#the moment she starts up conversation i just

[sunni-stuff]

People are judgmental. Some think they aren't, others don't mean to be, and then there are those who do it on purpose and simply don't care.

Parents are guilty of this.

Parents who pay you to teach their kids do this.

But the worst offenders?

Wives. 

Particularly those with too much free time—gossiping Gertrude's who'd rather nitpick and judge than deal with the boredom of daytime TV and their kids screaming in the background. You’ve dealt with a handful before—a crack in the system that always rippled right under your skin whenever one of those vultures threw out a backhanded compliment.  

“You’re so patient with the kids. I could never do what you do—how do you even manage?”  

“Must be nice having all that time off during the summer. A little vacation every year, huh?”  

“Teaching must be so rewarding. Though I imagine it’s not really about the money, is it?”  

Each one, a subtle dig disguised as flattery, like they couldn’t help but twist the knife just a little deeper. 

If there was one thing you’d learned about this job, it was to always kill them with kindness. The rumor mill among parents was ruthless, and the wrong rumor could ripple out and jeopardize your career. So, you’d mastered the art of the polite smile, the well-timed thank you, and the effortless small talk. It was a strategy that had served you well, keeping any overly curious mothers at bay.

Still, these women were relentless. They circled like hawks, always looking for an opening to pry into your life or make veiled comments about your parenting. You’d never given them the satisfaction of slipping up—until the day you almost did.

The sun was setting, the air brisk and tinged with the promise of winter as parents gathered their children. Little voices chattered away as teachers handed over day charts, neatly summarizing each child’s activities. Standing at the cubbies, you were bundling up Adira. Her small frame was snug in her sweater, jacket zipped up to her chin, and scarf tucked securely around her neck. She fidgeted as you worked, barely able to stay still with how much excitement bubbled in her tiny frame.

Her voice was high-pitched and animated as she launched into a story, her words tumbling over each other in her eagerness to share. “Messy man said, we play trains when he comes back!” she chirped, her dark eyes wide with delight.

You paused, your fingers lingering on the last button of her jacket. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you straightened her scarf. “Oh, did he now?”

Adira nodded vigorously, her curls bouncing. “Yep! He said, “Adira, we make the best train track ever!” Her imitation of Simon’s deep voice was laughably exaggerated, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.” We gonna play with the biiig track!” She spread her arms wide for emphasis, nearly toppling over from the effort.

The mention of Simon was enough to draw some attention from the other parents nearby. You could feel their eyes darting your way, their curiosity almost palpable. Simon’s occasional appearances to pick up Adira hadn’t gone unnoticed, and the whispers had already started. Who was this tall, broad man with a thick accent? Was he Adira’s father? A boyfriend? The air was thick with silent speculation.

Ignoring the countless eyes and ears listening in on your harmless conversation, you assured Adira. “Well, if messy man promised, he’ll keep it,” Simon had made it clear that he intended to be a constant presence in Adira’s life, and so far, he’d stuck to his word.

As you stood and picked up her small bag, a sharp voice interrupted the moment.

"Well, aren’t you just the picture-perfect little family?”

Your polite smile returned instantly, masking the irritation that flared at the condescending tone. Turning, you saw one of the daycare moms—Linda, if you remembered correctly—standing there with her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around her designer purse. Her son trailed behind her, nose buried in a tablet.

“Evening, Linda,” you said evenly, keeping your tone light. “How’s Ethan doing?

She waved a dismissive hand, her eyes already scanning Adira with that overly curious gaze that made your skin crawl. “Oh, he’s fine. But I couldn’t help overhearing... this ‘Messy man’ your little one mentioned. Is he... new in your life?”

Ah, there it was—the opening she was fishing for. 

Adira, oblivious to the undercurrents of adult conversation, grinned up at Linda uncharacteristically, the joy she felt for Simon completely expunging her normal glaring behavior. “Messy man makes pancakes! But they go splat!” She threw her hands out dramatically, mimicking the chaos Simon often caused in the kitchen.

Goddammit, poor Adira revealed too much to the wrong person, and you could already see the cogs turning in Linda's head. Forcing a chuckle, you reached for Adira’s hand. “Messy man is her nickname for Simon, her dad. He’s stationed overseas, so she gets pretty excited when he’s home.”

Linda’s perfectly arched eyebrow lifted slightly, clearly surprised. “Oh, I see. Military man, huh? I suppose that explains why we’ve never seen him around.”

You gave Linda your most neutral expression, taking notice of the other moms matching from behind her. “He’s been busy, but he’s doing his best to be here when he can.”

"Oh, I see. I simply would've never guessed you were married. You never wear a ring," Linda remarked, her tone dripping with subtle judgment.

You knew what she was doing. It was a carefully laid trap, baited to catch you in a corner. If you rebuffed her comment, if you made a scene, it would only give her more ammunition to spread rumors. These women didn’t care for nuances; they thrived on gossip, and the topic of marriage—or rather, the lack of a visible wedding ring—would be a field day for them. They’d ride that horse straight to hell, and you'd be left cleaning up the mess.

With the growing number of parents in earshot, you understood that this wasn’t just a comment; it was a test. You had to choose your words carefully. It wasn’t just about keeping things smooth in the moment—it was about protecting your future.

You gave a small, practiced smile, maintaining your composure as you slipped Adira’s bag onto your shoulder. “I don’t wear my ring because I work with children. It could get caught in their hair, or worse, I could lose it.” You met her gaze with a calm confidence that bordered on dismissive.

“That’s understandable, dear. We all have kids after all!” Lina laughed, her tone attempting to sound warm and genuine, but it was too polished, too forced. The laughter rang hollow, like a poorly executed attempt to mask her true intentions. “Does this mean we’ll finally get to meet him at the fundraiser this weekend? We’ve all been here for so long, and not a single glimpse of your beloved other half. Right, ladies?”

Her words floated in the air, sharp with insinuation. The smile she wore was one of practiced sweetness, but the glint in her eyes was anything but kind. She knew what she was doing—attempting to pull you further into her web, hoping to get a reaction that would either reveal more or, better yet, give her ammunition to fuel the rumors she clearly wanted to start.

A few of the other women murmured in agreement, their eyes flicking from you to each other, already whispering amongst themselves. They were all waiting for a response, and the pressure began to build in the pit of your stomach.

“Yes, he is.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could even process them, your own response surprising you as much as it did the group of wives surrounding you. You felt a jolt in your chest, your heart picking up pace as the reality of what you had just said began to sink in. What the fuck did you just do?

The laughter from Linda faltered for a split second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed your words. The others exchanged glances, some of their faces lighting up with an almost predatory curiosity, while others masked their thoughts behind polite smiles. You could almost hear the gears turning in their heads—oh, this was going to be something they could use.

The tension in the air thickened, and you suddenly felt exposed, as if every secret you’d carefully kept tucked away was now dangling on the edge of a cliff. You’d just handed them the perfect piece of gossip, but what would it lead to? Would they use it against you, twist it into something worse? You hadn’t planned for any of this—hell, you hadn't even planned on saying anything at all—but now that it was out there, you had to somehow steer this conversation. 

You had to control the narrative, or risk letting it spiral completely out of your hands. 

Your mind races, trying to formulate a response, but everything seems so loud—your thoughts, the laughter, the eyes watching you. How could you backpedal without it seeming like a lie? How could you walk that fine line between the truth and keeping your personal life hidden?

"Yes, Simon’s coming," you added quickly, trying to steady your breath. "But, you know... he’s not really into the whole fundraiser thing. He’s more of a stay-at-home guy, a bit of a quiet one, really. I’ll be there though, and we’re looking forward to it." You tried to sound casual, but the flicker of doubt in your voice betrayed you. 

The women around you didn’t miss a beat, though. The moment had been set, and now it was only a matter of what they would do with the information. 

“Well, I look forward to seeing you.” Lina’s voice was dripping with a false sweetness, and you could feel the weight of her gaze as she gave you one last look. Her eyes lingered a bit longer than necessary, as if trying to peel back layers, searching for some crack to exploit. Then, with a nod, she steered Ethan away, her entourage of women following closely behind, their chatter rising in the air like a distant murmur. The click of their heels echoed as they disappeared down the hall, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

"And so, that's what happened," you finished, your voice trailing off as you leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to gauge Simon's reaction.

Simon blinked up at you from where he was sitting on the floor, his focus still mostly on Adira, who was happily arranging her toy train with her blocks, making a makeshift kingdom. He didn’t seem phased, just a little confused. "You want me to pretend to be your husband?"

The question hung in the air for a moment before he let out a chuckle, shaking his head slightly, his eyes filled with that familiar warmth. "Out of all the things I've done in my life, this has to be the funniest, love.”

You blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected nickname. It felt oddly intimate, a shift in the dynamic between you and Simon that you hadn’t anticipated. Love. It wasn't what you'd expected to hear from him, not in this context, not when everything felt so messy and uncertain. But there it was, slipping out so naturally from him, like he'd always called you that, like he'd been in your life much longer than he really had.

Your heart skipped a beat, the sound of Adira’s laughter in the background making the moment feel surreal. It should have been funny—this whole situation, with you essentially asking Simon to pretend to be your husband for the sake of those gossiping women. But instead, you felt something else, something soft and unfamiliar tightening in your chest.

“Did you just call me that?” You couldn't help but ask, your voice a little quieter than you intended.

Simon paused, his playful smile faltering for a second as he caught the look on your face. “I—yeah, I guess I did,” he replied, his tone a touch more uncertain now. He glanced down at Adira, who was happily stacking blocks at his feet, then back to you. “It was just a slip of the tongue. Didn’t mean anything weird by it.”

“I’m not exactly husband material, you know,” he added lightly, his voice teasing. “I’m more of a... messy man.”

You chuckled at that, shaking your head. "A messy man, huh?"

He nodded, grinning. “Yeah, but I’m good at it. Just ask Adira.”

Adira, hearing her name, immediately let out a squeal of approval. “Messy man!” she giggled, throwing a block in Simon’s direction, her tiny hand pointing at him with delight.

"So, what's the plan here then?" That easy grin back on his face, his eyes still dancing with humor, but there was something underneath it—something you couldn’t quite place. “You want me to just walk into a room and act like we’re a picture-perfect couple?”

The way he said it made you laugh a little, though there was a slight edge of uncertainty to it. You found yourself shifting uncomfortably, knowing you had no real plan for what came next. It wasn’t like you had a relationship with Simon beyond the occasional dinner and time spent with Adira, and yet, here you were, asking him to play a role in your life, one that might end up blurring lines you didn’t fully understand.

“Well, you don’t have to pretend, exactly,” you said, running a hand through your hair, suddenly feeling all the weight of the day settling in. “I just... I just need you to be there. You know, to back me up, to—” You paused, glancing over at Simon again. “I guess I just don’t want them thinking I’m alone in all of this. It’s bad enough that has already started.”

Simon’s gaze softened as he leaned back in his seat, watching you with a quiet understanding. "You're not alone in this," he said, his voice steady. “And I’m here. You don’t need a ring or a title for that.”

The sincerity in his tone made your chest tighten again, but this time it was different. His words weren’t a joke or a half-hearted attempt to make you feel better—they were real. He was offering something more than just pretending for the sake of others. He was offering his presence, his support.

For a moment, you forgot about everything else. The plans, the expectations, the pressure. Instead, all that mattered was Simon sitting across from you, smiling at you like you weren't asking for something too much, like it wasn’t strange to think of him in your life like this.

“Thank you,” you murmured. "Really."

He gave a small nod, then grinned, shifting his attention back to Adira, who had managed to get half the blocks stacked to an impressive height. “It’s nothing. Besides, I think Adira’s got the best part of this deal anyway.”

You glanced over at your daughter, who was watching both of you with wide eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Adira was your source of strength, a beacon that pushed you forward, her smile alone gave you determination.  “Alright, let’s figure out what married people do.”

"I know just who to call." Simon reached for his phone, the battered thing covered in scratches, an old case and sporting a broken screen from a hazardous drop. Upon seeing it, the first thought running through your head was, how the fuck was it still usable?

Price’s living room radiated warmth and history, a perfect mix of domestic coziness and military precision. The centerpiece was a sturdy stone fireplace, its mantle adorned with framed photos of Price and his wife, Melanie. In some, they stood arm in arm at scenic locations; in others, Price was in uniform, the edges of his cap sharp against the backdrop of distant skies. Above the fireplace hung a shadow box displaying medals and insignias, each one polished to a shine, speaking volumes about his service.

Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with everything from military strategy texts to well-worn novels. On one shelf sat a small globe and a model of a Spitfire plane, a nod to his admiration for history. A comfortable, overstuffed armchair, complete with a folded tartan blanket, sat near the fire. The coffee table bore faint scratches, evidence of years of use, and atop it lay an open newspaper, a mug of tea, and a small dish of biscuits.

You sat stiffly on the plush sofa, feeling distinctly out of place amidst this blend of home and honor. The ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner filled the silence as you watched Simon talk to Price in the adjoining kitchen. Occasionally, their eyes flicked toward you, and you pretended not to notice, your gaze wandering instead to a black-and-white photo of a younger Price standing with a group of soldiers, all grinning ear to ear.

The awkwardness of the situation weighed on you like a heavy blanket. This wasn’t exactly how you envisioned your day—asking Price, of all people, to help stage your fake relationship. But you were in too deep now to back out.

In the kitchen, Price rubbed his hand over his mouth, barely concealing the grin that tugged at his lips. A low chuckle escaped as he grabbed a cup of coffee, shaking his head at Simon, who stood across from him, arms folded, his expression far more serious than the moment warranted.

“You want me and Mel to help you two seem like a couple? That right?” Price’s voice carried an unmistakable note of amusement, his words tinged with disbelief.

Simon shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back, clearly trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Yes, that’s the gist of it."

Price’s laughter broke free, a warm, hearty sound that echoed off the kitchen tiles. “Bloody hell, Simon. You’ve seen action all over the world, but this—this is what’s got you nervous?” He clapped a hand on Simon’s shoulder, his grin wide enough to light the room. “You’re in for a treat, mate. Melanie’s going to love this.”

From your seat, you caught Price’s amused glance, and you couldn’t help the way your face heated. This was going to be a long evening.

Price, still chuckling, crossed the room to the wide bay window, pushing it open with ease. The crisp evening air drifted in, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and the faint hum of distant crickets. He leaned out slightly, cupping his hands around his mouth.

“Mel! Come on inside, love. You’ve got to hear this one,” he called, his voice carrying easily over the quiet of their backyard.

From where you sat, you caught a glimpse of Melanie in the garden. She was tending to a neat row of vibrant flowers, her hands gloved and a straw hat perched on her head. At the sound of Price’s voice, she straightened up, brushing dirt off her knees with a curious look on her face.

“Be right there!” she replied, her voice warm and lilting. She removed her gloves, tucking them into her apron pocket as she began making her way toward the house.

Price turned back to Simon, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You better hope Mel doesn’t laugh you out of the house, mate.”

Simon groaned softly, rubbing his temples. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Price.”

Moments later, Melanie stepped into the living room, a radiant smile lighting up her face. She was the epitome of grace, her presence immediately softening the room’s atmosphere. Her gaze shifted between you, Simon, and her husband, her curiosity evident.

“What’s all this about, then?” she asked, removing her hat and setting it on a nearby chair. “You’ve got that mischievous look again, John.”

Price grinned, gesturing toward you and Simon. “These two need a favor, Mel. A big one.”

Melanie’s brows lifted as she looked between the two of you. “Oh? Do tell.”

Simon, looking equal parts determined and mortified, cleared his throat. “We... need help convincing a group of nosy parents that we’re married. Long story.”

Melanie’s smile widened as her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, this sounds rich. Go on, I’m listening.”

You shifted in your seat, feeling the warmth of Melanie’s gaze settle on you. Her smile was kind but tinged with unmistakable amusement, and it was clear she was holding back a laugh as she took in your flustered state.

“Well,” you began hesitantly, clasping your hands together in your lap. “It’s a bit of a mess, really. One of the moms at the daycare cornered me, started asking questions about Simon, and… I might’ve let it slip that we’re married. Which we’re not. Obviously.” Your words tumbled out in a rush, and you glanced at Simon for backup. He was rubbing the back of his neck, caught between exasperation and amusement.

Melanie let out a soft laugh and gracefully sat down beside you on the couch. “Ah, I see. And now you need to sell the story before it falls apart. Oh, love, I’ve been in a similar pickle—not quite like this, but close enough.”

“See?” Price chimed in from his armchair, leaning back with an amused grin. “Told you Mel would get a kick out of this.”

Simon shot him a flat look. “Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, mate.”

Melanie waved a dismissive hand at Price before patting your knee in a reassuring gesture. “Don’t mind him. Now, let’s think this through. If you’re going to convince anyone, you need to act the part. People pick up on the smallest details—how you talk to each other, how comfortable you seem together. If you’re too stiff, they’ll see right through it.”

Simon leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he nodded. “Alright, so what do we need to do? We’ve got about a week before the fundraiser, so I’m open to ideas.”

Melanie’s eyes lit up with a mix of mischief and determination. “Perfect. We’ll start with body language—how you interact without saying a word. And then we’ll move on to the conversational stuff. You’ll need to know each other’s habits, quirks, and all those little details married couples just know.”

Price clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm, a cheeky grin plastered across his face. “Right, then. Let the awkward training sessions begin. This’ll be one for the books.”

You groaned inwardly, glancing between Simon and Melanie. This bizarre charade was only just beginning, and while you couldn’t imagine where it would lead, one thing was clear—you were in for a wild ride.

Happy new years friends! The holidays were a riot and I spent most of it spending time with family instead of writing as I felt kind of burnt out from writing in November, sorry about that but I hope this makes up for it.

-

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[witherby]

what would be littlest wayne's first word be?

I was thinking of something simple or sweet, but then I got the funniest idea on the planet.

The Littlest Wayne: First Words

You were babbling a lot more lately. Your family all knew it meant you were likely going to say your first words soon, and the fighting over who got to have your attention increased tenfold. It had gotten to the point that your brothers were practically kidnapping you to monopolize your time and attention. Bruce put his foot down and ended that whole charade when it stopped being endearing and became dangerous.

("Really, Damian? Your skill in combat is not in question, it has never been in question, but you cannot bring them on patrol with you on the off-chance they happen to say their first words in the middle of the night!")

So, Bruce takes you to the Watchtower anytime he has a Justice League meeting. It pisses off all of his sons, but he's arguably bringing you to the safest spot in the galaxy. Also, he's your father. It's not kidnapping if you're kidnapping your own child. Okay, it is, it very much still is, but that's not the point.

"Okay, Mouse," he murmurs, easing you onto the floor and handing you a stuffed teddy bear. "The meeting's only an hour, then we're going back home. Dada will take you home."

(Maybe he wants to steer you towards your first word himself. Sue him, he's just a man at the end of the day.)

You take the bear, staring openly at your father. You don't see him often in the Batman suit, so he's very visually appealing at the moment. Bruce allows himself a small smile, gently pinching your cheek, then he steps out of the way when Diana arrives.

"The babyyy!" She whisper-yells, kneeling next to the playpen. "Hello, little one! It's such a treat when Batman brings you around!"

You make some soft, babbling noises. Mostly you're making raspberries. It's a fascinating sound. Diana melts and wipes some drool from your chin.

"Someone's getting close to their first words. My mother said mine was "maim." I remember that conversation fondly..."

Bruce has to remind himself that Diana grew up on an island inhabited by immortal warrior women. "Maim" is a perfectly normal first word for an immortal warrior baby.

The other Leaguers start quickly filing into the meeting room, each of them stopping cheerfully to greet you. It makes something fond bloom in Bruce's chest, and you coo and openly admire all the people with bright, primary colors all over their bodies. You're busy trying to chew on Superman's cape when a glowing, green light enters your periphery, and you drop the fabric in favor of staring at the Green Lantern.

"Oh, bring your kid to work day, huh, Spooks?" Hal actually scoops you up out of the pen and cradles you to his chest, grinning down at you. "Hey, kiddo!"

"Mmmnnn," you mutter intelligently, reaching for his mask. Every time you manage to pop it off, he just wills another one on. You think this is the most entertaining game ever.

"The kids are taking them out into the field, now," Bruce sighs. "They all want to be the one to hear their first word. Which is fine. It's adorable. I love that they love the baby. But the baby does not belong on Gotham's streets in the middle of the night, especially if guns are involved."

"Oh, yeah, that's pretty bad," Hal says, smiling at you. You pop his domino mask off again, squealing when it dissolves in your fingers and another one materializes over his face. "Uncle Hal would never do that to you, would he? No! No he wouldn't! That's very dangerous!"

"Huh...Hal!"

Everyone freezes. Bruce's jaw actually drops.

"No fucking way," Barry blurts across the room.

"Language. There's a whole baby here, Flash," Oliver says, but he's grinning like an idiot.

"Hal!" You chirp again. "Hal!"

Bruce sinks to his knees. Clark looks like he's trying not to laugh. Barry and Oliver are definitely laughing. Diana is pouting over the fact that your first word was so tame and boring. J'onn doesn't understand why your first word is so important when it just means you'll eventually learn to say more.

Hal is nearly trembling with the flood of emotions. His thing with Bruce is very new, and he's been by the Manor often enough that you obviously know him, but he really hadn't anticipated his name being...being...

"The boys are going to kill me."

"Maybe," Bruce admits, still on the floor. "...it couldn't be dada? It couldn't be uppies? Or Mouse, or any of the other words you hear ten thousand times a day? Even Alfred thought you might try his name first."

"I think we're going to need to postpone the start of the meeting," Clark declares, coughing as a way of clearing his throat and definitely not to disguise his amused huffs. "Let's push it back fifteen minutes."

"Hal!" You chirp again, delighted. You finally pulled Green Lantern's mask off and it didn't disappear. You win!

[shoresoftheshadowlands]

For me this is part of my aversion to small-talk and verbal chatting. If its in text, I can usually glance back right away at what was said. When its verbal, I have to struggle so hard and I get headaches quickly trying to hold everything together. It isn't anything against anyone trying to talk to me, it's just I cannot follow it, especially if people are talking too slow, or being too roundabout on what they're trying to convey, which I know is part of the art of small talk. I know its an important skill to have, but damn, it sucks.

It's even worse when it isn't small talk but some kind of lecture I'm getting for some reason, especially when it's complete BS (I live in a household of far rights, if you know you know), or if it's something that is a non issue that, for some reason 'today', it is suddenly their problem (For example, I organize the space behind my desk in a way that works for ME. It is in MY room which I pay rent for. It may look disorganized at first glance but isn't actually messy. Got a lecture today about how I must clean up and organize and so on because partner is coming to visit.

And I basically just said 'Look, this is organized in a way that works for me,' (I did not bother trying to explain how or why it does because it wouldn't matter in the long run trust me) and I explained that anything that does need tidying up I've already begun working on (Which she did not notice whatsoever, and instead got on my ass about 'all the dishes and stuff' which are clean, or was a take out container I'd only just been using moments prior to her walking in so it wasn't like it was sitting here moldy) Queue the 'Well I know you love me but I am beginning to suspect you don't like me very much!' because I am short and to the point and we've done this dance countless times and I'm so tired. I say 'While I'm gone please DO NOT DECORATE MY ROOM FOR ME.'

I come home. Wow, looks like my room is decorated! And there's nick-nacks and shit in place of where my things need to go! Great! I hate it! Exactly what I asked you not to do! COOL! I'm so glad you value your 37 year old disabled adult child's wishes and boundaries!

But even trying to maintain a conversation about it, verbally because her reading comprehension is shit and she doesn't understand what I'm saying even when I write it down very clearly, we are always at an impass of 'wow this lecture is going on for so long I don't even know how we started' or 'nod and agree, it will be over sooner'

the curse of adhd:

i will remember with absolute clarity, when the thought strikes me that i have a text to send someone, that this is the fourth time in three days i've attempted to send this specific text

i will forget, in the time it takes me to pick up my phone, that i picked it up intending to send a text

[wosoloml]

bedroom experiences || alessia russo x reader

summary: its the first time you try something like this with alessia. she loves to be experimental with you

warnings: sexual content, 18+, top!alessia, bottom!reader, strap on, oral recieving, oral giving, alcohol, dirty talk

a/n: i hope you like it - from this request

wc: 1656 | masterlist

The bar buzzed with energy, the bass from the music thrumming through the air as lively conversations created a constant background hum. It had been a while since you last went out to a pub with Alessia and her teammates. Usually, their schedules were tightly packed, so moments like this felt special.

You were grateful to be here, spending time not only with your girlfriend but also with her teammates, who had quickly become her friends during her short time at Arsenal. 

And they become your friends as well. I love spending time with them. 

Alessia wasn’t usually the affectionate type in public, but something about today felt different. As I casually chatted with Kyra, Alessia’s hand rested on my thigh beneath the table, her thumb slowly tracing soft circles over the fabric of my jeans.

The gentle motion made it nearly impossible to focus on the story Kyra was trying to share. To anyone else, this might seem like a perfectly normal display of affection for a couple, but for Alessia, it was significant.

Something was definitely up, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Or maybe she was just a little tipsy. Probably both.

The subtle reminder of her presence, her silent claim on me, sent shivers up my spine. It was maddening, and I did everything I could to play it cool.

After managing to wrap up my conversation with Kyra—barely holding it together—I needed a moment to regain composure. But my focus was entirely on Alessia and her infuriatingly deliberate fingers still resting on my thigh.

Leaning in closer, I whispered something into her ear, my lips grazing the edge of it. I felt her body tense slightly before melting back into calm.

Without hesitation, her hand pressed more firmly against my thigh, her fingers curling just enough to send a clear message: a warning to not push it too far—not here. 

"You are playing with fire, my love," she murmured with her low and teasing voice. Just meant for me. "And?" I replied, my tone playful as I pulled back, meeting her gaze. 

Her pretty blue eyes are filled with little sparks of lust and desire. They promise that the night was only getting started. 

As the night went on, our touches grew bolder and controlled by desire and lust. A subtle brush of my lips against her temple as I lean in to say something or her hand sliding higher on my leg. It was a game—a slow and delicious build of tension that left me wet and weak in my knees. 

When our bodies touched on the dancefloor and my hands reached her upper thigh, I was left speechless. She looked at me with a playfully smirk knowing exactly what my hands sensed in her pants. 

"You’re playing with fire, my love," she murmured, her low, teasing voice meant only for me.

"And?" I replied, my tone equally playful as I pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. Her piercing blue eyes sparkled with something mischievous—a mixture of lust and anticipation that sent a shiver through me. They promised that tonight was far from over.

As the evening wore on, our touches grew bolder, each one more electrifying than the last. A fleeting brush of my lips against her temple as I leaned in to whisper something, her hand sliding higher up my leg under the table. It was a game—a slow, intoxicating build of tension that left me flushed and unsteady on my feet.

On the dance floor, the air around us seemed to thrum with unspoken desire. Our bodies moved together, close enough that every shift, every brush, felt like a spark. My hands found her upper thigh, and as I let them linger, a realization stopped me in my tracks.

She caught my startled expression with a knowing smirk, her eyes practically daring me to say something. She knew exactly what I’d discovered, and her playful grin told me she was reveling in my reaction.

"We should head home" were the only words that left my mouth as the heat between us became almost unbearable. 

Her teammates teased her as she made an excuse for our sudden decision to leave, but she didn't care. 

----

The instant we entered our apartment, she was at me. 

In a heated and passionate kiss, her lips found mine as her hands slipped beneath my shirt, discovering that I was not wearing a bra. She wore a smirk as we kissed and whispered into my mouth, „Naughty little girl teasing me all night without underwear on.“ 

"And you loved every second of it." Her chuckle was soft as she pushed me gently against the wall. "You have no idea how much I’m going to love the next few seconds," she whispered against my lips, her voice dripping with confidence. "You’ll be a whimpering mess for me, baby."

A soft, breathless moan escaped me in response, words failing as the intensity of her gaze and touch rendered me utterly speechless.

Every brush of her fingers sent electric sparks through my body, each one igniting a fire that I couldn’t control. My back arched instinctively, desperate to be closer, to feel more of her.

Alessia’s lips curved into a smug smile against my skin. She thrived on the way I melted under her touch, on the way my body trembled, needy and utterly hers. "So desperate for me," she murmured, her tone laced with satisfaction, "and I’m just getting started."

She guides me into our bedroom, her hands firm yet tender as she pushes me gently to sit on the edge of our bed. My breath hitches as I look up at her, my eyes filled with pure desire and admiration.

In this moment, the world outside fades away, leaving only the two of us. I've never felt so vulnerable yet so secure, so completely seen and cherished. There’s an intimacy in her gaze, a quiet 

reassurance that I’m safe in her hands, even as the air between us hums with undeniable tension. 

Her hands toy with the waistband of my pants, her movements slow and deliberate. The look in her eyes is a silent question, seeking permission without uttering a word.

When I nod, giving her the answer she’s waiting for, a soft smile plays on her lips. Her fingers slip beneath the fabric, teasingly brushing against my skin as she begins to slide my pants down, inch by tantalizing inch.

Soft whimpers of her name escape my lips, growing louder with every passing second.

“Use your words, pretty girl,” she murmurs, her voice dripping with teasing authority as her lips press soft kisses along my thighs.

“Touch me, please,” I moan, my eyes fluttering closed as the heat of her breath fans over my skin.

“Right here?” she asks, her lips inching closer to where I need her the most, her voice low and deliberate, sending shivers through my entire body.

“Fuck… Alessia, yes,” I gasp, my voice trembling with desperation, completely at her mercy.

Her tongue finally reached my throbbing, heated core. “You taste so sweet, babygirl,” she says, licking all my arousal and sucking on my clit. My hands seize her hair, as she feels incredible.

I can't handle it anymore. 

My walls start to tremble around her tongue inside of me. 

-----

"You are sure you want this?" Alessia asked, her voice now intimate. 

I nodded with a soft smile. "I want this; I want it."

We are both naked on the bed after Alessia fucked me so good with her mouth and hands to prepare me for the point that I was excited the whole time. 

She pushed down her pants, exposing the big strap-on you sensed earlier between her legs on the dancefloor. We have talked about this. She was way more experienced, but I'm ready to do it with her now. 

Even though I had seen it before, seeing Alessia wearing it made my stomach flutter. I couldn't take my eyes off her.

Alessia climbed onto the bed, her body moving with a natural grace that left me breathless. She settled between my legs, her hands resting on my thighs. She leaned forward to press her lips on mine, lingering in the kiss. 

Her hands slid up my sides, pushing my shirt up and over my head. Her mouth and lips found my nipples and played with them. „Alessia…“ 

She knows exactly how to make a girl needy. 

„Pss, Babygirl, I take care of you.“ „Lie back“, she murmured, her voice thick with desire. 

She positioned herself carefully as she pressed the tip of the strap against my entrance. The sensation was unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. I let out a soft moan as she pushed forward slightly. Her eyes were checking on me, but I made sure that she knew how much I enjoyed it. 

Her name rolls off my lips in pornographic sounds. Alessia moved slowly, giving me the time I needed to adjust with every inch. When she was fully inside me, she let out a soft moan.The way she stretches me out feels so good. I could get used to it.

She began to move then. At first her movements were slow and deliberate, but as she noticed how good my walls felt around her strap, she finally started to go faster and harder. "Alessia—" I gasped, my voice breaking when she hit a particularly sensitive spot. 

"You feel incredible," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. 

My breaths came faster, my body arching into Lessi as I felt myself reaching the edge. Alessia seemed to sense it, her hand slipping between our bodies to circle my clit in time with her deep thrusts. 

The combined stimulation and the way she moaned my name overwhelmed me, and I cried out her name as I came around her strap inside of me. 

Lessi held me, her own breath ragged as she rode out your orgasm, pressing soft kisses to my forehead. 

"Was that okay? She asked after a while, her voice soft but filled with concern. 

"It was perfect.". 

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ 𓍢 MOONSTRUCK jang wonyoung x reader

♪ ❝just the two of us 깊어져 가는 moonstruck❞ in which youngji came up with the perfect idea to invite the two most admired girls in the industry to her alcohol

↳ warnings paranoia!yn,, yn from this fic, swearing, alcohol ofc, flirting (?)

yn laughed as she sat down, her carefree, light laughter filling the room. across from her, youngji was completely mesmerized, her gaze fixed on yn.

“what’s wrong?” yn asked, her tone laced with amusement as she tried to catch her breath.

“I just realized this is my first time seeing you up close,” youngji replied, her voice full of wonder. she waved her hands dramatically. “you’re so pretty, oh my.”

yn shook her head with a sly smile. “you’re prettier,” she quipped, a glint of mischief in her eyes that made youngji throw her head back in exaggerated defeat, sending the staff behind the cameras into fits of laughter.

“she’s trying to kill me.” youngji said to the camera before clasping her hands together, “okay! let’s get started.”

“I can’t escape you,” youngji jokes, “everywhere I look it’s paranoia, how does that feel? you guys are so big!”

yn tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips. her relaxed, almost effortless charm filled the room. “it’s so crazy, our kind of concept doesn’t really get far in this industry so it was such a shock to all three of us… I guess people just like our whole vibe and our personalities you know, our little bit of chaos, not mine, the guys chaos I should say.” she says knowing very well she’s also apart of the chaos.

youngji raised her eyebrows knowingly. “sure, sure. like you’re not part of it.”

yn shrugged innocently, earning laughs from the staff.

youngji nods before looking down at her phone and her face lights up “speaking of chaos, now we need to talk about something very interesting. recently, at an award show, you said something that’s been trending everywhere”

yn’s eyebrows rose, her confident facade momentarily replaced with curiosity “oh no, what did I say? it could’ve been anything. I say some crazy stuff.”

youngji pulled out her phone with exaggerated flair. “don’t worry, it’s good. here, let me show you.” she played a clip of ive’s performance from the award show, with the camera cutting to paranoia seated among the idols. the audio picked up yn’s low voice murmuring, “she’s such a princess,” as she watched wonyoung onstage.

yn burst into laughter, leaning back in her chair. “how did I not know this happened? wonbin and jay probably knew this was trending and didn’t tell me because they’re assholes.”

youngji laughs at the disapproving look yn’s staff gives her from behind the camera.

youngji wagged a finger at her. “it’s everywhere. the fans are obsessed. and honestly… isn’t she a princess?”

yn shrugged, “I mean, yeah. she looks like one, she looks like she coughs sparkles.” she jokes even though it’s obvious she’s quite uninterested in this topic.

as if on cue, the studio doors opened, and wonyoung walked in, youngji shot up from her seat, throwing her arms in the air. “ladies and gentlemen, the princess herself!”

wonyoung laughed, taking the seat next to yn. “you didn’t tell me I’d be crashing the show,” she teased, looking at yn.

yn’s expression faltered the moment she saw the girl, her gaze shifting to the side as she scratched the back of her neck. after a pause, she glanced back up at the pretty girl, adjusting her beanie before quickly looking down again.

“come come,” youngji said waving the girl, “sit with yn!”

the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. youngji poured drinks for the pair, as they sipped, the conversation flowed naturally.

"wonyoung, since yn, shockingly had no idea about the viral video of her, how did you find out about it?" youngji asked, her tone teasing. wonyoung stole a quick glance at yn, who still hadn't spared her a proper look since she walked in.

"yujin unnie showed it to me," wonyoung says, recalling the moment with a small smile. "I thought it was hilarious, I even saved it on my phone." she sneaks another glance at yn, noticing how her shoulders stiffen slightly at the last comment.

"ah, yn, you're close with yujin, right?" youngji asks, turning to yn, who nods without hesitation

"that's my best friend," yn replies with a grin. "in fact, I’m gonna give her a call later because I know she probably knew about this little surprise." her words draw small laughs from the group, though her tone is completely serious

"you’re also friends with chaewon, how could I forget? so, are you just friends with all the girls from izone?" youngji teases. "wait, are you secretly friends with wonyoung too?"

"no," yn and wonyoung respond at the exact same time, their firm answer making youngji’s mouth fall open in exaggerated shock before quickly recovering.

youngji clasped her hands together, eyes gleaming with mischief as she looked between yn and wonyoung. “alright, since we’re all here and getting cozy, let’s play a little game. just quick, harmless questions. you know, to get to know each other better.”

yn raised an eyebrow, her fingers lightly tapping the rim of her glass. “this feels like a trap,” she said dryly, though a small smirk tugged at her lips.

“it’s not a trap!” youngji declared, then paused. “okay, maybe a little, but whatever I like gossip.”

the staff chuckled as youngji turned to yn first. “yn, if you had to describe wonyoung in three words, what would they be?”

yn blinked, her gaze flickering to wonyoung for a split second before she focused on her drink. “uh… tall, sparkly… and…” she hesitated, her voice dropping slightly, “graceful.”

wonyoung’s lips twitched into a smile as she took a sip of her drink, the corners of her eyes crinkling slightly. “those are decent answers,” she said lightly.

“decent?” youngji teased, gasping in mock offense. “those are compliments!”

“they’re fine,” wonyoung replied, her tone playful as she glanced at yn, whose face was unreadable.

“okay, wonyoung’s turn,” youngji announced, leaning forward eagerly. “what about yn? three words.”

wonyoung tilted her head, pretending to think deeply. “hmm… quiet, short.” everyone in room let out laughs at yn’s scoff for the second one “…and…” she trailed off, her gaze locking with yn’s for a brief moment before she smirked, “a troublemaker.”

the room erupted in laughter, with youngji who looks at yn “troublemaker… yn what type of trouble are you causing?”

“she knows what I mean,” wonyoung said simply, her voice tinged with amusement.

yn raised her glass in mock acknowledgment, before taking a sip from it and looking off to the side, “I’ll take it, I guess.”

youngji raised a brow, sensing the growing tension between the two. “alright, next question. yn, if you could trade lives with any idol for a day, who would it be?”

yn leaned back, her thumb brushing the side of her glass as she considered. “probably someone who can actually dance,” she joked, earning laughs from the staff.

“oh, come on, that’s a cop out!” youngji protested. “you’re a great dancer, she’s lying to you guys, pick someone specific!”

yn sighed dramatically, her eyes flickering to wonyoung again before quickly looking away. “fine. maybe… jennie sunbaenim. she seems cool.”

youngji pouted. “that’s everyones answer! wonyoung, same question. if you had to trade lives with yn for a day, would you do it?”

wonyoung tilted her head, pretending to consider it. “hmm, maybe. her life seems interesting. chaotic, but interesting.”

“chaotic,” yn repeated, narrowing her eyes slightly, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “nice.”

“you said it first,” wonyoung quipped, earning another round of chuckles.

the questions continued, each one laced with youngji’s teasing charm. with every sip of their drinks and every glance exchanged, the tension between yn and wonyoung became more apparent.

finally, youngji leaned forward, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “alright, yn, let’s get serious for a second. I heard some rumors about you from your trainee days.”

yn immediately tensed, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass. “oh no,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“no, no, it’s nothing bad!” youngji assured her, though the mischievous glint in her eye said otherwise. “apparently, you were pretty popular with the girls back then.”

the entire room gasped, the staff bursting into laughter as yn’s expression turned into a mix of exasperation and amusement. “who told you that?” she demanded, though her tone was light.

“a little birdie,” youngji replied, leaning back with a smug grin. “so, is it true?”

yn sighed, setting her drink down with a dramatic flourish. “no comment.”

youngji clapped her hands together. “that’s basically a yes! oh my gosh, yn, you heartbreaker!”

she turned to wonyoung, her grin widening. “what do you think, wonyoung? was yn out here stringing girls along?”

wonyoung didn’t miss a beat “I think she probably just liked the attention,” she said, her tone light but pointed. “she seems like the type to string them along without even realizing it.”

yn’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at wonyoung for the first time since she’d entered the room, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “wow,” she said, dragging the word out, while everyone in the room was shocked to hear those kind of words to come out of wonyoung’s mouth.

youngji’s eyes darted between them, practically sparkling with excitement. “wait, wait, wait,” she said, holding up a hand. “are you sure you two don’t know each other like that?”

“we don’t,” yn said quickly, her voice steady but her gaze glued to her glass.

“we really don’t,” wonyoung added, nodding her head.

youngji leaned back in her chair, shaking her head with a grin. “alright, if you say so. but I’m telling you now, the fans are gonna love this episode,” she muttered, loud enough for the staff to hear, which sent the room into another round of laughter.

yn let out a low chuckle, shaking her head while wonyoung busied herself adjusting the sleeves of her jacket. the air between them felt thick with something unspoken, but neither said another word on the matter.

as the laughter faded and the cameras continued to roll, youngji carried on with her questions, steering the conversation into safer territory. but the tension between yn and wonyoung lingered, subtle yet impossible to ignore.

and little did youngji know, she was completely right about them possibly knowing each other. because they did, but that’s a story for another time.

[mrsimpurity]

"AND I HIT IT LIKE IT’S ALL MINE" - satoru gojo

pairing: bestfriend!gojo x fem!reader

synopsis: having had enough of your 21 year long friendship with satoru, you come over in hopes of ending everything on somewhat good terms. things take a turn and after you make a heartfelt confession, satoru takes the last chance he might ever be offered

wc: 4.5k

warnings: dub con, manipulation, virginity loss, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, cunnilingus, reader is naive, aftercare, cuddling, (gojo is a warning himself)

“you’re still friends with that guy?” shoko’s accusatory tone makes you sink in your seat in embarrassment. your little coffee date had been going well so far as the two of you had spent no less than two hours discussing absolutely everything that had happened this semester.

university and the stress which it provided, free of charge, was not the only thing that you and shoko shared. after stumbling upon her in one of the hallways on your very first day, the two of you found out that you had been assigned to the same dorm. soon enough, you and your roommate grew close and she became your most trusted friend. 

of course though, she wasn’t your oldest friend. fate had decided you’d be tethered to one of the most (generally acknowledged) annoying men for your whole life. and this particular childhood best friend was your choice for conversation this time.

“we’re childhood friends, i can’t just ditch him.”

“babe, with your wellbeing in mind, you’re being a total idiot. he gives me the creeps.”

“shoko, he’s really not that bad!” telling shoko about him seemed okay to do. you’d even thought that they would get along. but after sharing all the ups and downs, if you could even call them that, which you and satoru had gone through during your 21 years of friendship, everything seemed a little weirder and… intimate? 

sure, he could be a little handsy and familiar, but that was expected of someone who had seen you grow up. as you rambled on about your most recent “date” with him, shoko squinted her eyes in scrutiny, having had enough of listening to you talk about him. to her, he sounded like a complete stalker and obsessed psychopath who couldn’t get over his childhood crush.

the more you try to defend yourself though, the more you start to look back at your relationship with him. and in hindsight… perhaps he really could be a little weird at times?

like slipping a hand under your t-shirt whenever you’d mention you were on your period, for example.

“what? i’ve literally seen you naked when we were kids.” satoru would dismiss you whenever you’d voice your concerns about how 16 years later, your body had changed. but when his warm hands massage your sides and rub at your tummy as the pain fades away, your protests die on your tongue as you sink into his touch.

or kissing you on the mouth whenever the two of you would say farewell.

“hey, don’t leave me hanging.” satoru would pout, signaling he wanted a hug. but the second you’d reach to wrap your hands around him, he’d grab the back of your head and place a wet kiss on your cheek.

“ewww, satoru. we’re not kids anymore.” you’d whine, batting your eyelashes up at him in annoyance.

so he’d reach behind and pull you in by the neck, more carefully this time, as his lips land on yours. you freeze the first time he does it and satoru almost curses himself for being so fucking stupid and pushing himself onto you.

but the second time he tries his luck, you involuntarily moan into the kiss. he’s quick to slip his tongue inside your mouth for a moment before you suddenly push him away, surprised at yourself for even letting him do this. 

and even as he sees you stare at the floor in embarrassment, stomping away from him, hands clutching your handbag for dear life, he can’t forget the sweet moan you’d just let out. and he swears his dick has never been harder.

“yeah, he’s totally alright. definitely not fucked in the head. remind me of that one time he fondled your tits.” shoko lands a blow that has your cheeks growing red as you scan the café, hoping nobody heard that.

“i told you we were just cuddling! he wanted to help me relax.” you desperately try to defend yourself.

“were you on your period again? wait, that was a different situation. sore from the gym? shit, wait, that’s not it.”

shoko’s ironic little comments were definitely not helping you decide whether or not to continue this strange dynamic between you and the white-haired man.

“enlighten me, please. what excuse did he have this time? he just had to feel you up?” shoko ends her argument that serves as a punch to your gut. you feel like you’ve been slapped across the face and frankly speaking, you’d much prefer that than to have shoko snatch your rose-colored glasses off your face and bring everything out in the open. 

and even as your coffee date comes to an end and you completely change the topic, you’re left wondering if maybe shoko is right.

three days later, despite everything, you find yourself in satoru’s apartment. he had invited you over to play monopoly - something you did every week - but what he didn’t know was that he was about to be in for a surprise.

this was the night. you’d finally break ties and go your own ways. his confusing behavior didn’t necessarily make you feel uncomfortable. it was merely odd at times and as much as you’d appreciate an ounce of clarity, your friendship just had to end for good. and today was the perfect day to do this - the sooner, the better. maybe you’d break his heart but at least you’d leave with a little dignity. 

“satoru, don’t bother getting the board games out. or the snacks.” you say as you take off your shoes, stopping a surprised satoru in his tracks. he retreats from the dinner table and turns to face you. he places both of his hands on your shoulders and tilts his head with a pout.

“what’s wrong? you don’t wanna play anymore?” satoru asks sadly.

his attempts at making you fold don’t work this time and you grab his wrists, bringing his arms back to his side.

“satoru, i’ve been thinking, y’know…” you’re nervous as you begin what’s forming out to be a long speech.

“i’m not really sure we should be friends anymore. i’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me and the fact that you stood alongside me all this time, but i don’t find meaning in this friendship anymore.” you’re pretty proud of yourself for standing up to satoru, who still can’t quite decipher what it is you want to say.

“i’ve had the chance to look at our situation from a different perspective and i don’t think it’s normal.” you finish, taking a deep breath. you can pretty much see the gears shifting in satoru’s mind as he lets out a disbelieving scoff.

“it’s shoko, isn’t it? i knew she’d put ideas in your head and try to convince you i’m the bad one.” he speaks, his demeanor different from any other time.

“i’m sorry, toru. it’s not like that, i promise. you know she’s my closest friend though. she’s bound to give me advice.”

“what about me? i thought i was your closest friend. are you really going to listen to a girl you barely know and fuck up everything we’ve built the past years?” satoru accusing you of leaving him behind absolutely infuriates you because you’ve been doing quite the opposite.

something snaps inside of you and you raise your tone, begging to scare him away.

“shut it, satoru! i’ve had enough of it being all about you. you’re so overprotective at times. all you do is walk behind me like a dog all the time. i’ve given dozens of guys the wrong impression-“

“i’m really sorry, i had no idea-“ your best friend attempts to speak over you, surprised at your outburst, but you cut him off.

“no, satoru, you’ll let me fucking finish. haven’t you sat down and ever wondered what the fuck you were doing, chasing me all these years? i’ve been so busy explaining to guys that there’s nothing going on between us.”

you’re running out of breath with the way you’re rambling about everything you’ve kept hidden inside of you. your chest feels like it’s going to explode, but your heart also feels lighter. you feel yourself tear up as you face your best friend like you used to do in the good old times, and share whatever’s on your mind.

“god damn it, i’m a virgin at 21 because i haven’t had a single chance to talk to a guy without you coming up to us and acting like you own me. touching me like i’m yours and acting like a psycho. what the fuck is wrong with you?”

tears spill down your cheeks and you absentmindedly wipe them, not letting your emotions get in the way. you have to get everything off your chest and it has to happen right now.

“we’re done. i don’t wanna hear from you anymore. whatever weird thing we had going on-“ you say as you signal, waving your hand between the two of you, the distance between your figures more evident than ever “-is over.”

satoru stands, baffled. you observe his reaction, watching his expression suddenly soften. you don’t realise you’re shaking, tears still streaming down your face at your stupid, but heartfelt confession. as you take a deep breath, satoru speaks.

“please, don’t leave like this. i had no idea you felt this way, baby.”

“don’t fucking call me that.” a shudder runs through your body at the pet name as your mind tries its best to fight against his honeyed words and handsome face which want to lure you in, ensnare you once again.

“all you had to do was tell me. we can fix this. we’ve known each other our whole lives. you could’ve told me sooner.” satoru speaks after a moment. he tries to be as careful as he can, praying he doesn’t upset you again.

he steps forward and waits for you to retreat, but as you stare at his face, your knees lock and you freeze in place - something that’s happened many times before.

he doesn’t waste a second as he reaches for your face.

“i’m so, so sorry. it was stupid of me to act this way.” and as his thumb rubs your cheek in a soothing manner, you just can’t find it in yourself to say another word against him. he runs his thumb over your trembling lip. 

“we’ll fix this. okay, baby?” you don’t even register the pet name, staring as satoru’s towering frame makes you feel like a little girl once again.

his lips lift up in a very small smirk which you’re almost sure resembles pity.

“you’re a virgin?” his words don’t mean to be insulting but he realises he’s hit a nerve when tears start streaming down your face once again. his eyes widen and he cradles your face with both of his hands.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i don’t know what’s wrong with me. i was just curious, doll, i promise i wasn’t making fun of you” satoru whispers, holding your face like you’re a porcelain doll.

you don’t realise you’re in his territory once again as your feet walk you over to his bed. you take a seat, ass barely hanging on the edge of his freshly washed seats, your body prodding at your mind in its last attempts to get you the fuck out of here. but as satoru crouches down and you catch a whiff of his comforting scent, you know you’re a goner.

“i’ve been scared. i’ve grown accustomed to having you everywhere with me. i feel like it’d be weird. not that i’d be betraying you, it’s not like we’re together. just been scared, toru.” you mumble as your eyes fill up with tears at the thought of your pathetic love life. you feel as if you’re clawing at the walls, begging to regain a sense of dignity with your words, but your heart feels like it’s coming apart and has laid itself bare for satoru to pick at.

“you want me to help you, doll?” satoru’s suggestion fills the quiet room.

you’re convinced you’ve never cried harder in your life before as tears fill your eyes again. satoru seems like some kind of monster right now and your watery eyes further distort his image. 

“i don’t know. ‘m scared it’s gonna hurt” your pitiful expression stares into satoru’s eyes. you’d come here to break things off with him and now, your body had surrendered. you were minutes away from taking your clothes off and getting under the sheets with this man.

“shhh.. hey, look at me, doll. don’t stain this pretty face with your tears. you’re scared, hm?” satoru was by no means a saint, but with the way his cock was straining against his pants as he watched you cry over the thought of his cock entering you - he could swear he was able to feel the heat of eternal hell creeping up on him. 

“‘m sorry, i know it’s really stupid.” you couldn’t stop sniffling, elbows propped on your knees as you covered your face, begging for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth right now.

satoru gently pulls at your hands, forcing you to reveal your face. cupping your red cheeks, he carefully wipes at your tears with his thumbs as you sit in front of him on the edge of the bed.

“it’s not stupid, i promise. is that why you’ve been so frustrated? you could’ve just asked me.” he speaks to you condescendingly, but your mind can’t seem to notice.

“that’s embarrassing, why would i ever ask that of you?” is what you answer as you turn your head, avoiding his eyes out of sheer shame. satoru is quick to grab your chin and turn your head to face him.

“there’s nothing in the world i wouldn’t give you, baby. you just have to ask.” satoru speaks, so closely to your face, you can feel his breath on your lips. his words have a deeper meaning than you can currently register, but you take them in on a surface level as you lose all scruples you’ve seemed to have all this time.

satoru’s surprised when you’re the one who reaches for him. your lips crash on his and you stop thinking. your best friend pushes you further onto the bed and lays you on your back, his tongue still inside your mouth. 

a whine creeps up your throat as his kisses now move alongside your jaw and carefully travel down your neck. satoru is quick to find the sweet spot near your ear and you let out a moan as he lets his tongue run over the mark he just left.

his kisses and touches never stop, even when his face hovers over yours to ask for consent.

“are you sure, doll? we can stop at any time. just wanna know you’re doing this because you want to.“ his words are muffled as he smothers you in kisses - on the edge of your lips, on your nose bridge, on the forehead. 

“toru, i’m sure. please.” he places a final kiss on your lips, hearing the pure need in your voice.

his hands find purchase on the waistband of your sweatpants as he slides them down, peppering kisses down your legs in the process. you’re quick to get rid of your shirt and bra, throwing them wherever you can find.

your panties find themselves on the floor next before satoru kneels between your legs, spreading your thighs as far as he can. you don’t even realise what he’s doing before you feel his warm tongue lick a stripe between your folds and you can’t suppress the pornographicly loud moan the action elicits from you. 

satoru’s fingers are squeezing your thighs as they threaten to close in on him. his mouth latches onto your clit and he alternates between sucking and placing kitten licks on the swollen nub.

“t-toru. more.” your pleas reach his ears and one hand moves between your legs. 

“i know you want more, baby. just taking my time with you. i need you nice and wet for me so you can take me. think you can do that?”

you nod your head frantically as you feel his finger tease at your hole, gathering the arousal that’s practically dripping out of you and smearing your juices all over. 

“sooo sticky and sweet.” satoru murmurs in fascination as his head falls down between your legs again, this time as he eases a finger inside your hole. you whine at the sudden intrusion but your pussy welcomes him in. he starts off slow, thrusting one finger inside you. your best friend picks up the pace as his tongue moves, your pussy a drenched mess. the tip of his tongue swirls on your clit and you’re convinced he’s spelling out something, but you’re teetering too close to the edge to even bother thinking about it.

a second finger enters you and satoru’s thrusts become more hurried when he sees you panting and shutting your eyes in hopes of prolonging your pleasure. he dives between your folds, tongue frantically licking and slurping.

“come on, baby. cum on my tongue. wanna taste more of you.”

satoru’s words and nose bumping against your clit send you over the edge as you lose control, hips jumping and legs twitching as pleasure overtakes your mind.

his fingers slow down and his licks turn into slow kisses. you shiver as satoru places one last smooch on your clit and takes his fingers out of your clenching hole.

he’s quick to bring those same fingers up to his mouth and run his tongue slowly up his digits. then he takes both of his fingers inside his mouth, sucking like he’s tasting nectar, and proves a point as he takes them out with a loud squelching sound.

the sight is so erotic, you don’t even register the fact that you’ve squeezed your thighs together, grinding against the sheets desperately, half-lidded and incredibly horny.

“baby, you have no idea how long i’ve been waiting for this.” satoru speaks, moving his lips across your body, down your navel, on your chest, between your thighs - anywhere he can find. he was taking his time with you, cherishing every second in which your spectacular body was finally splayed out on display - all for him to enjoy.

he grabs your wrists and places a kiss on both of your palms before leaning down and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss once again. his tongue moves across yours as you become an open-mouthed slobbering mess, saliva spilling out from the corners of your mouth, running down your tongues and falling on your chest. 

you moan inside his mouth, nails sinking in his back. satoru hisses at the pain and shuts his eyes and you take advantage of the moment, placing one last sweet kiss near the corner of his mouth before whispering.

“wan’ your cock inside, toru.” you’re long gone, completely having forgone the one and only goal you had for tonight - leave this friendship in the past.

satoru was living for this. finally hearing you speak up, whisper absolute filth in the tiny space between your mouths - god had finally smiled down on him. perhaps hell was not close. 

“think you’re ready, hm?” he asks, moving your hair out of your face as he places a strand behind your ear. you nod, staring into his eyes full of love.

“anything for my baby. i’ll go slow, yeah?”

satoru discards his pants and you just now notice he had been completely clothed the whole time. the thought of you naked and writhing in his arms as he pleasures you, clothes on and all, makes your arousal practically gush out of you.

he finally takes his boxers off and all that can be heard is the loud gulp which comes from your throat.

he’s huge. sure, he’s always been a fit guy but you had never really paid attention to that or thought about the fact that he might be… well, to put it this way, gifted.

you stare up at the man as he hovers over you, watching the flame in your eyes suddenly die out. how were you supposed to fit all of him inside you?

satoru’s hands run down your thighs in attempts to soothe you.

“baby, with the way you’re staring at me, i’m the one starting to get scared.” he speaks.

“satoru, you’re huge.”

he’s baffled by your confession. of course, he was aware of the fact. many women had told him so, but they were ones who were chasing a certain porn fantasy. it enticed them and he didn’t mind their compliments. but as he stares down at his cock, the action almost humorous, he realises that there’s a chance you’ll decide he’s just too big and back out.

that thought doesn’t bother him as much as his next one does - what if he hurts you?

he shuts his mind off and is brought back to earth by the sight of your naked body below him.

he’ll fit just fine. he’ll make sure of that.

“nothing to worry about. i’ll make you feel really good, yeah?”

and without you having to ask him, he grabs your hand and intertwines his fingers with yours, hoping to bring you a sense of comfort.

he slaps his tip against your clit to tease you and you squirm, pussy clenching around nothing.  

satoru lets out a small chuckle and begins pushing his tip inside, carefully moving through the first ring of resistance as your pussy clenches down on him. he has to bite down on his tongue. you were so goddamn tight, it was borderline painful. all he wanted was to break you in, spread you and mold your walls into the shape of his cock. but he couldn’t break his promise, not when his sweet girl was whining below him, writhing and whimpering at every prod and poke. 

“fuck, you’ve gotta relax, baby. you’re squeezing me so tight.” satoru says with a breathless chuckle as he tries his best to sink another inch inside you. 

“just a little more… biiig stretch. there we go.” your best friend mumbles softly as he bottoms out.

your pitiful moans fill his ears and he feels his heart sink. it takes all of his self-restraint not to pull out of you and just gather you in his arms so the pain could go away. but he knew that the best was yet to come. and the only better way to express his love for you was right here - you just had to push through the pain so he could show you heaven.

“i know, sweetheart, i know.” satoru shushes as his fingers move in gentle strokes all across your body in attempts to calm you down. your moans and aches slowly turn into whines for more as you get accustomed to his size.

“want me to move now, baby?” he asks as gently as he can, his voice barely a whisper. his fingers reach down between the two of you to rub your clit and you squeeze down on his cock at the feeling of his thumb rolling circles on your nub. 

satoru lets out a quiet laugh as you nod at him again.

he begins by slowly pulling out and sliding his cock inside you. you’re wet, dripping down the sheets as you try your best to get accustomed to satoru’s size. 

his moves turn into slow thrusts, controlled and not too harsh. satoru’s fingers reach down again and he helps you relax with a tease to your clit, distracting you from the fact that he’s picking up the pace, too lost in you.

your hand squeezes his as you look down and notice your tummy bulge whenever satoru thrusts deeper.

your moans get louder and your pussy clenches down on him at the sight. you’re whining incoherently, begging for more as your head falls back on the pillow.

“theeere we go, there’s my girl. feels good, yeah?”

“mmph” was all you could mumble out as satoru’s cock thrusted inside your hole, pleasure overtaking you for the first time in your life. his arms cage you in as he pants above your body. suddenly, he grabs a hold of your legs and props them up around his waist. you let out a loud moan at the change of positions, this new angle allowing him to reach even deeper inside you. 

“‘m close, toru. so close.” you whine out.

“let go for me, doll. i’m right here. toru’s right here.”

your release crashes over you in waves as you convulse, writhing and squeezing satoru’s cock.

“fuck. i’m coming.”

“inside. please.” is all you manage to say. and satoru doesn’t wait for you to tell him twice. his own release comes soon after and you bask in the feeling of his cum filling your warm hole. 

your pussy is still fluttering around his cock as satoru leans down to place a few kisses on your chest and finally meet your lips. 

the kiss isn’t hurried, it’s sweeter than ever and makes your pussy clench down on his cock again.

“greedy,” satoru chuckles and slowly pulls out of you as your cum mixes with his and drips down your fluttering hole. you whine at the feeling of emptiness. “but i think that’s enough for tonight, baby.”

satoru kneels down between your legs and spreads them again to watch your juices drip out of your pussy. 

before you can protest, his tongue laps up the remnants of your shared orgasm and you’re quick to shut your legs.

“you’re a pervert. and a tease.” you scoff at him in disbelief.

satoru envelops you in his arms and places a kiss on your head. 

“let’s clean you up, baby.” his words are the last ones you register before you doze off soon after.

satoru takes care of you, bathing you and dressing you in one of his sweatshirts, opting to also give you his boxers rather than having you sleep bare (he wouldn’t be able to resist you.).

it’s pretty late now and you’re sleeping soundly in satoru’s arms who's enjoying your mere presence, when you suddenly get a notification. he takes a quick look at your screen that has lit up.

shoko: why aren’t you answering?                     1:17 AM

don’t tell me that asshole came over again        1:17 AM

giving me the creeps again from miles away      1:18 AM

with you still in his arms, gojo grabs your phone from the nightstand as carefully as he can without disturbing your peacefully sleeping figure. his fingers move across the screen rapidly as he scoffs at the texts.

you: no                                                               1:21 AM

i’m in his bed this time                                        1:22 AM

*photo attachment*                                             1:22 AM

and with a final photo of your head laying on his bare chest sent to your friend, gojo shuts your phone off and also dozes off, holding you as tight as ever, convinced that this way, you won’t try to run away from him again.

[beefcake-penguin]

Okay, the "Supercorp AU"-brainrot has me in a death-grip on this one, because now I'm imagining a post-reveal rift, angsty au where Lena just ends the friendship with Kara (without any of the "Project Non Nocere"-nonsense) and decides to just throw herself into her work at L-Corp. And sometime later L-Corp releases a "Siri" or "Alexa"-like virtual assistant app.

With Lena's voice.

And Kara knows it's stupid. She knows it's not really Lena who's greeting her with a cheerful "Good morning, Kara!" when she wakes up and a happy "How was work today, darling?" when she gets home. Kara knows the conversations she's having, the tearful apologies she keeps repeating, the angry venting she gets lost in sometimes, and the sad reminiscing she does (when she has a bit too much alien rum) isn't really being done with Lena. Her Lena.

But this is as close as she can get! And sometimes, when she closes her eyes, Kara can pretend that she's talking to her (former?) best friend again.

But Kara Zor-El Danvers is a genius. And, as she bonds more and more with the virtual assistant speaking in her (ex?) best friend's voice, she starts to hit road blocks here and there that remind her of the limits of this technology. Limits her beloved, genius of a (former?) best friend wouldn't have, if they were really interacting, the way Kara is pretending they are.

The way Kara wishes they were.

And maybe... one night, when her inhibitions are significantly lowered (she's been hitting the alien alcohol a bit to hard lately, she'll admit) and Kara once again hears an uncharacteristic "I'm sorry, Kara. I don't know enough about this topic to contribute to this conversation..." in the voice of the woman she KNOWS has all this knowledge and more...

Maybe...

Kara gets a little grumpy.

And Kara huffs out a breath through her nose.

And another.

"Yes you do, Lena! You know more about this crap than I do!"

"I'm sorry, Kara, but I'm afraid this goes beyond the information stored in my databanks."

And maybe a little lightbulb goes off in Kara's (mildly inebriated) mind: If the databanks are the problem... then maybe...

And, before she can really take a step back and reconsider if this is even a good idea, Kara finds herself in the Fortress of Solitude, plugging "Lena" into the Central Computer Nexus so "she" can interface with it.

And maybe Kara sobers up a little, as she watches the unfathomable amounts of information light up in her little virtual assistant's software. Maybe Kara has a bit of an "Oh... shit"-moment when she hears "Lena"s voice again... and it sounds so much more calm and confident, now. All trace of any "artificiality" in the device's intelligence suddenly gone. The tone of the "Thank you, Kara" that "Lena" greets her with now has suddenly become indistinguishable from the voice of her (ex?) best friend.

Cue the "Lena"-bot going rogue for plot reasons and Kara and the superfriends having to team up to stop it before it accomplishes its new, self-imposed mission...

Because there can be only one "Lena" in Kara's life, after all...

the women in my bluetooth headphones sounds mad at me :(

[reidmarieprentiss]

UnLucky

Summary: Based on this request! Reader encourages Penelope to go on a date, which ends in tragedy. This event shakes the team, leading to conflict, particularly between reader and Spencer, who blames her for what happened. Alternate ending to Lucky …

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst

Warnings/Includes:

Word count: 15.4k

a/n: i do agree with the comments saying they wouldn't forgive him... so here ya go!

main masterlist

“So,” Derek says with that familiar smirk, “who’s the lucky guy?”

Penelope's eyes sparkle as she smiles, her fingers toying with a brightly colored pen on her desk. “His name is James. Just this sweet guy I met at the coffee shop. You know... normal, stable. No dark criminal past.” She tries to sound casual, but the happiness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Uh-huh...” Morgan leans in, tilting his head as if scrutinizing her every word. “And you’re sure you want to go out with him?”

A slight defensiveness takes over as Penelope puts her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Yes! Why not? Am I not allowed to date now, Derek Morgan?”

Morgan's grin widens, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say that. Just... be careful, alright?”

Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, Penelope can’t help but huff. “Yes, Dad,” she quips, wondering why Derek is being so weird about this.

But then Morgan’s expression shifts, softening into something deeper, more earnest. “No, seriously.” His voice drops, gentle but firm. “Just... be careful, Baby Girl. Don’t give away your heart to some guy who hasn’t earned it.”

Penelope hardens slightly, feeling slightly hurt that Derek feels the need to lecture her. “I know, Derek. But... he seems nice. Really.”

Morgan nods slowly and walks away, still caught in the cloud of his concern and overprotectiveness. She lets out a soft sigh, looking down at the pile of case files on her desk, feeling a little bit deflated despite her earlier excitement. She loves that Derek cares, but sometimes he can be a bit... much. She starts to drum her fingers nervously against her desk, mulling over their conversation.

That's when you come in. You'd been passing by and couldn't help but notice the tense exchange. Taking a quick survey of Penelope's expression—anxiousness and longing—you decide to step in, offering a soft but encouraging smile.

"Hey, Pen," you say gently, leaning against the edge of her desk, careful not to crowd her. "You doing okay? I saw the little showdown with Morgan. He can be a bit... intense sometimes, huh?"

Penelope chuckles softly, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You could say that. I mean, I know he means well, but... I just want to do normal things, like go out with a guy. And James... he seems so sweet, you know?”

“James?” you say, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you lean a bit closer. “Who is this James?”

Penelope's eyes dart to yours, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her surprise quickly melting into a flustered smile. “Oh, he’s... just this guy,” she says, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to sound nonchalant. “Met him at the coffee shop. He's sweet, you know... normal.”

Your grin widens, clearly unconvinced by her attempt to play it cool. “Normal, huh? And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this ‘normal’ guy?”

Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a playful huff. “Oh, come on. It’s just a date... no big deal.” But the glint in her eyes says otherwise, and you know it’s a big deal to her. And that’s exactly why you’re going to keep teasing.

“Well, it’s still a deal!” you exclaim, leaning forward in your seat, eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me all about it!”

Penelope laughs, the warmth of your enthusiasm easing away the hesitation she’s been holding onto. She fidgets with the edge of her sweater, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she starts to talk. “So... I was at my usual coffee shop, you know, the one with the really good chai lattes,” she begins, her voice picking up speed as she gets lost in the memory. “And then, out of nowhere, this ridiculously attractive man just... walks up to me, like he’s in some kind of rom-com or something. And he... he asked me out.”

You lean back, eyes wide, soaking in every detail of her story. “No way,” you whisper, your excitement infectious. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“Well, I said yes, obviously!” she chuckles, though there's an underlying nervousness. “But... I felt so... I don't know. Conflicted. This just doesn’t happen to girls like me.”

“Girls like you?” Your expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, brow furrowing as you try to make sense of her words. “Penelope Garcia, you are one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted, brilliant people I have ever met in my life.” You lean in, your voice gentle but insistent, making sure she understands every word. “ ‘Girls like you’ deserve the world and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, your words hitting her like a warm, unexpected wave. Her smile softens, and she blinks a few times, trying to brush off the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispers, her voice almost breaking with vulnerability.

“Are you kidding?” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you reach out to squeeze her hand. “James is the lucky one here, Penelope. Trust me on that.” 

She squeezes your hand back, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she ducks her head a little. “So, you’re saying I should go on this date?” she asks, the nervousness wavering just slightly in her voice. “Because... Derek didn’t seem so sure.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “Derek is a man, and men are weird,” you say with a knowing smirk. “I bet he’s got some strange alpha-male possessive thing going on. It’s like, in his DNA or something, to protect his pack. Don’t listen to him. You should absolutely go on this date.”

Penelope’s smile widens, and she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Well, when you put it like that... maybe you’re right. I mean, he is just one guy. And he did buy me a coffee...” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim, nodding fervently. “You’ve got a very attractive guy who bought you coffee and wants to spend time with you. And, Penelope, you deserve to have fun. So don’t overthink it, okay? Go on the date, be your amazing self, and if Derek has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

She chuckles at that, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and the smile that spreads across her face is brighter than ever. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.” 

“Good!” you say, beaming. “And when he inevitably falls head over heels for you, I expect a full play-by-play report.”

“Deal,” Penelope says, grinning, the confidence returning to her eyes as she envisions a night filled with possibilities.

When you walked out of Penelope’s office, a spring in your step from the lighthearted conversation, you made your way back to your desk in the bullpen. As you approached your workspace, something immediately caught your eye — a fresh mug of hot coffee sitting on your desk, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. A secret smile spread across your face as you set your things down and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, the scent of your favorite brew filling the air.

You didn’t need to guess who’d placed it there. Glancing up, your eyes found Spencer across the bullpen, and sure enough, he was looking at you with that sweet, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. The quiet gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes about the thoughtful, caring man he was.

You mouthed a silent “thank you,” lifting the mug slightly as a toast of gratitude, and playfully blew him a kiss. Spencer’s cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink that always surfaced whenever you flirted with him, and he shyly ducked his head for a moment before glancing back up to meet your eyes. With a wink and a barely contained grin, he turned back to his work, trying — and failing — to hide just how pleased he was to have made your morning a little brighter. 

The sweetness of the morning, with its light teasing and the comfort of Spencer’s coffee, was short-lived. The moment Hotch called everyone into the conference room, a palpable shift in energy settled over the team. You quickly gathered your things and followed the others into the room, the coffee that had moments ago been a small joy now forgotten as you braced yourself for the case that awaited.

On the screen in the conference room was the face of a young woman — a bright, smiling 19-year-old with curly brown hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks. The smile in her photo seemed hauntingly out of place for what followed. Abby Connors, the name beneath the picture read. Hotch stepped forward, his face grave, and began the briefing.

“Abby Connors was a 19-year-old freshman at the University of Florida,” he explained. “She left home a little over a week ago to move into her dorm, but she never made it back. Her parents reported her missing, and after three days of searching, joggers found her body near a park in the Everglades, near an area the locals refer to as 'Alligator Alley.'”

A murmur rippled through the room as the next image appeared — a crime scene photo, one that showed just half of Abby’s body. You instinctively held your breath as you took in the gruesome details: everything beneath her waist was missing, consumed by the predators that roamed the swampy area. But it was the condition of the remaining part of her body that made the room go eerily silent.

“She was found with an inverted pentagram carved into her chest,” Hotch continued grimly, pointing to the markings on her torso. “Her fingers were all cut off at the second knuckle, and her throat was slit cleanly.”

You exchanged uneasy glances with your teammates, the horrifying nature of the crime setting in as you processed each detail. “So what are we dealing with?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some kind of satanic cult?”

Rossi, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shook his head. “It's not as simple as that. The idea of satanic cults operating as organized serial killer groups has been widely debunked.” He sat up, his expression thoughtful but firm. “The satanic panic of the ‘80s and ‘90s sensationalized a lot of things, but ritualistic killings like this? They don’t happen often in the way people think.”

“So, not a cult,” JJ mused aloud. “But this is still a ritualistic killing, right? The pentagram, the mutilation... it’s not random.”

“Absolutely ritualistic,” Spencer added, nodding in agreement. “The precision of the throat slitting, the removal of the fingers, the inverted pentagram... they all suggest that this was premeditated, and that the unsub wanted to send a specific message with Abby’s murder.”

“This type of ritualistic behavior can escalate,” Derek said, leaning over the table, a serious look in his eyes. “It’s got all the hallmarks of a kill that’s part of a larger motive. If we don’t catch this guy, he’s likely to do it again.”

“Which means we’re looking at a potential serial killer in the making,” Emily concluded, her voice grim. “Someone with a specific set of rituals and a willingness to mutilate and kill.”

Rossi cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him as he spoke with an almost reverent gravity. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” he quoted in a low voice, his Italian rolling off his tongue smoothly. Seeing the questioning looks on some of your faces, he translated: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

A silence fell over the room as the weight of those words hung in the air. You knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this case was going to be dark, disturbing, and an all-consuming race to catch a killer who seemed to find something meaningful — perhaps even sacred — in the brutality of his crimes.

And with that, the team set into motion, knowing that every second mattered if they were going to save another girl from meeting the same fate as Abby Connors.

—

After the team closes the case, the team sits in relative silence on the jet, each member deep in thought, processing the horrors. The soft hum of the plane’s engine provides a strange comfort, and the tension of the day slowly begins to ease. Morgan sits across from Rossi, resting his elbows on his knees, staring off into the distance. Rossi watches him for a moment before speaking up.

“You did good work out there,” Rossi says, his voice steady and calm, the kind of voice that always has a way of grounding everyone. 

Morgan looks up, giving a half-smile, but there’s a heaviness behind his eyes. “Yeah... but you know how it is, man. No matter how many of these cases we close, it never feels like it’s enough.” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as if to brush away the exhaustion. “I just keep thinking about Abby’s family. They’ll never be the same.”

Rossi leans back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, it’s tough. But we gave them answers. And sometimes, that’s all we can do. You know as well as I do, it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about making sure we fight it.”

Morgan nods, his jaw tightening as he absorbs Rossi’s words. “I know,” he says, voice a little softer now. “It’s just... there’s so much darkness out there. And some days, it feels like it’s winning.”

Rossi’s expression shifts into something more reflective, a small, wise smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it feels like that,” he admits, “but the fact that it bothers you — the fact that it bothers all of us — that’s what makes the difference, Morgan. It means we’re still out there, shining a light in the darkness.”

Morgan's shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep fighting, right?”

Rossi raises a glass of bourbon from his side table, offering a silent toast. “To fighting the good fight.”

Morgan grins, and they clink glasses in a quiet, shared moment of understanding. The jet continues its journey through the night, a small point of light against the vast expanse of sky.

—

Meanwhile, Penelope walks arm-in-arm with James, her laughter bright and infectious as it echoes down the sidewalk. They reach the front steps of her apartment building, and she turns to face him. “Well, this was... really nice,” she says, giving him a genuine smile. 

James grins back at her, and for a second, he leans in as if he’s about to kiss her. But at the last second, he pulls back, laughing playfully. “Sorry,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”

Garcia giggles, shaking her head at his little fake-out. “You almost had me there,” she teases, turning to fish for her keys in her bag. “Well, goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says, stepping back and starting to walk away, giving her one last wave. 

As she turns to unlock her door, James suddenly stops, a strange stillness in the way he holds himself. He calls out to her over his shoulder, voice casual but loud enough to make her pause. “Hey, Garcia?”

Penelope looks up, smiling as she begins to open her door. “Yeah?”

James turns fully toward her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with an unsettling calm. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Before Garcia can even process what’s happening, James pulls out a gun, his movements quick and fluid. The world seems to slow down around her — her eyes widen, her mouth opens to scream, but the sound never comes. 

And then, in an instant, the gun fires. The crack of the shot echoes through the empty street, and Penelope’s body jerks back, eyes wide with shock and pain as she collapses to the ground, her keys scattering across the pavement. 

James stands there for a moment, the smoke from the barrel of his gun curling into the night air. He watches as she gasps for breath, a cruel smile curling on his lips before he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Penelope lying there, her life slipping away on the cold, unforgiving ground.

—

Back on the jet, you lean back in your seat, facing Spencer with a thoughtful look. “You know, I keep wondering what Penelope’s date is like,” you muse aloud, spinning your half-empty cup of coffee between your hands. “I hope she’s having fun. She deserves it.”

Spencer’s brows knit in mild surprise, his mouth opening to respond, but before he can even utter a word, Derek’s voice cuts across the cabin. “Wait — hold up.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Garcia actually went on that date?”

“Yeah, she did.” You nod, meeting his incredulous stare with a small smile. “I told her to go for it. She’s gotta put herself out there, right? No reason for her to hold back just because you’re all... alpha about it.”

“Alpha?” Derek echoes, looking around at the others as if searching for an ally. “I’m not... okay, look, I just want to make sure she’s safe. And how do you even know if this guy’s legit? Did you see him? Talk to him?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “No, but she deserves to have fun, Derek. She seemed excited, and it’s not like she doesn’t have a good head on her shoulders. I think it’s great that she’s taking a chance on something new.”

Emily nods along in agreement, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “I think it’s sweet. And Penelope isn’t some naïve kid — she’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

JJ chimes in with a bright smile, “Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she’s going to let someone walk all over her. She’ll know if something’s up. And if he treats her right, then it’s all the better for her. Maybe it’ll turn into something special.”

Rossi, watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, adds, “Sometimes people surprise you. And sometimes that surprise is exactly what someone needs to get out of their comfort zone. Our girl deserves someone to treat her well.”

Derek’s shoulders stay tense, and he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I get that, but... I just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s all. You know Garcia — she’s got a big heart, and I don’t want some guy messing with it.”

You reach over and pat Derek on the shoulder, a soft smile on your lips. “I get it, really. But maybe you should trust her on this. Penelope’s stronger than you think, and she’s allowed to take some risks. It’s not always about protecting her, Derek — sometimes it’s about letting her live.”

Spencer, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up. “She’ll be fine, Derek. And she’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do. But I think what she really needs right now is support... and maybe for us to just be happy for her.”

Derek looks around at everyone, the tension in his expression easing as he sees the genuine support in the eyes of his teammates. He lets out a reluctant chuckle, running a hand over his shaved head. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m just overprotective.”

“Just a bit,” you tease with a playful nudge.

“Fine,” Derek relents, lifting his hands in surrender. “But if this guy hurts her...”

“Then we’ll all be there to kick his ass,” Emily assures with a wink, and the team laughs, the conversation flowing into lighter banter, the tension dissipating as they talk about how much they hope Penelope enjoys her date — all of them unknowingly letting go of their worry while the truth of the night's events remains just out of reach.

You leaned into Spencer, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer until your head rested comfortably against him. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support and affection.

The chatter of your teammates surrounded you, playful jokes about first-date jitters and guesses about how Penelope’s night might be going. It was one of those rare lighthearted moments that made the job feel less heavy. And as you closed your eyes for just a moment, feeling the calm of Spencer’s presence, everything felt okay.

The jet touched down smoothly, and you straightened up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Spencer’s side as everyone prepared to disembark. But as soon as the wheels hit the ground, Hotch’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. He picked it up immediately, his expression going from relaxed to steely in an instant as he answered.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice flat and professional.

The team began to gather their things, their attention still mostly on wrapping up the casual conversation, until Hotch’s face went stark white, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw the shock in his eyes before he steeled himself again.

“What happened?” he demanded, his tone shifting from its usual calm to something far more urgent. He stood up abruptly, stepping away from the team, but you could all still hear him as the rest of the plane went silent, each of you glancing at one another with rising concern. Spencer’s hand instinctively found yours, and you squeezed it, anxiety blooming in your chest.

“Where was she?” Hotch’s voice was clipped, a mixture of alarm and anger. “When?”

You exchanged quick glances with your teammates. It wasn’t normal to see Hotch like this, and that fear in his voice made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Is she...?” Hotch stopped, and there was a pause, a terrible pause that seemed to stretch on forever. You held your breath, waiting, every second feeling like a lifetime.

“Understood. We’re on our way.” Hotch’s voice was low, tight with a struggle to maintain control. He hung up without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his muscles.

He turned back to the team, his expression grim, and you knew, you just knew, that whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s voice was like ice, cutting through the stunned silence of the jet as he delivered the news that seemed impossible to process: “Garcia’s been shot. She’s in the hospital, in surgery.”

The world seemed to tilt, a rush of chaos and confusion drowning out everything else. In an instant, you and the rest of the team scrambled to grab your bags, shock and fear flashing in everyone’s eyes. It was like all at once, the air was sucked out of the room, and before anyone could fully understand what was happening, you were rushing down the steps of the jet. The roar of the engines and the slap of your feet against the tarmac seemed distant, muffled, as adrenaline took over. 

Within seconds, you piled into the SUVs, slamming the doors shut as the engines roared to life, and the cars sped off toward the hospital. The journey felt agonizingly long, despite the breakneck speed. No one spoke, but the tension in the car was palpable — every breath was shallow, every heartbeat loud in your ears. Your hand was clasped tightly in Spencer’s, and he held on as if anchoring you to reality, but all you could think about was Garcia and the thought of losing her. 

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everyone practically flew out of the cars, running toward the entrance. The white lights of the waiting room were harsh and sterile, amplifying the dread that hung over the team. Hotch was the first to speak to the receptionist, his voice firm and demanding answers, but the only thing they knew was that Penelope was in surgery — no word on her condition, no updates, and, most importantly, no word on who had done this to her. 

And so you waited. 

The team paced, hands running through hair, fists clenching and unclenching as they tried to contain the storm of emotions within. The minutes stretched into hours, and the silence felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on each of you. Spencer held you close, one arm wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face. He murmured gentle reassurances, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, but his own eyes were red-rimmed and his voice strained, betraying his fear. 

Across the room, Derek’s frustration finally boiled over, and he lashed out, yelling at a nurse who could provide no new information. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know anything? That’s our friend in there! You have to know something!” His voice was raw, the anger masking his pain, but before he could cause more of a scene, Hotch intervened, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him outside. 

The tension in the room didn't lessen, only growing heavier in Derek’s absence. Emily sat with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if willing time to move faster. Rossi paced back and forth, his jaw tight, not a word leaving his mouth, but the anger and sorrow on his face spoke volumes. JJ stood near you, hugging her arms to her chest, eyes fixed on the swinging doors that led to the surgery wing, willing them to open with some kind of good news.

Hours passed in that awful purgatory, time stretching and distorting until it seemed like you’d been waiting an eternity. And then, finally, a nurse came out and told you that one person could go back to see her. As a unit, the decision was made for Hotch to go — Garcia had named him her emergency contact, and he was the steady hand, the one who would be able to bring back the information without being overwhelmed by the storm of emotions all of you were feeling. 

The waiting resumed, and all you could do was cling to Spencer tighter, the fear and worry seeming to squeeze the breath from your lungs. 

When Hotch emerged from behind the doors some time later, his face was unreadable, a mask of professionalism over whatever emotions he was truly feeling. The rest of you gathered around him quickly, every muscle tensed as you waited for him to say something, anything, about Garcia. 

“Garcia’s going to make it,” he said, his voice low but firm. You let out a shuddering breath of relief, and the room seemed to collectively exhale. “She’s stable, but...” He paused, glancing at each of you, and in his eyes, you saw a darkness that made your stomach drop.

“It was her date who shot her,” he said quietly. “James. But his real name... is Jason Clark Battle.”

The name seemed to hang in the air like a curse, and it took a moment for the shock to register. And when it did, Derek’s expression twisted with a rage so violent it was almost frightening. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. “No, no, no—” His voice rose to a shout, and before anyone could react, he lunged toward you, face twisted with anger and pain. “You told her to go! You told her to go with him!”

His hands reached out to grab you, but before he could touch you, Rossi and Emily were on him, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Derek, stop!” Rossi’s voice was sharp, his grip firm as he held Morgan in place. “This isn’t their fault!”

“Let go of me!” Derek struggled against their hold, his voice hoarse with fury, his eyes wild and filled with a grief that had no outlet. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve...”

Hotch stepped between you and Derek, his face set in a stern, controlled mask. “Enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “This is not how we handle this. We find this man, and we make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

It felt like everything around you was falling apart, the walls closing in as the weight of the world crashed down on you, pressing in from all sides. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to the one person who could always make things feel right — Spencer. You reached out to him, seeking his comfort, his steady reassurance. But instead of the familiar warmth of his embrace, you were met with a coldness that hit you like a blow to the chest.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on you with a look you’d never seen before — something between shock, hurt, and a kind of betrayal that cut deep. The warmth was gone, replaced by an expression that made your stomach drop. 

“Spence?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a whimper. You felt your world spiraling, desperately trying to grasp onto something to steady yourself. 

Spencer’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment, then back to you, and he shook his head, his expression clouded with confusion and anger. “You told her to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite, but it felt like one all the same. He kept backing away from you, his face crumpling into an anguish you’d never seen before, like he was fighting to hold himself together. And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the waiting room, his footsteps echoing.

“Spencer!” JJ called after him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, she rushed to follow him, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you tried to piece together what had just happened, a sob choking in your throat. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were falling, tumbling into a void. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own body, trying to stave off the cold emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones. You wanted to scream, to cry out and make sense of the look in Spencer’s eyes, the pain in his voice. But all that came out was a soft, broken whisper.

“Spencer...”

Rossi was there in an instant, a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to a nearby chair as the reality of the situation crashed over you in relentless waves. Emily crouched down in front of you, her face tight with concern as she spoke softly, her words trying to break through the fog in your mind. But you could hardly hear her. The only thing echoing in your head were Spencer’s words — “You told her to go” — a statement that seemed to slice through your heart, over and over again.

—

You left the hospital soon after Spencer did. The cold night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but the chill did little to clear your head. Everything felt like a blur — Spencer’s words, the look on his face, Derek’s anger — it all played on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with sharper edges, digging deeper into your heart. You didn’t know how to feel, how to process the whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion. But one thing was clear: you had to find the man who hurt Penelope.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise when you arrived at the BAU. The bullpen was already a flurry of activity, the team moving with a frantic energy that matched your own desperate need to do something, anything, that could bring justice for Penelope. But as soon as you stepped inside, the adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the raw pain that hit you when you saw Spencer.

He sat at his desk, fingers typing furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn tight with concentration. You stood there for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for him to look up — to give you some sign, any sign, that you could start to fix whatever had broken between you the night before. But Spencer wouldn’t look at you. It was as if you didn’t exist, like he’d built an invisible wall around himself, and you couldn’t break through. The red puffiness around your eyes was the only outward sign of the sleepless night you’d had, but the exhaustion in your soul ran much deeper.

When you walked past JJ’s desk, she reached out and touched your arm gently, her eyes full of concern, the pity unmistakable. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort, but you shook your head, swallowing hard. The last thing you could bear right now was pity. Not when you had to keep it together for Penelope.

The rest of the team looked at you with the same expressions — sympathetic, worried, but no one knew what to say. And the truth was, neither did you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise in your throat, and forced yourself to look away, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was time to work, and that was something you could still do. Something you could control.

Well, the whole team except for Derek. 

Every time he walked by, you could feel his eyes burning into you, his anger practically crackling like static in the air between you. And he didn’t hold back, either. With each passing hour, he took every chance to let you know exactly what he thought, throwing thinly-veiled digs and outright accusations whenever he could. 

“This is your fault, you know,” he muttered under his breath when you passed each other in the hallway. “You’re the one who pushed her into going out with that psychopath. If she’d just listened to me, she’d be safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed into you like a knife, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You just kept walking, heading back to your desk with that guilt clawing up your throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no time to argue, no room to let Derek’s words take over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shut them out.

And then there were the moments when Derek couldn’t hold it in, when his anger boiled over and his voice rose loud enough for the whole team to hear. “You know that if she dies... if she dies, it’s on you,” he spat, his eyes burning with a fury so sharp it left you feeling gutted. “Her blood’s on your hands. Because you thought it was a good idea to let her go out with some random guy.”

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you whenever it happened, the tension in the room growing thick and heavy as they tried to balance the grief for Penelope and the pain of watching their family fall apart. JJ would try to step in, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “Derek, now’s not the time—” or Hotch would give him a stern look, that unspoken command to drop it. But nothing seemed to get through to him, and each word he threw at you landed like a punch, his grief and fear bleeding out as anger directed at you.

You couldn’t argue with him. You didn’t know how to defend yourself. How could you, when deep down, a part of you agreed with every word he said? 

So you did the only thing you could — you kept your head down and worked, staring at files until your eyes burned, listening to updates and following every lead until you were numb to everything except the hope that finding Jason Clark Battle would somehow make it right. You tried to drown out Derek’s voice, drown out the guilt, drown out the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t encouraged Penelope, things wouldn’t have gone this way. But no matter how hard you tried to bury it, Derek’s words followed you, hanging over you like a dark shadow. 

And the work continued, relentless and desperate, with everyone pushing forward to find the man who’d hurt Penelope. But the team was fractured, split between their grief and their anger, and the chasm between you and Derek seemed to widen with every word he threw your way.

Even as you worked, though, you could feel Spencer nearby — that familiar presence that you could always sense, whether you were looking at him or not. But this time, it felt different, like an ache just below the surface, a heavy, unspoken rift. He still wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak to you, even as you shared the same space, both working to the same goal. And no one pushed him. No one had the time or the energy to force him to talk through his emotions, not when there was a dangerous man on the loose and a life hanging in the balance.

But every time you heard Spencer’s voice — every rapid-fire observation, every note of urgency — it felt like a reminder of how things had changed in the space of a night. You worked side by side, but worlds apart, both desperate to save Garcia, but more than that, desperate to find your way back to each other.

And so, the hours wore on, a relentless, all-consuming search for Jason Clark Battle, with every member of the team driven by the same furious need to bring him to justice. Because in the midst of all the uncertainty and hurt, one thing was clear: no one was going to let him get away with what he’d done to Penelope. Not while any of you still had breath left to fight.

The team found Jason Clark Battle quickly, all things considered. The determination to bring him to justice — to make him pay for what he'd done to Penelope — fueled every moment, every step, every search through records and combing of evidence. But as the moment of his arrest neared, it became a new kind of challenge: keeping Derek Morgan away. 

Hotch had to physically block him from joining the takedown, knowing all too well that if Derek got his hands on the man who shot Penelope, it wouldn’t end in an arrest. “Stand down, Morgan,” Hotch had ordered, his voice like a steel blade, cutting through the thick fog of Derek’s rage. It took Rossi and Emily to finally pull him back, their hands firm on his shoulders as Derek cursed and seethed, every inch of his body vibrating with the need to rip Battle apart. But they couldn't afford to lose two team members to the fallout, and Morgan was forced to stay back, simmering with fury as the rest of the team moved in.

When Jason Clark Battle was finally caught, subdued, and taken into custody, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that the man who hurt Penelope would face justice. But the victory was bitter, the relief tainted by the damage left in the wake of what had happened. The case might have been closed, but for all of you, it didn’t feel like a win — not when someone you loved was still lying in a hospital bed, healing from wounds she never should have gotten.

Once the reports were turned in and the team was officially dismissed, you watched as everyone else gathered to visit Penelope. There was a sort of reverence in how they spoke of her, quiet smiles and gentle jokes exchanged as they planned to bring flowers, chocolate, and anything else that would bring a smile to her face. But you couldn't go. The thought of stepping into that hospital room, of meeting her eyes, of seeing the pain and understanding what your advice had led to... it felt unbearable. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t let her see how broken you felt, knowing how close you’d come to losing her because you thought you were doing something good.

So, while your teammates headed to the hospital, ready to surround Penelope with love and support, you went home. The silence of your apartment was suffocating, and it took everything in you to not collapse under the weight of your own regret. The emptiness of being away from the team, from Penelope, only deepened your guilt. But it was better than showing up and making things worse — better than her having to see your face and be reminded of everything that happened. 

Instead, you did what little you could from afar. You sent gift baskets filled with all of her favorite snacks — crunchy caramel popcorn, brightly wrapped candies, a couple of silly trinkets you hoped would make her laugh. You sent care packages with magazines, crossword puzzles, and soft blankets she could curl up with while she healed. You tried to send all the comfort you couldn’t bring yourself to give in person, every basket and letter a quiet apology you weren’t sure you deserved to offer. You only hoped she knew that, despite the distance, you were thinking of her. That you were sorry. 

And as the days went on, and Penelope stayed in that hospital, you wondered if she could ever forgive you — if one day, when she was better and things returned to some semblance of normalcy, she might understand that all you wanted was for her to find happiness. That, even though your advice had gone so terribly wrong, it had come from a place of love. But the uncertainty of her forgiveness lingered, hanging over you like a cloud, and all you could do was hope that, in time, the rift could be healed.

Until then, you stayed away, waiting for the moment you could finally make amends — if that moment ever came.

—

The next workday, you sat at your desk, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, but your mind felt miles away. The sound of your own heartbeat seemed loud in the quiet of the bullpen, pounding relentlessly in your ears as you willed yourself to focus on something — anything — other than the turmoil of the last few days. You barely slept, and the fatigue sat heavy on your shoulders, making every moment feel sluggish, disconnected from reality. The tension still hung in the air, lingering after Penelope’s shooting, and it felt like every step you took was on eggshells, threatening to crack under the weight of all you hadn’t said. 

You didn't hear Derek's approach at first, lost as you were in your own thoughts. But when you did catch the sight of his broad form looming in your peripheral vision, your whole body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what you knew would be another wave of anger, another round of accusations that would leave you feeling raw and exposed.

Here it comes, you thought. The guilt clenched in your chest as you waited for the onslaught, already picturing the words he’d throw at you, the blame you knew you deserved.

But then, you looked up, and the expression on Derek's face made you pause. It wasn’t what you expected. The hard lines of anger that had been etched there were gone, replaced by something softer, something regretful. He stood before you, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“Hey.” You nodded back, your voice barely more than a whisper, your body still taut like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Derek glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, there was an apology written all over his face. “I, uh... I came to talk to you about... you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “About what I said. What I did. And... I’m sorry.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a punch you didn’t see coming. “You’re... sorry?” you repeated, trying to make sense of it, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I... I was angry, and scared, and I let it all out on you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, what happened to Garcia. You were just being a good friend.” He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath. “And I guess... in a way, I’m mad at myself. Mad that I couldn’t keep her safe, that I didn’t know who this guy was, that I couldn’t stop it... so I put all that on you. And I’m sorry.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of the rage you’d seen before, but all you saw now was sincerity, and pain, and a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to find there. Derek Morgan — the strongest person you knew — was admitting his own fear and guilt to you, and it felt like the world was tilting just a little bit on its axis.

"I appreciate your apology, Derek, but it doesn't erase how you treated me."

Derek's gaze dropped for a moment before flickering back to yours. "I know, Y/N. I said I’m sorry."

"And I heard you," you replied, your voice calm but firm. "But sorry doesn’t fix everything."

Derek's shoulders dropped slightly, the weight of your words settling in. He shifted on his feet, glancing away for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. When his eyes met yours again, they held that same sincerity, but now there was something else—regret, deeper and more profound.

“I know it doesn’t,” he admitted softly. “And I don’t expect it to. I just... I couldn’t leave things the way they were. You didn’t deserve that, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms, not to shield yourself but to hold steady under the swirl of emotions. “It hurt, Derek. I get that you were scared, but I was too. And when I needed someone to understand that, I felt like you were ready to make me the enemy.”

He nodded slowly, stepping closer, careful but deliberate. “I know. And I hate that I made you feel that way. I should’ve been better. You’ve always been there for us—for me—and I let my anger blind me. That’s on me.”

There was a long silence between you, filled only with the hum of the bullpen and the distant chatter of the team.

“I don’t expect things to go back to normal right away,” Derek continued, his voice low, “but I hope we can get there eventually.”

You sighed, feeling the tension in your chest ease just slightly. “I hope so too,” you said quietly. “But it’s going to take time, Derek.”

He gave you a small, understanding nod. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere.”

And with that, the rift between you felt just a little smaller—still present, but with a path forward that hadn’t been there before.

—

The day Penelope returned to work felt almost like a holiday. The bullpen was transformed, bursting with bright colors and streamers that cascaded down from the ceiling. Balloons, in every vibrant hue imaginable, were tied to the chairs, and the break room was packed with all her favorite snacks and drinks — colorful cupcakes, glittery cookies, and more caffeine than the doctor would ever allow. The team had gone all out, putting together a grand welcome fit for the one and only Penelope Garcia. The room was buzzing with laughter and excitement as she entered, everyone cheering loudly as she walked through the doors, wide-eyed and grinning.

It was exactly the kind of entrance Penelope deserved. And as she hugged each person, the joy on her face made the space feel warmer, brighter. But you stood in the back, a small smile on your lips, content to watch from a distance. You clapped along with everyone else, but you kept to yourself, too aware of the gnawing guilt that still sat in your chest. It was wonderful to see Penelope smiling, to see her back on her feet and surrounded by the love of her family. But being there, knowing what you’d encouraged her to do, left you feeling like an outsider, not quite sure where you fit in anymore.

When Penelope finally got to you, it took all your courage to step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, and you clung to her a little tighter than you’d intended. The relief of finally seeing her in person, of knowing she was safe and whole, made your throat tighten with emotion. 

Penelope returned the hug with a strength that surprised you, squeezing you tightly as if she didn’t want to let go. “I’m just happy to see you, hon,” she whispered, her voice warm and forgiving. “It’s been too long.”

You pulled back, offering a small, apologetic smile, but the warmth in her eyes made it clear that there was no anger there, no bitterness — just pure gratitude and love. And for a fleeting moment, you felt the overwhelming urge to spill everything, to apologize for not visiting, to explain the guilt that had been eating away at you. But Penelope gave you a knowing look, a slight shake of her head, as if to say not now. And you understood. This moment was for her — for the joy of being back, for the healing that still needed to happen. The deeper conversation could wait.

But as the celebration continued and the week went on, you still kept your distance. You showed up, of course, participated in the day-to-day, but any time Penelope tried to engage with you beyond work matters, you found ways to cut the conversation short, to avoid anything that could bring up what happened. You didn’t want to push her; you didn’t want to burden her with the weight you were carrying, the idea that anything you say could put her in danger. And you could see she was trying to give you space, to let you come to her on your own terms. But the longer you avoided it, the harder it became to find a way back to the easy friendship you once had.

By the end of the week, it seemed Penelope had had enough. As you were leaving the office one evening, walking toward the elevators, she appeared beside you with a determined look on her face.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, planting herself firmly in your path, hands on her hips.

“Just... heading home,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“Well, change of plans,” Penelope said cheerfully, not giving you a chance to argue. “You’re coming over tonight. We need some serious girl talk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Penny, I—” You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on her face was unwavering, her smile patient but insistent, like she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t going to let you wriggle your way out of it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try it,” she said, holding up a finger in playful warning. “We’re way overdue for some quality time, and if I have to drag you to my place myself, I will. And believe me, I’ve got the strength to do it.” She gave you a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly give way. How could you say no? Penelope was right; you did need this. And no matter how afraid you were of having that conversation, of putting her in more danger, you couldn’t keep running from her. “Okay,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’ll come over.”

“Good!” she exclaimed, beaming as she linked her arm with yours, pulling you into the elevator with a bounce in her step. “I’ll see you at seven. And trust me, it’s gonna be like old times. Pinky swear.”

And just like that, with Penelope by your side, the world felt just a little bit brighter again.

Being with Penelope felt so easy, so natural — just like it had always been. From the moment you stepped into her apartment, it was as though nothing had changed, as if the heavy cloud of the last few weeks wasn’t hanging over you. She’d set up her place just the way you remembered, warm colors, quirky decor, fairy lights draped over bookshelves, and the familiar scent of lavender. And Penelope, as if sensing your hesitation, knew exactly how to guide you back into a comfortable rhythm.

It started with laughter, of course. The kind only she could pull out of you, a sound that seemed to break down the walls you’d built around your heart. She leaned back on her sofa, legs curled under her as she went on about the latest gossip in her stack of magazines, her voice rising with excitement and exaggeration. 

“Okay, so tell me this,” Penelope started, waving around a magazine with glossy pages. “How is it possible that Bruce Willis can just get hotter every year? It’s like the laws of nature don’t apply to this man!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I guess some people are just blessed like that.”

“And don't even get me started on what I saw in the office last week,” she continued, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear to you, I saw a hickey on Hotch’s neck. A hickey. On. Aaron Hotchner’s. Neck.”

You nearly choked on your drink, the image catching you completely off guard. “No way!”

“Yes way!” she nodded, her eyes wide with the thrill of gossip. “I’m telling you, our stoic unit chief has a spicy side. And speaking of spicy sides, have you seen how Emily and JJ have been looking at each other lately? I mean, come on, are they not totally vibing?”

The conversation flowed easily, effortlessly, and before long, you found yourself leaning back, laughing, the warmth of Penelope’s company soothing all those frayed edges that had been gnawing away at you for so long. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. It was fun to catch up, to just be with her, to hear about all the little things you’d missed — the world outside the darkness you’d been living in. And you could see how much Penelope was thriving, back in her element, glowing with that infectious positivity you’d always loved about her. 

But eventually, it happened. The laughter faded, and the unspoken truth sat between you like a presence too big to ignore. Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with that gentle understanding you’d come to know so well. “Okay, hon,” she said softly, resting her hand on yours. “We’ve gotta talk about it. About what’s been eating you up inside.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to make an excuse, but it was like the dam broke before you could stop it. All the guilt, the fear, the shame — it all came flooding out. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the trembling as you finally voiced the things you’d been holding onto for so long.

“Penny, I... I don’t know how to say this,” you started, your voice cracking. “But I’m so sorry. I... I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what was going to happen, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told you to go, if I hadn’t encouraged you to see him, then maybe you wouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Penelope said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just stop right there.” Her eyes were intense, her voice steady in a way that cut through all the panic you were feeling. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And what happened — what he did to me — that is not on you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

“But what if it happens again?” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “What if I give you bad advice? What if I invite you somewhere, or we’re just hanging out, and I somehow put you in the wrong place at the wrong time and you get hurt again? I don’t... I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

Penelope’s eyes softened, and without missing a beat, she pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Shh,” she murmured against your hair. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

You clung to her, the sobs coming freely now as all the fear and self-blame poured out of you. Penelope held you firmly, stroking your back, soothing you like only she could. “I know you’re scared,” she said gently. “But, sweetie, you can’t carry the weight of things you can’t control. What happened to me — that was on Jason. He was the one who did this. Not you. You were just being a friend, trying to help me find some happiness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should’ve known better,” you mumbled against her shoulder, the words muffled but filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go.”

“Hey, listen to me,” she said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, her hands gripping your shoulders. “You didn’t push me. I chose to go on that date. And yes, it turned out horribly. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being my friend, or stop giving me advice, or living your life like you’re walking on eggshells around me. I need you, okay? And I need you to be you, because that’s the person who’s always been there for me, the person I love. I don’t want you holding back because of fear.”

The sincerity in her voice, the love, and the forgiveness shining in her eyes broke down the last of your walls. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to believe her words. “I just... I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered again, your voice small and vulnerable.

“And you won’t,” Penelope said, her voice steady and resolute as she held your gaze. But then, her expression shifted, her eyes searching yours with a gentleness that only she could carry. “But I know that’s not all.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated, biting down on her lip before speaking, her eyes dropping to her hands as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. When she finally looked up again, there was a hint of sheepishness in her expression, like she was tiptoeing into territory she wasn’t sure she should tread. “I know you were worried about me, hon,” she said softly. “And I love you so much for that, for being there for me even when you couldn’t actually be there. But… I can tell I’m not the eye of the hurricane inside your head.”

You felt your breath catch, the truth of her words hitting you with a force that left you momentarily speechless. It was as though she had seen straight through you, through all the guilt, all the fear — to the thing that lay beneath it all. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell her that it was just about her, you knew you couldn’t lie to Penelope.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything you’d been holding onto crashing down on you again. You sniffled, trying to steady your voice as you nodded slowly. “Spencer,” you said, the name leaving your lips like an admission of a wound you hadn’t yet looked at directly. “Spencer hasn’t talked to me since we found out what happened.”

Penelope’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out to take your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, sweetie...”

“It’s like he just shut me out,” you continued, your voice trembling. “The day we found out about you, he walked out of the hospital without even looking back. He hasn’t said a word to me since, and every time I try to talk to him, he just... shuts down. I know he’s hurting. And I know he’s probably just processing everything, but...” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head as the tears welled up again. “It feels like I lost him too. Like I lost both of you. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

Penelope listened intently, her face softening with every word you spoke. She could see how much pain you were carrying, how deeply Spencer’s silence had cut you. “Have you tried talking to him? I mean, really talking to him? Not just about work or everyday stuff, but about how you’re feeling?”

You nodded, though your shoulders slumped as the hopelessness of it all settled back in. “I’ve tried, Pen. I’ve tried so many times. But every time I get close, it’s like he just... builds a wall. He won’t even look at me sometimes. And it hurts, because I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Penelope was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she processed your words. Then she sighed softly, her fingers intertwining with yours. “You know what I think?” she said gently. “I think Spencer is hurting more than he knows how to deal with. And I think he’s taking that hurt and turning it inward — or maybe even outward. But I also know that he cares about you so, so much. He wouldn’t just turn his back on you for good.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over again. “But what if he has? What if he’s blamed me for this just like everyone else did?”

“Honey, listen to me,” Penelope said, her voice firm but full of compassion. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but he’s also a human. And sometimes, humans don’t know what to do with all the pain they carry. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs time, and you might need to let yourself be okay with that. I know it’s hard, but you can’t carry both your own guilt and his.”

You sat there, taking in her words, trying to let them sink in. It was easier said than done, but hearing Penelope — wise, compassionate Penelope — tell you that it was okay to not have all the answers gave you a sliver of relief. 

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability clear in your eyes.

Penelope smiled, a genuine, warm smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “I know he will. And until then, you’ve got me.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand, feeling a small, fragile hope begin to grow in your chest. 

—

The kindness and warmth Penelope had shown you was not extended to Spencer when she found him in the breakroom Monday morning. You were still settling in at your desk when you saw her storm across the bullpen, determination in her eyes and anger practically sparking off of her. You didn’t think much of it at first — Penelope’s strong-willed presence was no stranger to the office. But when you saw her walk straight up to Spencer, her expression dark and unyielding, you knew something was about to happen.

Spencer, who had been stirring his coffee absently, looked up in surprise as Penelope closed the distance between them, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. And then she let him have it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Ignoring Y/N for weeks? Shutting her out like she’s some stranger? After everything you’ve been through together, and everything she’s done for you, you have the nerve to treat her like this?”

Spencer flinched at her words, his face going pale as the berating continued. He opened his mouth to respond, but Penelope wasn’t letting him get a word in. 

“Y/N’s been tearing herself up over what happened, blaming herself for something that wasn’t even her fault! And you know what? Instead of being the partner she needs — the person who supports her no matter what — you’re just adding to the guilt. You don’t get to treat her like that. Not after—”

“I almost lost one of the most important people in my life because of her!” Spencer choked out suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion as he interrupted Penelope’s tirade. His eyes were wide and filled with fear and frustration, and he looked like he was unraveling with every word. “I almost lost you, Penelope, because she told you to go on that date.”

Penelope’s expression shifted then, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sympathy as she let Spencer’s words sink in. There was a silence, a heavy silence that felt like it filled every inch of the breakroom. And neither of them knew that in that very moment, you’d walked up to the door, hearing Spencer’s words, and froze. The world around you seemed to fall away as his voice echoed in your head, the raw pain in his tone seeping into your bones. You stayed there, heart pounding, unable to move.

“Spencer,” Penelope said slowly, her voice gentle but firm, trying to rein in her own anger. “That was not her fault, and you know it. Do the math, genius. Jason was targeting me from the start, whether I was on that date or not. He had me in his sights long before Y/N ever said anything. Stop blaming her for something no one could control.”

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if trying to brush off the weight of her words. “Yeah, well, you say that, but it’s not that simple. If she hadn’t—”

“No, Spencer!” Penelope’s voice cut through his, sharper now, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “You listen to me. That is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Your life partner. Your best friend. Y/N has been there for you through everything. Do you remember when you were so drugged up that you didn’t even know what you were doing, or who you were with, when you lashed out at her in the middle of the night? And did she blame you? Did she shut you out? No. She held you, she comforted you, and she made sure you got the help you needed. She has never given up on you, not once, and you’re giving up on her?”

Spencer was silent. His mouth opened as if to respond, but nothing came out. He looked at Penelope, his eyes burning with anger and anguish and something far more complicated. And for a long moment, the silence stretched between them, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, cracking with the strain of what he was feeling. “I love Y/N more than anything else in this world. But how can I trust her to make good decisions for herself, at all, if her last one almost got you killed?”

And that was all you could take. The words hit like a blow to the chest, and before you knew what was happening, you let out a sob, loud and choked and broken. The sound tore through the silence, and both Spencer and Penelope whipped around, eyes wide in shock as they realized you’d been standing there, hearing everything. 

“Y/N—” Spencer started, panic flooding his voice as he took a step toward you.

But you were already moving, already running. You turned and fled, the tears blurring your vision as you rushed down the hall, away from the breakroom, away from the words that had shattered you all over again.

“Shit!” you heard Spencer yell from behind you, followed by the sharp slap of his hand hitting the cabinet in frustration, the loud bang echoing down the hall. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. All you could do was keep running, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to chase you down with every step.

“Was it worth it, Reid?” Penelope asked, her voice breaking the silence that filled the breakroom after you’d fled. There was no anger left in her tone — only a sadness, heavy and deep, that seemed to echo around them. She looked at Spencer with a sorrowful expression, searching his eyes as if she could somehow pull out an answer that would make sense of what had just happened. “Was it worth it? To get that off your chest?”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the cabinet door he’d slammed shut in frustration. The thud of it still seemed to reverberate in the air, mingling with the ghost of your sobs. His jaw clenched, his eyes staring blankly at the floor where you’d stood only moments before, now empty. 

He didn't respond, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze. 

“Did it help?” Penelope pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. “Did it make you feel better? Because from where I’m standing, you just broke the heart of the person you say you love more than anything else.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Penelope. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. I was just... I was so angry. So scared. And I... I took it out on her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to take it back.”

Penelope’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, aching understanding. “You can’t,” she said softly. “You can’t take back what you said. But you can try to make it right. You can own up to it. You can tell her the truth — that you were hurting, that you let the fear and anger get the best of you. That you don’t actually believe she’s to blame for any of this.”

Spencer finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with regret. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice raw with desperation. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Penelope took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in her touch. “Then you fight for her, Spencer,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “You do everything you can to make her see how much she means to you. You remind her that you love her, that you need her, that this — all of this — was just you not knowing how to handle almost losing two of the people you care about most.”

She paused, her voice softening even more as she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “But first, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because all that anger you’ve been carrying? It’s not about Y/N. It’s about you.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right — he knew it all along. But knowing it and facing it were two different things. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly sit with the pain of it, to feel the regret for what he’d done, and the fear of what he might have just lost.

And in that moment, the truth settled in his chest like a stone: if he had any chance of making things right, he’d have to confront his demons, no matter how much they scared him. Because he loved you. And he was going to do whatever it took to get you back.

—

You found an empty office as soon as your legs carried you far enough away, stumbling inside and shutting the door behind you before you could even think of stopping the sobs that clawed their way up your throat. You leaned against the wall, your hands over your face as you let yourself cry — really cry — until the tears came freely, the weight of Spencer’s words sinking in like a stone in your chest. Every breath hurt, and the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long finally broke. It wasn’t just about what he said, but how deeply it cut. 

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours; you couldn’t be sure. You let it all out, every sob, every tremor that racked through you. And then, as the tears finally slowed and the pain dulled into exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. The team was counting on you. Penelope was counting on you. So you pulled yourself together as best as you could, taking slow, deep breaths and wiping your face with the sleeves of your shirt until your hands stopped shaking.

The mirror in the bathroom was unforgiving as you stood there, splashing cold water on your face. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to erase the smudges of mascara that had stained your cheeks, and did your best to fix your hair, to smooth away any evidence of your breakdown. But your eyes were still puffy, red-rimmed, the remnants of your tears clearly visible. And you knew, even as you straightened your posture, forcing a calmness you didn’t feel, that everyone would see right through it. That they’d probably all heard what happened.

But you had work to do, and you couldn’t afford to fall apart again. So, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and walked back out into the bullpen, your head held high, your shoulders squared. Even if your composure was a fragile thing, even if you felt like you could shatter with the slightest touch, you made your way to your desk, focusing on each step as if it were the only thing holding you together.

The bullpen felt different now, the energy heavier than it had been before. Conversations were hushed, the usual buzz of the office subdued as you passed by. You knew they were watching, that they’d seen or at least heard what had happened in the breakroom. But you didn’t look around; you didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. You just sat down at your desk, opened up the stack of files in front of you, and forced your focus onto the work, letting it be the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his own desk, and as soon as you walked in, he saw you. He saw the way you held yourself together — the straight line of your back, the tightness in your expression, the way you refused to let your gaze wander to his. And he hated it. He hated knowing that he had done that to you, his love, that he’d been the reason for the pain and exhaustion etched into your face. He’d never seen you like this before — so closed off, so... dim. 

He watched you bury yourself in your work, your fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, your pen scribbling across the pages as if each word was a way to silence the hurt. And all Spencer could do was sit there, guilt and shame wracking his mind as he thought about what he’d done — how he’d let his anger and fear control him, how he’d let it spill out onto you, the one person he swore to protect, the one person who deserved none of it. His brilliant, loving, beautiful girlfriend, who had always stood by his side, even when he didn't deserve it.

He made you cry. He made you doubt yourself, blame yourself for something you had no power over. And the light that usually radiated from you — the brightness he loved so much, the joy you carried so effortlessly — was gone, dulled by the weight of the hurt he’d caused.

Every fiber of Spencer’s being screamed at him to get up, to walk over to you and wrap you in the biggest hug he could manage. He wanted to hold you, to whisper a thousand apologies, to promise that everything was going to be okay and that he’d never, ever make you feel this way again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move, because he knew that it would take more than that — more than a hug, more than an “I’m sorry” — to fix the damage he’d caused. It would take time, and understanding, and patience — all things he wasn’t sure he even deserved from you after what he’d said, what he’d done.

—

Later that evening, the weight of the day still clung to Spencer like a thick fog. Unable to concentrate, unable to push past the regret that gnawed at his insides, he found himself reaching for a small comfort — your favorite book. It sat on his shelf, the well-worn cover soft under his fingertips as he pulled it down. You had gifted it to him long ago, lovingly annotated with notes, doodles, and highlighted passages. Each page was filled with bits of you — your humor, your thoughts, your heart. Categories like “reminds me of you,” “our jokes,” “my favorite quotes,” and “scenes I wish I could live with you” peppered the pages, showing just how much care, time, and love you’d put into making it special for him. It had been one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received.

He settled onto the couch, the book resting heavily in his lap. And as he flipped through the pages, he let himself be pulled into the memories, letting his fingers brush over your handwriting, your underlines and notes. He read the small snippets where you’d connected a moment in the book to a joke only the two of you shared, where you’d drawn silly little hearts in the margins or underlined lines that spoke to you. And he could almost hear your voice as he read your thoughts, your teasing comments, your kind words. It felt as though you were right there with him, the warmth of you emanating from every page.

The tears came slowly, silently, at first just a sting in the back of his eyes that he tried to blink away. But as he read deeper, the notes growing more tender, the love you’d put into every word more apparent, he let them fall. He let them fall because he could feel the depth of what he’d pushed away, how much you’d loved him, how much you still loved him. And how horribly, deeply he’d hurt you.

He was reading a note that simply said, “This reminds me of the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching”. He laughed softly through his tears at your handwriting, slightly wobbly from when you’d annotated it while on a train, but the joy of that memory only made the pain sharper, cutting through him like a blade. He wished he could take everything back, go back to when things were easier and he hadn’t let his fears get the better of him.

Spencer found himself reaching for his phone, his fingers hovering over your name before he clicked it, pressing the device to his ear. The dial tone echoed in his chest, each ring making his anxiety climb higher as he waited for you to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice came through, flat and devoid of emotion.

“Y/N?” he asked softly, hesitating as if testing the waters.

“Yes?”

“It’s me, Spencer...” he trailed off, the words catching in his throat. The coldness in your tone unsettled him, and he suddenly found himself unsure why your attitude toward him felt so distant.

“I know,” you replied, your voice quiet but sharp enough to cut.

Spencer swallowed, feeling the space between you growing even through the phone, and he realized this call wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped.

“I, um, I wanted to say I’m sorry… for earlier, for what you heard,” Spencer said, his voice hesitant and unsure, each word carefully chosen but fragile.

“You’re sorry I heard it?” you asked, the flatness in your tone making him wince.

“I’m—no, yes, I mean—” Spencer huffed softly, frustration lacing his voice as he struggled to find the right words. “I’m sorry I said it at all.”

Silence hung between you for a moment before you spoke again, your voice quieter but no less pointed. “Did you mean it?”

Spencer froze, his breath catching in his throat. He gripped the phone tighter, feeling the weight of the question press down on him, heavier than he expected. “No,” he whispered, the answer finally falling from his lips with a sincerity that surprised even him. “No, I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I let that fear turn into something it shouldn’t have. But I didn’t mean it, Y/N. Not for a second.”

The line stayed quiet, but Spencer could hear your soft breathing on the other end, and he held onto that sound, hoping it meant you were still there, still listening.

Spencer’s words hung in the air, heavy with regret and vulnerability. But as you stood there, gripping the phone tightly in your hand, the weight of everything he’d put you through crashed down like a tidal wave.

You wanted to believe him — wanted to believe that fear had driven him to say those things, that he hadn’t meant to make you feel small and alone when you needed him most. But wanting to believe him didn’t erase the reality of how deeply his words had cut.

“I’m glad you didn’t mean it,” you said quietly, your voice steady but distant. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you said it, Spencer. And it doesn’t change how much it hurt.”

Spencer’s breath hitched on the other end. “I know,” he whispered, desperation creeping into his tone. “I— I know I let you down. I wasn’t there for you when I should have been. But I want to fix this, Y/N. I’ll do anything to fix this.”

You swallowed hard, your grip tightening on the phone. The truth sat heavy on your chest, but you couldn’t hold it back any longer. “I don’t know if you can,” you admitted, and for the first time since the call began, your voice trembled, betraying the storm of emotions you’d kept bottled up. “What you put me through... on top of everything else... it feels unforgivable.”

“Y/N...” Spencer’s voice cracked, but you couldn’t let him sway you.

“You were supposed to be there for me,” you continued, blinking back the tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “And instead, you made me feel like I was the reason for everything that happened. Like I was the reason Penelope got hurt. I needed you, and you made it worse.”

The silence that followed was deafening. You could hear Spencer’s breathing, uneven and shaky, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to explain it away.

“I think I need some time,” you said softly, pressing the palm of your hand to your forehead as the ache in your chest grew heavier. “I just... I can’t do this right now.”

Spencer didn’t answer right away, but when he did, his voice was faint, barely more than a whisper. “Okay. I understand.”

And with that, the line went dead, leaving you standing alone with nothing but the weight of his absence and the ache in your heart.

—

The next day at work, Spencer sat at his desk, glancing over at you every chance he got. His eyes lingered, watching carefully for any sign that you might be willing to meet his gaze. But every time he tried to catch your eye, you looked away, your focus glued to the files in front of you or the screen of your computer.

His frown deepened with each failed attempt, the knot in his stomach tightening. He could feel the distance, thick and unrelenting, sitting between the two of you like an unspoken barrier he wasn’t sure how to break through.

By mid-morning, he tried a different approach. Quietly, he slipped away to the breakroom, returning a few minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee — just the way you liked it. It was a small gesture, but it was the only thing he could think to do, a silent offering, an olive branch wrapped in warmth and caffeine.

He set the cup gently on the corner of your desk, lingering for a brief moment in case you wanted to say something.

You glanced up, your eyes catching on the cup before drifting to him. A small, polite smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you gave him a soft nod. "Thanks," you said, your voice quiet but distant, as if the words were more out of obligation than gratitude.

Spencer nodded back, but the lack of warmth in your tone hit harder than he anticipated. He wanted more — a real conversation, something to pull you both back to where you used to be. But instead, he returned to his desk, the silence louder than any rejection could have been.

You didn’t owe him more than that. And Spencer knew he had a long way to go if he ever wanted to earn more than just a nod and a polite smile.

It took weeks for you to acknowledge Spencer outside of work. You were always courteous, always professional — but that was all. The warmth, the teasing, the quiet moments you used to steal together between cases were gone. And Spencer felt every second of that absence.

He missed you — deeply, achingly. Every glance you gave him that didn’t linger, every polite nod that replaced the easy smiles he once knew, it all felt like tiny fractures splintering through his chest.

But he gave you space. As much as it hurt, he didn’t push. He knew he deserved the distance, knew he’d earned every bit of the cold shoulder you gave him.

Then one night, after he’d convinced himself you might never reach out again, his phone lit up with your name. Spencer stared at the screen for a second longer than he should have, hardly daring to believe it was real before he answered, voice hurried and breathless.

“Y/N?”

“Hi, Spencer.”

He nearly melted at the sound of your voice, the familiar softness in it, even if it felt restrained. “I— It’s good to hear from you. How are you?”

There was a pause on the other end, and Spencer held his breath.

“I’m... okay,” you said carefully. “I was actually calling because I need to pick up a few things from your apartment. Would you be home tomorrow?”

The excitement that had bloomed in his chest moments earlier shrank instantly, replaced by the cold grip of reality. His throat tightened as he tried to keep his voice steady.

“Yeah... yeah, of course,” he replied, forcing a small, empty chuckle. “I can be here anytime. Just let me know when.”

“Thanks, Spencer. I’ll text you.”

And just like that, the call ended, leaving him staring at the phone in his hand, the silence of his apartment pressing in around him.

But Spencer wasn’t above begging. Not for you.

The next day, when you arrived at his apartment, Spencer stood in the doorway as you gathered the small things you’d left behind — a sweatshirt in his closet, your hairbrush by the sink, the book you’d been halfway through reading on his nightstand.

He couldn’t stop himself from watching you, his heart twisting with every item you picked up, as if each one was a piece of you he was losing all over again.

When you finally met his eyes, ready to leave, he took a shaky breath, and before you could step out the door, the words spilled out.

“Please don’t go,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Y/N... I know I messed up. I know I hurt you in ways I can’t take back. But... I love you. And I can’t— I can’t just let you walk away from me like this. Please... I’ll do anything.”

You hesitated, your grip tightening on the bag in your hand. Your eyes softened for a brief moment, flickering with something he couldn’t quite place — regret, maybe, or sorrow.

But you didn’t say anything right away. And Spencer stood there, heart breaking with the silence, knowing that no matter how much he begged, some things might take more than words to fix.

Your grip on the bag tightened until your knuckles turned white. You could feel Spencer’s gaze on you, heavy and desperate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes for long.

“Spencer...” you began softly, your voice breaking just enough to betray the conflict raging inside you. “I can’t.”

His breath caught, and you saw the way his face fell, the faint flicker of hope extinguishing right before your eyes.

“I know you’re sorry,” you continued, forcing yourself to stay steady even though the tears threatened to come. “And I know you mean it. But this… this isn’t something an apology can fix.”

Spencer took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides as if he wanted to reach out but was afraid you’d pull away. “I can be better,” he pleaded. “I will be better. Just— just give me the chance to prove it to you.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears slip down your cheeks before you could stop them. “I gave you that chance, Spencer. And when I needed you the most, you weren’t there.”

The weight of your words hit him hard, and for a moment, he looked as though the air had been knocked from his lungs. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“I’m not saying I don’t love you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “But love isn’t always enough. I can’t keep giving and giving, hoping you’ll be there, only to be left standing alone.”

Spencer wiped at his face, quickly brushing away tears that he’d failed to hold back. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and the silence between you grew thick and unbearable.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of his grief.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you admitted softly, meeting his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. “But I think... I already have.”

He looked at you like he wanted to say something, anything, but there were no words that could undo the damage. Nothing that could fix what had already broken.

“I need time,” you said, stepping toward the door, your fingers curling around the strap of your bag. “Maybe one day... but not right now.”

Spencer nodded, though the understanding in his expression didn’t mask the heartbreak written all over his face. “Okay,” he whispered. “If that’s what you need.”

You paused at the threshold, hesitating for just a second before you turned back to him. “Take care of yourself, Spencer.”

“You too,” he replied, his voice barely audible.

And with that, you stepped out of his apartment, leaving Spencer standing alone, the echo of your absence louder than any sound could ever be.

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

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[aquaglow]

confidence guide for awkward girls 💫

LEARN TO SHUT UP. this is the first advice because it is probably the most important one, but the one that took me the longest to comprehend and master. girl, literally just shutting the fuck up does wonders. most of the times I was embarrassed out of my mind was coz I said something completely avoidable, only because I believed that being quiet was either rude or more awkward than whatever I rambled at that moment. bzzt, WRONG! being quiet means first of all being non-reactive, which gives you time to really reflect on what's being said and whether or not it even requires a response, and guess what; like 80% of the time, it does not. you are allowed to not respond, nod along, go "hmm" or "oh!" and leave it at that.

LEARN TO "FAKE" SMILE. this may seem controversial but it helps me so much. I've always been accused of looking mean, bitchy or just too serious, especially since I started to shut the fuck up (see previous item). and I am guilty as charged: I do have a RBF and when I am focused my eyebrow goes ò_o and I look judgemental and almost evil, and when I tried to balance it out by being funny or witty, it just came off even more awkward. the solution? I've started practicing a fake smile in front of the mirror when I was about 13 years old until I got the muscle memory of it so perfectly that now it's my response to nearly everything that I don't want/can't respond to. throwing an easy smile into a conversation will make you seem relaxed and in control even if you're bubbling anxious inside, and people will feel more at ease with you. also: learn to be generous with compliments, and try to make them your auto-response as well!

STOP COMPARING YOURSELF. comparison is the mark of insecurity and envy, and it's one of the ugliest and most useless habits you can have. yes, useless: what benefit do you get from comparing your face and body and circumstances to somebody else's? and please don't pretend you're getting "inspiration" from them. listen, you are your own lane. you are your entire universe. there is no other life to be lived, no other body to embody. this is it. these are the cards you were dealt with. the longer you try to peak into somebody else's cards, the longer you'll be ignoring yourself and neglecting your game. abandon ideas such as comparison, imitation or judgement towards others. confidence starts and ends with focusing on yourself.

LEARN TO CUT PEOPLE OFF. accumulating people in your life like they're pokémon is gonna be your downfall, because it's obvious not everyone can stay. imagine if a growing tree held onto all its leaves and branches, even the ones in obvious decay, how ugly and weak that tree would be, how much energy those dying parts would steal from the new ones in need of flourishing. it's the same with relationships. when someone disrespects you, hurts you, or simply doesn't align with you anymore, and you find excuses to keep this person around, what you're doing is betraying yourself, and how are you gonna have confidence in someone who betrays you? learn to cut people off or to simply let them go, and watch yourself become lighter and brighter.

QUIT BEING A BITCH. something people don't seem to understand is that the rude, conceited, mean girl persona is always revealed to be a small, petty and insecure rat on the inside. I've wasted years of potential connections trying to emulate the Blair Waldorf-y, Regina George-y vibes, trying to balance out my awkwardness with what I thought was their fierceness, because I was missing the whole point that their confident selves were lies. no girl or woman who is confident in herself spends any amount of time being a bitch, scheming to take people down, minding everyone else's business to make sure she stays on top. true confident people are kind even in the face of rudeness, they glow in shadows; their strength lies in tenderness. the sooner you give this mean girl show up, the better.

ABANDON YOUR NEED FOR APPROVAL AND COMPREHENSION FROM OTHERS. seeking approval is a very obvious trap but seeking comprehension is also dangerous, because the second people start doubting or questioning you – which is always going to happen when you decide to make a change of habits, traits, lifestyle etc – and you decide to explain yourself, you're accepting the premise that what you're doing is incomprehensible. if you're truly sure of yourself, there will be no need to assure others of yourself. if your peers or strangers don't understand it, so what? that's their enigma to sort out. respond to yourself and yourself only. if you understand and approve yourself, that's all you need, period. live for your damn self.

GOOD LUCK, LITTLE STARS 💫

[oldsoul007]

oh, baby

joel miller x reader

summary: joel and y/n connect over being a single parent

a/n: i don’t really know what this is but i thought it was cute

joel miller masterlist

It was a quiet afternoon when Joel decided to take Sarah out to a local café for lunch. They’d been cooped up at home for days, and he figured a little outing would do them both good. Sarah, as usual, was full of energy, chattering nonstop about everything she’d learned in her preschool class. Joel half-listened, half-watching her with a soft smile as he sipped his coffee.

As they sat at their booth, a young woman with a baby in tow walked past their table, heading toward the counter. The baby—Joel couldn’t have been more than six months old—was bundled up in a soft blue blanket. The woman, with her beautiful hair and easy smile, caught Joel’s eye for a moment as she passed. She seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d seen her before.

She settled into a booth across the room, a little distance away, but something in the way her baby was looking at him caught Joel’s attention. The infant, a chubby-cheeked little boy, was staring directly at Joel. And not just looking—staring, like he was trying to figure something out. His big eyes were wide with curiosity, and as Joel shifted in his seat, the baby’s face broke into a small, soft smile.

Joel blinked in surprise, unsure how to react. Babies didn’t usually single him out like that. He gave a small, instinctive wave, half-embarrassed by the attention, but the baby only smiled more, his eyes locked onto Joel with an intensity that was almost too much. Joel let out a quiet chuckle and leaned back in his chair, feeling his own cheeks warm under the scrutiny.

“Dad, look!” Sarah exclaimed, pointing toward the baby. “That baby’s staring at you!”

Joel glanced down at his daughter, who had noticed the same thing. He gave her a shrug, trying to keep his tone casual. “Yeah, I think he likes my face.”

Sarah giggled. “I think he wants to be friends!”

The baby’s gaze never wavered. Joel looked across the room again and caught the mother’s eye this time. She smiled warmly at him, and that’s when it hit him—she looked vaguely familiar, though he still couldn’t quite place where he’d seen her.

I was noticing his lingering gaze on my son, raised an eyebrow and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that,” I called out, my voice soft but friendly. “He’s just really fixated on you for some reason. I promise he’s not usually so… intense.”

Joel smiled back, feeling both awkward and charmed by the exchange. “It’s no trouble,” he said, trying to sound at ease, even though the little boy’s stare was starting to make him feel like he was being examined. “He’s got a good eye.”

I laughed lightly as I shifted my baby in my arms, the boy still keeping his focus on Joel like he was some kind of magnet. “I’m y/n, by the way. And this little guy is Luke.”

Joel nodded, feeling a little embarrassed at the odd connection he was having with this woman and her baby. “I’m Joel, and this is Sarah.” He gestured to his daughter, who was happily busy coloring on the kids’ menu.

My eyes flickered briefly to Sarah, then back to Joel. “It’s nice to meet you both. Looks like Sarah and Luke could be buddies if they ever got the chance.”

Joel chuckled and shifted his gaze back to his daughter, who was now enthusiastically showing Luke her drawings from across the room. “She’s pretty good at making new friends,” he said, his voice softening as he watched Sarah interact. There was something so natural about her kindness—it always reminded him that despite the chaos of his life, he’d done something right raising her.

I followed his gaze, a faint smile playing on my lips. “She seems like a sweet girl.” My tone was warm, almost affectionate, but there was something else in my eyes—something that made Joel pause. Was that a flicker of interest?

For a moment, the conversation lapsed into comfortable silence. The soft clinking of cups and cutlery from the other tables filled the air, and the babies’ quiet babbles and giggles blended into the background. Joel felt a tug of something—something he hadn’t felt in a while. An interest, an attraction, maybe? But as quickly as the thought crossed his mind, he pushed it aside.

“I’m sure you’ve got your hands full,” he said, trying to steer the conversation away from anything too personal. “Raising a little one, especially with… everything that’s going on.” He let the last part trail off, not wanting to assume too much, but still curious about my situation.

I met his eyes, and for a brief moment, there was a softness in my expression, a quiet strength. “Actually, it’s just me and Luke. No husband.” I smiled, but there was something almost wistful in my eyes. “Not that I mind. It’s just the two of us.”

Joel blinked, surprised. He’d assumed, based on the way she spoke, that there was a husband or some kind of support in the picture. “I didn’t know,” he said, almost apologetically.

I laughed softly, as if it wasn’t something I minded sharing. “It’s not something I usually bring up, but I don’t really mind being open about it. It’s just how things are, you know? But enough about me. What about you?”

Joel shifted, unsure how to respond, the sudden shift in the conversation leaving him both intrigued and a little nervous. “It’s just me and Sarah. I’ve been doing the solo thing for a while now.”

I nodded, my gaze warm and understanding. “It’s not always easy, is it? Doing it on your own.”

“No,” Joel said, his voice a little quieter. “It’s not. But I’ve got Sarah, and that makes everything else a lot more manageable.”

I smiled at that, my gaze softening as I looked at him—really looked at him—and for a moment, the air between us seemed to thrum with an unspoken understanding. We both knew the challenges of raising kids on our own, and we both knew the weight of that responsibility.

It was at that moment that Luke gave a small gurgle, and Joel realized the baby had finally broken his intense gaze, now more interested in the rattle his mother was shaking for him.

Joel exhaled a quiet breath, his heart still unexpectedly racing from the interaction. “I think he’s finally looking at something else,” he said with a laugh, his nervous energy easing a little.

I smiled again, but this time, it wasn’t just a polite smile. It was a real one—a smile that seemed to carry the possibility of something more. “Well, if it makes you feel better,” I said with a wink, “you’ve got Luke’s approval.”

Joel’s lips quirked into a half-smile as our eyes met, a spark of something more—something tentative but unmistakable—passing between us.

He wasn’t sure where this might go, if anywhere at all, but in that moment, it felt like the start of something new. And for the first time in a long while, that thought didn’t feel so scary.

[caitified]

Hihi really love your fics. Its my first ask haha. Was maybe thinking if you could do a fic of CC and a teammate, teammate can be either a rookie/vet but is kinda cold to CC (really just kinda awkward with new people). When CC gets shoved roughly on court, reader gets all up in the opps face and protects CC and their relationship deepens from there?

Thank you!

rookie season

caitlin clark x reader

warnings:none, i got carried away so you’re getting their entire backstory sorry 🙊

the first time you and caitlin clark really crossed paths was in the championship game during your senior year at lsu. she was the face of iowa basketball, and you could tell from the moment you saw her on the court that she had something special. she was confident, fierce, and competitive—just like you. but in the end, your team pulled ahead, winning the title in front of a packed crowd.

as the final buzzer sounded, you couldn’t help but catch her eye. there was a mutual respect, but there was also that playful rivalry. on the court, you were opponents, but off it, you could tell you had a little bit of a thing for each other. you knew that fire in her eyes. it mirrored your own.

after the game, you shot her a quick text. “close, but not close enough. see you soon clark,” you wrote, the taunting light in your words meant to sting just a little. but it was all in good fun.

caitlin stared at the message for a long time, a frown tugging at her lips. she was already upset about the loss, but this—this was a challenge, and she couldn’t ignore it. she hated losing, but she hated being underestimated more. her fingers hovered over the screen for a few seconds before typing out a response. “i’ll get you next time. count on it.”

the rivalry continued through the years, even as you went your separate ways. after graduation, you entered the wnba, getting drafted to the indiana fever, and had an incredible rookie season. caitlin, meanwhile, went on to dominate her final year at iowa. but despite her skill and talent, she couldn’t overcome south carolina in the national championship. when she lost, you couldn’t resist—sending her a cheeky text. “looks like you came up short again. better luck next time.”

you expected her to get a laugh out of it. it was playful, just like before. but caitlin’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. she stared at the message, hurt more than she’d care to admit. the loss had stung, and your words felt like salt in the wound. still, she didn’t reply. she couldn’t. not yet.

then came the 2024 wnba draft. when caitlin’s name was called and the indiana fever picked her, now you were on the same team. and things only got more awkward from there.

every time caitlin interacted with other players, like katie lou or aliyah, she noticed something. you were always friendly, always smiling, always making an effort to bond with them. it was easy. natural. but with her, it was different. you barely spoke to her beyond the bare minimum, and every time she tried to start a conversation, you gave short, one-word responses. it confused her.

“why doesn’t she like me?” caitlin thought, watching you laugh with katie lou as the team played cards in the lounge after practice. “i don’t get it.”

every time you teased or joked around with your other teammates, caitlin felt the sting of your coldness. it was like she was invisible to you, even though you were teammates now. it made her question herself. was it because she lost that championship? because of how things had gone down in college? did you still think of her as just an opponent? the thought ate at her.

then came the game against one of the toughest teams in the league. caitlin had been getting pushed around, more than once, and the tension on the court was palpable. you could see her jaw clench, her shoulders stiffen. when the opposing player—a notoriously aggressive forward—got in caitlin’s face, pushing her and swearing, caitlin didn’t back down. but it was obvious she was starting to lose control.

you didn’t even think about it. you just reacted. before anyone could stop you, you were between them, your body protecting hers. you stood tall, staring the other player down, your voice cold but firm. “you don’t get to do that to her,” you said, the words leaving no room for argument.

caitlin stood behind you, a mixture of shock and gratitude on her face. she didn’t expect you to step in. she’d always been the one to fight her battles, but something in the way you had defended her made her heart race. it was different. personal. and for the first time, she realized just how much she needed that support from you.

after the game, when everything had calmed down, caitlin found herself alone in the locker room, her thoughts swirling. she hadn’t expected you to protect her like that. it made her feel something deep, something she couldn’t put into words. and she wanted to know more. wanted to understand why you acted the way you did around her, why you kept your distance.

you were sitting by your locker, wiping down your sneakers when she walked up to you. the silence between you two was thick.

“why didn’t you say anything before?” caitlin asked, her voice soft but edged with curiosity. “you’ve been so… cold with me. i don’t get it. i mean, you’re nice to everyone else, but with me… you act like i’m invisible. i just wanted to know why.”

you looked up at her, meeting her eyes for the first time with something softer in your gaze. the rivalry between you two wasn’t there anymore. not really. “i didn’t know how to be around you,” you admitted, your voice quieter than you intended. “in college, you were the one i had to beat. and then you got drafted here, and… it felt weird. like i didn’t know how to treat you.”

caitlin blinked, processing your words. “you didn’t know how to treat me?” she repeated, her voice catching slightly. she had hoped for something else, but hearing you say it made her understand. maybe she had been too focused on trying to prove herself to you. “so, you’re not… mad at me?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“no,” you said with a small smile. “not mad. just… confused. i didn’t know if we could be something else after everything. i guess i wasn’t ready to let go of the rivalry.”

caitlin let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, her shoulders relaxing. she smiled, a genuine one this time. “maybe it’s time we let it go.”

from that moment on, things changed. you and caitlin started to talk more, really talk. you found common ground, sharing laughs, teasing each other, and slowly, the barriers you had built up started to crumble. the more you got to know her, the more you realized there was more to her than the fiery competitor you once knew. and maybe there was a lot more between you two than you had ever expected.

not me lying and saying i was gonna post a few days ago. i’m so sorry i’ve been so busy. enjoy. REQUESTS R OPEN

part two? let me know

[reiding-writing]

hello! i LOVE your cold reader series so very much, would you be open to writing kind of the opposite? where instead of being like winter, reader is autumn incarnate? cozy and sweet with kind words for everyone, quiet and bookish but not in a standoffish way… thank you in advance! i just adore all of your writing 🫶✨

AUTUMN BREEZE — SPENCER REID!

your coworker’s would describe you like an autumn breeze, calm, cool, and comforting.

spencer reid x fem!reader | 1.0k | fluff | masterlist.

a/n — meet cold!reader’s… autumnal sister? idk i really love this premise it’s so cute

You step into the bullpen, a bundle of warmth in knitwear and wide-leg slacks, a soft rustling that reminds you of leaves skittering across a pavement in autumn. It's a sound you've always loved—crisp, comforting, familiar.

You carry it with you, like the golden hues of October, brushing against everyone in the office without even trying.

There’s an energy here that contrasts sharply with your calm: the hurried clicks of keyboards, the rustle of files, the undercurrent of murmured conversations.

But you bring something softer, something like the warm light that filters through the trees on a crisp morning.

Your mug of tea—sweetened with a touch of honey, as always—rests in your hands. The scent drifts upward, a subtle comfort that follows the rhythm of your movements. When you pass Spencer’s desk, he looks up from a thick stack of case files. His face is pale from long hours, his tie slightly askew. You can’t help but smile.

“Hey, Spencer,” you call softly, your voice low and warm, the sound steeped in honeyed affection.

He startles slightly, his grip faltering on the stack of files. “Oh, hey,” he stammers, adjusting quickly. “Good morning,”

“Morning,” You back track a few steps and turn toward him, your hand instinctively resting on his elbow to steady him. The wool of his blazer is coarse beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the softness of your sweater. “Let me help?”

“Oh, uh, no—” Spencer starts to protest, but you’re already taking half the stack, leaving him blinking in surprise.

“What would you do without me, hm?” you tease gently, your smile widening as you step toward his desk, files tucked safely under your arm.

From behind, you hear Morgan’s voice break through the bullpen chatter, a teasing lilt in his tone. “Careful, Reid. She’s got you wrapped around her little finger,”

You roll your eyes but don’t miss the faint flush that creeps up Spencer’s neck. You’re used to Morgan’s ribbing, just as you’re used to Spencer’s shy reactions to it. “He’d probably drop these all over the floor if I weren’t here,” you say over your shoulder, earning a laugh from Emily and JJ.

Spencer’s face flushes deeper, but his lips twitch with the beginnings of a smile. “I, uh, probably would,” he admits, his voice quiet.

You take a moment to dump your half of the pile onto your desk before retreating back to him, and you take a moment to brush an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. He glances down at your hand, his expression unreadable, but you don’t notice.

Your touch is always gentle, always brief—a steadying hand on a shoulder, a playful nudge, the faintest of brushes against his wrist. It’s second nature to you, an extension of the warmth you try to bring into the world.

“Thanks,” he murmurs, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment too long.

“You’re welcome,” you say simply, your expression softer than any silk pillow Spencer could imagine laying upon. “Now, let me guess—this is all reading material for the case?”

Spencer nods, launching into an explanation about geographical profiling and its application to their latest unsub. You listen intently, leaning against the edge of his desk, your arms crossed loosely.

The bullpen noise fades to a dull hum in the background as his voice fills the space between you. It’s one of your favorite things about Spencer—how his passion lights up the room, even in the smallest ways.

The comfortable silence that follows his explanation feels important—the kind of stillness that carries the faintest echo of sound, a reminder of something fleeting and beautiful. You let it settle, neither of you rushing to fill the space.

“You’re always so calm,” Spencer says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence but not the tranquility. His gaze is thoughtful, as though he’s been turning the words over in his mind before saying them out loud. “Even when things are hectic,”

You tilt your head, studying him for a moment before replying. “I think it’s because I try to see the good in things. In people. It helps me feel grounded.”

Spencer’s lips curve into a small, genuine smile. “It suits you,”

Before you can respond, Morgan’s voice cuts through the moment again. “Reid, you planning to finish signing those reports or just whisper sweet nothings into her ear all day?”

The bullpen erupts in laughter, and Spencer immediately ducks his head, muttering something unintelligible. You laugh softly, a sound that seems to relax him just a little.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” you say, your voice light but sincere. “I’ll defend your honour, promise,”

“Seriously?” Derek teases from across the room, leaning back in his chair. There’s a grin tugging at his lips, but it’s warm, harmless. “Do you ever stop radiating comfort?”

“Can’t help it,” you say with a shrug, meeting his teasing tone with an easy smile. “Someone’s gotta balance out all the brooding around here.” You glance meaningfully at Hotch’s office, and Derek chuckles.

Spencer’s lips twitch, but he hides his smile behind the stack of papers he’s pretending to read.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri can't help but gush about his girlfriend in every interview, effortlessly weaving you into his conversations with pride and admiration

( main naster list | more of oscar piastri ) ( requests )

Oscar Piastri had a habit—one that everyone in the paddock noticed almost immediately. He couldn’t stop talking about his girlfriend. And not just in the offhand, casual way people might expect, like a passing mention here or there. No, when Oscar talked about you, it was like flipping a switch. His entire demeanor softened, his eyes lit up, and his words came tumbling out with an earnestness that left no room for doubt: he was absolutely, irrevocably smitten, and he made sure the world knew it.

It started innocently enough during an interview early in his rookie season. The journalist had asked about his study habits for learning new tracks, expecting a typical response about simulator hours or reviewing footage. But Oscar, with that easy grin of his, took a completely different direction. “I mean, I’ve seen how my girlfriend studies for her exams, so this should be pretty easy,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “She’s top of her class, by the way.” The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression glowing with admiration. The journalist couldn’t help but chuckle, already mentally jotting down notes to find out more about this mysterious academic powerhouse who clearly had Oscar wrapped around her finger.

And that was just the beginning.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

During a fan stage Q&A, he managed to take things up a notch. A young fan asked how he stays calm under pressure, and Oscar didn’t even need a moment to think. He leaned into the mic, his face lighting up in that boyish, unfiltered way of his. “Oh, that’s easy. The other night, my girlfriend—she’s a top athlete, by the way—was prepping for this big event she had. Watching her manage everything so smoothly kind of puts my little race stress into perspective.”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate: a mix of cheers, laughter, and a collective ‘aww’ that made Oscar’s cheeks flush faintly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, like he hadn’t just melted half the audience’s hearts with a single sentence. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and the moment was all the more charming because it was clear Oscar didn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just telling the truth, proud and in awe of you as always.

But even then, he wasn’t done. “Honestly,” he added with a laugh, “if I handled pressure half as well as she does, I’d be unstoppable.” It was a line delivered with such casual reverence that it didn’t just make the fans smile—it left them convinced that Oscar Piastri wasn’t just a rising star in Formula 1; he was also a contender for the title of world’s best boyfriend.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then there was the time he was caught on McLaren’s YouTube channel, unabashedly gushing about how much he loved going shopping with you. It started as a casual behind-the-scenes segment—just Oscar and Lando killing time between commitments. But when the topic of hobbies came up, Oscar’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“No, seriously,” he began, animatedly waving his hands as Lando looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “She’s got this incredible eye for things. Like, we’ll walk into a store, and she’ll just pick something up and instantly know it’s perfect. I don’t even know how she does it.”

Lando, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your contribution to this magical shopping experience?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I…carry the bags,” he said with a proud grin. “It’s a good system.”

Lando snorted, muttering, “Golden retriever boyfriend,” under his breath, fully expecting Oscar to deny it. But Oscar, in his usual laid-back way, just shrugged and smiled wider. “I mean, if the shoe fits.” The clip went viral almost instantly, with fans agreeing that if there were ever a category for Boyfriend of the Year, Oscar was already a shoo-in.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then, there was the time during a press junket when a reporter asked him about his organization skills. The question was meant to highlight how drivers juggle their packed schedules, but Oscar’s response was anything but rehearsed.

He laughed, a warm, self-deprecating sound that filled the room. “Honestly, I would’ve been doomed yesterday if my girlfriend hadn’t reminded me about something I forgot. She’s the organized one in the relationship. I just…drive cars fast and hope for the best.”

The room burst into laughter, a few reporters exchanging amused glances at his candidness. But Oscar just grinned, his expression softening with the unmistakable fondness that always seemed to creep into his voice when he talked about you.

“It’s true,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to openly admit just how much he relied on you. And that was the magic of Oscar Piastri—his genuine, unabashed love for you turned even the simplest of conversations into something that felt warm and unforgettable.

Even in the most casual conversations with fans, you always managed to find your way into the spotlight through Oscar’s words. Like the time a fan brought him a book about racing during an autograph session. He accepted it with a warm smile, flipping through the pages for a moment before looking up. “Oh, my girlfriend loves reading,” he said, almost absentmindedly but with so much fondness it felt deliberate. “She’ll probably finish this before I do and then give me all the highlights. Saves me time.”

The fan giggled, clearly charmed, while the rest of the queue exchanged knowing smiles. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like mentioning you was the most natural thing in the world. And for Oscar, it was.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then there was the post-race interview after one of his toughest performances. He’d started the race in a dismal qualifying position, clawing his way through the pack to secure points in a way that left commentators breathless. By the time he reached the interview pen, his suit was damp with sweat, and exhaustion painted his features. But even then, the familiar warmth of his smile made an appearance as he approached the mic.

“You know,” he began, his voice still catching its breath but steady, “I think a big part of getting through today was remembering something my girlfriend told me.” His words were met with curious expressions from the reporters, who leaned in just a little closer. “She’s amazing at staying positive no matter what, and she’s always reminding me to focus on what I can control.”

He paused for a second, his gaze drifting toward the camera as if he was speaking directly to you. “So, yeah, this one’s for her.”

The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just an offhand mention or a fleeting thought. You weren’t just his girlfriend in name or title—you were his anchor. The way he spoke of you wasn’t just endearing; it was grounding, a reflection of how much you truly meant to him. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One of the sweetest displays of Oscar’s affection unfolded during a behind-the-scenes McLaren vlog. The team had been filming some candid moments during a break, and the camera panned to Oscar sitting in a corner, scrolling through his phone. His expression was soft, his lips curved into a barely-there smile. Then, as if remembering something, he nudged Lando, who was lounging next to him.

“Oh, look, my girlfriend,” Oscar said, holding up his phone. His voice was tinged with a quiet kind of excitement, like he’d discovered a hidden treasure he couldn’t wait to share. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the photo. “She sent me this earlier. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically against the couch. “Mate, you’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the amused grin on his face betrayed him. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it comes to her,” Oscar replied without missing a beat, his smile growing wider as he looked at the picture one more time before carefully locking his phone.

The clip went viral within hours of the vlog’s release. Fans couldn’t get over how sweet—and utterly smitten—Oscar was. Comments flooded in, praising his open adoration and dubbing him the “ultimate golden retriever boyfriend.”

But for those who knew him, this was just Oscar being himself. No matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always on his mind. And he made sure everyone around him knew just how proud he was to call you his. Whether it was your achievements, your quirks, or simply the way you lit up his life, Oscar never stopped finding ways to weave you into the conversation.

It wasn’t just about the words he said, though. It was the way he said them—with genuine admiration, unwavering pride, and a love so pure it could light up the entire paddock. His tone softened when he spoke about you, his expression grew warmer, and his smile turned just a little brighter.

If Oscar Piastri was the golden retriever boyfriend the world had come to adore, then you were undoubtedly his favorite human, his everything, the one who made all his happiest stories worth telling.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The atmosphere was electric at the Yas Marina Circuit, the tension so palpable it could’ve powered the floodlights. It was the last Grand Prix of the season, and everything was on the line for McLaren—the Constructors' Championship title hung in the balance. Among the sea of orange and black, you stood out—not just because you were there to support Oscar Piastri, but because you radiated an energy that seemed to magnetize the young driver to your side.

From the moment you both arrived on Thursday for media day, fans couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in your personalities. Oscar, always reserved and thoughtful, seemed content to let you take the lead, his quiet confidence complimented by your vibrant presence. When a fan asked how you two had met, you lit up with a mischievous smile.

“I adopted him when we were in school,” you said, glancing fondly at Oscar, who was shyly smiling at the ground. “I guess he just stuck to my side.”

Oscar, standing beside you, squeezed your hand in his as he chuckled. “Well, it’s hard not to stick to you. You kind of pull people in.”

Throughout the weekend, Oscar was a picture of quiet affection. Whether it was holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you, or resting his chin on your head during quieter moments, his touch was constant. Fans caught glimpses of him whispering things to you that made you laugh, your bubbly personality clearly rubbing off on him in the best ways.

When race day arrived, the stakes were high, and Oscar’s nerves were evident. But even after a dramatic first-lap collision with Max Verstappen that caused him to spin out and drop down the grid, you were still cheering for him like he’d just secured pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waved, McLaren had done it—they’d secured the Constructors' Championship. Despite Oscar’s rocky race, you were beaming with pride as he pulled into the pit lane. Seeing your smile waiting for him made every frustration of the day vanish from his mind.

After the podium celebrations for the team, a surprising transformation unfolded. Your extroverted energy seemed to seep into Oscar as if he’d caught your enthusiasm like a contagious laugh. Gone was the usual quiet and composed Oscar. In his place was a driver buzzing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he darted around the paddock.

He didn’t just take pictures with the team; he orchestrated them like a director at a photo shoot. “Lando, get over here! And grab that trophy!” he called, dragging his teammate into a chaotic group photo. When Lando least expected it, Oscar grabbed a bottle of leftover champagne and sprayed him without mercy, laughing so hard he had to lean on you for balance.

“You’re ridiculous!” you teased, wiping the champagne splatter off your face.

Oscar grinned wickedly. “Oh, am I now?” Before you could react, he turned the champagne on you, spraying it in a gleeful arc. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shouting as the fizzy liquid soaked your hair and clothes.

“Oscar!”

He set the bottle down and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek as if that would make up for it. “You look even better drenched in champagne,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. His giggles, boyish and utterly unguarded, filled the space between you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The two of you stood there in the middle of the celebration, drenched in champagne and surrounded by the joyous chaos of the team. Oscar looked at you, his face softening. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Even when it’s rough, you make it all worth it.”

You smiled up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

[oscinhaslandito]

COFFEE AND CHEMISTRY

The First Encounter:

Y/N sighed as she entered the university library, clutching her laptop and a half-drunk iced coffee. She spotted Oscar Piastri, her senior and brother’s best friend, sitting at a corner table, engrossed in his code. Lando had texted her earlier: "Go find Osc, he's at the library. Tell him to eat or something."

She hesitated before approaching, feeling a bit awkward interrupting him. "Hey, Oscar. Lando sent me to... check on you?"

Oscar looked up, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Classic Lando. You’re his messenger now?"

"Apparently. Also, can I sit here? The Wi-Fi is awful everywhere else," she asked, already pulling out her chair, though her voice held a slight edge of hesitation.

"Go ahead," he said with a shrug, sliding his notes aside to make space.

She noticed the assortment of neatly arranged notes and the faint smell of coffee around him. Settling down, she opened her laptop and glanced at him, realizing this might not be as awkward as she thought. Over the next hour, they worked in parallel, occasionally exchanging a word or two, and by the time Y/N packed up, she was surprised at how comfortable she felt.

Study Sessions:

Their study sessions became a routine. Every other day, Y/N would find herself at the same table with Oscar, their laptops open and the occasional sound of typing filling the air. He would guide her through complex algorithms, his calm explanations cutting through her frustration.

"Wait, so if I just refactor this part of the code, it works?" she asked, her eyes wide with realization. She clicked a few keys, and the once-buggy program finally ran smoothly.

"Exactly," Oscar said, his tone patient. "It’s just cleaner and more efficient this way."

Y/N threw her hands up in mock surrender. "I owe you my GPA," she said dramatically, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

"You’re figuring it out yourself. I’m just nudging you in the right direction," he replied, but there was a hint of pride in his voice. "Wow, you're like my guardian mentor."

Oscar looked at her with a confused raise of brow. "Guardian mentor?"

She looked way too proud of her words, "Yeah, like a Guardian Angel who helps me study. That's a Guardian Mentor."

Over time, her confidence grew. She started solving problems faster, but still turned to him when she hit a wall. Those moments became less about solving the problem and more about the comfort of knowing someone had her back. Sometimes, they’d take short breaks, sharing stories about classes or laughing over ridiculous memes Y/N found. Each session felt less like a chore and more like a shared ritual.

The Comfortable Silences:

Not every session was filled with conversation. Sometimes, they’d sit in companionable silence, the only sounds being the tapping of keys and the occasional flip of a page. It was oddly comforting. Y/N found herself appreciating Oscar’s quiet focus and the subtle way he’d glance at her screen, checking on her progress without saying a word.

On one of those silent nights, she looked up and found him staring at the ceiling, his pen tapping lightly against his notebook. "Penny for your thoughts?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He shrugged, offering her a small smile. "Just wondering if I’ll survive my final project."

"If you don’t, who’s going to help me with mine?" she teased, earning a chuckle.

Occasionally, the silence was punctuated by shared snacks or the soft sound of Oscar humming absentmindedly. It was in these moments that Y/N realized how much she enjoyed his company, even without words.

The Breakthrough:

When Y/N finally completed a particularly tricky assignment, she nearly jumped out of her seat, earning a glare from the librarian.

"It works! Oscar, look!" she whispered excitedly, pointing at her screen.

He leaned over, his shoulder brushing hers as he checked her work. A proud smile spread across his face. "Told you you’d get it."

"Team effort," she said, grinning. "You’re like my coding guardian angel."

Lando, who had just arrived with snacks, raised his hands in mock celebration. "Hallelujah, the nerds have triumphed! Let’s commemorate this moment with pizza."

"Deal," Y/N said, laughing.

"You know," Lando added, "I feel like I deserve some credit for this too. I’m the one who made you two start studying together."

"Sure, Lando," Y/N said, rolling her eyes. "Your contribution was invaluable."

Oscar smirked. "The moral support was life-changing."

Lando grinned. "Exactly. Glad you both finally see it."

Later that night, as they walked back to their dorms, Y/N turned to Oscar. "Thanks for always helping me. I don’t think I would’ve gotten through this semester without you."

"Anytime," he replied softly, his gaze lingering on her a moment longer than usual.

The Late Nights:

Their study sessions often stretched into the late evenings. The library’s quiet hum became their soundtrack as they worked under the soft glow of desk lamps. On one particularly late night, Y/N’s head started to droop, her notes blurring before her eyes.

Oscar noticed, nudging her gently with his elbow. "You’re falling asleep," he said softly.

"Am not," she mumbled, her eyes half-closed.

"Come on," he said, packing up her things. "I’ll walk you back to your dorm."

"You’re too nice," she murmured, already half-asleep as they walked through the empty campus.

"Someone’s gotta look out for you," he replied, his voice low but warm. The quiet night air seemed to hold something unspoken between them.

The Little Gestures and Moments:

One evening, Y/N’s iced coffee was running low, and Oscar excused himself for a break. He returned with a fresh cup for her, setting it down without a word.

"Thought you’d need it," he said simply, his tone casual.

She blinked up at him, touched by the gesture. "Thanks, Osc."

Before she could say more, Lando sauntered over, smirking. "Well, aren’t you thoughtful?" he said, plopping into a seat.

Oscar rolled his eyes. "Don’t make it weird."

"Too late," Lando quipped, winking at Y/N.

The next day, Lando’s teasing escalated. "So, Osc, is this your secret way of wooing her? Coffee runs and all?"

"It’s called being polite," Oscar replied, though his ears turned slightly red.

Y/N groaned. "Lando, stop embarrassing him—and me!"

"Never," Lando said, grinning. "It’s my brotherly duty."

Later, as Oscar handed her a printout she needed, Lando chimed in, "Oh, a printout too? What’s next, love letters?"

Y/N threw a pen at him. "Out. Now."

Lando left, laughing, but not before saying, "I’m just saying—romance isn’t dead!"

Oscar started leaving small sticky notes with helpful tips or encouraging words on her desk when she wasn’t looking. One read, "You’ve got this! - OP." Y/N couldn’t help but smile, saving the notes in her notebook.

Between the teasing and late-night sessions, it was the small moments that stood out. The way Oscar would share his notes without hesitation, or how Y/N would save him a seat during crowded study hours. The way their hands would occasionally brush when reaching for a pen, lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

It was in those fleeting touches and quiet smiles that an unspoken bond began to grow. Neither of them said anything, but both felt it. One evening, as Y/N leaned over to grab her bag, Oscar absentmindedly tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She froze for a moment, their eyes meeting, before he quickly pulled back, his cheeks tinged with pink.

The Lando Fiasco:

Lando occasionally joined them, his presence like a whirlwind that disrupted their serene environment. He would sprawl out in a chair, his arms crossed behind his head and a bag of snacks on the table.

"You two look like an ad for academic excellence," he teased, tossing a gummy bear at Y/N. "Do you ever do normal things, or is it all code and coffee?"

"Yeah yeah, we get it we're nerdy. Blah blah blah," Y/N rolled her eyes, catching the gummy bear and popping it into her mouth.

He chuckled, looking amused, "But seriously, don’t let Oscar turn you into a full-blown nerd," Lando added, smirking at his best friend.

Oscar smirked back, his tone deadpan. "She’s already better at debugging than you ever were."

"Rude," Lando replied, pretending to be offended. "I was just giving her the opportunity to shine. You’re welcome, Y/N."

Another time, Lando leaned over to peer at Y/N’s screen. "What are you even doing? That looks like an alien language."

"It’s called programming, Lando," she replied dryly.

"Yeah, and it’s definitely not for humans," he quipped. "Osc, how do you even understand this stuff?"

Oscar shrugged. "It’s just practice. You could learn it if you tried."

Lando snorted. "I’ll stick to spreadsheets, thanks."

Sometimes, his interruptions turned into rambling monologues about business strategies or bizarre hypotheticals. One evening, he sprawled across the table dramatically. "If I get a friend to create an app for matchmaking nerds, would you two be my test subjects?"

Y/N groaned. "Lando, we’re trying to focus."

Oscar, without looking up, replied just so Lando wouldn't bug them further, "Only if you promise to never bring this up again."

Lando grinned. "Deal. But you’d owe me royalties if it works."

He also had a knack for sneaking pictures of them studying. "Just documenting the nerd life," he’d say, showing them a candid shot of Oscar leaning over to help Y/N with a problem. "For the memories."

"So, when are you two gonna start dating?" Lando asked one day, casually leaning against the table.

Y/N choked on her coffee, and Oscar’s ears turned red.

"What? We’re just studying," Y/N protested, her voice a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.

"Sure, and I love pescatarians," Lando said, grinning. "Seriously, Osc, you’re basically already part of the family. Just make it official."

Oscar cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. "You’re unbelievable."

"And you’re avoiding the question," Lando shot back, his teasing grin widening.

Later, when Y/N had stepped away to go to class, Lando leaned closer to Oscar. "Just so you know, if you hurt her, you’ll have to deal with me."

Oscar’s expression softened. "I’d never do that."

Lando nodded, his usual playful demeanor giving way to sincerity for a moment. "Good."

On another day, Lando orchestrated a "random" movie night, conveniently inviting just the two of them. "Oops, looks like I’m busy tonight," he said, feigning regret. "Guess it’s just you two."

Y/N glared at him. "You’re the least subtle person ever."

"You’re welcome," Lando said, unabashed.

His meddling didn’t stop there. He started dropping hints to their mutual friends, ensuring they’d all conveniently "notice" how close Oscar and Y/N were. "Don’t you think they’d make a cute couple?" he’d say, grinning mischievously.

Lando’s teasing, it was clear to everyone—especially Lando—that there was something special about their dynamic. Whether it was the way Oscar’s gaze softened when Y/N talked about her goals, or how Y/N instinctively turned to Oscar for reassurance, their connection spoke volumes.

"You’re good for each other," Lando said one evening, his tone unusually sincere.

Oscar glanced at Y/N, who was too busy typing to notice. "Yeah," he said quietly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I guess we are."

The Confession:

It wasn’t a grand confession, but rather a culmination of Lando’s relentless teasing and their own shared moments. One evening, as they packed up from another late study session, Oscar sighed, his gaze shifting from the desk to Y/N.

"Can I ask you something?" he began, his tone a little more serious than usual.

She looked up, her expression curious. "What’s up?"

"Do you... ever get tired of Lando pushing us together?"

Y/N laughed softly. "Constantly. He’s relentless."

Oscar hesitated, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "The thing is... he’s not entirely wrong. About us, I mean."

Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of surprise. "Oscar..."

"I just think," he continued, his voice steady but earnest, "that maybe we’re wasting time pretending he’s off-base. Because he’s not. At least, not for me. What about you?"

She stared at him for a moment, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Then, a small, shy smile spread across her face. "He’s not wrong for me either."

Relief washed over Oscar’s face, and his lips curved into a genuine smile. "So, what do you say? Dinner? Just us?"

"Are you asking me out, Piastri?"

[fairqves]

꒰ NEVER A BURDEN ! ۟ ׅ ͡ ୨ৎ

(🐰) ──𝓟ARK JISUNG﹙ 지성 ﹚ ꒰ 𝓰. oneshot ៸ fluff ៸ friends to ?? ୨୧ㅤㅤ WARNiNGS : not proofread ៸ fight ៸ petnames ៸ mean girls ❞ bsf! 𝒿isung x 𝑓! reader ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ꒰ WC : 1.5K ꒱ SYPNOSiS 𐙚 in which you, a bubbly chatterbox, and your quiet, shy and reserved crush face a misunderstanding that forces both your feelings to the surface, leading to you avoid jisung like the plague .ᐟ HEAVILY INSPIRED BY WIFTY ── LiBRARY

THE CLASSROOM WAS ALIVE WITH ITS TYPICAL CHAOS AS PER USUAL.

the rustling of papers, the whispers of conversations exchanged between friends, and the occasional snickers of laughter.

you thrived in moments like this, pushing through the crowded rows of desks with a beaming smile and a seemingly endless stream of stories to tell.

and, of course, there was park jisung.

quiet, reserved, and hunched over his studying notes, jisung sat at his usual seat by the window, his expression looking more tired and stressed than usual.

you didn’t know what had exactly drawn you to him initially—maybe it was his quiet presence, the calm that had always seemed to follow him wherever he went. ── 𝖱𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖡𝖤𝖫𝖮𝖶!

or maybe it was the way he always listened, even when you talked a mile a minute about the most random things.

you weren’t oblivious to what people said about you and jisung—the whispers that followed you down the hallways, the teasing smiles from classmates when they saw you together.

everyone thought you were too much for him, like a bright flame paired with an unmovable stone. but you didn’t care.

at least, you didn’t think you did.

today was no different—at least, it hadn’t started that way. you perched on the edge of jisung’s desk, chattering away as he scribbled in his notebook.

he didn’t say much, just an occasional hum of acknowledgment or a slight nod of his head. but to you, that was enough.

“ji, get this,” you began, leaning closer to him as your hands slapped the table dramatically. “i was walking home yesterday, and this dog—this huge scary dog—came out of nowhere and—”

“y/n,” jisung interrupted, his voice sharp and dismissive.

you froze mid-sentence, blinking at him in surprise.

he sighed, not looking up from his notes. “can you please do me a favour and shut up for a second?”

the silence hung thick in the air.

you blinked again, the smile fading from your face as the classroom noise around you suddenly felt deafening.

“oh,” you mumbled, quickly stepping back from his desk. “okay.”

you turned around before he could say anything else, slipping back into your seat and pulling out your notebook in front of you.

your heart felt heavy, the sting of his words settling deep inside your chest.

behind you, the whispers started almost immediately.

“oh my god.. did you hear that?”

“i mean, he’s not wrong. she’s so loud.”

“doesn’t she know he doesn’t even like her?”

“she’s been following him around for months. it’s so obvious.”

you bit your lip, keeping your head down as their words echoed in your ears. normally, you’d brush it off, but today—today it felt like they were right about you all along.

the rest of the day passed in a blur—you avoided jisung as much as possible, slipping out of the classroom as soon as the bell rang and keeping a notable distance whenever you passed him in the hall.

by the time the final bell rang, signaling the end of the day, you were exhausted—emotionally and physically.

you stood by your locker, pretending to reorganize your books as you watched jisung leave the classroom.

normally, you’d catch up with him and walk to the bus stop together, but today, you let him walk ahead.

at the bus stop, your absence didn’t go unnoticed.

“where’s y/n?” jaemin asked, leaning lazily against the bench. jisung shrugged, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he slightly smiled picturing you running after him just to sit on the bus with him. “i don’t know.”

“you don’t know?” chenle repeated, his tone confused. “you always know. did she get in trouble or something?”

jisung shook his head, though his jaw tightened slightly as he remembered what he said to you a few hours ago. “no..why?”

renjun raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “because she’s not here. and the last time i checked, she would rather die than miss a bus ride with you.”

jisung didn’t respond. instead, he stared at the concrete, his hands fidgeting slightly as the bus pulled up.

he didn’t know how to explain the sudden ache in his chest, the uncomfortable emptiness that came with your absence.

when he boarded the bus and saw you sitting in a seat near the front—alone, it hit him all over again.

you didn’t even glance his way as he walked past, sliding into a seat a few rows behind you.

normally, you’d save the seat beside you for him, grinning and waving him over like he was the most important person in the world.

but today, there was only silence.

the bus ride was quiet, other than the occasional whispers of other passengers. jisung spent the entire time staring at the back of your head, his thoughts racing.

he wanted to say something, to apologize, but he quite literally didn’t know how—the words were stuck in his throat.

when the bus finally reached your stop, you got up without looking back, walking silently toward the door.

jisung followed, trailing a few steps behind as you both began the familiar walk home. normally, you’d fill the air with stories and your laughter, your voice the soundtrack to his otherwise quiet life.

but now, there was only the sound of your footsteps, each one heavier than the last.

finally, jisung couldn’t take it anymore.

“y/n,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

you stopped walking but didn’t turn around. “what?” his heart sank at the coldness in your tone. “are you… mad at me?”

you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow. “mad? no, jisung. i’m not mad.” you turned to face him, and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of your glassy, tear-filled eyes. “i’m hurt.”

the guilt hit him like a slap.

“you told me to shut up,” you continued, your voice trembling. “do you know how much that hurt? and do you know what people say about me? they say you don’t even like me. that i’m just some annoying girl who follows you around. and today, it felt like they were right. like i really am just a burden to you.”

“no,” jisung said immediately, his voice firm and filled with held-back emotion. “that’s not true, y/n. none of that is true.”

“then why did you say it?” you asked, tears rolling down your cheeks now. “why did you tell me to shut up if you don’t think i’m annoying?”

“i was stressed,” he admitted, his shoulders slumping. “i’ve been studying so much, and i wasn’t thinking. i was stupid, and i took it out on you. but y/n…” he stepped closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reached out to touch your shoulder.

“i promise you—you’re not a burden. you’re never a burden. you’re the best part of my day.”

your breath hitched, your heart fluttering at his words.

“i mean it,” he said, his voice filled with vulnerability. “i don’t care what anyone else says. i care about you. you make everything better, even when i’m too stupid to see it.”

before you could respond, jisung pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest.

his embrace was hesitant at first, like he wasn’t sure if you’d let him, but when you didn’t pull away, he held you tighter.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice muffled against your hair. “i’m so, so sorry. please don’t avoid me anymore.”

you let out a shaky breath, your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as you buried your face in his chest. “i just thought…” you trailed off, your voice quiet.

“you don’t have to think anything,” he mumbled, pulling back just enough to look at you. his hands cupped your face, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears.

“just know that i’m here, and i care about you. okay?” you nodded, your cheeks heating under his soft gaze.

the walk home felt different this time. jisung held your hand the entire way, his grip warm and reassuring.

you felt shy now, hyper-aware of every little movement, and every little glance. the air between you was quieter than usual, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle and comforting.

when you reached your door, you turned to thank him, but before you could say anything, jisung hesitated.

the tip of his ears were a bright red, and before you could process what was happening, he gently spun you around and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

your eyes widened, your heart skipping a beat as you stared at him. his cheeks were undeniably pink now, and he stepped back, avoiding your gaze.

“i—i’ll see you tomorrow,” he mumbled, quickly turning and walking away in the direction of his house.

you stood there for a moment, stunned, before a small grin tugged at the corner of your lips.

maybe jisung wasn’t great with emotions—his words and actions, but in that moment, he’d said everything you needed to hear.

© FAIRQVES 2025 do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

NOTE. ohmgee guys i pulled jaemin in my dreamscape album !!! anyways jisung is so zhang lurang coded u cannot convince me otherwise. also jaemin is so duan jiaxu coded too… my brain is braining rn 😇

୨୧ TAGLIST OPEN ‹𝟹 @mioons @nshmuras @suneng @pnghoon @shawnyle @laylasbunbunny @privareum @briefsaladfun @cyjzzl @sol3chu @txtlyn @d-dilemma @deezbin @iluvnikism @rikibwn @wonsprincess @niawonn @pockyyasii @kiss4noo @nineooooo @loves0ft @ancnymcnzjy @dazzlingjaeyun : COMMENT OR SEND AN ASK TBA.

[aquamarixx]

breaking the internet

chapter eight when some clout chaser claims to be the mystery girl in the photo, Hiori shuts down the rumors and teases about the girl who truly has his heart blue lock longfic series pairing hiori yo x reader contains fluff, post blue lock timeskip, afab!reader masterlist

The speculations about Hiori’s mystery girl are definitely one of the highlights of his career.

Ironically, he finds it funny how people react to it. He’s already been scolded by both the team manager and the marketing manager, each lecturing him about how careless he’s been. It’s not like there’s anything inherently wrong with dating, especially as an athlete. Though it seems like he was scolded for not giving them a heads up and keeping it a secret. 

His parents, on the other hand, are pretty much predictable. His dad stays quiet about these sorts of things, but his mom? She makes it a huge deal. Despite their issues, she still showers him with love and attention in her own overbearing, only-child-parent way. She’s adamant that he’s been hiding the girl from her because he’s embarrassed or something.

Not to mention, his friends and teammates. His Bastard Munchen teammates—not exactly the epitome of calm, cool and connectedness as how they would look.

The moment he arrived into a field for training, Isagi sprints at him at high speed, like golden retriever finally seeing its best friend. Igaguri and Raichi moan about how unfair it is for Hiori to get a girlfriend before them. The older members, Geisner, Bachs and even Ndiaye praised him as if he scored a goal.

Even Noa himself gives him an approving nod, “at least we know you’re normal-er than the rest of these football heads.”

Again, a wild reaction from everyone.

Sure, he’s not the only eligible bachelor in the field, nay, in his team who have been elusive or secretive about their relationships. But sports gossip writers love to eat up news like this. Like vultures circling around a carcass, the media (even fans) are waiting to pounce on him any moment. 

“Who’s the girl you were caught kissing at the JFA party?”

“Do you finally have a girlfriend?”

“Is your girlfriend a celebrity?”

It’s the same old question every single time. And for Hiori, it gets tiring. He should be answering questions about the game, the team’s performance and plans ahead this season. People are too hung up on who’s his “flavor of the month”, as if he’s Oliver freaking Aiku.

But he knows how to play the game. It’s just like playing a visual novel. His answers already predetermined, all of them would either deflect or shut down the whole topic all together. 

“I have no idea what yer talkin’ about.”

“Are ya sure that’s me? Doesn’t look like me?”

“Looks edited though, don’tcha think?”

Like he promised you, he won’t disclose anything to the media or anyone else. Not that he’s the type to kiss and tell. But he won’t confirm or deny it either. He finds it fun to watch people squirm, teetering on the edge of curiosity and frustration. 

Plus, he values his privacy. That’s how it’s always been, and it’s how it always will be. 

Still, beneath his calm demeanor, Hiori worries he might fumble this. He likes you—really likes you. Enough to avoid making mistakes that might scare you off.

Fine, he likes you a lot. More than he thinks you even realize. 

In the months before you started dating, he found himself looking forward to every conversation with you, whether it was online or during work. He’d take whatever crumbs he could get, so to speak.

That’s why he got so frustrated when you started showing up way less for interviews. He understood it was just part of your job, something entirely out of his control. But when you got reassigned to other teams, it did threaten him. 

You were a natural at what you did—fun, easygoing, and effortlessly charming. No wonder he felt at ease with you from the get go. So it was just a matter of time till others saw you the way he did. 

Athletes like them are human after all. 

When Nagi—and, surprisingly, Reo—tried to squeeze into the picture, that did it for him. He hated how it felt, the simmering jealousy that crept in every time he saw them be all chummy with you. No amount of goals scored against Manshine City could ease the sinking feeling of losing you to one of them. Or, worse, both of them.

Hiori never thought of himself as the jealous type. But now he knows better. He despises the feeling. The tightness in his chest, the restless nights replaying imagined scenarios. Yet, there’s also a quiet satisfaction now. You chose him. 

Not publicly known, not splashed across headlines. But still, you’re his. If he gets jealous, he knows he’s not overreacting.

“I know who she is!” Isagi sing-songs, jogging over to the bench.

Hiori offers him a water bottle, cocking an eyebrow. “Whatcha mean?”

Isagi displays a shit eating grin, practically glowing with mischief. “I know who the girl is. Ness knows, too.”

Ness, approaching from behind, offers a polite smile—a polite smile that makes Hiori’s stomach drop.

“Nah, ya don’t,” Hiori says, chuckling nervously.

“We do,” Isagi insists.

“Ya don’t,” Hiori repeats.

“Well, we do,” Ness interjects smoothly. “Reo told us about how you cockblocked him and Nagi at the party.”

Hiori freezes, sweat beading on his forehead. “What?”

“You guys weren’t exactly subtle when you bailed,” Isagi adds, his shit-eating grin growing wider. “Miss Journalist seems to be really into y—what the hell, Hiori!”

A towel smacks Isagi square in the face. “Shaddap!” Hiori hisses, putting a finger to his lips.

Ness snickers, and Isagi pulls the towel off, laughing. “Alright, fine, ya got me. But can ya two keep it down? We just started dating,” Hiori mutters, massaging his temples.

“Relax, I’m not gonna spill,” Ness says with a wave of his hand but he gives a small smile, amused by Hiori’s reactions.

“Gotcha,” Isagi says, mock-saluting. “But, man, I didn’t know you had that kind of ‘HioRizz.’”

Hiori groans, glaring at Isagi. “I swear to God, if ya don’t shut up, I’ll leave ya out of every pass next game.”

Ness bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry, Isagi. I’ll pass to you.”

“Hiori has more rizz than Yukimiya! I should take notes!” Isagi jokes, only for Hiori to smack him on the arm before chasing him down the field.

Despite the chaos, Hiori can’t help but feel a warm sense of pride. These guys might be loud and annoying, but they’re also the ones he trusts most. And in a way, it feels nice to share this secret with them—a small piece of his happiness.

Because you’re his. And he’s yours. And to Hiori, that means everything.

“So… you’re telling me this is you?” Your roommate, Miko, thrusts her phone in your direction, her finger pointing dramatically at the paparazzi photo of you and Hiori plastered on her screen.

It’s only been a week since the photo started making rounds online, but you’ve been caught staring at it one too many times by Miko, your eagle-eyed, ever-curious roommate. Today, you finally caved. The whirlwind of emotions bubbling inside was too much to handle alone.

And now, you just had to tell her because things are driving you crazy at this point. 

“Yup.” The two of you are sitting side by side on the couch. She grills you with her own paparazzi-like questions while you sink in further the couch, the unfinished article on the laptop you’ve been drafting long forgotten at this point.

Miko squints at you, her head tilting as she studies the image like a detective analyzing evidence. Her brow furrows, and then, as if struck by a sudden epiphany, she gasps.

She springs up from her seat, pointing at your face accusingly. “Aha! Is this the guy you—" she gestures vaguely but suggestively with her hand, “—you know, slept with after that work party?”

“Yes, it’s him. No, we didn’t ‘sleep’ together.” You can’t help but laugh as you swat her finger away. “We shared the same bed, yes. But nothing happened.”

Miko raises an incredulous eyebrow. “Sure, sure. A pretty girl like you, and he didn’t try anything? In this economy?” She blows a dramatic raspberry and plops back against the couch, clearly unimpressed.

Your cheeks burn, recounting the night you spent with Hiori. It was intimate—sweet and wholesome in a way that still made your chest flutter when you thought about it. The kisses, his touches. It only makes you yearn for it more.

The morning after was even better. You spending a whole Saturday with him was like magic. 

She idly giggles to herself as she scrolls more on her phone, probably to stalk Hiori. The girl is chronically online so her stalking (research skills as she calls it) skills are on par with yours. She could be a damn good journalist if she wants to. 

“You’re such a perv, Miko,” you say, swatting her with a throw pillow.

“Says the girl who drools on this guy's sweaty photos,” she shoots back, laughing as she scrolls furiously on her phone. “Wait a minute—oh, damn. This guy’s a big deal. National team and Bastard München? He’s a whole package!”

You glance over her shoulder, smiling despite yourself. At 26, Hiori’s resume is nothing short of legendary. Back when you were just another journalist in the crowd, you’d been blown away by his talent. It was his brilliance on the field that inspired you to write that first viral article—the one that caught his eye.

Even now, it feels surreal. How did you go from admiring him from afar to… this?

“And you’re okay with not going public?” Miko asks, her tone softer this time. Her eyes flick briefly to you, filled with concern. She’s seen you through your fair share of bad relationships—flings that went nowhere and heartbreaks that left their marks.

“Yeah,” you answer, though there’s a hesitation in your voice. “Honestly, I’m kind of relieved. I don’t even want to imagine how people would react if they knew I was just… me. An ordinary nobody.”

Miko slams her phone down dramatically. “First of all, you’re not a nobody. You’re the girl who single-handedly brought Bastard München back into the spotlight. You’re the one who made everyone see their worth when they were tanking. You’re that bitch.”

You can’t help but laugh at her enthusiasm, leaning into the side hug she gives you.

“But seriously,” you admit, letting out a long sigh, “it feels unreal. Like… we’re from completely different worlds. If this got out, I don’t think I’d be ready for the fallout. People would rip me apart.”

Miko frowns but says nothing, letting you pass her your phone. Together, you scroll through the endless speculation about Hiori’s mystery girl. Post after post describes someone glamorous and unattainable—completely unlike you.

“That’s ridiculous,” Miko says, her voice dripping with disdain. But before you can reply, she suddenly gasps so loudly that you nearly drop your phone.

“What now?” you ask, startled.

She shoves her phone into your hands, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and fury. On the screen is a video of a rising sports influencer, her perfectly curated appearance making her look every bit the part of someone destined for the spotlight.

The interviewer’s voice is casual, almost playful. “So, you attended the recent JFA party?”

The influencer smiles coyly, a soft, practiced laugh escaping her lips. “Oh, of course. I was there.”

You can feel the tension building as the interviewer leans in slightly, their tone dropping to something conspiratorial. “And… given your connections to Bastard München and your shared sponsor, you must know Hiori Yo?”

The influencer’s eyes sparkle, and she lets out a delighted giggle. “Well, who doesn’t know Hiori? He’s incredible—on and off the field.”

Pfft. As if she knows anything about Hiori and his brilliance.

“So… are you the girl Hiori Yo was caught kissing that night?” Your stomach twists as the interviewer delivers the bombshell, their voice taking on an almost teasing quality.

The influencer doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers lingering as if to draw attention to the gesture. Then she twirls a lock of hair, her eyes flitting away from the camera for just a moment before returning with a mischievous glint.

“Well… isn’t that for everyone to wonder?” she says, her lips curving into a playful smirk. The answer is deliberately vague, but the mischievous glint in her eyes speaks volumes, leaving just enough room for everyone’s imagination to run wild.

Miko explodes. “The audacity!” she practically shouts, throwing her hands in the air. “What is wrong with her? She’s milking this for clout! And the interviewer—ugh!”

You can’t even respond. Your gaze is glued to the screen, your chest tightening with every second of the video. The influencer’s words replay in your head, her casual demeanor and sly smile feeding into the storm of doubts you’ve tried so hard to suppress.

Miko’s rant continues unabated. “She didn’t even deny it! She knows exactly what she’s doing. God, people like her make me so mad.” She paces the room, her gestures wild and exaggerated, but you barely register her words.

Your stomach churns as you scroll through the comments beneath the video.

she’s stunning—definitely Hiori’s type. this makes so much sense they’d look so good together

Each comment feels like a jab, their assumptions cutting deeper than you thought possible. The image of you and Hiori, so ordinary and imperfect in comparison, flashes in your mind.

You glance down at yourself: wearing your favorite but worn-out pajamas, the fabric soft from too many washes. Your hair is in a messy bun, a few strands rebelliously sticking out. You’re comfortable, sure, but the reflection from the phone staring back feels painfully ordinary.

The woman in the video, with her flawless hair and perfectly styled outfit, radiates a charisma that seems effortless. She looks like someone who commands attention the moment she steps into a room, someone whose beauty turns heads without trying. 

Normally, you wouldn’t care about looking “normal.” Most days, you’re content in your own skin, finding beauty in your own way. But this? This moment makes you feel like just another face in the crowd. No striking features, no captivating allure. Just plain, unremarkable. And right now, “normal” feels less like a badge of self-acceptance and more like a curse.

Miko stops mid-rant when she notices the look on your face. “Hey, don’t let this get to you,” she says, her voice softening. She sits back down beside you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “People love drama, and she’s giving it to them.”

“But what if people believe her?” you ask quietly, the vulnerability in your voice startling even yourself. “What if they think she’s better for him?”

She shakes her head firmly. “You can’t let strangers decide what’s best for him or for you. Hiori chose you, not some influencer fishing for likes. That says more than any of this nonsense ever could.”

You nod slowly, though the unease lingers. Deep down, you know she’s right. But as you hand her phone back, the thought persists: How long before the world finds out—and what happens when they do?

You spend the next weekend with Hiori at his apartment. Again. 

This routine has become a comforting tradition. Every Friday after work, you and Hiori grab dinner, sharing stories about your day. By the time the last train rolls in, you’re on your way to his apartment, lugging a slightly larger backpack than usual. Inside are the essentials: a change of clothes, skincare, and personal items, neatly packed alongside your work things.

It’s mundane yet romantic, this little ritual you’ve built together. Friday nights are reserved for catching up, sharing laughter, and exchanging updates about work and personal lives.

During one of these chats, he casually mentioned that Isagi and Ness know about the two of you now. You shared that Miko, your closest friend and roommate, knows too. But you couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about the video. Not yet.

That Friday night, you binge-watch movies. This time, some of his favorites, including SPEC. It’s endearing to see him so animated as he talks about what he loves, his passion stretching beyond football.

Curled up on the couch together, a blanket draped over you, everything feels natural. His arm rests over your shoulders, pulling you close as you melt into his side. Occasionally, he leans in to kiss you—your knuckles, your cheek, the top of your head—absentmindedly, his eyes never leaving the screen. The faint scent of his body wash lingers in the air, grounding you in this moment, so intimate yet exhilarating.

By the time the third movie ends, you’re both ready to tuck in for the night. As you drift off in his arms, the comfort and warmth feel whole, complete.

You always wake up earlier than him. It’s a small, heartwarming detail you love about these mornings. He even got you your own coffee mug. A matching set of Nier Automata ones for both of you. With coffee in hand, you lounge in the living room, flipping through a book while the quiet hum of his apartment surrounds you.

Later, you make brunch together, settling into the kind of domesticity that makes your heart flutter. Saturdays with Hiori are always this way—unhurried and easy. You both slip into a rhythm that feels like second nature, each finding comfort in the other's presence.

When he’s gaming on his PC, you’re nearby doing some light work on your laptop, occasionally glancing up to watch his focus. When he switches to his PS5, you curl up beside him on the couch, yapping about the book or manga you’re reading as your fingers absentmindedly play with his hair. He listens quietly, humming in acknowledgment now and then, his contentment reflected in the small smile that lingers on his face.

It’s the kind of quiet companionship that makes everything feel right—as if the two of you were meant to exist in this peaceful harmony.

But this time, something disrupts the vibe.

Standing by the sink, phone in hand, your brow furrows as the video plays again. It’s the same one. The influencer, the coy smile, the teasing comments. You try to push it aside, but the weight of it lingers.

“Hey, you okay?” Hiori’s voice startles you. He’s slipped behind you, his hands resting gently on your waist as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“God, Hiori, you scared me!” You fumble with your phone, but instead of turning it off, the volume spikes, making you jump. Flustered, you quickly lower it.

“What was that?” he asks, noticing the unease in your expression.

You hesitate but eventually lead him to the couch, where you show him the video. As he watches, you fidget, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap.

“I just… it’s been bothering me,” you admit finally, your voice trembling. “Even though we’ve been dating for a few weeks now, I can’t shake this feeling that our worlds are too different. It’s pathetic that I let it bother me.”

Before he can respond, you continue, a weak laugh escaping you. “I know we’ve talked about this, but… it just gets to me sometimes.”

Hiori pauses, then gently pulls you into his arms. “Hey, s’fine. I understand. Don’t worry about them, ‘kay?” His voice is soft but steady, grounding you.

You feel his sincerity, but the nagging fear remains. “I don’t want to scare you with these feelings,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“And I wantcha ya to know ya won’t scare me. Ever.” He tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. “Is there anything I can do to help ease yer mind?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly. “Just this… spending time with you like this, it’s enough for me.” But then, gathering your courage, you add, “Actually… I was wondering if I could take you out. On a proper date. Something special. Just the two of us.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise, but his smile grows almost immediately. “You’re asking me out, huh?” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss on the lips. “Of course. I can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned.”

And for the first time in days, the weight in your chest feels a little lighter.

When midweek rolls in, you know you'll be too preoccupied since it always comes with an avalanche of tasks, and today is no different.

You're neck-deep in work, juggling content planning for upcoming videos and articles while checking in with interns you’re supervising. They're compiling research on volleyball, basketball, and surprisingly, esports, which they’ve informed you is “the next big thing.”

You slump back in your chair, fingers aching from typing, and let out a long exhale. Cracking your knuckles, you reach for your coffee, savoring the warmth as it spreads through you. It’s moments like this when caffeine feels less like a drink and more like a lifeline for your overworked soul.

Your phone buzzes on the desk, lighting up with a notification. It’s a message from Hiori.

Oooh, a Hiori pick-me-up, you think, already feeling a smile creep onto your face. Just what you need to get through this impending burnout.

The message is short:

hiori: watch fer a surprise

Attached is a link. Intrigued, you click it, and a video opens.

It’s a recent press interview featuring Hiori. He looks effortlessly charming in a black hoodie, his hair perfectly tousled in that way that reminds you of lazy weekends spent curled up on his couch. You remember him mentioning this event last weekend, but seeing him on screen still catches you off guard.

The interviewer’s question catches your attention: “So, Hiori, there’s been a lot of buzz about you and a certain sports influencer lately. Any truth to those rumors?”

Your chest tightens slightly at the mention.

Hiori tilts his head, his expression as calm and composed as ever. “Sorry, who?” he replies, his tone laced with subtle mischief. “Oh, you mean the one who has the same sponsor with our team?”

Ness, seated beside him, nudges him gently, a silent reminder to tread carefully.

The interviewer presses on. “Yes. Rumors are that she's the mystery girl you're dating. Is she?”

Hiori chuckles lightly, dismissing the question with his usual nonchalance. “Nope, not at all. We’ve never even talked to each other.”

And then, just when you think he’s moved on, he adds, “Besides, I like my girl who’s a little nerdy, enjoys the same things I do outside of football, and, oh yeah—she talks a lot.”

Your breath catches.

The comments section beneath the video is already buzzing. Fans are losing it over his indirect confirmation of the photo rumors.

did he just confirm he's taken? he’s confirming without really confirming it! whoever the mystery girl is, she’s lucky af. i will crawl in a hole and cry

But you’re not focused on them.

Hiori’s words replay in your mind, each one feeling like it was chosen just for you. He didn’t name names, but the teasing specificity left no doubt in your heart. This was his way of sharing a piece of his life with the world—without giving too much away.

Your shoulders relax as the video ends, warmth spreading through you.

Another message pops up on your screen.

hiori: would you mind writing an article about how yer favorite football player, Hiori Yo, is no longer single? hiori: also, I can’t wait to see where yer taking me fer our date. 😉

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at his playful tone.

Oh, this man.

The stress of the day doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. With Hiori’s teasing yet heartfelt reminder of how much you mean to him, you feel ready to take on whatever comes next.

amari's notes: i just finished writing this last night, sorry it took so long! i got sick for some reason and still recovering from it. made the bf read this and pointed out that journalist is not my self-insert, the roommate is my self-insert. she is so me lol. also, happy new year to all my hiori loving people! anw, I’d love to hear your thoughts, so feel free to leave a reply or drop an ask. i'll greatly appreciate it! Hope you all enjoy this chapter! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ (if you wanna join the taglist, just comment or send me a message!)

taglist: @inu1gf @pookalicious-hq @dontmindtheevie @wannabepoeticischiya