cos you HAVE to see that scene y'know? Maybe they're gonna have to hitch hike, get the bus, or take out a loan? Probs a bad example but hopefully you get the idea! It can sometimes be more fun to force your characters into a different situation than you imagined anyway, like maybe they meet someone really neat on the bus and they join the trip, or maybe whoever they borrowed money from gets all pissy when they can't pay em back quick enough etc etc.

Let your characters guide you - sometimes characters talk to us! You could've had a whole storyline planned for them, or a romance of whatever, but when it comes down to it, it just doesn't feel right and that's okay! Let them lead you in a different direction now n' then.

Write for you! (ugh becca stfu with this shit) I know, I know but really.. if you're not having fun, what's the point? Don't write what you think other people want and learn to be okay with cutting ideas/scenes/characters/whatever! that you aren't excited about anymore. It should never feel like a chore to create, and if it starts to feel that way, take a break or change it up!

I feel like this is super rambly and I've missed a million obvious things but my brain is mashed potato rn lmao.. pls feel free to add your own tips in a reblog or a comment - everyone has a different take on things! I think it's really important just to start and see what feels natural tho 🤸‍♀️🧡

[sugusoneandonly]

IKIGAI - stsg x reader (1)

CURSE !! Geto x Satoru Gojo x Reader

cw :: pure fluff ; angst ?? semi-canon compliant // does not follow logic tm. imagined as fem!reader but gender neutral pronouns. swearing. infidelity (everyone ends up loving each other). ass writing. poly. inspired by various artists works and comics revolving curse!sorcerers and reformed geto!! i will try and hunt the main sources down when i find time :)

Gojo stares at the entity before him, unsure how to react anymore. His ex-…ex-….best friend, love? The lines of their relationship were blurred but, what was clear as day was the burning passion between him and Suguru Geto. He’d witnessed his soul shine, dim, deflect, and even die twice by his own hands. Now, he reappears before him, distorted in all the dark and twisted ways that he could be, yet still so beautiful.

His inky black hair, now a void of any warmth or love., spills like a broken pen. His skin…while most curses had a tattered, greened, molded, whatever physical manifestations of hurt could exist, tinge to them, Suguru didn’t. No, Suguru’s skin was ghastly pale, like porcelain so fragile like it could shatter with even the slightest breath. Similar to how he was once, and shatter he did.

The eyes of Geto are concealed by a blindfold just like Gojo’s, his mouth tinged like the blood dripping from his head during his final moments and somehow… normal compared to most curses. As if humanity been spared to him some.

Gojo parted his mouth, still wondering what to say, and if Geto would even understand it if he did. But Geto cut him to the chase.

A garbled “Satoru” had escaped the curses makeshift mouth. Gojo stumbled back, the strongest set back by the simple strangled utter of his name. Geto hovered closer, to him. “Suguru…you..” Gojo still rendered speechless. Gojo tried to walk away, testing his limits. To most sorcerers guesses, Suguru simply followed, growling at the tree branch poking out and barely grazing Gojo.

Gojo’s head was spinning, running at the speed of light, flashes of ifs and whats gripping onto him one after another. Somehow, a year after the defeat of Sukuna, and 2 after Kenjaku’s, Gojo had found the closest thing to peace he could. He had gotten married, to you. Sweet you with the warm eyes and shining smile. Sweet you who had held the weight of the strongest when he no longer could. Sweet you who….he somehow felt the brighter side of Suguru in. But now, Suguru’s back…one way or another, however one saw it, suguru was back. Perhaps not Suguru Geto the sorcerer, or Suguru Geto the “traitor”, but Suguru Geto his best friend and worldlessly more.

You only ever caught rare glimpses of Suguru at first, back in your high-school days. you were year below the trio. You’d admired him, maybe even found him pretty. But he didn’t know you. Until a few months in when you’d grown close to Shoko, getting occasional head pats and a soft smile from him. His warm hand resting a little longer than ones normally would, gliding down the round of your head and smoothing the stray hairs down and simultaneously doing the same to your heart. But, he’d never know that, and honestly, stupid you hardly did either.

After his defection, you and Gojo grew close with the common ground of broken hearts, the torn strings of them bonding together with the others.

Gojo didn’t know what to do. For the first time, he didn’t know what to do. For the first time, he could choose what to do without telling anyone yet. No elders to order him, no Yaga to lecture him.

You weren’t supposed to be home yet, for the next hour or so which gave him barely enough time to try and figure out what to do. But, when he opened the door to your shared house, a whiff of cozy aromatic scents smacked him in the face. You were home.

Hearing the door click, you skipped over to Gojo with a grin on your face, still unaware to the entity looming behind him. Just as you were about to jump into his arms, you were forced back with a repulsing shove followed by a garbled hiss.

From your sat position on the floor, you look up dazed. You see him, the new version of Geto. Your mouth parts, fear, shock, and curiosity conjuring in your eyes. Gojo could only shakily bend down to lift you up.

© sugusoneandonly 2024

header off pinterest

a/n :: trying and failing; will edit ☺️

[incorrectfatui]

okay, more HCs. This one is only Scara, so things might get a lil dark- I'm not normal about him. anywho: Scaramouche: -autistic. I am going to say this about every Harbinger, bc it's the truth. -most traumatized mfer in all of Teyvat. Seriously. someone give this guy a licensed therapist. -as Kabukimono, he's tried to eat several non edible items. This one is inspired by that one researcher who made up a story about him eating a humans arm. The image of little Scara munching on various dangerous items is so cute -related to the above: he still does it sometimes, to fuck with people. Dottore thinks its great. Pierro had to stop him from getting Kuni to eat a delusion. -Eyes (& markings) always glow at least slightly, even if he's not using his powers. Its not really noticeable in the day, but at night you can see it pretty well -hates Pantalone. Not bc he's jealous of him hanging out with Dottore or something (if anything, Pantalone gets jealous), but just because he is an ass. -Went to the Abyss again for a long time, just after Arlecchino became a Harbinger, and kind of forgot that Crucy was replaced. Came back and was like "who the FUCK- oh right". Why? because I think its funny -In general, has a better relationship with most of the female Harbingers than the male ones. -a little self indulgent, but I like to think that he was able to float a lil with electro as well. We see Raiden and Ei do it, and I think it'd be cute if he was able to as well, if to a lesser degree. -has used almost every element at some point, testing delusions with Dotty. Mostly bc I can't really imagine all those researchers just throwing 4 extra elements at shouki no kami and being like "figure it out" -speaking of delusions: I think he didn't use one. His electro is inert and I dont think he used another element. I see people headcanoning his delusion as Anemo, and I get it, but I don't like it all that much -SPEAKING of his electro being inert to his body- I refuse to believe he lost electro completely. The whole "oh he used up his divinity" is lazy. He can still connect to Irminsul, which he only learned while ascending, but he cant use electro anymore, something that he's had since birth? Bullshit. I understand him not using it, but I think it'd be more impactful if that was a voluntary choice. I'd really like to see him recover it over the course of the story -I think Youkai like him. Obviously this excludes Yae Miko, but I think as Kabukimono it wouldn't be strange to see him being followed by some Tanuki or the lesser Kitsune. I would really like to see him interact with the Youkai Children from that one Inazuma event, I think it'd be really cute. -I like seeing people write about him and Kujou Sara, both romantic, platonic and as enemies. The two of them are very similar in some aspects, and then radically different in others. I think it'd be really interesting to see Kujou Sara confronted with her own trauma being reflected onto Ei. I guess this is mostly because I just really like Sara and I want my favs to interact xD -more of a theory, but I think Pierro and Dottore, (will) remember him. He has a lot of foreshadowing in his voiceline about Pierro & Dotty, and other things. He's very clearly endgame/lore relevant, with his story not even being finished. -not a HC, but I wanted to mention it: I'm still stuck in Inversion of Genesis on my main account. I never played past it. I did the Fontaine and Natlan quests for friends/watched them online, but I'm still in IoG on my main, because I never fully decided on a name -last one bc character limit: I really like to imagine him interacting with Neuvilette. I think there could be a lot of interesting discussions had here- Neuvi would absolutely dissaprove of his attempt to overthrow Nahida, but at the same time I think he would, to some degree, understand his obsession with the gnosis. No, the gnosis/authority doesn't belong to Scara (or Ei, for that matter), but I think if you told Neuvi that Scara was quite literally created to hold it, he'd understand, to a degree.

[evolnoomym]

I’m your Ghost 🔆

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: You keep seeing the same guy at a cafe. You want to help him figure out what to do. Help him and yourself to move on.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 0.7 k

Authors note: I scrolled on Pinterest recently, came across this picture and got inspired. I highly recommend listening to “Spring 1 - 2012” by Max Richter and also “Jacob and the Stone” by Emile Mosseri while reading this. 🔆

Warnings: this is angsty, tlou 2 spoilers perhaps, reader has hair, allusions to smut (tell me if I missed anything)

Big thank you to @saradika-graphics @cafekitsune and @xurengu0 for the dividers💛

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. Also this is not beta read or heavily edited. You are always welcome to talk with me about my writing. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly 🫶🏻

He’s always here, the same table, sitting on exactly the same chair, wearing that goddamn green flannel shirt, drinking a black coffee and staring out at the same sunset.

Usually you just sit down somewhere nearby and watch him. Whenever you look closer you can see that his eyes are glassy and his lip is quivering. He’s scared, lost and uncertain of what he should do.

Sometimes you selfishly wish he would just be gone, seeing him again and again hurts. You never approach him, afraid of how he might react. What if he doesn’t remember who you are? What if he evaporates the moment you get too close?

Today though you finally have the courage to talk with him. Of course you wish you could tie his soul to this imaginary fairytale place but he’s not happy and you know what is the right thing to do. So you walk up to his table and even when you stand just an arms length away from him there’s no acknowledgment or anything. He just stares out on to the open water, which shimmers golden in the late afternoon sun and there’s not a cloud in sight. Heavenly.

You sink down into the chair opposite him, that’s when you finally catch his attention. It’s been so long since you’ve seen his beautiful face this close. The golden hues of the sun make him look so angelic, he is your Angel.

Those curls tugged behind his ear, the ones you used to play with whenever he pulled you into his lap. Deep brown orbs that you fell in love with so incredibly quickly. His signature strong curved nose that brought you great pleasure all those times he went down on you. His plush lips, that mustache which always tickled when you kissed him. You loved kissing him, every chance you got your lips were attached to his. Big hands that you can still feel gripping your waist, sliding down your back to squeeze your butt, stroking through your hair and massaging your back when the pain flared up. Joel was utterly perfect in his own unique way.

You must’ve been silently sitting there for minutes so he’s the first to break the silence.

“Why are you cryin princess?”

You didn’t even notice the tears, immediately starting to wipe down your cheeks to get rid of the moisture.

“I miss you Joel,”

Joel Miller, your boyfriend, he’s the one you see here in this little beach side cafe again and again. Every night you go to sleep and wake up here in the cafe.

“, I feel as if I’m going insane.”

He appears confused and smiles.

“You see me every day baby, how can ya miss me?”

Does he not know what happened? Is he pretending to keep you from spiraling by ignoring the obvious?

“Joel, why are you still here?”

“ ‘cause ya need me, Ellie needs me and Tommy needs me.”

Joel’s smile is slowly turning into a frown.

“Who’s gonna take care of Ellie, huh?”

“Ellie has Dina, Tommy is there too and so am I. I know you are worried but we will take care of each other, always.”

You grip his hands that are placed in tight fists on the table. Stroking over the back of his hands like you did whenever he couldn’t calm his racing thoughts.

“Joel, you should go. Believe me I wish you could just stay, but this is not right.”

He’s about to open his mouth to argue when a cheery, light, sweet and girlie giggle fills the room. Joel’s eyes fill with fresh tears, he recognizes the giggle anywhere and so do you. In all those years you got to enjoy with Joel he told you many stories about his first baby, Sarah. How bubbly she was, so full of love and happiness.

“Sarah is waiting for her daddy to come home, don’t make her wait any longer. It’s okay to let go Joel.”

As you say this your hands let go of his and you get up.

“I’ll find you again when it’s time Joel, that’s a promise.”

One last look before you turn and walk away, leaving the man you loved.

You wake up in the bed Joel and you shared, facing his side hand placed where he would lay. The sun is shining in through the window, birds chirps outside and somehow you feel a bit lighter. He’s not entirely gone, you can still feel him here, but he’s not scared anymore. He found his peace and so can you now.

©️ evolnoomym 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[cosplayinamerica]

Dante from Devil May Cry 2 // cosplayer :  @liminal.kiryuu / photos :  @codyjabroni / @scphotodesign25

What many people overlook often is pattern making. Yes, the weapons are big and take time to create perfectly, but creating a tailored coat with high standing collar from pleather is not easier. I made about 5 prototypes of the coat and 1 of my pants before working for 1.5 month with the actual fabric.

I decided to make the newer versions because they look better, in my opinion. I chose these two swords specifically because they are the main ones in the game usually, and I just wanted something big and elaborated. It took me 3 months of cutting, gluing, and sculpting from foam and foam clay. I used a lot of mixed media for the paint process, such as spray paint, acrylic, oil paint, graphite powder, and floor varnish.

 My experience comes from 5 years of professional studies in fashion design. I took many classes for pattern making and sewing, so I was able to know the construction part pretty well. But custome made things usually don't come out perfect from first shot unless you have been doing it for many, many, many years.. I just referred to books and kept putting on the prototypes to see what were the mistakes  and fix it on a pattern until I was happy.

I met so many talented people recently but what amazed me is how progressive the beading work is over here in America. It's still not the most popular technique but I saw a few that were breathtaking and inspiring.

[anglercrit]

I never was a fan of CherriSnake at all, mainly because the dynamic was just like the others: Fanservice.

None of these characters have the SPARK needed for me to ship them. I usually don't mind canon ships as I would with crackships. But I've recently gotten to the Demisexual Logic when it comes to shipping characters.

Like if a character has a few moments type deal. Or if it's a Dating Sim type deal where 3 integeral moments happen for me to consider "Hey, this is it. This is ENDGAME" but with Saint Repentious in Heaven (That was not an idea of mine, I wanna clarify his name was inspired by Journey of The Light and possibly others.) and Cherri in Hell. I don't think that CherriSnake is ever gonna be a thing.

It was just like Martha and Mayberry. Completely there just to go "There, you got your silly WLW relationship! Now shut up!" It feels like any remote relationships that doesn't consist of MLM or Gay is often the centerpoint of attention while the other letters of our rainbow is often sidelined for Men.

I mean, I myself is Orientated AroAce. The feeling of validation is wonderful! But the fact Viv does not give a damn other than to reuse plots from Yoai BL infuriates me.

This was not a main point of mine, as this is leading to an idea, I wanted to say my peace before introducing this.

I am working on a Hazbin Hotel Rewrite (It's commonly referred to as "Left To Rot" but the working title is Redeeming The Hotel AU or known as Hazbin: Rewritten.) currently, Sir Pentious is the main characters love interest (as with Husk) and the storyline is:

Main Character is not Charlie, as she eventually loses her "interest" in the Hotel, after being belittled, taking after her father.

This leads to the MC taking over as the actual owner/founder of the Hotel in her wake, attempting to try and help with regaining Charlie's hope.

The Hotel is called Happy Hotel, but as time went on, she refers it as Hazbin as she believes it was a space for "has beens" and not "want to bes"

So the way I had the MC know Sir Pentious was interacting as his "Guardian Angel" (Although at this rate, the MC was being created in the Angel Ethereal pool) she was his guardian angel. When she was left in Hell, and she meets with Sir Pentious he recognizes her which led to Husk getting jealous.

Poly, Husk x OC x Pentious?

ok I have a lot of thoughts here (dw all of them good) so I'll just bullet point this

I honestly REALLY like the dating sim approach- I feel like cherrisnake COULD have worked, I like the idea of pent trying to seem cool to impress her but it really did feel fanservicey. And Cherri being in Hell and Pentious in heaven has some angst potential but I doubt it'll be explored.

even as someone who admittedly enjoys some trashy gay romance novels, yea the way viv handles her gay relationships frustrates me. It's probably because she hypes up how good the gay rep will be and then just recycles Hayes code era stereotypes.

your rewrite seems neat! I like the idea of someone else trying to reignite that hope in Charlie- honestly instead of the war against heaven the season 1 finale being Charlie beginning to lose hope and the hotel gang working to convince her that a sinner COULD be redeemed would be a sweet moment. Also I'm all for poly relationships so hell yea