#that’s something to chew on right there

[pricetagged]

Here's a young (maybe 19-early 20s) Simon struggling with his emotions, working as a butcher's apprentice, and fixating on the pretty student waitress at the café next door (':

Content: plus size f-presenting reader; allusions to domestic abuse (Simon's past); fat-shaming (not Simon); little bit of violence, unedited.

He's not sure that it counts as desire. Interest. It crawls over him, makes him feel aggressive, makes him want to dig his teeth in and shake and snarl.

It's hunger.

And he knows hunger. Knows it like he knows the cigarette burns on the back of his hand. Knows it like he knows his old man's a waste of space and that he has to defend his mum and protect Tommy and- and-

He's the man of the house, only the house is rotten. Woodloused frames, crumbling bricks. Gutted. Empty shelves hidden behind broken doors. Chipped plaster, electricity cutting off. Squeaky steps that always clued them in when the old man was on a rager (not that it helped, creaking out a warning but giving no clue where to run. The percussion leading to a gallows' jig; the heavy step before the hit).

But the old man's gone now. And Simon is left trying to fill in the boots he doesn’t know how to wear. All growth spurt and gangly limbs and anger. So much anger at the old bastard. Tear-soaked anger at his mum sometimes (buried deep behind the shame that he feels when he thinks of her black and blue. Anger and shame, bitter roots that he chews at to soothe the clench of in his jaw and the grind of his teeth). And then he sees you through the window. Through the peeling CHRISTMAS SPECIAL sign highlighting ham joints and turkey and pigs in blankets.

You're so soft.

You look like you’ve lived a life well-fed and well-loved. Something round and sweet and helpless, like the puppies he and Tommy had seen dumped in the park while they snuck cigarettes and swigged from cheap supermarket cider.

And that brings him back to the hunger. He's an awkward creature, shuffling to the café where you work part-time. He's more feeling than man, all rage and appetite stuffed into a skin suit. You sense it too, nerves tugging at the tilt of your smile as you approach the scavenger that swept in to sit at the cheap plastic tables in this greasy spoon. He sits awkwardly, too, hunched over the table like his stomach is gnawing at him. Big hands snapping the disposable plastic coffee stirrers and shredding the napkins. That first day, he just stares at you. Sneers a little when you flutter over to take his order.

You slosh the tea a little when you serve it.

He sees the burn bloom, watches as you suck at the sting with plump cheeks and a rosy little mouth, and he just wants to dig in and scratch hard to see you do that again.

It becomes a habit, watching you. He finds out bits and pieces listening as he rends and chops and saws through muscle and bone, stinking of sweat and iron. You're here as a student. You're living in student digs (good, best that you avoid the up-and-downs and rough streets that would fit a student budget), and you're a real sweetheart. Old Sal who has been running the café for the past 30 years leans a heavy elbow on the display counter as he chats with the boss.

"She's lovely, taken to it like a fish to water," his raspy, smoke-charred voice is cheery as he waits for the bacon and sausages to be weighed and wrapped. "Only asked for Thursdays and Fridays off since she has afternoon classes then. Otherwise, I almost have to round her out of the shop, doing more afternoons and weekends than my own kid."

You're hardworking too, then. He wonders if it's because you're hungry too, needing something to do with your time, living on pot noodles and supermarket ready-meals like he'd heard some students do. It's strange how that thought sits uncomfortably, makes him want to hunch over you and bring you his scraps.

That week, he decides to talk to you. Only the words get caught, don't come out quite right as he stares at the way your jumper clings to the soft curves under your faded apron. When you turn around, bustling to other customers, he can't help but stare at the line of your skirt. It's real pretty, decent, sitting just above your knees but Christ, he wishes that it would roll up a little higher. That it would catch on the corner of a table or hitch up as you raise your arms and swish past with a tray full of fry-ups. He almost gets lucky as you bend over to mop up a spill just across the room. Your thighs widen as they press against the table, tights stretching thin and sheer and he just can't tear his eyes away-

(The hunger in his stomach turns hot and biting, makes his cheeks flush and his mouth dry-)

But it's ruined. Fly in the soup, hair in the dish, as you catch him and your eyebrows pinch together as you look away. There's something guarded, bitter, in your lovely eyes, and the dryness in his mouth turns wet and sour. You seem to take pains to avoid him, swapping out with Sal's son so that you can work the counter instead of the floor.

"'m Simon," he grunts as he goes to settle the bill. "Work at the butcher's across the street."

You clearly didn’t expect an introduction, shoulders relaxing and hesitant smile blooming as you give your name in return.

"Yeah, I know. Sal mentioned you a few times. He's tried to give me the rundown of practically everyone on the street, feels like."

"Y'should come in t'the shop," the invitation rushes out in a way that makes him feel clumsy. Perhaps that’s why he did it; to have you in his space, with his head and his footing right. Here, he feels every inch the artificial man. Pieced together, too big and too looming, with no help or guidance on how to talk to soft things and pretty girls.

You grimace a little, eyes focused on the till as you count out his change. "Not really on a butcher-shop budget right now."

"'S'alright. I can keep something aside for ya," he doesn't mention how it would come out of his wages. How it would come out of what he brought home to his mum and Tommy. It didn't matter, though, when he was used to going without.

"That's - that's really nice, actually," Your sweet face is glowing now, and he feels like he could bathe in the warmth of it. "Next time you come by lunch is on me."

He sees the way you tuck your chin and smile as he walks away, and that bottomless pit in his guts feels just a little more full.

(He doesn't quite catch the snickers of the boys at table three, whispering and nudging each other as you come to take their orders. This time.)

He stares more and more through the window of the shop, watching as you come and go. Watching the way you greet the regulars and skirt around the group of lads who like to linger in the evenings. There's something sharp, nasty, to the way they circle around the entrance. The way they cackle and hoot when the one with the eyebrow piercing smirks and whispers to his mates as they force you to brush past. They're a pack of hyenas, shrieking and smug as they toy with the poor little thing that's walked past their watering hole. He's seen this type before, practically grew up with them. His old man was probably one of them, perfecting his cruelty while young, cementing it as part of his nature.

It has Simon sharpening his knives while he grits his teeth. Has the boss tutting at him when he cuts too close to the bone.

He knows there's something violent in him. The old man tried to bring it out then snuff it out, getting scared when the knife that he sharpened was able to cut him in return. He's no stranger to bloodshed. No stranger to the calloused, deprivation-dimmed apathy that breeds like algae in the environment where he was forged. Dripping, slimy, suffocating.

Doesn't mean he likes it, though.

(He'd gone back for those puppies, you know. Felt wrong leaving them. Felt like a rebellion against his old man's sick life lessons as he dumped the box outside the doors of a local veterinary clinic).

So he keeps his eyes peeled, stakes out the café like he owns it. Stares down anyone who looks at you wrong until they look away, muttering under their breath. 'Fucking freaky dead-eyed git.' It seems to work.

And you seem to like it, sparing more smiles for him. Bringing him bigger portions than normal and topping up his cup before he even needs to ask.

"I know you've been working since seven, Simon. Gotta keep your strength up," You seem bashful as you slide the plate across, and he just eats it up.

You've been looking at him, thinking about him. It's not something he's familiar with, having someone care for him. His mum loves him, of course. Tommy too. But it’s not the same, not when it's been his job to take care of them. His job to step up to the mantle and into the shoes that his father should've filled. Watching the sway of your wide hips as he tucks into the steak and kidney pie with gusto, he feels satisfied. The hunger is there, always is, but it's not gouging at him under the skin. It's satiated, pleased. The kind of comfort that leaves his eyes heavy and his belly warm.

It's a routine you fall into, and everything is rosy-

Until it's not.

He's closing up shop, wiping down the counters and getting ready to haul down the shutters when he sees them. Those stupid pricks, travelling in their pack and signaling that their quarry is in sight. Look, there it is alone and limping and- You're in a rush, leaving later than usual and shrugging your coat on carelessly as you shout your goodbyes to Sal. You're in that skirt again, the one that makes his lower belly tighten and mouth feel dry.

"Oi, look! Dirty scrubber has her fat arse hanging out!"

It sets them off, chittering and howling as you freeze wide-eyed and lip-quivering.

"Gonna be sick, mate. Don't want to see your knickers, love. Didn't even know they came in that size."

He doesn't even see red. Doesn't see anything but your pretty, round face crumpling as you try to tug your skirt out from where it got caught under your coat.

The ringing of the bell by the door muffles the sound of the first punch. His fist crunches into that prick's nose, and he wants nothing more than to keep going until his face is little more than meat and pulp and blood. He can taste it, smells the blood in the air like a shark.

But you're watching.

"Bit bored with y'taking the piss out of her," he snarls it as he hauls the man by his jacket, shoving him hard against the wall until his head thwacks against the bricks. Easy as hauling a side of beef. "Why don't ya try me next?"

The man seems dazed, head spinning and nose dripping. His mates, too, look floored. Ready to scatter and abandon their leader to the bigger beast. Only the promise of more blood keeps them watching, feeds their nasty appetites and he's just itching to let them see. Watch what happens; it's coming for you next.

"Speechless now, eh? Had so much to say earlier," he's spitting the words out, teeth snapping as he leans down so close to the man's face that he can see how his pupils constrict. "Apologise."

And he's smarter than he would give him credit for. Smart enough to whimper out his 'sorry, sorry, sorry' as he drops to the filthy, damp pavement when Simon swivels towards the others. Something about the set of his shoulders, the way his hands and apron are splattered with the gore of man and animal, has them scattering.

"That goes for the rest of ya! Don't ever want t'see your ugly fucking mugs around here again," he spits on the ground, itches at his jaw with his wrist as he watches them run.

He can't hear them anymore. Can't hear anything over the sound of his heavy panting and pounding heartbeat.

It's cold out. He's only realising it now, standing in the December chill with just an apron over his jeans and t-shirt. It has him shaking, flexing his hand as his knuckles start to sting and swell. He welcomes it, welcomes the familiar bite as he pushes down the savage, ragged anger rippling through his chest.

"Simon-"

"Y'alright?" he cuts you off, faces you head-on.

And all the rage saps out. You're not cowering away. There's no disgust on your face. No tears or embarrassment either, no. You've got a crumpled packet of wet wipes in your hand, reaching out for him. Concerned.

"Figure you'd want to get that prick's blood off you soon as possible," you give him a sad little half-smile. "Didn't have to do all that for me, Simon."

"Yeah, didn't have to." He concedes as he steps closer to you. Crowds into your space until you're toe-to-toe and he can feel your warmth. He brushes his fingers against yours, lets them linger on your soft skin as he reaches for the wipes. "I wanted to."

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

Let's all pretend that this was okay and ignore the fact that I still haven't posted the wips that I keep going on about 🫠💖

Just a little self-indulgent drabble idea that I had today, thinking back to watching 'My Mad Fat Diary' as a teenager, feeling nostalgic ~ (The Finn-defending-Rae scene had 18yo me in a chokehold lol).

[luvyeni]

🧸… ( drabble ) i like it ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 한지성 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ you really love jisungs mustache ヾ

boyfriend!hanji・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・oral ( M ), unprotected sex, soft sex wc ・ ‎0.7k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. just saw han jisung's photo... a photo where he is unshaven and his mustache and beard are visible , and i wanted to request when he doesnt shave and the reader sees it for the first time, it unexpectedly makes her turn on. I wonder what jisung's reaction will be when he notices this.

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 im a huge fan of that genre of han jisung 🥴

you and han had been dating for about a year; so you two were comfortable with each other having keys and walking into each others apartments unannounced — so when you walked into your boyfriend's room where he was sitting at his desk recording, you didn’t think anything of it until he jumped in shock. “baby.”

he stumbled over his words, you raised your eyebrow. ”what are you doing here?” you dropped your bag on the floor. “it’s been a week since i’ve seen you and that’s the first thing you say?” he stood up, rushing over to you. “no baby i'm happy you’re here.” he wrapped his arms around you. “but you should’ve told me, i would’ve cleaned up a bit.” he looked around his room embarrassed. “and shaved, i look so disheveled.”

you pulled away looking at his bare face; you’d never seen him not shaved, his light stubble on his chin and upper lip — he looked good. “damn.” you said bringing your hand to his face. “you look good baby.” he blushed, smiling. “stop it.” he said shyly. “you don’t have to lie.”

“but i'm not hannie, you look so fucking good right now.” you ran your hands down his chest, chewing on your bottom lip. you loved your man no matter what and he never failed to turn you on… but this look on him, it was doing something for you. “do-don’t tell me you're getting turned on just by my mustache.” he stuttered out, flustered at the quick change in moods, not that he was upset about it. “how about i show you?” you brushed your lips against his ear, sending shivers down his spine.

jisung gripped the sheets, his head resting against the headboard. “fuck!” he moaned out for the third time that night — your mouth working on his cock, head bobbing up and down, hands wrapped around his length stroking whatever he couldn’t fit. “fu-fuck baby , keep doing that.” he’d never seen you act like this before, of course you sucked him off countless of times before, but not like this. with so much passion — like you were trying to suck the soul out of him. “fuck baby im gonna cum again.” sweat beading down his face as you pulled off of him, making a ‘pop’ sound with your mouth, still stroking him off. “cum for me, cum.”

he grunted , hips bucking up; his cock twitching. “fuck.” he sighed as he came, his thick cum shooting from his cock for the third time, leaking down onto your hand. “damn baby.” he chuckled breathlessly, his eyelids half closed. “hannie.” you climbed into his lap, his eyes opening as he felt the warmth of your cunt. “again?” you nodding, stroking his length. “you’re so hot.” you moaned out as you sunk down on him. “fuck baby you-you’ve already made me cum three times, let me at least eat you out.” you shook your head, fully sitting down on him. “n-no need you -fuck- need you inside me.”

rocking your hips slowly against him. “fuck you’re so wet.” he groaned, hands resting on your hips. “sh-shit keep riding my cock , just like that.” he moaned out loud as you bounced on his cock. “fu-fuck if you like my stubble like that , i’ll keep it if you it gets to fuck.” you both moaned out. “fuck if it gets you to fuck me like this.”

he could feel himself about to cum, bringing his hands to your clit , rubbing soft circles on your bud. “wa-wanna make you cum.” he moaned. “pl-please, pl-please make me cum.” bucking his hips up to match your movements. “fuck hannie im gonna cum.” you screamed, he wrapped his arms around your waist, planting his feet on the bed fucking up into you, you shrieked out. “fuuuck!” he groaned. “fuck baby im gonna cum.”

“fuck fuck fuck!” you screamed out, legs shaking as you came, tightening around him. “shit.” he howled out, cumming. “shit.” his legs fell flat against the bed, twitching as his thick load spilling inside you. “shit.” both of you sighed coming down from your high. “jesus love.” he finally got the words out, you laughed. “what.” your foreheads pressed against each others. “did the beard really make you like this?” you nodded, heat rising in your face. “i never knew beards turned me on like that.” you slowly stood up, letting his cock slipping out of you. “shit.”

sitting down on him, rubbing his bare chest. “fuck it’s so attractive.” you said, heat pooling in your abdomen once again. “you’re insatiable baby.”

“but fuck it’s hot seeing you like this, guess i gotta keep the beard for a while, if it gets you to fuck me like this.”

©️LUVYENI

[moomine]

Dad swansea and reader x daisuke established relationship

black friday | daisuke

author's note: this is based on the q&a where the devs said swansea was a sneakerhead lol. i love love love the concept of dad-swansea sm!! it actually maybe sorta kinda has me brainstorming another series.. thank you for the request! (cover image credit)

summary: (daisuke x f!reader) (modern au?) The semester is over and winter break has just begun. You and Daisuke met on campus and have been dating for a while now. When it's time for him to finally meet your dad, Swansea, he insists on getting him something for the season.

word count: 2,661

warnings: no trigger warnings (all fluff here)! all characters are 18+

now playing: Drugdealer, Kate Bollinger - "Pictures of You"

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The mall was a bustling hellscape. Packed like sardines, people pushed and shoved as they tried to meander from place to place. The line for the shoe store wrapped around the corner, down a long, wide hall, and into the food court. You stood side by side with Daisuke, your coat rustling as you hugged yourself. A cold draft blew past as other customers came and went through the grand entrance, each time causing a shiver to rake through you harshly. Daisuke, who was previously twisting his silver rings out of an anxious habit, stopped and began running his hands up and down the length of your arms. The friction of his hands sent waves of much-appreciated warmth throughout your body. You looked up at him, a grateful smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Of course. It won’t be so bad once we get ‘round the corner.” Daisuke peeked over your head and past the line, peering ahead to see how much longer it would take. It was moving at a snail’s pace, and all he could think about was empty shelves. In the nightmare of worst-case scenarios running rampant in his mind, the sneakers he had been keeping a watchful eye on for months were already sold out. Daisuke’s brows furrowed as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, chewing at the soft skin absentmindedly.

“Maybe we should have gotten here earlier,” you observed, glancing around at the line of people as it only grew larger. You turned back to your boyfriend with a sympathetic expression, features softening as you reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to do this. Y’know that, right? My dad will be happy just to meet you at all.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I absolutely do.” He laughed nervously, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and using his now free hand to run his fingers through his hair. “You’re, like, the most important person in my life. Your dad has to like me, he just has to. If he doesn’t I might straight up disappear. POOF! Daisuke’s gone, vanished into thin air.”

“You gotta relax. He’s gonna love you, I know he will,” you replied, leaning into him for a little extra warmth.

Daisuke held you tighter and shook his head apprehensively. “I just gotta make sure. I really, really want to make a good impression.”

“And you will! You wanna know how I know?” you asked, shifting under his arm so you were facing him. The line moved up and so did the two of you.

He nodded, eyes filling with admiration as his gaze fell from the line before you two to your face. God, he loved your face. No matter how hard he tried, he could never understand how a guy like him got so lucky. Daisuke knew he was a pretty good-looking guy, but you were gorgeous. Must have been his charming personality and impeccable sense of style.

“I know because you’re kind. ‘Cause you have a good heart and you care so much. My dad’s a good judge of character, he’ll see that.” Daisuke opened his mouth to protest, but you raised a finger and pressed it to his lips before he could. “Hey, I’m not finished. So what you don’t know what you want to be yet? You’re ambitious and talented, and you’ve got time. Don’t stress about that, ‘kay? He won’t care, I promise.”

“Can I talk now?” Daisuke asked, your finger still pressed against his lips. 

“You may,” you replied with a playful grin, your hand dropping to your side once again.

“I know I technically don’t have to, but I’m gonna get these shoes and impress the pants off your dad,” he stated, all proud until he had the chance to process what it was he had said. “That didn’t come out right…”

You laughed, taking another step forward as the line continued to move up.

-

A couple of weeks had passed since Daisuke bought those sneakers. Finals season came and went, ushered out by the frantic wrap-up of the fall semester and the introduction to winter break. It was early December when the two of you finally drove back home, meaning it had finally come time for your boyfriend to meet your parents. 

The entire way there Daisuke was a nervous mess. That anxiety only intensified the moment you were leading him to the front door of your family’s home. On top of the gifts he was already carrying, Daisuke had insisted on still carrying the bulk of your luggage inside as well. With one hand he held his presents to your folks, and in the other, he used to pull your suitcase behind him; your backpack was slung over his shoulders. He said it was about chivalry or something like that. As you stepped onto the front porch an onslaught of barking erupted from just beyond the door. 

“Lucy! C’mon, old girl, that's enough!” your dad, Swansea, shouted from inside the house.

You turned to smile at Daisuke only to notice his attention was busy elsewhere. He looked down at the gifts in his arms, biting at his lips. After a moment he noticed you had stopped and his gaze drifted back to you, offering you a timid smile of his own. You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, keeping it there as you began to rub small, comforting circles against the wooly fabric of his coat.

“It’s gonna be okay,” you whispered in a soft tone.

Daisuke looked down at the gifts in his hands, then back to you with a quick nod.

Now with his approval, you unlatched your keys from your belt loop and unlocked the door. As it swung open with a familiar groan, Lucy, your elderly border collie, came stumbling up to the doorway as she barked an excited ‘hello’. The dark patches of her fur were speckled with long, white hairs and her eyes held a little gray in them. She breathed heavily from her mouth, panting with her tongue hanging out. She looked from you to Daisuke, just as excited to see his new face as your well-known one.

“Hi, mama.” You knelt to her level, petting her head with one hand and scratching her chin with the other. “I’m home!” you shouted into the house.

The smells of garlic and onion wafted from the direction of the kitchen. Daisuke closed the door behind him, looking around the entryway with a curious eye. It dawned on him at that moment that he was standing in your childhood home. Over the course of your life, you had walked in and out of that very entryway countless times —going to school, coming home from your first job at that local coffee shop, leaving for prom or practice. 

“Took you long enough,” Swansea called back as he made his way from the kitchen to the two of you. “I was startin’ to worry you wouldn’t make it in time for dinner.”

Swansea stood in the doorway of the kitchen, a red apron that read ‘Kiss the cook’ tied loosely around his torso —one of the many stupid Father’s Day presents your mom had gotten him over the years. You stood up quickly, racing to him with open arms. He eagerly took you into a tight hug, his clothes and skin smelling faintly of 3-in-1 soap and motor oil.

“Haha. How about a ‘welcome home’ or ‘I missed you so much’?” you said sarcastically as you pulled away from him.

“Welcome home, kid. I missed you.” Swansea’s normal gruff tone of voice was much softer as he spoke to you.

Daisuke stood awkwardly by the front door, still carrying your belongings as well as his own. You glanced over your shoulder with a wide smile and motioned toward him. “Oh! Dad, this is Daisuke. Daisuke, this is my dad.” You took a step back, allowing the two of them to get a better view of one another.

His eyes shot from Lucy, who was now lying at his feet, and toward your dad. Almost too quickly, Daisuke let go of the suitcase and took a long step toward Swansea. He extended his hand, ready to shake, and adorned a toothy smile. The gifts along his other arm wobbled as he reached your father, which he clumsily saved from falling at the last minute.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Daisuke said.

“That so? Looks like you got a lot on your plate, son.” Swansea took his hand, holding it firmly as he shook it. Daisuke did his best to match his grip, almost squeezing too hard. Swansea motioned with a nod to your luggage still on Daisuke’s person, along with the gifts in his arms.

“What this? Nothing I can’t handle,” your boyfriend replied, almost smugly. “These are actually for you. Well, and your wife.”

“I think we’re gonna go take my stuff upstairs,” you butt in, looking between the two with a slightly worried expression.

“All right then. Your mom’ll be home soon, dinner’s on in fifteen. I’m makin’ paella.” Swansea turned around with a skeptical look. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect. Thank you, dad!”

-

Once the two of you were upstairs, it became incredibly clear that Daisuke’s anxiety had intensified greatly. As the two of you walked through the threshold into your room, he let out a quiet sigh —both out of relief and distress. Over the semester, your room had become closer to a memory and now, as you returned to it exactly as you had left it, it had become an almost nostalgic sight. It was exactly as Daisuke had imagined. The pale blue walls were littered with band posters and pictures of you with friends from high school. You had everything you’d expect in a student’s room. In one corner, snugged away and smothered in soft blankets and pillows, was a full-sized bed. In another were a mismatched desk and dresser. Daisuke could easily see you sitting at that desk, engaging with one of your many hobbies or finishing up some assignments. The visual managed to make a small smile creep onto his lips, but it faltered quickly when he heard Swansea on the phone with your mother just downstairs.

“He hates me, I can already tell,” Daisuke said. He carefully set down your luggage as well as the gifts, tucking them away nicely on your desk.

“You don’t know that. My dad’s just like that with everyone at first, but he always warms up eventually. I promise.” You sat on your bed, pulling your shoes from your feet and tossing them in different directions.

To keep himself from pacing, Daisuke took a seat beside you before flopping back into the comforter. The plush blanket quickly engulfed him as he rested an arm over his eyes. With a little laugh, you laid down on your side next to him, caressing his face with your hand. It felt soft against his skin as you cupped his cheek. His arm fell back to his side as he leaned into your touch, letting out a content sigh at the comfort that alone brought him. His eyes trailed over your face with that same lovesick adoration he normally harbored while looking at you —a stare that said more than he ever could with words. He knew he would never get tired of looking at you. 

“It’s going to be okay,” you finally said, pressing your forehead against his. “I love you.”

His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to melt into you. Like it was second nature, Daisuke tilted his head ever so slightly to the side and closed the gap between the two of you. Sparks of electricity tingled against your lips as he kissed you softly. Abandoning their posts, his hands found their proper positions —one on your hip and the other along the back of your neck— and pulled you closer. You couldn’t help but smile against his lips as he kissed you, your chest becoming light at his touch.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, keeping his forehead against yours. “I love you too,” he breathed, sounding far more relaxed than before. “So much.”

His gaze met yours once more, and it looked like he was going in for another kiss. Just as you felt his breath against your cupid’s bow, there was a knock at the door, followed by the sound of Swansea clearing his throat.

“C’mon, get your asses up. I’m makin’ you set the table before your mother gets home. I want it to look nice for her, understood?” Your dad looked between the two of you with that questionable face Daisuke was starting to become accustomed to. He then turned around, shaking his head from side to side.

-

Dinner was a surprisingly quick affair. To nobody’s surprise, Swansea’s paella was a hit —other than a couple of gripes from your mother who had grown sick of the dish. She fell in love with Daisuke from the first second she saw him, and she only loved him more when he got comfortable enough to talk. After everyone was finished eating, Daisuke insisted on helping clean up and he did so happily. While your mom stepped outside to smoke a cigarette, Swansea, Daisuke, and you sat in the living room as your dad began to open his gift.

Swansea tore into the wrapping paper, eyes going wide when he saw the brightly colored shoebox beneath. He looked up from the present in his hands, and his gaze fell to Daisuke with an expression of pure disbelief.

“Son, I-” he started before promptly getting cut off by you.

“Just open it, dad.”

Daisuke shifted beside you as Swansea discarded the rest of the wrapping paper. He leaned forward, elbows resting on either of his knees as he bit at his lower lip. Swansea ran his hand along the top of the box and slowly opened it. After lifting the tissue paper and getting a proper look at the sneakers underneath, Swansea turned to your boyfriend again.

“These aren’t easy to come by. How on earth did you get them?”

“I, uh- well, we camped out for them. [Name] told me you had been checking out a pair online for a while, and I thought I’d save you the effort,” Daisuke responded, running a hand along the back of his neck. “It was totally worth it. I got a super good deal on ‘em and everything.”

“Thank you.” Your dad just nodded with the faintest smile on his face. Although his words were simple, cut, and dry, it was obvious to you and Daisuke alike that he was truly grateful.

“Of course. I’m really happy you like them,” Daisuke said. He was practically glowing, beaming with pride as he looked from Swansea to you. He mouthed an oblivious ‘hell yeah’ in celebration.

Later that night while you were getting ready for bed, Daisuke ventured down the upstairs hallway toward the bathroom. Along the way, he passed your parents' room. Through the crack in the door, a narrow stream of light illuminated the otherwise darkened hall. Daisuke froze in place as he overheard your mom and Swansea talking from inside.

“So, what did you think of him? He’s just a delight. Isn’t he, hun?” Your mom questioned.

“Who? Daisuke?” Swansea replied. The springs within the mattress groaned as he eased himself into bed. “The boy seems like a good man. I like him for her. She needs someone who’ll help her loosen up. Poor girl is too damn high-strung.”

Realizing he probably shouldn’t eavesdrop, Daisuke rushed to the bathroom with a look of pride on his face. Your dad liked him. Better yet, Swansea thought he was good for you. That was a better gift than anything he could have hoped for.

[syggwolf]

Not to hijack this post or anything, and I'm gonna share some seriously depressing stuff here, along with talk of injuries and blood, just as a warning, but I can easily pinpoint the (And I cannot stress this enough.) SINGLE most traumatic thing that ever happened to me in a long, long, long line of catastrophically traumatic things: It was a very specific incident of being told not to cry. And it wasn't like I wasn't already told not to cry already or anything because, you know, you have a dick, you're not allowed to cry past the age of six and all that. And I was about thirteen so, way beyond that point. But this time, I mean, it was sort of a big deal. You see, unfortunately for me, a very heavy falling object had split my forehead open, and the amount of blood pouring down my face had convinced me that I was pretty for sure probably maybe going to die. Also it really hurt. But because I went into shock, I started laughing instead. I want to stress: the laughing was a panic reaction, not conscious, nor on purpose. Then I proceeded to leave an unbroken trail of blood all the way up to the front door of my house, about a half a block away. All the other kids fled as soon as it happened, except for one; another boy who was a friend of mine, only slightly older than me, who walked with me up to my house and came inside. Well, my mom shrieked and put an icepack on it, which, if you've never had burning cold shoved against exposed skull, it kinda really hurts even more than getting your skull exposed in the first place. And so I'm sitting there on the couch next to my friend, who's still staring in horror at my head and the blood all over my face. By this point I have definitely stopped laughing or doing much of anything, and the sheer amount of "I am so fucked." is starting to sink in because they are calling a fucking ambulance. My dad is sitting there, yelling at my friend to explain what the fuck happened and my friend gets to the part where I started laughing and my dad looks at me, and no bullshit, at this exact moment, there's a spike of pain from my head, and I'm miserable and it's sinking in that I'm going to the fucking HOSPITAL in an AMBULANCE and I am definitely in trouble. (Which is another fun thing that happens in an abusive household. Imagine thinking you're in trouble for getting hurt. Spoilers, I did in fact get yelled at, excessively. My intelligence, character, moral fiber, strength, and foresight were all called into question.) So right there, with all of that hitting at once and my father staring straight at me, my chest hitches and I fuck up and I let out a voice cracking little whimper. My father looked at me with an absolutely haunting combination of anger, disappointment, and some kind of disgust, and he said in this very rough, clipped tone that was more threat than anything else, "Don't you dare. You will NOT cry." And that broke something inside of me that to this day I've never been able to fix. If the role of a "man" was not to cry even under circumstances as extreme as that, than I clearly was broken in some way and I would endeavor to never cry again. And even Now? I simply cannot cry until I fully and completely lose control of every aspect of myself and snap, and even then it never lasts longer than a few moments. I can't make noise while I'm doing it either. It's a silent affair that can only happen in the most extreme circumstances when I am alone. His reasoning for saying that to me? For looking at his wounded child, blood covered face and pain and misery and all, and saying those words? He wanted the story to get around the neighborhood that I laughed at having my head split open because he thought it would make me look cool and really badass. He literally told me that to my face a few hours later, and said it was for my own good because none of the kids would fuck with me if I looked manly. He also chewed me out for possibly ruining it for having the gall to break while my friend was still next to me. The patriarchy is fucking evil and must be destroyed.

Everyone is so weird about people who cry easily. Fellas, is it evil and manipulative to *checks notes* have an involuntary stress response?

[nyrvietmblr]

Opposites attract |

golden retriever!Kyra Cooney-cross x blackcat!reader

You and Kyra were an... unexpected couple. Who would’ve thought that Kyra Cooney-Cross, the most energetic, perky, golden retriever of a person, would ever cross paths with someone like you? Someone who hates touchy people, loud people, or talkative people—everything that Kyra is.

But it all started on a simple day in a busy café. You were seated, sipping your tea, reading one of your favorite books, when she came along.

“Excuse me? Could I sit here? There’s nowhere else…” a random, freckled girl asked with an accent that was clearly not English.

“Yeah… sure,” you replied, assuming she would leave you alone so you could get back to your book.

“Thanks,” she smiled, setting her things down and taking the seat across from you.

Your eyes skimmed the page, trying to read, but it was kind of difficult when someone was blatantly staring at you.

“Sorry… do you need something?” you asked the girl.

“Uh… no, sorry,” she stammered.

You blinked at her, then returned to your book. Peace. Quiet. Just pure relaxation.

“What’s your name?” the strange girl questioned.

“R.” You replied, impatient, wanting to get back to reading.

“That’s a pretty name. I’m Kyra,” she smiled.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, your face not unfriendly, but not exactly warm either. Just a look full of curiosity at this strange, freckled girl—Kyra—who was trying to make conversation.

“So… what do you do for work?” she asked, growing more inquisitive by the second.

“I work at the flower shop down the road,” you answered.

“Cool,” she exclaimed, taking a sip of her iced coffee, which she definitely shouldn’t have been drinking at 6:00 PM.

She picked up her phone, distracted for a moment, and for a second—just a second—you finally thought you could get some peace. Your eyes flickered back to your book as you leaned back in your chair, sighing contently.

Nearly three minutes passed before you noticed the strange girl—Kyra—getting antsy. Fidgety, almost like she was nervous, chewing on her thumbnail.

“Uh… are you okay?” you muttered lowly, unsure if she’d even hear you over the noise of the café.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?”

“Oh! Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“Okay…”

And maybe, though your hope was running thin and your patience along with it, you believed you could finally finish this chapter with no more interruptions.

But then:

“Do you wanna go on a date with me?”

The strange girl spoke right as you were taking a sip of your tea, nearly causing you to choke. You stared at her.

“Sorry… I made this weird. I can go if you wa—” she began, hurriedly collecting her items, clearly overthinking the mere ten seconds of your silence.

“Kyra,” you cut her off.

But gosh, she was relentless. “I’m so sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I—”

“Kyra,” you said louder this time, and she finally paused, staring down at you.

“If I say yes, will you sit down and… stop talking?” you questioned, sitting up straight, staring right into her brown eyes.

She smiled softly. “Yeah,” Kyra agreed.

“Then yes. I’ll go on a date with you,” you continued, “Now sit down. You’re… kinda good company,” you admitted to a Cheshire-grinning Kyra.

And you just hoped you’d be able to deal with the pest you had just let into your life.

[magical-reid]

The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

___________________________________________________________

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

___________________________________________________________

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

___________________________________________________________

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

___________________________________________________________

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

___________________________________________________________

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

___________________________________________________________

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

___________________________________________________________

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

___________________________________________________________

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

___________________________________________________________

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

___________________________________________________________

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

___________________________________________________________

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

___________________________________________________________

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

___________________________________________________________

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

___________________________________________________________

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

___________________________________________________________

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

___________________________________________________________

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

___________________________________________________________

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

___________________________________________________________

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

___________________________________________________________

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

___________________________________________________________

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

___________________________________________________________

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

___________________________________________________________

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

___________________________________________________________

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

___________________________________________________________

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

___________________________________________________________

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

___________________________________________________________

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

___________________________________________________________

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

___________________________________________________________

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

___________________________________________________________

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

___________________________________________________________

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

___________________________________________________________

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

___________________________________________________________

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

___________________________________________________________

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

___________________________________________________________

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

___________________________________________________________

JJ

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

___________________________________________________________

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

___________________________________________________________

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

___________________________________________________________

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

___________________________________________________________ 

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.

[shouyuus]

okay…okay TRULY SORRY (am not) for adding onto shirtless sleeper hc once again buuut roommate!Vi waking up hours after the encounter to an empty apartment and a lightbulb-bright idea — it’s been sooo long since she’s made you blush this hard and worried she’s been losing the knack of it, but now it’s like you’ve given her a whole new arsenal of ideas to turn you pretty pink

cue to you running into a various degrees of undressed vi in your apartment in the upcoming weeks (all instances paired with grinning, half-assed excused like ‘i just got out of the shower, i running was hot, i just got a new tattoo, i needed to check my form etc etc)

(pls everyone put ur hands together for our lord and savior the shirtless sleeper anon -- they're single-handedly feeding us all)

18+, mdni, college roommate!vi cinematic universe

college roommate!vi who walks out of the bathroom, steam billowing out behind her, a tiny pink-stained towel wrapped around her waist (it's so low it's seconds from falling off), oh so casually bumping into you in the hallway, her hair still damp and trickling water down her neck and the tattoo snaking up her shoulder, her skin gleaming with steam --

"oops, sorry princess -- forgot to bring a shirt into the shower --"

but makes no move to cover her tits. you jerk your eyes up to her face, your own cheeks burning.

"n-no sorry i -- uh, i came back from study group a bit earlier than i thought it would uhm -- i should've texted or something --"

"no biggie, princess. so, did study group go well? you were complaining about some asshole last week who --"

but you really can't focus bc did she change her nipple piercings out? those don't look like the same ones from --

"hello? earth to pretty girl?"

"uhhhhh -- sorry?"

vi has the audacity to smirk as you blink rapidly, swallowing hard, finally looking back up at her.

"i just asked you a question, sweetness. gonna answer me or...?" her eyes flicker down to her own tits.

you feel the inexplicable urge to slam your face into the hallway wall.

"sorry uhm i just remembered i've got -- an assignment that i -- sorry --" you push passed her, shouldering into your room and slamming the door, pressing your back to it the moment it's closed and sliding down to the floor. faintly, you hear the sound of vi's little chuckle as she walks into her own room, but you never hear the door close. a second later, loud rock music starts blasting and you let out a long breath.

barely three days later, you find college roommate!vi lounging on the living room sofa with a vape and what looks like fresh black boxers, the white waistband accentuating the muscles of her abs, her eyes a little hazy as you walk in and nearly drop your books at the sight.

"hey sweets -- can you do me a favor and grab that charger cord?"

you stare for a few seconds before glancing at the white usb-c cord not even a foot away on the dining table. gingerly, you reach over and hand it to her, trying very hard not to look down at her chest, at the way her nipple rings catch the dim light when she breathes in and out.

she lets a puff of smoke wreathe out from her lips, sucking in through her nose.

"mm -- thanks cupcake. this thing was getting low."

"r-right..." you press your thumbs into your workbook, the plastic cover crinkling beneath your touch; you glance up at the cracked window before letting your eyes wander back to vi, still sitting half-naked on the couch, "uh... is the fan broken? or..."

"huh? nah -- i just always run hot. y'don't mind, do you, sweets?"

you chew on your lower lip for a second before shaking your head and making your way across the room.

"it's -- it's fine. just -- uhm -- just close the window after you're done, okay?"

vi catches you eye and winks, letting out another thin stream of smoke from between her lips. and, not for the first time, you wonder how they'd taste, if they'd be soft enough to kiss.

and then not even a week after that, you catch college roommate!vi working out in her room, but at least she's got a sports bra on this time, the only thing is, she leaves her door wide opened, whereas before, she'd at least close it enough to only leave a sliver.

you catch yourself pausing at the sight, at the flex of her forearms as she curls a set of bright pink weights, at the thick tug muscle in her shoulders and back as she puffs out a breath, sweat slicking down the long expanse of her back tattoo.

you swallow.

"might wanna take a picture. heard they last longer."

you squeak, jumping back only for your back to hit the tv stand behind you, nearly knocking it sideways. you reach out to steady it, turning around to find vi watching you with a smirk the size of texas slung across her lips.

"i -- i was just --" you flounder for something to say -- you'd wanted to ask her something, what was it? "a few friends and i are going out tonight -- uhm... i was wondering if -- if you wanted to come with us?"

vi finishes her last rep, setting down the weights. you feel yourself hiss out a breath you hadn't even remembered holding. your head feels light as she makes her way over to you, leaning up against the doorframe with an easy grin.

"sure. but on one condition."

you frown, blinking up at her storm-gray eyes. but in the halfway light of your shared apartment, you could swear that just sometimes, they look like the palest shade of blue.

"what... condition?"

she cocks her head, making no move to hide the way her eyes flick from your eyes to your lips and back up again.

"don't let anyone else make you blush like that tonight, hm?"

[moonlightdawn1102]

'Good Girl' - 18+

Pairings: Famous Reader x Bodyguard Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 2613

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, vagina sex, dominant/submissive relationship, unprotected sex, teasing, enemies to lovers.

When your father had first approached the subject of getting you a bodyguard, you’d been against it and genuinely couldn’t have imagined something worse. Who in their right mind would want some stranger following them around every second of the day? You already had very little privacy due to your father being in the public eye, you weren’t about to let some random man have his eyes on you at all times as well. At least that’s what you’d told yourself until you walked into your father’s office and saw Bucky Barnes. 

However, despite his handsome appearance the man was sarcastic and the definition of annoying. He’d made your life hell ever since he’d been put in charge of your safety. He was simply impossible to get along with and he’d even rejected all of your flirtatious remarks which only furthered your frustration. 

Just like now. You were sitting in a restaurant opposite him and he was questioning you on some steamy photos you’d sent to an ex-boyfriend who you occasionally hooked up with.

"Those steamy pictures went to my ex-boyfriend, who I hook up with at times. Is that what you wanted to hear? I trust him, and therefore, it's not a security concern. He wouldn't blackmail me”

You pick up your fork and take a bite of your food, "And if you're jealous, just admit it. No need to act like you're concerned about who's seeing me half naked because of security concerns when we both know it's because you wish I was sending those pictures to you" you say with a smirk.

Bucky picks away at his salad for a couple of silent moments, grinding his teeth before looking back up at you and your cheeky smirk. 

"That's an assumption and a half. If I didn't know you, sure, I wouldn't mind seeing some garage poster worthy pictures of you. But - and I never thought I'd be saying this - personality apparently plays a big part in attraction somehow."

“So you can provoke me all you want, but you're not getting rid of me, princess”. 

With a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead, he sighs and chews on his cheek. Why did you have to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? Those pictures had sent a wave of pleasure through him that he didn’t even know he could still experience. However, Bucky Barnes was exceptional at his job and fraternising with his clients was something he just wouldn’t do. Although, he was damn close to just picking you up and fucking you until you saw stars. 

"Excuse me for a moment, I need to use the restroom.”

Fully anticipating the possibility of you ditching him, Bucky makes his way to the restroom and splashes some cold water across his face, struggling to keep himself together. You being so close yet so out of reach is killing him.

You watch Bucky stand up from the table and head to the bathroom. You wait for a few seconds to make sure Bucky had actually left before you quickly put some money down on the table to pay for the food. You grab your phone and purse before exiting the restaurant quickly, you walk down the street and call a friend to come pick you up.

Even though Bucky expected it, he’s still infuriated that you ditched him. The sexual frustration that he’d been experiencing was amplified tenfold. He was able to hear the clicking of your heels down the street which makes it easy for him to follow you. He shifts into the shadows and catches up within seconds. A silent breeze caresses your face and other than it, you hear nothing around you. You see nothing around aside from the occasional car driving past. Suddenly, two strong arms snap around you like a bear trap. 

"That wasn't very nice of you” Bucky whispers in your ear. 

He presses his palm against your mouth and pulls you into the alley. His arm around your waist tightens and he gently tilts your head to the side to expose your neck. Bucky was acting on sheer impulse and desire now and nothing was going to stop him from taking what he wanted. 

"I won't let you leave just like that, princess..." he whispers along your skin, pressing his lips against your neck. 

You struggle in his grip until you feel his lips against your neck, the action makes your knees weak and you let out a soft whimper. Bucky loved how you squirmed in his arms. So helpless... He can already imagine how explosive you'll be once he moves his hand away from your mouth. 

"Maybe I did want you all this time..." he confesses and slowly slides his tongue along your skin. 

"Now... Be a good girl and stay quiet. The last thing you want is to cause a scene” he says with a smirk on his lips. 

He turns you around before pinning you against the wall. Bucky’s eyes shimmer in the dark like a cat's and before he can process any of his thoughts, he leans in to press his lips against your neck again, softly sucking on your skin as he grabs onto your wrists and pins them against the wall too. You feel his lips caressing your neck before they move to your jawline, tracing it with kisses before he reaches your chin and leans back, his hot breath tickling your lips. 

"If I let go of your hands, will you try to run away?”

Your head falls back against the wall and you moan softly at the feeling of his lips on your neck again. You squirm to try and gain some control over the situation, but getting out of his grip was going to be impossible with how much larger and stronger he was. You feel your panties become slightly damp at his actions, you swallow thickly and shake your head at his words, 

"N..No..I won't run away.." you whisper.

You were reacting much differently than Bucky thought you would. The adorable moans, the lack of any screaming... He could see your face perfectly in the dark and there didn't seem to be any anger on it like there usually would be. Bucky’s grip loosens around your wrists and you feel his hands slide along your arms before one of the hands ends up cupping your breast while the other glides down your side and grabs your ass. Right as that happens, he closes the distance and gives you a sensual kiss.

Bucky gently wedges his knee between your thighs, pressing it against your crotch to rub it. Feeling Bucky’s knee wedge itself between your thighs sends a shiver through your body, you feel him press it against your crotch causing the lace fabric of your panties to rub against your clit making you moan out in delight. He briefly pulls back from the kiss to catch his breath, playfully biting your plump lower lip. 

"You're so hot, princess..." he whispers in your ear before catching your earlobe between his lips and softly sucking on it. 

He slips his hand under your skirt and into your panties to sink his nails into your bare ass. Bucky looks into your eyes, “I want more of you Y/N..” he whispers. 

You feel heat rush to your stomach when he tells you that he wants more of you. You let out a gentle yelp when his nails dig into the skin of your ass and you find yourself instantly nodding your head like a mad woman, "I..I..Yes..I want you.." you say quickly.

Bucky shifts his knee back and replaces it with his other hand as he pulls your skirt up. You hear how he softly gasps at the feeling of wet lace against his fingertips before he applies more pressure and gently teases you through your panties in slow circles. 

"You're so wet already?" he hums. 

"Yeah, well..What did you expect when you're touching my pussy like it belongs to you?" you mumble with a hint of sarcasm.

"You mean to tell me it doesn't belong to me?" He teases you.

Bucky closes his eyes and traces your wet folds with his fingertips as if memorizing your contours before softly massaging them up and down, his thumb stroking your sensitive clit. You feel his middle finger sliding directly along your slit before slipping inside until his knuckles press against you. You feel how it curls inside you as he massages your sweet spot and begins to finger you.

"Promise me you'll stay quiet... We'll get in a lot of trouble if someone catches us doing this there." Bucky whispers while pulling down your panties with his other hand. 

The panties are quickly stuffed right into his pocket once they're off and he hastily unbuckles his belt. He slowly pulls his finger out of you before tasting you right off of it. 

"So sweet..." he utters and suddenly hoists you up along the wall with ease, spreading your legs to let the cool evening breeze hit your exposed crotch before he steps closer. 

You feel how his hard tip prods your clit a couple of times, rubbing up and down against it before he guides himself down to coat his cock in your wetness with stifled moans escaping past his lips.

Bucky begins to carefully slide himself into you, parting your pussylips with the tip of his cock and inch by inch, stretching you with his girth. A satisfied sigh escapes his lips as he rests his forehead against yours and clenches his jaw at the tightness of your pussy. 

"F-Fuck..." he breathes out once he’s fully inside you, twitching eagerly. 

"Is this how you usually act around the guys you hate?" he smiles. 

He doesn't let you answer and keeps you quiet with a kiss as he begins rocking his hips. Despite the size, it all feels so natural as he slides in and out of you. 

"For someone so bossy, it sure is amusing to see you pinned against the wall in a dark alley..." he whispers breathlessly against your lips as he gradually picks up the pace.

The sounds of your bodies softly smacking against one another echo through the alley and if anyone passing by were perceptive enough, they'd catch on to what was happening in the dark. You felt how he grew bigger with each thrust, how needily he was fucking you to alleviate the heat between the two of you. 

"I love the way you feel..." Lust laced his voice as your bodies melted against one another. 

You blush at his compliment and hope that he can't see the redness in your cheeks in the darkness of the alley. Bucky lowers one of your legs on the ground to lift the other higher, next to his shoulder as he continues to pound you. The new position made the tip of his cock slam into your sweet spot repeatedly making you cry out in ecstasy.

Fucking Bucky hadn't been in your plans today, you had wanted to ditch him at the restaurant, get picked up by a friend and head to a club opening. That plan had quickly been discarded when he'd pulled you into the alley. It felt like his cock was getting bigger inside of you causing your body to squirm with pleasure, your thighs were trembling with the intensity of his thrusts. 

You weren't exactly quiet but Bucky did nothing to stop you. Your inability to stop yourself from making any noise made him leave harsh bites across your neck. 

"You're so flexible... As if you couldn't get more perfect, princess..." he whispers into your ear. 

You’d been flexible your entire life, years of dance and yoga allowed your body to be stretched and bent in ways that the average person couldn't, but never had you been so thankful for your flexibility than you were in this moment. 

In the new pose, Bucky had managed to free up one of his hands to grip you tightly by the neck. 

"Don't you dare run away from me again." he grits out before slapping you across the cheek.  

You felt a slight pain radiating in your cheek from the slap, but the action had made a dumb smile appear on your face. Still that momentary harshness was followed up by his hand sliding down your body, across your abdomen and next to your crotch. As your pussy is being repeatedly split open by his cock, his fingertips creep in and begin gently massaging your aching clit, flicking it a couple of times before soothing it with some strokes. 

His fingers against your clit were all you needed for your climax to quickly start building, "Fuck..Fuck..Yes..Oh god, it's so good" you pant out breathlessly, your legs shaking with the desperate need to cum. 

You look at Bucky, "K..Keep going..I..I'm going to cum.." you whisper.

Bucky fucks you like you were his long before you met. You could see the possessiveness in his eyes while his thrusts became more powerful and rough. He locks eyes with you, "That's it... Cum for me, princess... Show me what a good girl you are..." he pants breathlessly.

 A shudder ran through your entire body when he called you a good girl and told you to cum, you couldn't have held back your climax even if you’d wanted to. Heat ran through your body and a wave of pleasure hit you hard, you let out a scream of ecstasy as you orgasm. Your legs are shaking with the intensity. 

“Oh fuck baby..I..I’m gonna..” he stutters out before reaching his own climax. 

You felt his cock twitch inside of you before filling you with cum, your pussy becoming overloaded to the point it began to drip down onto the concrete floor of the alleyway.

You both stay in that peaceful trance for a couple of moments before Bucky suddenly seems to get snapped back into reality. Without letting the awkward silence prolong, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls you closer. 

"We're going home." he says sternly, acting like the sex between you both didn’t happen. 

He holds you by the wrist and begins dragging you back to the car. You stumble after him as he drags you out of the alley and back towards the car. Once you get out onto the main street, you spot your friend's car up ahead not too far behind the SUV.

"That's my friend, I think I'll just get a lift home with them, I did call them after all, I wouldn't want it to be a wasted journey" you say snarkily. 

Two could play this game and you would not lose to Bucky Barnes, at least that’s what you thought.

Bucky turns toward you and clenches his jaw, "Funny," he snarls out and pulls you closer to him before picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder. 

He walks to the SUV and opens the passenger side door, he drops you inside and fastens your seatbelt. He climbs into the driver's side and starts the car but before he pulls away from the curb, he leans over and grabs your chin forcing you to look into his eyes, “You’re going to stay there and shut up. You’re going to behave and if you’re good, I’ll fuck you until you can’t see straight when we get back home. Understood?” he calmly explains. 

All you can bring yourself to do is utter the single word back, “Understood” you respond.

He smirks at your response, “Good girl” he whispers before putting his foot on the gas.

[revelboo]

Perchance could we get some more Waspinator? our sweet boy Waspinator? I'm addicted to the way you write him

Worker Bee Pt 4

Waspinator x Reader

• “What’s this?” Before you can even turn around, there’s a crash and a very small ‘oh, no.’ And you can’t even muster the energy to get angry as you find coffee grounds and your now broken coffee maker and carafe on the floor with Waspinator clasping his hands together, optics wide. Because everything he touches he accidentally destroys. It’s like having a new puppy, but instead of chewing the furniture, he can reach everything. Get into everything. When you grab the broom to clean the mess, he drops to sit in the middle of the floor and covers his head with his clawed hands. Expecting to be punished and that kills any annoyance you have with him.

• “We’ve been over this,” you tell him as you start sweeping up the broken glass and damp, smelly dirt. “I’m not going to hit you.” Pausing you reach out to gently touch his servos. Limbs trembling faintly, he slowly lowers his hands and watches you. Cleaning up his mistake without lashing out. Again. Dumping the mess in the garbage can and reluctantly adding the rest of the plastic thing. And he wants to reach for you, cling to you and safety. Feeling welcome is something wholly new, like having an actual friend. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are you exactly?”

• “Waspinator is Waspinator,” he replies, antenna perking up slightly and you sigh. You’d already decided that not only did his elevator not reach the top floor, you’re almost positive the shaft is empty. But getting angry at him, giving in and smacking him with the broom, would be like hitting a puppy. Though, you’re almost certain you could probably just brandish the broom at him and shoo him out of your house and your life without even touching him as skittish as he is.

• “No, see. I’m a human, but that’s not my name,” you say, leaning the broom against the counter. Bending slightly to grip his arm and tug until he obligingly stands up for you and even mass shifted, you’re so much smaller than he is. You’re close enough that he’s reminded l that he likes the way you smell and how soft you are. “You remember my name, right?”

• “Small friend.” Yeah, the elevator was never installed at all. Raking your fingers through your hair, you’re not sure if it’s worth the bothering of correcting him, when all you really care about is figuring out what he is, if there’s more of him, and if they’re dangerous. Though, from the way he acts, it’s entirely possible his own kind just ditched him here. Maybe dumping him on earth like an unwanted kitten.

• Small human friend is frowning at him again, and his wings flutter slightly. Unhappy with him? Or worried? “Waspinator protect small friend from bad Decepticons,” he reassures you, pulling you into him ignoring as you startle and almost missing your soft ‘I’m sorry, what now?’ Because this is all he needs, home and warmth. Someone who wants him nearby, who doesn’t think he’s a burden or a fool. He’ll do anything to protect this. Even fight against the other Decepticons. Stand up instead of cowering, because he has something that’s his. Something worth protecting. Resting his head on top of yours, he toys with your hair with his mandibles.

Previous

[v1sexual]

another actor au where reader gets injured on set and ofc the others being worried af ☹️ (vi and caitlyn being the most worried 🫶)

sticks and stones ; caitvi x reader

note : omg my first ask yay! anyways, i just wanted to say how much i love this omg. just imagine, caitvi fussing over you, giving you the princess treatment *explodes* this is lowkey poorly written tho, it's my first time writing with two love interests. i mean i could have made it platonic but where's the fun in that.

content warning : blood, minor injuries, swearing,

“cut! get the medics in here right now!”

you had no idea how this happened. a second ago, you were literally in the middle of acting a scene out with ekko in the firelight hideout. next thing you know, you twisted an ankle and fell 10-15 feet to the ground. thankfully, the leaves and branches from the tree (of the firelight hideout) broke your fall, leaving you with a few scrapes, bruises, and possibly a broken ankle.

when vi saw your body hit the cold hard floor she bolted, shouting for someone to get any medical professionals on the set. it took cait a couple of seconds to register what just happened, when it finally dawned on her she immediately followed vi. if people didn’t take notice that something was going on between the three of you, well… they’d probably notice it now. vi kneeled beside you, her hands cupped your cheek gently as she checked your head for any injury. thankfully, you only had a couple of cuts on your cheek and nothing too serious (you also may or may not have a small bump on your head that can be taken care of with some nice cold compress).

“is she okay?” cait exclaimed, she was out of breath and was ready to dial 911. before vi could answer, the medical team finally arrived. they ushered cait, vi, and your cast mates away as they loaded you on the stretcher and into the make-shift clinic tent on set.

it’s been almost an hour since vi and cait camped out of the tent. the two were practically about to explode, they were just so worried about you. the fact that it’s been an hour and still no news about you and how you’re doing concerns them. when the doctor examining you finally exited the tent (and quite literally almost bumped into them), they wasted no time bombarding the doctor about your condition.

“she’s doing fine ladies,” the doctor smiled. “just a couple of scratches, a bruise here and there, and a sprained ankle.”

vi’s face fell and cait was practically chewing nails.

“how long will it take for her to recover?’ cait asked worriedly.

the doctor gave her shoulder a pat, “it’ll take two to three weeks for the ankle to heal. then another week for her to get used to walking on it again.”

“how should we treat the ankle? does it need cold or hard compress?” vi demanded, poor girl was stressing the fuck out.

“use a cold compress for a week or until the swelling has gone down, then hot compress to help with blood flow. elevating the sprained ankle helps minimize the pain as well.” the doctor added before heading out, leaving the two girls to enter the tent.

watching the scene unfold was ekko and powder. they hung out beside a food truck next to the medical tent, fully overhearing the conversation that just unfold. “i sure hope (name)’s doing alright.” powder murmured, resting her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder. ekko nodded in response, “i sure hope so. i imagine dealing with those too will be much more painful than dealing with the sprain.”

powder let’s out a laugh and shook her head. “ekko! that’s so mean.”

“it’s true though,” ekko shrugged then rested his head on powder’s. “i swear, those three have a weird relationship.’

“we listen, we don’t judge ekko.”

when the doctor left the tent to give you some privacy, you almost burst into tears. the cuts didn’t hurt, the bruises didn’t hurt, and the sprain was bearable. it’s the fact that filming will have to be pushed back a bit due to your sprain. you wouldn’t be able to stand on that foot at all until it heals, the doctor already made a note that you need at least a month and a half to fully recover. the director and producers weren’t pleased, but they did understand and didn’t want to push you since you are one of the most hardworking actors on set.

the tent flap rustled open, pulling you away from your thoughts. caitlyn and vi entered the tent, both had worried looks on their faces. they sat on opposite sides of the stretcher where you laid.

"how are you feeling?" cait asked, taking your hand and holding it. you sighed and shrugged. you didn't want to talk, especially to vi and caitlyn. you just know that the moment you open your mouth the dam will break, you already feel sorry for yourself and crying will make it worse.

"cupcake," vi said as she cupped your face in her hand. she tilted your head to look at her. "you know you can tell us anything right?"

you closed your eyes as you leaned into vi's touch, your hand gripping caitlyn's a little bit tighter. "i just- if i talk about it i'll cry and it'll make feel worse." your voice sounded so small and hurt, it made cait and vi's heart ache.

cait pressed a kiss to your hand, "if you don't want to talk we won't force you, but you need to let it all out eventually. bottling your feelings isn't healthy at all." vi nods in agreement, she squeezed your cheeks before bending down to press a kiss on your forehead. "if you need to cry, cry. you have our shoulders to cry on, cupcake."

you closed your eyes and let the tears fall.

caitlyn and vi stayed true to their words, they comforted you and stayed in the tent until they were kicked out by the producers. when you were finally alone, a smile adorned your lips. your girlfriends were right, letting it all out did make you feel ten times better.

after today's shooting was done, caitlyn and vi took you home. cait went ahead and started cooking dinner while vi carried you to your room, making sure your foot was elevated. for the next month and a half, they barely left your side (unless they were needed for filming). they never let you do anything, you were basically confined to your room. as much as you hated being useless, your protests were ignored by cait and vi. it didn't matter though, at least you're ankle is almost healed and being babied by your girlfriends felt good anyways.

note : well that sucked LMAOOOO sorry anon

[angclnumber]

" IT'S NOT ." tobi shrugs . " not everyone attracted to you is a loser . but a lot of people you give the time of day ?" their head tilts as they arch their brows vanessa's way . " seem to be losers . and i know because i've met a lotta of 'em and i've got a pretty good loser radar ." tobi nods decisively . " and every time i meet someone you're daing it goes ding ding ding ding !" tobi moves to put the car in reverse then, driving carefully even as their face scrunches in confusion at her question . " what d'you mean ?" tobi asks in bewilderment as they glance at her, brows furrowing before they're gesturing to vanessa emphatically . " van, you're objectively fucking hot . i've got eyes ." tobi shrugs then, easily adding, " and as someone who is also really fucking hot, trust me on that . i know these things ."

"maybe i'm missing something because that basically sounds like the same thing. and besides, how do you know they're all losers? i'll have you know they were actually great." it was vanessa who ended up being the problem, either letting work consume her life or just letting her own insecurities push them away. vanessa's eyes narrow at tobi's following quip, sitting there as tobi closed the door for her. she'd wait for them to slide right into the driver's seat, only to be taken by surprise at tobi's words. "do you really mean that?" vanessa asked as she then put on her seatbelt. "or are you just teasing me again? you have that tone where i can't tell if you're being a jerk on purpose or not."

[pyxxiestyxx]

Feralbreaking

TW for: scaryffini, feralbreaking, and some more overt petplay.

"Fuck! Off! You! Fucking! Weed!" She struck out at the monster again and again, but it was like hitting a pillow. Her knuckles weren't even getting scraped by the blows. All the while it just grinned down at her.

"My dearest, I don't think this is going to work they way you wish it. I am your Owner, and you are my floret."

"I'm not a FUCKING wormhead, freak!" She threw another punch, but this one sunk in deeper. Much, much deeper. At the same time, the smile on its face seemed to…flicker.

Slowly, and despite all her strength…its hand wrapped around her throat, and it began to push her down. Not even its whole hand, just two fingers and a thumb, and yet it was more than enough to overpower her completely, to bend her first to her knees, and then finally to collapse backwards and pin her flat against the ground.

"I see. I thought I had gotten an obedient, submissive little flower for a floret. And instead I appear to have found a…a wild animal. A simple beast that doesn't know right from wrong, who just wants to bark and bay and bite at the hand that feeds it." Its voice slid over her like nails on a chalkboard, like water on a hot stove.

"Wh…what are y-?" Was all she got out before the bevy of needles sunk into her neck. She felt the kick of drugs like hammerblows on her mind, her whole body beginning to tremor.

"But not to worry, little beast. I am quite sure that with enough time, I can make a perfectly trained puppy out of you yet. We'll start with something easy. Go on, girl. Speak!" It held up a small bite of something savory, some bit of meat.

She scowled, baring her teeth at it. Rrrrrr ARF!

She blinked. Tried again. Bark bark arf!

"That's a Good Giiiiirl. Here you go~" The treat was forced into her mouth, and its hands worked her jaw to chew. When she refused to swallow, it merely pushed the morsel into the back of her throat, almost gagging her until she finally relented. It released its grip immediately, standing up to its full height after giving her some head scritches that left her drooling.

"Good. Now pup, I think this will suit you much, much better for working all of that feralism out of you. You already look so much happier! Let's check back in on this in…hmmm." It glanced at a tablet. "What do you think. One month, or six?"

Her heart plummeted, and she growled at it louder, trying to stand and failing. It was like she had forgotten how to walk.

"Six it is."

[dira333]

Pretty Woman Part 1/18 -

Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Summary: Izuku Midoriya is at the top of his career. He's the Number 1 Hero, he shares an agency with his best friend Shouto Todoroki and the war lies behind them. But he cannot fight the loneliness or the demons of the past. Could you be the one he needs in this fight for his life?

Full length: 57k, Chapters are at about 3k length

SFW, angst to fluff, Reader is Quirkless, Haikyuu Characters as side Characters.

-.- Part 1 - 2,7k -.-

It’s Friday night and Silence echoes through his apartment. 

Pictures flash soundlessly over his TV screen but he stopped caring after the News portion had wrapped up.

Izuku slowly pushes his empty plate away from him and pulls out his phone.

He checks his messages, ignores the masses of fanmail on his social media apps, and taps the unassuming blue square, chewing on his lips as the app loads.

Everything about HeroEsc looks professional and sophisticated. It eases his nerves a little bit as he swipes through the app. He answers a few questions, makes sure that his profile is set up correctly, dodges the premium payment plan, and suddenly finds himself face-to-face with hundreds of options.

His heart beats painfully in his chest as he scrolls down, trying not to look too closely at all those people. People that would happily accompany him to an event, pretend to be his friend. All of that for a little money.

Izuku swallows harshly against his growing unease and closes the app, putting his phone on the table.

He’d gone alone before. Had brought his mother to events when his friends and coworkers had brought their partners and spouses. No one would bat an eye if he came alone again.

And come to think of it, his mother wouldn’t mind pulling out her best dress to walk a red carpet again. 

But there’s something… Izuku shakes his head and picks up his phone again, clicking on the app before he can overthink this again.

This time he notices the filter. He taps it and snorts. He can sort possible Escorts by hair color, skin color, and even by type of Quirk.

He taps the last option, his usual interest in the subject tickled. If anyone asked, Izuku could claim he’d gotten to know them because of their quirk. Everyone and their mother knows he’s a bit of a Nerd when it comes to Quirks.

Another window pops up, and his heart squeezes uncomfortably when he reads the question: “Do you want to include (1) Quirkless Escort? Yes. No.”

His finger punches the Yes before he can think about it and a face card is added to the roster. Izuku taps it, an almost electric current running through him as he waits for the picture to load.

When it does, his breath hitches in his throat. 

Maybe it’s the loneliness of his apartment, the dread that had filled his head for days, or something else entirely, but he knows exactly what looks back at him as if someone had put his own eyes into a stranger's face. 

There’s sadness, but also compassion. The eyes of someone who has seen darkness and still knows to look toward the light.

His hands move on their own accord now, only halting when his phone chimes and a little window pops up. 

“Thank you for booking me.” It says.

Izuku chokes, realizing what he has done. 

But, as he stares down at that face, he can’t bring himself to reverse it.

x

Your phone chimes on the way back from the laundromat.

You pick up speed, greeting little Takanobu who’s still out playing. His hair has started turning white the last few days, telling all of you that he’s slowly growing into his quirk.

The door jams like it always does and you put your laundry basket down to lift the door up a little, wiggle the handle to the right and pull to the left to release it, let it swing open with the creaking you’ve grown used to.

“I’m home.” You announce to the little ZZ Plant on your bookshelf and place your laundry basket on the floor before pulling out your phone.

With a gasp, you drop it into the pile of clean clothes and stare down at its scratched-up back for a full minute before you dare to pick it up again.

The alert hasn’t changed. 

For the first time since you’ve signed up for HeroEsc you’ve been booked.

Your stomach is a fluttery mess, like a beehive in the middle of spring. You swallow around the tightness in your throat as you click into the app only to drop your phone again when you read the details.

You’ve been booked for tonight?!

It’s Friday Night, you’re showing the clear signs of wear and tear a full workweek has brought on you and you’re supposed to be ready in an hour?

Your eyes move over your cramped apartment. The kitchen table that’s loaded with books, the bookshelf that contains mostly memorabilia, and the one plant you can’t seem to kill. The giant bed that had been in here when you moved and the tiny kitchenette that’s filled with dirty dishes from your recent dinner. Everything is still the way you left it.

The world might have started turning in a different direction but you’re still the same person.

You take a deep breath and pick up your phone again and look for the chat option that was mentioned when you first signed up for this service.

“Thank you for booking me for tonight. What kind of event do I have to prepare myself for? Will you pick me up or shall I meet you somewhere?”

You drop your phone on top of “Quirk or No Quirk - how to raise your child” on the kitchen table and start putting your clothes away in the small drawer that’s always overstuffed, pulling out clothing options as you go.

The dark green dress you wore to a coworker's wedding this spring for a fancy event.

Your cutest jeans and the emerald turtleneck that you fell in love with last fall if it’s more casual. Or should you wear a lighter top instead and opt for a few layers to take off if needed?

Your phone chimes again and you stumble back to the table.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry, I got the time wrong. There’s a Fundraiser tomorrow night that I meant to take you. If you’re free then.”

A Fundraiser? You blinked at the word, saliva pooling in your mouth at the thought of it. You? At a Fundraiser?

“I’ve never done this before.” His next text reads and your heart thrumms in sympathy. He sounds nice. And he’s just as inexperienced with this as you are, it seems.

“Neither have I.” You type back and, overcome with a boldness you don’t feel often, you type on. “Do you still want to use tonight? To get to know each other a little bit before tomorrow?”

“What do you have in mind?” He writes back and you still. 

With your heart beating in your throat you tap his contact and wait for it to load. He doesn’t have a picture, just his name.

Izuku Midoriya. The name sounds familiar but you can’t place it right away. He’s not a celebrity that’s known by name, probably. Maybe a Hero. Those usually go by their hero names but if he’s never done this before…

“There’s a Diner not far from me. It’s nice and private there. We can meet up and talk about tomorrow.”

You text him the address before you can back out of it.

“I’ll be wearing green. So you know who I am.”

Only after you’ve hit send you realize that he has your picture. 

He responds with a smiley face. 

“I’ll be wearing green too. Does the time work for you?”

You agree quickly before you turn back toward your choice of clothes. The jeans and turtleneck will be fine, you suppose and pull out the tiny purse you reserve for dates and important occasions. It’s barely big enough to fit your phone and some money but you’ve always thought you looked sophisticated wearing it.

Your eyes move over to the well worn handbag in the corner, the little All Might Keychan dangling off one end. You might be imagining it, but it looks like All Might is smiling up at you, encouraging you to do your best.

“Fine.” You tell him. “I’ll take you.”

x

Izuku is early. 

He’s walked around the block three times by now and still has plenty of time to walk in.

He doesn’t want to be late by any means, but he doesn’t want to walk in too early and look like a creep with no social life. Which he is, in a way. 

But he doesn’t want his date to know that.

He still isn’t sure if your idea of wearing green had been a nod to his hero identity or just a coincidence, but he’d debated for at least ten minutes if he should bring merch or if that would be creepy.

Exactly three minutes before their scheduled time he walks up to the Diner, wipes his sweaty hands on his trousers, and grabs the door, only to stop when he hears the sound of footsteps. Izuku turns a little, eyes easily finding the person jogging down the street.

The street lamps flicker to life right that moment, bathing the street in a soft golden light. It’s a woman, Izuku realizes, dark green jacket unzipped and hanging half off her right shoulder as she slows down her steps, walking the last few steps as she’s trying to catch her breath.

He’s got half a mind to realize that he must look a little weird himself, standing there, hand glued to the door, but he can’t pull his eyes away.

Not from the rapid rise of her chest, the wispyness of her hair, mussed through by both the wind and the exercise. She stops, sighs, and takes a deep breath, swinging her heavy bag over to her other shoulder. It jingles with the motion and Izuku’s experienced eyes catch onto the well-known smile. A little All Might is grinning at him from the strap of her bag, lighting a fire of comfort in his chest.

“Oh.” He jolts when he hears a breathy voice, blinks back up to a face that looks familiar up close.

“I didn’t-” He rushes. “I was just going in, when… It’s a coincidence.”

“I didn’t want to be late.” You stumble over your words as well. “I… Nice to meet you…” 

You stretch out your hand and he grabs it, holds it for an embarrassingly long moment before he realizes he’s supposed to shake it. 

“I’m Izuku.” He shakes your hand, too aware of how small it is compared to his own. “Nice to meet you.”

“Y/N.” You smile back. “Let’s go inside?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He pulls the door open, glad no one had tried to come and go while he stood there frozen like Shouto had used him for practice. “After you.”

x

The Diner is nice, decked out in a Western style that would be too American if not for the All Might Decoration and memorabilia that is present in every inch of the restaurant.

“They have a fantastic All Might Menu.” You claim as you slide into one of the more private booths at the back. “But it’s a massive portion. You need to be hungry for it.”

“Oh.” He can’t help that he sounds a little disappointed. “I already ate, but-”

“The Milkshakes are great too.” You reassure him. “I always take the Deku one.”

“The D-Deku?” He’s stuttering, can’t help it. He’s never been good at flirting if that’s what you’re doing.

“It’s peppermint flavored and green.” You explain a little shy, clearly taken aback by his reaction. “It’s kinda my favorite color but if you want me to wear something resembling you tomorrow, that’s no problem at all.” 

Izuku blinks at you, mind a little slow at processing your words.

“Do you…” He drops his voice a little lower. “Do you not know who I am?”

You blink back at him, all surprise and a little confusion but before you can react, a server steps up to your table.

“Hello there, hi Y/N.” He grins knowingly. “Another Deku Milkshake?” 

“We’ll have the Menu this time, Futakuchi-kun.” You stutter nervously. 

“Sure, sure.” Futakuchi smiles down at you and turns to Izuku, doing a poorly hidden double-take at his sight. “Just a minute.” He chokes out, rushing back to the counter to retrieve the menus, coming back before either of you can speak again.

“Here.” He wipes the clean table again, grinning a little too wide for comfort. “I can recommend the All Might Menu if you’re hungry. The Chargebolt Milkshake is our Bestseller.”

“Thank you.” Izuku opens the menu, astonished by the amount of All Might pictures they were able to cram into the little space around the menu items.

He can feel you staring at him, but he busies himself with choosing his Milkshake, suddenly shy. You didn’t know who he was when you accepted, didn’t know who he was when you offered to wear green. You didn’t even know who he was when you ran here, All Might Keychan dangling from your bag.

“I’ll take the Dynamight Milkshake.” He finally decides when his heart beats a little more normal, closing his menu. Your eyes lock onto his immediately.

“You’ll be okay with me taking the Deku one?” You ask, voice soft and careful.

“If you let me try a sip?” He tries to joke but feels blood rushing to his cheeks at the same time. You seem flustered as well, picking at the cover of your menu as you wait for Futakuchi to come back.

“I…” You start, only to be interrupted by Futakuchi.

“Made your pick?” He asks, putting a little plate with two steaming Chocolate Chip Cookies on the table. 

“Greetings from the Kitchen. Our little Y/N is quite the Celebrity here, Mr. Midoriya.” Futakuchi teases you good-naturedly before pulling out pen and paper. 

“He’s very fond of you.” Izuku notes when Futakuchi leaves them again and you shrug, head drawn into your shoulders.

“We grew up together, kind of. My grandma used to work here. I did all my homework in this booth. Futakuchi grew up down the street, he pulled my hair all the time.”

Silence falls between you at your admission, but it’s not awkward, just filled with patience.

Eventually, you unfurl yourself and lock eyes with him again.

“So… You’re Deku, right?”

“Right.” He nods. “When did you figure it out?”

“Embarrassingly late. I… There’s usually no mention of your real names, just your hero names.”

“Yeah, I guess I never thought about it that way. You’re not a hero fan?”

“I don’t know?” You phrase it like a question. “I love All Might, but everyone does that, and I always buy a magazine when the new Hero Rankings are out, but I don’t have a TV and it’s hard to stay on top of the news when you have other stuff going on, you know?”

Your words send a well-known pain through his chest but he nods as if he knows.

You cock your head to the side and for a moment he fears you might have found him out but your question catches him off guard in a different way.

“Would it make you feel better if I said you were my favorite hero? After All Might, I mean?”

Izuku can feel himself flush up to his eyebrows at your words and pulls the cookies closer to himself to have something to distract him with, breaking apart the still-hot treat to fling a piece into his mouth.

It burns his tongue but the pain is just what he needs to calm his heart.

“You said you’ve never done this before.” He recalls, which in turn seems to make you flustered. He pushes the cookies in your direction and you grasp them quickly.

“I… I signed on about a year ago.” You admit, your voice high with emotion. “They were very nice in explaining everything. But I haven’t… Well, I… You’re the first one to book me.” 

You smile, clearly embarrassed to have to admit this.

“But…” You rush to add. “There are so many other entries and only so many Celebrities who use it, I can’t expect to be picked a lot.”

Izuku knows that’s not the reason you haven’t been picked yet. Well, yes, there are many other entries, but he’s got a feeling that it’s not so much the Looks but the Quirks that are the deciding factor in this game. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you that though.

“I guess, yeah. I almost didn’t find you.”

“But you did.” You sound pleased. “And now here we are, having a Milkshake together.”

He laughs. “That we are.”

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[ledesaid]

Seeking a Father for Saturday ►○◙◄ #1

Do you know the solution to enjoy the snack table on Bring Your Child to Work Day?

Billy had an idea, you might be thinking of the same answer, and no, it doesn't include cloning himself...

Just asking for a small, tiny, and harmless favor.

What could go wrong?

There is a gift bag at stake, and Billy knows from a good source, Nightwing, that Batman has included two limited edition toys and a generous supply of various candies for several weeks for each child who confirms their attendance.

"So... if I didn't hear wrong... you want me to bring you in your mortal form on Saturday?"

"Yes?"

There are very few people Billy would ask this of. Really very few. If he really didn't want Batman to find out, this was the way... or so Billy believed.

"Your bravery flatters me, kid, but that statement is going to get you in a lot of trouble. I've already pawned my firstborn."

"So... is that a no?"

"Sorry, Cap, but hey, there are many good guys in the league, try another. I've heard from a good source that Batman has a horde of kids at home. Jefferson calls them Batman Incorporated."

Well, getting Constantine's help would have been easy, but he didn't want to impose... but he had no more viable ideas. It would be very strange for Victor to say he's his dad, and Zatanna would scold him for lying like that...

It's not a lie, it's not a lie if the truth is slightly altered to be clarified at the end... preferably before the day ends. A simple "Hey, it was just a godchild, nephew..."

But now he was doubting... His secret was important... who in the league?... Who in the league could he ask for help?

As Mr. Constantine said, Billy was brave... he needed an adult who was also brave... Someone who could lie... obscure the truth and have fun in the meantime... Brave...

Brave... Brave like...

A lantern.

And coincidentally, he had three today. Hal, Jon, and Guy.

Billy knew Jon wouldn't be very open to helping if he found out he was a child; Hal prided himself on being single and not having kids; Guy was someone who couldn't be forced to tell the truth... He was a cool guy!

And you know what would be even cooler?

For him to be his ticket to the gift table!

Finding him alone in the cafeteria was lucky and even more so that there wasn't a Kryptonian in the watchtower to spy on their conversation.

"Hey, Guy, got a minute?"

"You're in luck, big red cheese, my burger is taking its time, shoot..."

"Well.... you've heard the fuss for Saturday... for the day to bring..."

"... your gremlins to work, Nightwing is spamming everywhere."

"I have a small... Yes!, a small... um..."

He didn't think much about it certainly, this was very spontaneous. How could he tell Guy, 'Hi, I'm a kid who wants you to be my dad for Saturday and hey keep it secret or Batman will eject me from the watchtower for not meeting the minimum age'?

There's no way. Not in Billy's mind at this moment. And wasn’t he supposed to be the brave Captain Marvel?!

"Look, Guy, I'm actually a ten-year-old kid who wants a gift bag and the whole show on Saturday, but I can't tell Batman or he'll kick me out..."

It's an understatement to describe how Guy’s expression bewildered. Billy supposed it didn't go so badly upon seeing Guy laughing heartily while slapping the cafeteria table.

"Damn, Cap! That's the funniest thing I've heard in the last decade!"

But Billy didn't blink. He also didn't doubt. It took a bit, but Guy seemed to understand that Billy was serious.

"Hell, you must be joking... You're joking, right, Marvel?"

"Not at all."

Guy looked at Billy from head to toe... Trying to find some logic...

"Are you an underdeveloped kid or something? Or is it some magic thing that gives you these steroids?"

"A magic thing."

Guy grabbed his burger to savor it.

"Well... I've seen weirder things out there."

"So... is that a yes?"

Guy mumbled unintelligible things while chewing, but to Billy's surprise who was about to run away...

"If you cover one of my shifts, we have a deal, Cheeky Red Cheese."

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

Part 2

[mawlbone]

FINDERS KEEPERS - NIKTO

SNIPPET: You know what everyone says about stranger danger but you didn’t had really had the heart to leave someone, even if they looked like they can easily kill you on the bathroom floor alone, drunk, and heated.

[CW: gn reader, alpha reader, civilian reader, disabled noseblind reader, depressed reader, omega nikto, whiny nikto, dubcon (kinda, it’s the worst meet-cute in history), stalking, kidnapping, and no penetrative sex, dry humping, and messy licking and kissing]

[COMMENT: Ramble style fic. Spawned out between me and oomf’s thoughts when chewing on the man so have Nikto who is desperate for comfort.]

Going to the bar alone after work for your birthday wasn’t really the most idealistic of plans that you had set out for yourself as a kid. Well, no one really but getting drunk before your day-off seemed like the only way you can enjoy such an occasion with the bit of extra cash in your pocket.

But it’s that’s just fun money, not change-your-life-around money. You never have enough to escape the “bad part of town” as the locals called it. Between getting kicked out from the house at eighteen and paying off the never-ending piles of bills at your door — you never really had the opportunity or time to go further your education. It doesn’t help that you can’t even pick up social cues anymore after a bad fall robbed your ability to smell pheromones causing you to fired from your previous jobs because you couldn’t keep or understand a client’s temperate as they filed a complaint towards you. You learned to stock up on scent patches.

Sure, working at the local corner store now had given you enough money to pay for your crummy apartment — if you skip a night or two of dinner which you don’t mind necessarily. It’s not your neighbor’s fault that your savings kept depleting because the shitty landlord keeps raising the rent knowing her residents consists a single mother with kids, disabled elders, and some recovering addicts trying to get their life back together. All whom are too all working within a tight budget to survive. You avoid their guilty gazes every month when you give them an extra twenty or so to make their ends meets so they don’t get kicked out. They’re decent folks, really. People like them don’t deserve to be on the streets.

So here you are, nursing a cheap beer in your hand watching the people among the chaos of the room. The air is hot and dry with the crowd of bodies stuffed into the building amongst the low lights of the room as they mingled on the dance floor.

From your stool, you can truly take in the tackiness as the disco balls swing around flashing everyone in high saturation as the music vibrates your eardrums with enough bass to rattle your brains out. You think you are starting to regret coming in the first place as nurse a cheap beer in your hand. Like really, what bright idea did you had earlier thinking you can enjoy a night out in the club knowing you’re broke, lonely and exhausted from moving boxes. You tilted your head staring down waiting and wishing to go home already But it’s your birthday so you should be up past midnight trying to party with everyone else like all the normal people do during such an occasion.

It’s strange of how much you are coming to hate being in this room right now.

Despite all the liveliness sweaty bodies rubbing against you, the smell of strong liquor burns your nose and the sounds of glass clinking around — your headache continues to grows worse…

Maybe that was the signal for you to realize how fucking pathetic you are standing here like a dunce waiting for something fortune to happen to you. Perhaps you really should had stayed at home instead and avoid all these stuffiness inside your chest but something had piqued your ear from among the noise, something about some bastard in heat passed out in the bathroom.

Poor guy…

You didn’t know exactly compelled you to go find him. Perhaps it was part pity and part curiosity that got you wandering past the sea of people to go look for him, you’re not sure…

Whatever it was, alas for this terrible birthday you can finally escape the crowd.

—

Nikto can only lay in disbelief as another person toe by his body, unfazed as another person simply toe by him, but he can only let out another sad whimper as another cramp twist his guts out.

Laying on the sticky tiles of the bar’s bathroom for hours on end isn’t exactly the most ideal way to entice someone to fuck him but he’s desperate — and everything hurts. So he can only squirm around as another spurt of slick dribble down his thigh annoying everyone at the stench. However, no passerby dare complain seeing the amount of muscles on the man as they tip toe around his body ignoring the small sob escaping from the man’s lips as they fling themselves back into the party.

Months prior before all of this, he had an appointment with his doctor who forbade him from taking anymore suppressants pills saying any more will damage his body something to which he had scoffed at. What more damage can one do to him at this point? His body is marred with scars and he has a file as thick as a dictionary, but all of that never stopped him from fulfilling his duties as a living weapon.

So why is it is that’s he’s here in a drunken stupor with enough liquor in his system to kill a man waiting — hoping for some stranger to take advantage of him.

He didn’t meant to get so wasted, just enough where he’ll forget about being pumped and dumped to ease this pain temporarily. But here? Only the hell of hot alcohol and a shitty cycle is here to torment him.

Fuck! Is he really that ugly that no one would even try to touch him? Do they too see him beyond repair? He already knows nothing about him screams dainty and cute so why does he even try at this point?

Another set of chills cuts through his thoughts before he can continue as he hisses at the pain racking through his head just barely hearing another round of footsteps come close to the bathroom before his vision fades into black.

God, a kiss sounds so good right now.

—

You didn’t know exactly what type of person you were expecting when you step inside the dimly lit bathroom — but seeing a giant of a man wasn’t definitely one of them that everyone failed to mention while you were snooping around. Yeah… Definitely ex-military or something with those scars and face mask as you leaned down to observe the corpse — for a lack of a better word. Stone still and dripping with sweat, he definitely look like he seen better days if anything as you turned him over, grimacing slightly at how sweaty he had become based from the dampness of his jacket against your hand. Whatever, at least he’s breathing much to your relief not knowing what to do with a dead body. With your luck nowadays, hell, maybe even charged with murder.

But here you are now, your interest sated for the night but still left feeling unfulfilled as you poke the muscular form.

Even with your condition, you’re not that dumb to not notice the stranger is in heat. What terrible timing, you think as you looked at him almost like a feral creature if anything with how red his face is as he pants away. Why hasn’t no one picked him up yet? Did he came alone? You can only wonder as you moved closer, frowning slightly at the stench of alcohol on his breath. Against the sickly pale yellow lights, he kinda reminded you of those helpless little strays that wander about your apartment funny enough, you don’t know why but maybe it’s the situation that’s making you feel a bit nostalgic today at the pitifulness of it all.

Musing, you considered with yourself… You don’t exactly have plans tomorrow and you can use up your paid leave if worst comes to worst.

You held in that small note of sadness inside your heart when no one tried to stop you as you lugged the man through the crowd and out the bar. Really, no one should be out like this, no matter who you are even if you’re freakishly tall and scary looking. Still, couldn’t anyone had the decency to sit him up against a wall or something so he’s doesn’t chock on his vomit or settle him down one of the bar’s couches? If you get killed later for inviting some weirdo into your home — well at least you don’t have to worry about going back to work again as you sigh, solemnly making a very slow walk back home down the cold streets.

Why does he have to be so heavy…

—

You didn’t had the nicest things to go comfort an omega during a heat but you piled whatever you had onto the living room floor and dragged him there, still knocked out thankfully enough as you went around fluffing and softening your hard floor with your blankets and pillows.

He’s actually quite adorable for the most part if anything, kinda like a sad dog if anything. As soon as you rolled him into the thing, immediately he was all smiles and purrs as you moved him around trying to clean away the sweat and dried slick all over his body with a spare towel as you removed his dirtied clothes. If anything, he was too complacent letting you move him around like a rag doll in the nest without any sort of struggle, though his kisses are a bit distracting if you can even call them that.

All teeth and spit, you can barely comprehend what he was doing with all the alcohol and heat stirring up his mind as you constantly push his head away so you can continue cleaning him up. But he’s lovely despite all the scars, if anything it’s a bit charming. But maybe that’s just the pathetic part of your brain talking wishing for someone to love you this easily as he curls his body around you for warmth.

Sometimes you’ll wake up to him crying in a fit at you, just nipping at your ears annoyingly all because you had to crawl away for a few moments and give him some painkillers for his aches and feeding him with whatever left you had in your fridge so he don’t starve. Thank goodness to whoever made for takeout a thing. Some words you can make out from his sobs is how they constantly want you to touch them, small demands of them wanting your body touching them in any sort of way so they know you won’t leave them whenever you’re held in the nest with him.

You don’t mind, if anything you enjoy being relied on as he chirps whenever you kiss down his scarred body absolutely soaking in all the attention because no, you’re not going to fuck the guy while he’s drunk and in heat but this is the only way to settle him down enough to stop asking you due to his delirium and drink some water. The last thing you want is him passing out because you were neglectful in your care. Though him ripping off your scent patches with your teeth was enough to stun you long enough to where he basically crushed you underneath his weight just nuzzling away at your nape and huffing at it like an addict. Why? Because he got fussy every time you said “no” to claiming him every hour or so while baring his neck. Can’t you see how sweetly he’s presenting for you? How good of an omega he will be for you?

It had been a week since he had stayed in your apartment, and for today you have to deal with him whining at you to do it anything only to be constantly denied. It quite easy to ignore his requests with your problems since you don’t really get ruts anymore because of your problem which he doesn’t seem to understand every time you try to tell him as he paws at your waistband grumbling seeing how soft you still are. He’ll even be a brat and start grinding onto the various blankets or against your leg trying to tempt you into fucking him as he presents himself letting the slick dribble down his legs only for you to go start cleaning him up again.

Fortunately for Nikto, you had caused an accident by holding his nape a little too firmly one day in order to calm him down so he can eat but maybe nails was a bit similar to teeth with nails as before you know it, he released a puddle onto your freshly laced towels and promptly passed out with nothing more than a squeeze. You felt guilty about it but the man can only hum happily just enjoying the rush of excitement jittering though his nerves as he trembles enjoying the break from the pain racking through his muscles as he cries at you to call his name and praise him as if he was yours.

Yeah, you are definitely in it for the long run as you rub your hand over his choppy hair, simply too amused at this too big silly omega trying to squeeze onto your lap for more cuddles during aftercare saying something about how they demand you to squeeze him hard against your chest.

Your heart did broke however when you woke up to him missing without any trace of a note left anywhere for you to read. But is it still strange how you don’t seem bothered by this new presence following you home every night and walking home knowing your apartment had been broken into with your clothes and blankets disappearing every so often only to be returned back with a demand for you to wear them again something you had laughed at. Maybe because you know it’s him at the end of the day being a brat.

Hell, you even splurged a bit on ingredients to cook for the man as everytime you leave a plate at your table, you’ll eventually find it empty with a small note full of his little comments and critique on some scraped pieces of paper.

What a weirdo. A lovable weirdo at that.

—

There’s not many things that surprise Nikto at this age but waking up in someone’s home was the last thing he could had expected from his stunt at the bar as the last lingers of heat faded away, he never knew it was possible to stuff this many pillows and blankets in a nest but hadn’t complained as he shifted his body around absolutely purring away at the smell of an alpha surrounding him just doing big stretches around the mountains of comforts and too rubbed his scent all over the softness around him.

Forgive him, he was a bit stupid from heat so it took him an embarrassing amount of time before he realized he can feel the cushion against his cheek. Like a bullet, quickly he run his hand over his face only to realize the lack of weight over it as he groaned into the fuzzy blanket.

Okay… so this person already saw his face and didn’t him out yet, he figured.

He ignored the slight flutter in his chest as he rubbed at his cheeks unable to take in the shame of this situation as he tried to recollect his memories lost within the heights of his hear. Distantly he can remember waking in and out of conscious to the sensations of someone feeding him, wiping his sweat away, and tucking and cuddling him as he whines at them to come fuck him only to be hushed at much to his frustrations at you.

You must like him enough to do all of this for, right? Even letting him continuously come into your life knowing he’s there and feeding and supplying him with your clothes. That’s courtship, no?

So who’s to say you should be surprised when you found yourself gagged and tied up in his basement cuddled in his nest after coming home late one day bruised from being mugged late because he got tired of you overworking yourself for your neighbors and being endangered.

You may had been the one to find him but he’s keeping you all to himself.

[jihyoruri]

ME GIVE US PARANOIA MOMENTS RIGHT NOW PLEASE

as you wish‼️ (I decided to not do moments and do something else but it’s still paranoia crumbs)

the video opens with yn, jaehyun , and wonbin standing stiffly in a line in front of the camera. the atmosphere already feels chaotic as wonbin nudges jay to start the intro. jay stumbles forward dramatically, crashing into yn which causes her to stumble back into the counter.

she cuts her eyes at both boys who who just look straight at the camera avoiding her gaze,“Idiots,” she adds under her breath, while the staff behind the camera stifles their laughter.

“we are going to make cookies.” jay says with a big smile towards the camera, putting both his arms around yn and wonbin’s shoulders.

“you didn’t even introduce our name.” wonbin glares at jay who ignores him.

“they know who we are!” yn huffs, shrugging jay’s arm off aggressively. she then turns to the camera with an exaggerated sweet smile. “anyway, like the angel I am, I came up with this idea to bake cookies for our seniors.”

the camera pans to jay and wonbin who give yn a get real look, she didn’t even want to do it.

“what!?” she exclaims causing both of them to flinch and mumble nothing.

wonbin, trying to salvage the intro, gestures behind the camera. “like yn said, we’re making cookies... from scratch. but, uh, our staff is here to supervise us because apparently—”

“they don’t trust us in the kitchen,” jay whispers conspiratorially, leaning toward the camera like he’s sharing some forbidden secret.

“yeah, probably because someone almost burned down the microwave last week,” yn says, glaring at him.

“that was an accident!”

“making popcorn doesn’t need a microwave tutorial!” yn says rolling her eyes.

“ANYWAY,” Wonbin cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose, “we’re making fudge cookies because they’re dark and what’s paranoia without a dark vibe? let’s get started.”

the clip cuts to the trio mid argument, voices overlapping as they bicker over who should measure the flour.

“you both suck at measurements!” yn snaps, clutching the measuring cups tightly as jay and wonbin try to wrestle them from her. “I should do it!”

“you’re literally the worst at measurements!” jay fires back, grabbing at the cups. “give me the damn measuring cups before you screw it up!”

“no!” yn retorts, pulling back with enough force to almost knock over a bag of sugar.

“yn,” wonbin cuts in, pinching the bridge of his nose like a stressed parent about to lose it. “go get the chocolate chips.”

“what? no! I can—”

“go,” wonbin repeats firmly, pointing to the pantry. his expression screams that he’s two seconds away from quitting the video altogether.

yn glares at him, clinging to the cups for a moment longer before shoving them into jay’s hands with a muttered, “fine. but fuck you.”

the editors bleep out the curse with a comically loud censor sound as yn storms off camera to get the chocolate chips.

jay smirks, holding up the measuring cups like a trophy. “see? problem solved. I’m the adult here.”

“jay, if you mess this up, I’m going to lose it,” wonbin warns.

the clip cuts to jay immediately spilling half the flour as wonbin facepalms while yn’s laughs are heard from off camera.

just like the intro of the video the three stand stiffly in front of the camera, jay has some flower on his face, wonbin has some chocolate on his white shift while yn eats a bunch of chocolate chips from the palm of her hand.

“they’re in the oven!” jay cheers extremely loud, “I think that went pretty smoothly.”

“no it didn’t.”

“are you dumb?”

yn and wonbin responded at the same time.

jay opens his mouth to defend himself, but yn cuts him off by grabbing another handful of chocolate chips and popping them into her mouth. “honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if these cookies send them straight to the toilet,” she says casually, chewing as wonbin turns to glare at her.

“yn.”wonbin’s voice is sharp, his gaze locked on her chocolate covered hand.

“what?” she mouths back silently, holding his stare like she did absolutely nothing wrong.

“should we, like… actually be giving these to them if that’s even a possibility?” jay asks, wiping the flour off his face, his tone genuinely concerned.

the three of them fall silent, staring at each other for a long, awkward moment as if they’re contemplating the true consequences of their actions.

finally, in perfect unison, they all shrug and say, “nah.”

the screen freezes on their unapologetic expressions, followed by the text “please do not look at these three as role models.”

“while we wait for the cookies to bake, we should probably clean up—cause, you know, we’re responsible people,” yn says to the camera about to take another handful of chocolate chips but wonbin slapped her hands away.

“we’re pretty good at cleaning, so this should go really fast,” jay chimes in, his voice way too upbeat for the situation.

the clip suddenly cuts to jay, who has just slipped on a patch of flour, falling flat on his back with a loud thud.

the camera holds on jay for a second, and then quickly pans to yn, who’s doubled over with laughter, clutching her stomach like she might pass out. she’s leaning against wonbin for support, but he’s torn—half of him is trying to figure out if jaehyun is okay, while the other half is quietly suppressing a laugh.

“jay?” wonbin asks, his face a mix of concern and disbelief, “you good?”

jaehyun groans from the floor, holding his head, weakly nodding.

yn, now bent over in laughter again, mutters between breaths, “I swear, you’re a walking disaster.”

“I think they look pretty good,” jay says confidently, looking over the batch of cookies as wonbin carefully carries the tray to the counter, like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“but do they taste good?” yn asks skeptically, already reaching for one. she takes a bite, chews, and then immediately passes it to jaehyun. he takes a bite too, then hands it over to wonbin, who finishes off the last piece with a thoughtful look.

they all chew in silence, before looking at each in shock.

“...they actually taste good,” wonbin says slowly, as if trying to process the miracle that’s just occurred.

“woah.” jay says before reaching for another one.

“I’m in shock,” yn says, casually grabbing a couple more and walking off camera to give them to the staff.

she walks back into the camera while the three of them look at the staff with bright smiles while the staffs sounds of delighted hums are heard in the background.

“you hear that?” yn says, raising an eyebrow and grinning at the camera. “that’s the sound of them tasting heaven.”

“I’m excited to give these to our seniors.” jay says grabbing another cookie.

“I’m just shocked that they actually taste good,” wonbin admits, still staring down at the cookies like they’re a rare artifact. “like, no joke. this might be our best achievement yet.

“okay so, apparently red velvet, nct, aespa sunbaenim, are here today.” yn says to the camera as she’s casually perched on Jaehyun’s back, both of them walking into the building.

“they’re gonna get a real good taste of our cookies.” jay exaggerates.

“cookies that I’m still shocked came out so well,” wonbin adds.

the clip cuts to them walking into a room with one of the small boxes that has some of their cookies inside it.

the camera pans to mark and johnny who look at the group confused as they look at the camera.

“what’s going on?” mark asks, laughter lacing his voice. the trio’s antics have him on edge, he knows they’re never up to anything too simple.

“we made you guys cookies,” yn says with a cheeky grin, holding the box out to johnny, who eyes it with suspicion.

“did you guys put rat poison in it?” mark askes causing them to gasp in offence.

jay’s voice cuts in, “they taste good, I swear

“surprisingly good,” wonbin mutters, still looking at the cookies like they might spontaneously combust.

mark and johnny exchange a hesitant glance before each of them takes a cautious bite. the room falls into an expectant silence as they chew then both of them freeze. their eyes widen in shock.

“wait…” mark says, shaking his head in disbelief, trying to process the flavor.

“-that’s actually good.” johnny says going for another bite, “where did you guys buy this from cause no way you made it.”

“wowwwwww.” all three say in offence.

the clip cuts to the trio walking into the room, energetically singing red flavour at the top of their lungs, holding a small box of cookies.

seulgi laughs at the sight, clearly amused by the chaos unfolding in front of her, while the others watch in confusion. yn, still belting out the chorus, passes the box of cookies to yeri with a wink.

wendy eyes the box curiously as she opens it, staring at the cookies before turning her gaze back to the trio, who are still happily singing. "you guys made us cookies?" she asks, skepticism clear in her voice.

"It tastes good, we promise," yn says, trying to hold back her laughter. "even we are shocked." she walks over to seulgi and plops down on her lap, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "trust us."

the three red velvet members take a a cookie from the box and hesitantly take a bite.

there’s silence, before they all look at each other in shock.

"woah,” yeri breaks the silence, her eyes wide in surprise. she grabs another cookie with a grin, clearly impressed.

"that’s really good," wendy says, reaching for another one too. "I didn’t expect it to taste this good."

“we told you.” jay and wonbin say at the same time.

seulgi, still laughing at the unexpected success, raises an eyebrow. "they're actually really good. Who did you guys get to make them for you?" she asks, her voice dripping with playful curiosity.

thw entire room bursts into laughter, and yn, still comfortably in seulgi’s lap, winks mischievously. "we made them," she says with confidence . "from scratch."

the clip cuts to jay running into the room, attempting an impressive (but slightly uncoordinated) cartwheel. he lands with a dramatic stance , nearly knocking over a nearby table, while yn and wonbin follow closely behind, each holding a box of cookies

“special delivery.” jay says in a high pitched voice the room goes silent for a moment before the members burst into laughter, covering their mouths in shock at the chaotic entrance.

“what is going on?” giselle laughs, looking at the trio in disbelief, while yn quickly shoves the box into her hands.

“we made cookies.” wonbin says opening the lid, like it was a box of treasure, “from scratch, impressive right?”

ningning looks at the box warily. “I don’t know if I want to eat that...” she says, making winter giggle and nod in agreement.

karina, still processing the chaos, keeps her gaze fixed on yn, who stares back at her, unfazed. “just try it, it’s really good,” yn says, offering a reassuring smile

the girls exchange skeptical glances but cautiously pick up a cookie, all except karina, who’s still eyeing it suspiciously. yn, with a sigh of mock frustration, grabs the cookie from karina’s hand and pops it into her own mouth, causing the entire room to burst into laughter.

karina’s eyes widen, shocked by yn’s bold move, but her attention quickly shifts back to the cookie as she chews. one by one, the other girls’ expressions change from skepticism to surprise as they start to chew.

“this is really good,” ningning says, reaching for another cookie, her earlier doubts forgotten.

“no way you guys made this,” giselle shakes her head, still in shock, unable to believe it.

“better believe it.” jay said proudly.

karina, finally accepting the cookie’s legitimacy, watches yn and grabs another one. “thank you for shoving that cookie in my mouth,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “this is so good.” the room erupts in laughter, everyone enjoying karina’s playful tone

“no problem dude.” yn says nonchalantly causing karina to shoot her a scolding look.

the clip transitions to a new scene with bold, playful bubble letters reading “yn’s iphone” at the top of the screen. yn is lying on her bed, holding her phone in one hand while wonbin is next to her, both of them looking at the screen

“the cookies definitely tasted good,” yn starts,, “but everyone ate so much of them that, well… it did indeed send us to the toilet.” she glances at wonbin, who nods solemnly in agreement, his expression mock serious.

as if on cue, the sound of a toilet flushing is heard in the background, followed by jay’s voice shouting from the bathroom, “I regret everything!”

yn and wonbin exchange amused glances, trying to stifle their laughter. they burst out giggling, barely able to keep it together.

the video cuts abruptly, with both of them still laughing uncontrollably in the background.