#A reply is never late and I never got that impression

[sirxaibs]

Do you know that scene in 'Regular Show" when Rigby tells Mordecai that his dating someone? You know, this one.

https://youtu.be/mTj87DvP0zE?si=dHh1sLPRuU5AA7RU

Right, so this is the exact same way I Imagine Sal telling his gang about him and his S/O. Right so you can just do whatever with it, you can turn it into a fic, use it in one of your other request, or just don't do anything with it. I just wanted to rant ig💀

OK GUYS PRETEND IM READING MY REQUESTS AND NOT BUSY!!!

this is a short one and is a heavily silly one!! I guess this can go with for popular reader AU! (modern au? idk i make a zoom reference)

masterlist

synopsis: gang minus ashley (supposed to be a dude hang out until the reader crashes it) finds out youre dating sal. Larry is as dramatic as fucking always.

“Dude,” Larry groaned, voice raspy like he’d just woken up which he had, two hours ago. “I think I’ve hit a new low.”

Todd didn’t even look up. “You say that so often bro.”

“No, no, this one’s different,” Larry muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “I stayed up late watching compilations of goth girls with nose rings reading poetry last night. I don’t even know why. My brain’s starving, bro.”

Sal snorted softly, while drawing. “You’re unwell.”

“I’m deprived, man,” Larry said, dragging himself into a slouched sit up. “I haven’t been touched in, like, months. Not even accidentally. I brushed hands with some chick at 7 Eleven and popped a big one.”

Todd grimaced and finally looked over. “You need help.”

“I need a miracle,” Larry said, pointing between them like he was conducting a funeral. “I’m surrounded. Whores to the left of me ” he gestured to Todd, “virgins to the right ” he tossed a finger toward Sal, “and here I am, balls dry and brain fried.”

Todd pushed up his glasses. “Being in a committed relationship with Neil does not make me a whore.”

“tell that to neil, i think he would say otherwise” Larry replied, picking up a cold chicken nugget from the coffee table and eating it without hesitation.

“That’s private.”

Sal blinked. “youre actually so gross man”

“Don’t act surprised,” Larry said, pointing a chicken finger at him. “You’ve got that hopeful little ‘I believe in true love’ look in your eye. It’s disgusting.”

Sal gave a noncommittal shrug. “I just think you find the right person when the time’s right. Someone who sees you. Who, like, actually wants to sit in your mess and love you anyway.”

“Okay, Plato,” Larry scoffed. “You say that like someone’s gonna come knocking on the door and say, ‘Wow, Larry, I love how you smell like weed and sweat. Let me fix you.’”

Sal offered a small smile. “Maybe they will. You never know.”

Larry stared at him, deadpan. “Dude. No offense, but I’m not taking dating advice from the other virgin in the room.”

Sal opened his mouth like he might respond, then just shrugged again. “Fair enough.”

“Like, I’m dying out here,” Larry groaned, tossing his head back. “I’m the whole package! like you both think I am!”

Todd was trying not to laugh now. “You are… impressive.”

“Don’t parronize me, Todd. You’re out here getting laid between being a smart fuck and fucking smart and I’m just trying to remember what it feels like to make eye contact with someone who isn’t in a Zoom lecture.”

“You haven’t been in a Zoom lecture for months,” Sal said helpfully.

“Exactly!” Larry snapped. “I’m practically a ghost!”

Todd sighed, rubbing his temple. “You do realize that you could… I dont know, go outside and meet someone, right?”

Larry leaned forward with a dark grin. “thats not in the cards mate”

Sal let out a laugh that made Larry smirk. “dude then that's fully on you”

“Thank you,” Larry said proudly. “I may be dying inside, but I’m still funny. That’s all I’ve got.”

“Maybe you should try actually dating instead of just flirting with sad bookstore cashiers and girls who sell crystals on Instagram,” Todd muttered, standing to stretch.

“I like sad girls!” Larry defended. “They’re mysterious. not to manic pixie dream girl these girls but fortunately for them, it makes them on my radar, they've seen things”

“They’ve seen you,” Sal muttered under his breath, grinning.

“Exactly. And they ran,” Todd added.

Larry flopped over. “You’re both cruel. I open my heart and you throw shade.”

“much needed shade,” Todd muttered.

“literally shut the fuck up” Larry said with a shrug. “Anyway, if either of you know anyone hot, weird, emotionally damaged, and preferably into aliens or tarot, please send them my number.”

Sal gave him a look. “You say that like you’re a good investment.”

“I could be,” Larry corrected.

Todd rolled his eyes. “dinner could come faster if you shut up.”

“mmmm sure,” Larry said, suddenly perking up. “And if it’s pizza, I’m sitting next to you and giving you a personal special gift.”

“God, please don’t,” Todd muttered

Sal stretching. “We’re getting you a hobby.”

“Sex was supposed to be my hobby!” Larry called after them.

Sal blinked slowly, coming back from his stretch. “Dude, calm down.”

“I won’t!” Larry flailed his arms dramatically.

Todd shifted just enough to rest his chin on his hand. “You have issues.”

“I have needs, Todd. Human ones. I’m touch starved and mentally unstable. It’s a great combo if you’re into damaged goods, but apparently no one is!”

Sal sighed, still sketching. “Maybe you need to stop going after people who are guaranteed emotional disasters.”

“Oh, and what would you two know about my kind of dating?” Larry snapped, voice getting sharper. “Todd, you skipped the trauma part and jumped straight into cozy domestic bliss with Neil like it’s some damn romcom. And you ” He jabbed a finger at Sal. “You’ve got the dating experience of a damp napkin. Don’t lecture me on romance when your only action comes from drawing mysterious girls in your sketchbook like it’s 2005.”

Sal’s pencil froze for half a second. Larry leaned back, huffing, muttering under his breath. “God, even my insults are sad now.”

But Sal didn’t respond. He slowly set the pencil down and looked up. The room was quiet.

Larry glanced up. “What?”

Sal gave Larry a long, tired look. His voice was low and calm. “Actually, smart guy, I have been dating someone.”

Larry froze. “What?”

Sal shrugged once. “Yeah.”

“…Bullshit.”

“I’m serious.”

“No. No, you don’t just drop that like it’s nothing. Who? Who the hell would date you?” Larry excitedly looked at him. “No offense, but if i were into you, I would but that’s because we match each others freaks, who else would?”

Sal leaned forward slightly. “It’s Y/N.”

Larry blinked. Todd looked like he was trying not to visibly flinch. Larry sat up a little straighter. “I’m sorry what?”

Sal nodded, a little awkwardly but without backing down. “Yeah. It’s been a little while now.”

“You’re telling me… Y/N. Our Y/N. The only normal person who tolerates our lame asses. That Y/N.”

“hey im normal”

“youre literally not todd”

“Yes.”

“And you’re dating her?”

Sal just nodded again.

Larry slumped back into the couch like he’d just been slapped across the face with a cold fish. “Unbelievable. I am literally in hell.”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Sal added quickly. “We were just… taking it slow. Didn’t want to make it weird.”

“Didn’t want to ” Larry laughed, raspy little noise. “Bro. Everything is weird. You should’ve led with that like, weeks ago! That changes the entire dynamic! I’m out here crying about not being loved while you’re sneaking off to make googly eyes at the one decent human being left in our orbit!”

“It’s not like I did it to spite you,” Sal muttered.

Todd held up a hand. “Okay, let’s not turn this into a thing ”

Larry ignored him. “You didn’t even tell me! ME. im highkey offended.”

Sal actually looked a little guilty. “I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“’Hey Larry, stop crying into your ramen, I’m dating the coolest person we know!’ That’s how you bring it up!” Larry exclaimed.

Todd muttered under his breath, “You’re being a little dramatic.”

“I earn my drama,” Larry hissed. “You guys are all out here winning at love, and I’m over here making up scenarios in my head.”

Sal’s voice was quieter now. “I get it. I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

Larry let out a long, exhausted sigh. “Nah. Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy for you, man. Seriously.” He looked off to the side and added, “I’ll just go sacrifice a lock of my hair to the moon goddess or whatever the hell it takes to not die single.”

Sal chuckled. “Want help with that?”

“Not from you, traitor.. You don’t belong in my trenches anymore.”

Sal offered a faint, slightly guilty smile. “youll find someone ”

“I know,” Larry mumbled. “its just so rough”

The three of them fell into silence again Larry sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Whatever. At least I still have pizza.”

“I actually thought we would warm up some leftovers” Todd pointed out.

Larry stared blankly into the void. “I have nothing.”

then the front door creaked open.

“Hey, losers!” came Y/N’s familiar voice. The warmth in her tone was immediate, She kicked off her shoes in the hallway with a thunk, holding a tote bag full of snacks and energy drinks. “I brought sugar and caffeine. Prepare to worship me.”

Larry didn’t even look up. “Oh, look what the cat dragged in.”

Y/N paused, eyebrows knitting in confusion. “What’s with the tone?” She walked in further, holding out the snacks proudly. “I got those weird sour gummies you like, Larry.”

“Oh, wow,” Larry said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Sour worms. Truly, you do care.”

Sal was now refusing to make eye contact with her, suddenly very invested in the corner of his page. Todd, meanwhile, was watching the scene unfold like it was a sitcom. Y/N squinted at all three of them. “…Did someone die?”

“Not someone,” Larry muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “Just my faith in friendship. And honesty. And romantic transparency. But whatever.”

Y/N blinked. “Okay. Definitely weird vibes going on here.”

“Is it?” Larry asked, dramatically pulling the blanket tighter around his body like he was the heartbroken lead in an indie film. “Or is it just the smell of secrets festering in the air?”

“What is going on?” Y/N laughed nervously, looking between the three of them. “Why are you all acting like you just got caught burying a body?”

Todd hummed. “Could say something was buried.”

Sal cleared his throat and didn’t look up. “Larry’s being dramatic.”

“Oh, I’m being dramatic?” Larry whipped around to glare at Sal. “You kept your little romance saga under wraps like it was state security, and I’m the problem?”

Y/N’s smile faltered. “…Romance saga?” Silence. Too long. “Sal?” she asked slowly, eyebrows raised.

“Hmm?”

“Wanna fill me in?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

Todd let out the tiniest chuckle. Y/N looked back to Larry, confused. “Okay, am I missing something? Why are you glaring at me like I just kicked you in the face?”

“Oh, don’t play coy, Juliet,” Larry hissed. “You think you’re slick. Romeo told me everything”

“did he now?” Y/N laughed, exasperated now.

“i would argue not everything” sal peeps in

Y/N’s mouth opened, then closed. She looked at all three of them, eyebrows furrowed in panic. “Wait. Wait. What do you think you know?”

Larry stood, pointing dramatically. “Don’t play dumb! I know about you and Sal!”

“Oh my god,” Y/N finally muttered. “He told you?!”

“Damn right he told me,” Larry snapped. “Dropped it right in my lap like it was no big deal.”

Y/N flushed. “It wasn’t supposed to come out like this ”

“Oh, you think?”

“I didn’t mean ”

Larry threw up his hands. “Do you know how long I’ve been bitching about being single to both of you?! You could’ve at least let me know you were off the market so I could suffer in targeted isolation!”

“I was going to tell you eventually!” she said, defensive now.

“When? At your wedding?” Larry barked.

Todd: “Oof.”

Y/N rubbed her temples. “Okay. Okay, fine. It’s true. We’re dating. Happy?”

Larry crossed his arms. “Not really. I was hoping one of you was secretly wanting to date me.”

Sal smirked faintly, still not looking up. “Sorry.”

Y/N looked over at Todd. “you're such a bitch”

“Oh, I wasn’t going to help,” Todd said casually. “Watching it click was the highlight of my week.”

Larry exhaled through his nose. “Yeah. So congrats, lovebirds. I hope you’re very happy. I’ll just be in my room. Alone. Googling shit for special time that looks like one of you.”

He stomped toward the hallway like a man defeated. Y/N looked to Sal. “…Should we talk to him?”

Sal shrugged. “Give him fifteen minutes. He’ll come back for snacks.”

Todd held up the sour gummies while opening them. “I’m hiding these until he calms down.”

Y/N sighed and flopped down onto the couch with an audible groan. “dawg i’m so confused, i feel like i just cheated in him.”

Sal finally looked up, his voice quiet and honest. “Ew me too, but at least its out in the open.”

Y/N gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

Todd smirked to himself. “About time.”

[blooddrinkingbartender]

"And that's exactly what I was always trying to prepare you for," Bill said, "And you handled yourself pretty well from what I saw. Gave that guy a great lesson in not underestimating you."

Russell's eyes widened a little bit. Had Bill followed him? Or had he come across the aftermath of that struggle? Hopefully he didn't know the kind of tactic Russell pulled to get out of there. Even if it was to survive, it felt a worse sort of dirty to have done what he did.

"I guess that, that is true," Russell said, "Still, in, in hindsight I, I uh, I probably could have, heh, could have, could have done better."

Bill just nodded back then. It seemed Jonathan understood exactly what he meant. They didn't need to anything else on that.

"Uh, yeah, I uh, heh heh, I guess, I guess we can if, uh, if he's uh, he's ready," Russell said. It took some effort to get himself to let go of the chair. But then he stood up, perhaps a little quicker than he intended, "Just uh, lead, lead the way..."

@vampyrs-and-witchers

{Jonathan nodded.} “Yea, well - while I’m sure you should’ve been more careful at the same time we have to realize that sometimes, conflict may be inevitable - especially now, considering.. well.. everything. {He gave a soft sigh, shaking his head - he was more so annoyed at the fact that not only was London in ruins but with the skal epidemic and war - things are less than ideal for everyone.}

{Jonathan gave a knowing nod to Mr.Goodwin’s comment.} “Ah, I see..” {He clasped his hands together and looked at the pair.} “Very well then, shall we go see Dr.Swansea? I believe he should be free by now, he was in a meeting earlier. Hence why I had you both wait a bit.”

[sacredsorceress]

Mocha / Bob Reynolds

PAIRING: bob reynolds x cafe owner!reader SUMMARY: yelena decides to make it her mission to set up bob with her close friend. WORD COUNT: 2.6k A/N: not beta read, and named mocha after my favorite coffee! I am also realising I struggle with meet cutes so next fic is probably an established relationship whew. hope you enjoy!! WARNINGS: just insecurities, a beef mention of bob's drug-fueled past and fluff

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・bob masterlist・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Get dressed, Bob.”

Yelena tossed a pair of jeans and a sweater into Bob’s lap before placing her hands on her hip.

Confusion twisted his face.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Bob asked.

Truly there wouldn’t be anything wrong with what Bob was wearing if he hadn’t already been wearing it for three days straight.

In the months since… the incident… as they all now referred to it, Bob had made significant progress. He had stayed sober, gained a healthy amount of weight back, and worked on his mental health to a degree that even John had to admit that he was impressed by it. However, all this progress had been made inside the Avengers Tower.

Not that Yelena didn’t enjoying being around Bob, but she’d like to wonder where he was for once instead of being able to turn her head and see him curled up in his book nook every single time, without fail. At times she wondered if his skin had merged with the fabric of the seat.

“You are not going out like that.” She said matter-of-factly. “And you are starting to smell.”

Bob placed his book to the side and pulled himself up to look at Yelena.

“Going… out?” He asked.

“Yes, we are going out.” She said with a huff. “I cannot watch you sit on this floor all day again. So get dressed… and do not forget the deodorant.”

Yelena left without another word, leaving Bob to his own devices. Lifting up his arm and taking a sniff, he cringed and shuffled towards the bathroom toting the clothes Yelena had given him in hand.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

"Where are we going?"

Bob stumbled after Yelena as she effortlessly weaved her way through the busy Manhattan street. It was 5:30 pm and it seemed that all of New York were leaving their offices, on a mission to get home which, to Bob's understanding, seemed to all be in the opposite direction from where he was heading. With rushed apologies and too many elbows in his ribs for his liking, Bob had begun to miss the comfort of the tower.

"For coffee." Yelena replied without looking at him.

"Coffee?" He asked, glancing at sun setting between high rises. "Isn't it.. isn't it a little late?"

"Never too late for coffee, Bob." She said, rounding a corner. "Besides, it is quieter at night."

Bob bumped into Yelena's back as she slowed her pace.

"Here!"

Yelena opened her arms towards the café in front of her. A warm glow poured out through its windows and onto the sidewalk as if it wanted to sneak up their ankles and pull them through the doors. Through the glass, Bob could catch a few people doing work on their laptops or catching up with friends, lounging on the couches or curled up in the booths alike. What truly caught his eye, though, were the filled bookcases that covered every square inch of the walls.

Yelena, observing his fascination, smiled.

"I knew you'd like it." She said, grabbing his arm. "Now come."

In an almost cartoonish fashion, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee beans reached Bob's nose the second he stepped inside and carried him to the counter.

The barista's face lit up at the sight of them and Bob felt himself grow warm under her gaze. Her smile, warm and inviting- not like the polite ones Bob often got thrown by underpaid workers to evade the scrutiny of their boss- made him brush his tussled hair from his face.

"Lena!" You laughed, leaning against the counter. "Fancy seeing you here. Want your usual?"

Lena? Bob thought. Did she know you?

Bob glanced from Yelena to you.

"D-do you guys know each other?" He laughed awkwardly.

The blonde raised her eyebrow.

"Are you surprised that I have friends, Bob?" Yelena asked pointedly.

"N- no!" Bob said, shaking his head and crossing his arms. "I was just wondering-"

Then you piped in: "Oh are you Bob?" You asked, your gaze falling on him. "I've heard so much about you. It's so nice to meet you!"

God, he thought, it's hot in here.

You were pretty and kind- the first confirmed by his eyesight and accompanying heart rate and the second, by your friendship with Yelena.

If there was one thing that Bob was not used to, it was receiving warm attention from strangers. With a past riddled with crime and self-seclusion, he couldn't remember the last time someone had actually been happy to meet him. Even his current team had been mildly annoyed by his presence the first time they met.

But you had heard about him. That couldn't be good, right?

Bob pulled at the neck of his sweater and smiled.

"That's me." He answered timidly. "I'm sorry, Yelena's never mentioned you-"

Waving her hand in his face to cut him off, Yelena turned towards you.

"I'll have my usual." She said before turning to Bob. "What do you want?"

Suddenly it occurred to Bob that they were at a coffee shop. Hyper-aware of your gaze, Bob shoved his hands in his pockets to stop himself from nervously fiddling with them.

"Oh I- I've never had coffee." He said.

He said it in the most innocent way in the world, so much so that you couldn't even find it in yourself to make fun of him for it. If anything, you wished you had super speed to be able to fly out the doors, get ingredients for whatever Bob did like to drink, and whip it up in seconds so you'd never have to see him disappointed.

Yelena however, did not share the same sentiment.

"You are embarrassing me." She whispered.

Seeing the shame in his eyes, you cut in.

"I can surprise you if you want?" You offered. "I'll just come bring it to your table when it's done."

Pretty and kind.

"Y-yeah," He smiled. "That sounds nice."

With their orders sorted, Yelena wrapped her hand around Bob's arm and pulled him to a nearby table. Nestled in an alcove between bookshelves, Bob settled into his chair and glanced around him.

"This place is nice." He observed, peeking over the side of the bookshelf to catch a glimpse of you at the counter.

Yelena, following his eye-line, smiled.

"Good." She said, crossing her legs. "Because we will be staying here until you ask her out."

And there it is: why Yelena actually asked him to come out.

He should've known by her attitude- how she demanded he get dressed, how she weaved through passerbys without a second glance, how she stopped him from fumbling over himself in front of you... she was on a mission.

Bob would have been lying if he said he wasn't attracted to you. In the past, he had barely experienced attraction- his attention consumed more by illicit substances and how to get them rather than the affection of a woman. But he knew by the warmth that creeped up his neck and onto his cheeks and the way his heart seemingly flipped in his chest when you spoke to him that you had him.

However, that didn't mean that he could have you.

"Yeah- Wait." Bob said, tearing his eyes from you to look at Yelena. "W-what. I'm not- I can't... I don't know her."

"No," she said, folding her hands. "But I do. You two will make cute couple."

She said it as if it were simple. As if she could flip a switch and make him the perfect boyfriend.

"But-"

As if on cue, you strode over to the table with a tray in hand.

"One flat white for Lena," You said gifting the mug into her waiting hands. "And for Bob, a mocha: decaffeinated. I figured you might want to be able to sleep tonight."

You said the last part with a wink as you gently placed the mug down in front of him.

The warm drink sat in an orange mug with a foam heart on top and although he was sure you did them for everybody, Bob's insides felt like mush all the same. He couldn't remember the last time he had something that didn't come from a drive-thru window.

"And I know you didn't ask," you said, placing down another plate. "but I also brought over a chocolate donut to go with the coffee. I thought you might like it."

If Bob didn't know any better, he would have thought you were nervous because once the tray was free of any beverage, you tucked it behind your back and shifted on your feet as if you were finding any excuse to stay.

"Oh this looks really good," Bob groaned.

Careful to not burn himself, Bob gingerly brought the mug to his lips. The drink, filled with notes of chocolate that overpowered any bitterness of coffee while maintaining the taste, warmed him to his core. Feeling the temperature of the drink spread throughout his body, Bob sank into his seat and moaned.

A real, actual moan in front of the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

It was only once he opened his eyes that he realized they had ever been closed in the first place.

"I think he likes it." Yelena chuckled.

Feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, he cleared his throat.

"S-sorry." He apologized, "it's really good."

The weight of your gaze bared heavily on him as he avoided your eyes, too afraid to feel the judgement they no doubt held at his reaction.

Instead you smiled.

"Nothing to be sorry about, Bob." You assured him. "That's the best compliment I've ever received."

A silence hung in the air then as the three of you stood at an impasse. The radio flicked between songs as it did, leaving the rhythmic clicking of a keyboard across the room the only escape from becoming intimately familiar with each other's breathing.

Yelena glanced between the two of you. She rolled her eyes and kicked Bob underneath the table.

"Ow!" Bob yelped. "What was that-"

"Didn't you have a question you wanted to ask her, Bob?"

Fuck, now you were really looking at him.

You were like the sun. As tempted as he was to stare at you, his eyes darted anywhere but your face as if it would hurt him just to look.

"Uh, um yeah..." Bob said nervously, "I wanted to... I was going to ask..."

You eagerly leaned forward.

"Yeah, Bob?"

Bob could listen to you say his name forever. A once held insecurity, dissipated like cotton candy in water.

He cleared his throat.

"Uh- what kind of milk did you use?" Bob said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Because I'm uh... lactose intolerant."

The end of the sentence dragged on awkwardly and although he was internally beating himself up for embarrassing himself in front of you, he was clouded by how much more humiliating it would have been to ask you out in front of Yelena.

Any hope you had in you that he would ask you something more personal faded as you physically deflated.

"Oh uh, oat."

Yelena thought she could kill him. She really could.

"Well uh," You said. "Enjoy."

And with that, you were gone.

The second you were out of earshot, Yelena leaned over the table.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I- I don't know!" Bob whisper-shouted back. "It just came out-"

"That you are lactose intolerant?" She argued. "You are suppose to ask her out and instead, you tell her you have tummy problems!"

Bob slammed his face into the table and groaned.

"You put me on the spot-"

"Because she was looking at you with the heart eyes!"

That picked Bob's head up.

"N-no. You're just saying that." He argued. "She doesn't like me"

Yelena rolled her eyes and jammed her pointer finger into the table.

"Listen to me, Bob." She said. "I know my friend. She likes you, okay? So we will sit here until you ask her out."

"But-"

"No buts!" She shouted, flicking her hand. "You will ask her. Now, I will enjoy my coffee before it gets cold."

And that's how Bob and Yelena ended up sitting in the coffee shop until close.

It wasn't that he didn't try, because he did. After a hype up session with Yelena he would stroll up to the counter with the intention of asking you on a date, but the second you smiled at him, he psyched himself out and just ordered another coffee instead.

As minutes turned to hours and the patrons began to file out of the cafe, you, Bob and Yelena were the only ones left- unless you counted the elephant in the room.

"Hey so," You said saddling up to the table. "I'm gonna start closing up. Don't worry about the bill or anything, I put it on Yelena's tab. Just head out when you're ready."

You hesitated.

"Oh, and it was nice to meet you, Bob."

Yet, as you turned to leave, you felt a clammy hand wrap around your wrist, holding you back.

Your eyes trailed from the hand up to Bob's face where his cheeks had been painted red. As if his lips had been sewn shut, he said nothing, but instead longingly gazed up at you, taken aback by your features so close.

"Oh for God's sake." Yelena said slamming her hand on the table.

Bob yanked his hand from your touch as you your attentions ricocheted towards Yelena.

"Lena-"

"I cannot keep watching this." She said, gesturing towards Bob. Her eyebrows had knitted together and a sigh escaped her lips. "Y/n, will you go on a date with Bob? Please? I cannot do the puppy dog eyes any longer."

If there was ever a moment Bob wanted to crawl into his own skin and let the Void consume him, it was right then.

Yelena meant well, he knows she does, but no matter how much she thought she knew her friend, what Yelena was not aware of was the clinical aversion that women seemed to have to him. The most Bob would be lucky enough to receive was a platonic fondness, never the affections of a woman so pretty and kind and warm and-

"I'd love to."

Pulling himself out of his own self-pity, Bob's mouth flew open.

"Y-yeah?"

You smiled at him.

"Yeah," You said with a laugh. "I thought you'd never ask."

Were you sure you didn't put caffeine in his coffee? Because Bob felt the sudden urge to throw himself out of his seat and run around the coffee shop.

Instead, he settled on handing you his phone to let you type your number in and allowing Yelena to usher him out of the coffee shop- him longingly looking over his shoulder at you until he physically couldn't anymore.

With a renewed pep in his step, Bob pulled out his phone and smiled.

Bob: Hi, this is Bob :)

Bob: From the coffee shop.

Bob: Yelena's friend.

Bob: I'm not really lactose intolerant, you're just really pretty. :)

And although Yelena couldn't see what he was typing on his phone, seeing the content smile that painted his face was more than enough for one to reach across her own- rolling her eyes fondly at the idea of her two friends in love and a mission, accomplished.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・inbox・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

[heliosunny]

Your writing is just… unbelievable! You’re doing such a good job, I hope you know that and you’re taking care of yourself (and your wrists!!)

May I request, if it peaks your interest, Yandere!Mydei x Reader, but slow-decent yandere over time as Mydei gets more possessive of reader, who they met when reader and Mydei accidentally bumped into each other in the market place, causing his pomegranate juice to spill on her. She didn’t mind, even licks a bit off of her to taste it before leaving, and runs a trinket shop for people at the edge of the market!

My wrists are doing okay- ;3

CROSSED PATHS

Yandere!Mydei x Fem!Reader

Mydei walked through the market with the same disinterest he always carried, he was all too familiar with this place. He wasn’t here for anything in particular, just taking the usual route through the stalls, a wooden cup of pomegranate juice in hand. The deep red liquid sloshed slightly as he moved, but he paid it no mind.

Then, before he could sidestep, someone walked straight into him.

The collision wasn’t violent, but it was enough to jostle his cup, sending the juice spilling forward. The rich crimson liquid soaked into the tunic of the person in front of him.

“Tch” Mydei clicked his tongue, already annoyed. “You should watch where you’re going.”

Instead of irritation, you simply looked down at the stain, then back up at him. Without hesitation, you ran a finger along the droplets clinging to your skin, bringing it to your lips and licking it off.

“Mmm. That’s good” you mused, amusement flickering in your eyes. “You’ve got good taste.”

Mydei stared, silent for a moment. He wasn’t sure what he expected your reaction to be, but it certainly wasn’t that. Most people would be frustrated, flustered, or at least make some effort to clean up. Instead, you stood there, completely at ease, as if the spill was nothing more than a passing inconvenience.

His gaze flickered to your clothes. “It’s ruined.”

You merely shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. Gives me an excuse to close up early anyway.”

That caught his attention. “Close up?”

“I run a trinket shop. Just by the market’s edge.” You smiled, “Little things to catch the eye and heart.”

Mydei didn’t reply right away, just watching as you gave him a small wave and disappeared back into the crowd, as if this meeting was nothing more than a fleeting moment.

The next day, Mydei found himself walking toward the edge of the market, where the usual noise and crowd thinned out. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was just something to do. Either way, he figured he’d at least take a look at the shop you mentioned.

When he arrived, however, the place was closed. The wooden sign hanging on the door was tilted slightly, as if it had been left that way in a hurry.

What was the point of bringing up a shop if she wasn’t even going to open it?

He exhaled through his nose, about to turn back and head home, when movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention.

There you were, walking toward the shop with a slow, lazy pace, arms stretching over your head as you let out a deep yawn. You looked half-asleep, hair slightly messy, and completely unbothered by the fact that most stalls had already been open since morning.

Mydei frowned. “Isn’t it late to be opening now?”

You blinked at him, then glanced at the sky as if just realizing the time. “Mm. Guess so.” You rubbed at one eye before giving him a lopsided grin. “But hey, better late than never, right?”

He stared at you. “That’s a terrible mindset for business.”

You only chuckled, fishing out the key and unlocking the door with an easy shrug. “Maybe. But I open when I feel like it. I still get customers, so it works out.”

That… was the most carefree approach he’d ever heard. He didn’t know whether to call it ridiculous or strangely impressive.

Instead of arguing, he crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the nearby post. “So, do you actually sell anything useful, or is it all just cheap junk?”

You gasped dramatically, placing a hand over your chest. “How dare you.” Then you grinned. “You’ll just have to come inside and see for yourself.”

And for some reason, Mydei didn’t immediately walk away.

As you pushed open the shop door, the scent of old parchment, polished wood, and faint traces of incense drifted into the cool evening air. The interior was warm, lit by scattered lanterns that cast soft golden hues across shelves packed with trinkets—intricate carvings, delicate charms, aged coins, and strange little oddities that seemed to whisper of stories untold.

Mydei stepped in behind you, arms still crossed as his sharp eyes swept across the shop’s interior. He made a low noise in the back of his throat—half curiosity, half scrutiny. He reached for a small wooden carving of a beast with jeweled eyes, turning it in his hand. “You actually sell things worth looking at.”

You laughed, stretching lazily before stepping behind the counter. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

He huffed, setting the carving down before moving to another shelf. “Take it however you want.”

He studied everything with an almost calculated interest, fingers skimming over old coins, testing the weight of metal trinkets, and occasionally raising a brow at something that caught his attention. He wasn’t the type to be easily impressed, but you could tell he wasn’t just humoring you—he genuinely found the shop interesting, even if he didn’t outright say it.

“You actually know what you’re selling” he muttered, inspecting an engraved pendant. “Not just collecting junk and hoping people buy it.”

You leaned on the counter, resting your chin on your hand. “Of course. Every piece here has a story. That’s what makes them special.”

Mydei glanced at you briefly, as if considering something, but before he could speak, a voice cut through the quiet.

“Mydei!”

A man rushed into the shop, breathing heavily, eyes scanning the space before locking onto him. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere—” He paused, glancing between you and Mydei before continuing hurriedly. “There’s trouble. You’re needed now.”

Mydei clicked his tongue in irritation but didn’t hesitate. He turned to you, nodding once. “Guess I’ll have to finish looking around another time.”

You waved a hand dismissively, grinning. “Take your time. The shop isn’t going anywhere.”

Without another word, he strode past the man and out into the night, disappearing as quickly as he had come.

Five days had passed since Mydei had left in a rush, and in that time, life went on as usual. Your shop saw a steady stream of customers—travelers looking for charms, locals browsing out of habit, and the occasional collector intrigued by the more unique items you sold.

The place was lively today, filled with chatter and the occasional sound of trinkets clinking together as people picked them up and examined them. You were busy handling coins, giving a customer change, when a familiar figure stepped inside.

At first, you didn’t notice him. Mydei wasn’t the type to announce his presence, and he simply stood near the back, scanning the shelves with his usual unreadable expression. He blended in well, quiet and observant, though his presence carried a weight that would eventually demand attention.

It wasn’t until you turned, momentarily catching a glimpse of something unusual in the dim light, that you really saw him. A few stray leaves were nestled in his hair, likely from his journey back to town.

Without thinking, you moved toward him, reaching up on your toes to pluck the leaves away. “You’ve been out in the wild, huh?” you mused, brushing the last one from his shoulder.

He barely reacted, only arching a brow. “You didn’t even notice me walk in, and this is the first thing you do?”

You grinned. “Well, you weren’t exactly loud about it.”

Just as you stepped back, a child rushed past, bumping into you at full speed. You stumbled, thrown off balance, and for a brief moment, you thought you might crash straight into Mydei—until his hand caught your wrist, steadying you with ease.

“Careful”

You let out a short laugh, regaining your footing. “Thanks. You could’ve just let me fall, you know.”

“And let you take me down with you? No thanks.”

The day continued, and surprisingly, Mydei lingered. He leaned against a shelf, watching as you worked, occasionally glancing at the customers but never interfering. He had no reason to stay, yet he made no move to leave.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the last customer stepped out, you stretched with a sigh, locking up the shop for the night. “Didn’t think you’d stick around that long”

“It’s dangerous,” he replied simply, arms crossed. “Beasts have been spotted near town. You shouldn’t walk home alone.”

“Oh? And here I thought you just enjoyed my company.”

He scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he walked alongside you as you made your way home, the quiet hum of the night settling around you both. When you finally reached your door, he stopped a few steps away, watching as you unlocked it.

“This where you live?”

You nodded. “Yup. Cozy, isn’t it?”

He didn’t comment, only nodding slightly. “Stay inside at night.”

With that, he turned, disappearing into the shadows of the street.

You lingered for a moment, watching where he had gone before finally stepping inside. Something about him stuck with you, and despite his rough demeanor, you couldn’t help but smile.

The following days passed as usual. Customers came and went, some lingering to chat, others leaving with trinkets tucked away in their pockets. Yet, amidst the routine, you began to notice something—or rather, someone.

Mydei.

You never saw him enter the shop, nor did he ever buy anything, but you caught glimpses of him near the marketplace, often stationed in the same general area. He was never in armor, never dressed in anything that would mark him as a guard or knight, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made you wonder.

At first, you assumed it was coincidence. Maybe he just happened to be around. But as the days passed, you realized it was too frequent to be chance. He wasn’t a customer, yet he lingered. He wasn’t a merchant, yet he remained nearby. Still, you weren’t one to pry. If Mydei had business in the area, it wasn’t really your concern.

Then one evening, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, a group of men entered your shop.

You noticed them immediately—rough around the edges, their movements too casual, too calculated. They weren’t here to browse; their eyes weren’t on the merchandise. Instinctively, you stayed behind the counter, watching them with the same easy calm you always carried.

One of them stepped forward, idly picking up a small carved pendant. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Thanks” you said.

He turned the pendant over in his hands before setting it back down. Another one looked toward the back of the shop as if expecting to find something—or someone.

That’s when you realized. They weren’t stealing. They were looking for someone.

Before you could say anything, a familiar voice cut through the tense silence.

“Took you idiots long enough.”

Mydei stood in the doorway. The men stiffened, immediately straightening like soldiers caught slacking off.

“Captain” one of them muttered under his breath.

Captain? Well. That explained a lot.

“Back to your posts” Mydei ordered, “Now.”

The men hesitated for only a moment before shuffling toward the exit, each one sending you a quick glance as if only now realizing their presence might have looked… suspicious.

Once they were gone, you turned back to Mydei, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “So, Captain, huh?”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t make a habit of announcing it.”

“You also don’t make a habit of staying in one place unless you have a reason.”

His gaze flickered toward you, unreadable. He didn’t confirm or deny it.

Instead, he only muttered, “They won’t bother you again.”

You shrugged. “Wasn’t really bothered to begin with.”

With a short nod, he turned to leave.

It was another evening at the market, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows as you prepared to close up shop. As usual, one of your friends—Edward, a vendor from a few stalls down—came by to help carry the heavier crates of unsold goods back inside. It had become routine by now, something neither of you thought much about.

“You really should hire someone for this” your friend teased, easily lifting a wooden box filled with carved trinkets. “One day, you’ll be stuck under a pile of your own stock.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “And ruin your chance to show off? I wouldn’t dare.”

The two of you worked smoothly, chatting about market gossip and the odd customers you had encountered that day. You didn’t notice Mydei at first, but he had been watching from a distance, arms crossed, gaze unreadable. He wasn’t even sure why he was still here. Yet, as he saw the easy familiarity between you and your friend—the way you smiled, the way they stood close—something in his chest tightened.

Before he could think twice, his body moved on its own.

He stepped in between you just as you reached for another crate, his hand easily grasping the handle before you could. “I’ll do it.”

“Mydei? Didn’t know you were in the business of heavy lifting.”

“You shouldn’t rely on random people.” He didn’t look at your friend, but the message was clear enough.

Your friend raised an amused brow but didn’t argue, instead watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled interest. “Not random” he pointed out, arms crossing. “I help all the time.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He simply hefted the crate as if it weighed nothing, walking into the shop with ease. You exchanged a glance with your friend, who smirked knowingly before waving you off and heading back to their own stall.

Once inside, you turned to Mydei, leaning against the counter with a grin. “Didn’t take you for the helpful type.”

He placed the crate down with a little more force than necessary, expression unreadable. “You’re careless.”

You tilted your head. “How so?”

“Letting just anyone help you. You don’t know what their intentions are.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You’re really that concerned?”

He scoffed but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around the shop, as if checking for anything else to ‘help’ with.

Part of him wanted to say no—that it wasn’t concern, that he didn’t care. But the truth was, he did. More than he should.

“…Just be careful” he muttered at last.

You smiled. “Always am.”

The next day, the marketplace was bustling as usual, and you were busy sorting through a new batch of trinkets when Edward stopped by. It was nothing out of the ordinary—he often passed through to chat or lend a hand when he had the time.

“You’ve got something on your face” he said, leaning in slightly as he observed your face.

You blinked. “Huh? Oh.”

Before you could react, he carefully reached out, brushing the side of your face to remove whatever it was. The gesture was entirely innocent, but from an outside perspective—especially from a blocked or skewed angle—it might’ve looked a little different.

And unfortunately for Edward, Mydei happened to be that outside perspective.

From where he stood, partially obscured by a wooden post at the edge of the shop, all he saw was Edward’s face close to yours, his hand hovering near your cheek, and you standing there without pulling away.

In an instant, he was moving.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Mydei’s voice cut through the moment.

Edward, startled, immediately pulled back and turned to see Mydei standing there—expression unreadable, stance tense.

You blinked at Mydei’s sudden entrance, then at Edward, then back at Mydei. It took you about two seconds to put the pieces together, and when you did, amusement curled at the edges of your lips.

Edward let out a short sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Relax, I was just getting something out of her eye.”

Edward, not one to test his luck, let out a low chuckle and took a step back. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.” He shot you a knowing glance before casually making his exit.

The moment he was gone, you turned to Mydei with a smirk, resting your chin in your hand.

“Wow” you mused, tone playful. “Didn’t take you for the type to interrupt people like that.”

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “I have to remind you that you don’t know what people’s intentions are.”

You tilted your head. “Uh-huh. And what exactly did you think was happening?”

He didn’t answer, but his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

Your smirk widened. “You’re like a big cat that’s always on edge.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

“You know, the kind that watches everything, always looking ready to pounce if something gets too close.” You grinned. “Kinda cute, honestly.”

“… Stop talking nonsense.”

But despite his sharp words, Mydei stayed. Even when the conversation ended, even when there was no longer a reason to linger, he stayed.

Just like he always did.

----

The sun had long since passed its highest point when Mydei arrived at your shop, only to find the doors shut tight. No sign, no explanation, nothing. He frowned.

You never closed without warning.

For the first time in a long while, a foreign sense of unease settled in his chest. He told himself it was ridiculous—you were probably fine—but as the hours ticked by and the shop remained closed, that irritation grew into something sharper.

By the time dusk began creeping across the marketplace, he had already decided to check on you himself. But just as he moved toward the door, you finally appeared—yawning, stretching, completely at ease.

He stared. “Where the hell have you been?”

You blinked at him, rubbing your eyes. “Overslept.”

“…Overslept” he repeated flatly.

You grinned. “Yup.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. Here he was, thinking something might’ve happened, only for you to be completely unfazed, acting as if you hadn’t just left your shop closed the entire day.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you teased. “You worried?”

He scoffed, looking away. “Tch. You’re careless.”

“Well, since it’s already this late, might as well do something else.” You stretched again, eyes flicking to him. “What about you? Where were you headed?”

Mydei hesitated for a moment before answering, “…Camp.”

You tilted your head, interested. “Your camp, huh?”

“Not a place for civilians,” he muttered, already expecting you to drop it.

Instead, you grinned. “Sounds fun. Let’s go.”

His men were not prepared.

The moment you entered the camp, curious eyes peered from behind tents and around corners. Soldiers whispered among themselves, their gazes darting between you and Mydei like they had just seen a ghost.

Their captain—who barely tolerated company, let alone anyone outside of their ranks—had brought someone along? A girl?

Somewhere in the shadows, a small group crouched together, trying (and failing) to be discreet.

“She’s so… casual?”

“She’s actually talking to him.”

“She’s still alive.”

“Do you think she—?”

Before the last sentence could even be finished, Mydei turned sharply, his piercing gaze landing right on them.

“Out” he ordered.

There was a brief scramble of bodies before they all disappeared in a mess of quiet shouts and tripping feet.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter. “They’re fun.”

“They’re idiots” he corrected, rubbing his temples.

You only hummed in amusement, following him to where a small campfire burned, casting warm flickering light over the clearing. Mydei sat first, and you settled beside him, close enough to feel the lingering heat but not too close to crowd him.

For a while, there was only silence—the crackling of fire, the distant sounds of the camp settling down for the night.

You stretched your legs out, gazing into the flames. “So, do they always eavesdrop like that, or was this a special occasion?”

“They’re not used to seeing me with company.”

You smirked. “Oh? So I’m special?”

He shot you a look, but the usual sharpness wasn’t quite there.

You leaned back on your hands, watching the embers float up into the dark sky. “Y’know, this is nice. I should close my shop more often.”

“…You must be crazy.”

But despite his words, Mydei didn’t look irritated. If anything, he stayed there longer than necessary, watching the fire, listening to your stories, and letting the quiet companionship settle between you.

The fire crackled between you, warm and steady, casting shifting shadows over Mydei’s face. He had been quiet for a while, arms resting on his knees, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the flames.

Then, without looking at you, he spoke.

“…I have a friend.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

He nodded slightly. “He’s… in a situation.”

You smirked, already catching on to where this was going. But you let him continue.

“This friend,” he went on, “has a crush on a girl.”

You bit back a grin. “Mhm.”

“He doesn’t know how to… approach her about it.” His words were carefully chosen, like he was trying not to make it obvious. “She’s carefree. Doesn’t seem to take things too seriously. He doesn’t know if she’d even notice.”

You hummed, tapping a finger against your chin in thought. “Sounds like this friend of yours thinks too much.”

Mydei shot you a look. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you countered with a lazy grin. “If he likes her, he should just… y’know, show it.”

He frowned. “Show it how?”

You shrugged. “Small things. Stick around her. Do things for her. Make it clear she’s different from everyone else. And if he’s brave enough, tell her.”

Mydei went quiet for a moment, mulling over your words. You weren’t sure if he expected something grander—some complicated strategy—but you could tell he was taking your advice seriously.

And then, almost immediately after, he tested it.

A second later, he reached out, plucking a stray leaf from your hair with casual ease.

“…What” he muttered, glancing away like it was nothing. “There was something there.”

You stared. Then, slowly, a knowing grin spread across your lips.

“Mydei.”

He tensed. “What?”

“You’re predictable.”

“What are you talking about?”

You laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re following my advice already. You’re really bad at being subtle.”

He scoffed, looking off to the side, but the way his fingers twitched betrayed him.

You shook your head, amused beyond belief. “Well, tell your friend this—he doesn’t have to worry. I think the girl already noticed.”

-----

The shift was slow—so gradual you barely noticed at first. Mydei had always been watchful, lingering near your shop more than necessary, helping out in small ways that he’d brush off as coincidence. But then it started becoming… more.

You weren’t the only one to notice. The market folk whispered about it. Your friend Edward raised an eyebrow when Mydei always happened to be around. Even his own men exchanged looks whenever you visited the camp, though they were too scared to say anything outright.

And Mydei? He didn’t care what anyone thought.

But what truly set things in motion was when another man—some passing traveler—got a little too comfortable in your shop.

It was harmless, really. The man was just talkative, leaning in slightly as he complimented one of your handmade trinkets, flashing a charming smile. You, being as easygoing as always, just laughed and continued the conversation.

And Mydei, standing just outside the shop, watching from the shade of an awning, felt something snap.

The stranger’s hand briefly touched yours as you passed him a necklace.

That was it.

Before you could react, a shadow loomed behind you.

“You’re done here.”

The traveler barely had time to turn before Mydei was there, towering over him.

The man blinked in confusion. “Uh—”

“Leave.”

The traveler raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. “Didn’t mean anything by it, mate. Just chatting.”

“Chat somewhere else.”

The moment the man was gone, you turned to Mydei, raising an amused brow. “That was aggressive.”

He didn’t answer, his jaw tight, his fists still clenched like he was resisting the urge to chase after the guy and make sure he never even thought about coming near you again.

You grinned, nudging him. “You’re like a big cat again. All tense, ready to pounce.”

His gaze snapped to you.

“Mydei?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t like people getting too close to you.”

You smirked. “Well, if you wanted me all to yourself, you could’ve just said so.”

His eyes flickered, something snapping into place. And then, in one swift movement, he stepped forward, crowding your space, forcing you to take a step back until your spine brushed against the counter.

“Fine,” he said, “I want you to myself.”

“No more ‘friend’ nonsense. No more watching you let people touch you, talk to you like they have a chance.” His eyes burned into yours. “If you belong to anyone, it’s me.”

Silence stretched between you.

“…Wait, what?” You blinked. “You—what?”

“I said,” his voice didn’t waver, though you swore his ears were turning red, “I want you to myself.”

For once, you were actually stunned into silence.

“…Alright,” you said, still watching his expression closely. “Let’s test that, then.”

“What?”

“A test date,” you clarified, tilting your head. “If you’re serious, prove it.”

His gaze flickered, as if trying to gauge if you were teasing or not. But when he realized you weren’t laughing—when he saw that you were actually agreeing—something in him shifted.

Before he could respond, however—

“WOOHOOO!”

The loud cheering and applause from outside made both of you jolt.

You turned your head just in time to see a whole group of people—his soldiers, a couple of market vendors, even Edward—watching from the entrance of your shop, clapping and whistling like they had just witnessed the grand finale of a play.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE HE FINALLY SAID IT!”

“I OWE YOU FIVE COINS, EDWARD!”

“OUR CAPTAIN’S FINALLY A MAN!!”

A vein visibly twitched on Mydei’s forehead.

“ALL OF YOU—LEAVE! NOW!!”

In an instant, the group scrambled, tripping over themselves as they scattered like startled rats.

You, on the other hand, were barely holding back laughter. “Oh, wow. They’ve been waiting for this, huh?”

Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “…I’m going to kill them.”

You chuckled, nudging him. “Not before our date, you’re not.”

“…Fine.” He shot you a look. “But don’t think this is just a ‘test.’ I don’t intend to lose.”

“We’ll see, big guy.”

Mydei was not a romantic.

This became very clear about five minutes into the so-called “test date.”

You had expected him to be awkward—maybe stiff, maybe too serious—but you hadn’t expected him to treat it like some kind of mission.

The moment you met up, he stood there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, eyes scanning you like he was assessing the situation.

“…What?”

“I don’t know how these things work.”

“That’s the point of a test, isn’t it?”

He grumbled something under his breath, but then—without warning—he reached out and took your hand.

Your eyes widened slightly at the sudden contact. He held it firmly, almost too tight, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“…Too much?” he muttered, not looking at you.

You chuckled, easing his grip just slightly. “A little. You’re holding me like a prisoner.”

His ears turned red, but he didn’t let go.

The first thing Mydei failed at was conversation.

You both walked through the market, and while you tried to talk about casual things—the weather, your shop, the odd things you saw—he kept answering in single words.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Maybe.”

“Hm.”

At one point, you just stopped walking and looked at him.

“…Are you planning on saying more than one sentence today?” you teased.

He frowned. “I don’t talk much.”

“Yeah, I noticed that.”

He shifted slightly, looking uncomfortable. You realized then that he was actually trying—it just wasn’t coming naturally to him.

“Alright, alright. Don’t stress. Just—” You tugged his arm slightly. “Tell me something about yourself. Something no one else knows.”

His eyes flickered toward you, something unreadable passing through them. For a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer.

Then, finally, he muttered, “I hate spicy things.”

You blinked. “Huh. Really?”

He nodded.

“…So if I gave you a something spicy right now, you wouldn’t eat it?”

“…I’d eat it if you gave it to me.”

Oh.

The second thing Mydei failed at was dealing with people.

As you walked through the town, a few people—mostly men—stopped to greet you. Some were regulars at your shop, some just acquaintances. But every single time someone so much as looked at you for too long, Mydei’s grip on your hand tightened.

At one point, one of your regulars, a friendly merchant, smiled at you and asked if you were free later to look at some new goods.

Before you could even answer, Mydei cut in with a flat, “She’s busy.”

The man blinked. “…Oh. I—”

“She’s not available” Mydei added, tone sharper this time.

You sighed, nudging him. “Relax, I can speak for myself.”

Mydei huffed but didn’t say anything else. He did not like people taking your attention.

It was ridiculous. But… also kind of cute.

The third thing Mydei failed at was subtlety.

At some point, you stopped by a food stall, eyeing some skewered meat. The moment you reached for your coin pouch, Mydei immediately slapped money down before you could pay.

You raised an eyebrow. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

“No.”

“…No?”

He crossed his arms. “I take care of what’s mine.”

Your breath caught slightly at the phrasing. But before you could tease him for it, he shoved a skewer into your hands, looking away like he hadn’t just claimed you in the middle of a crowded street.

By the end of the day, you had to admit—he was bad at this.

And yet.

Despite all the failures, despite all his awkwardness and overprotectiveness, he tried.

And then, as the sun was setting, he did something that truly moved you.

You had mentioned offhandedly a few days ago that your favorite spot in town was an old bridge overlooking a quiet stream. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

But as evening fell, Mydei silently led you there.

You blinked in surprise as you stepped onto the bridge, the soft glow of lanterns reflecting in the water. The air was crisp, the sounds of the market distant.

“…You remembered”

He stood beside you, arms resting on the railing, gazing out at the water.

“I remember everything you say” he admitted quietly.

For a moment, you just looked at him—the way the fading sunlight touched his sharp features, the way his fingers tapped absently against the wood, the way he had tried so hard today just because he wanted to be with you.

And that was it.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

Mydei froze.

You pulled back slightly, smirking. “You pass.”

It took him a solid three seconds to react. His face slowly turned red—first his ears, then his neck, then his entire expression.

“…Tch.” He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, looking away. But he didn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he held it tighter.

“Guess I'll be bothering you from now on.”

“…I don't mind.”

[reidsworld]

Patience Wears Thin

Summary: Logan’s flirty behaviour has you thinking he’s just being sarcastic. But when his attitude changes and his grumpiness intensifies, leading to him avoiding you, you confront him, only for him to finally snap. Based on this request.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Fem!Mutant!Reader

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Reader’s oblivious, mild language, sexual tension, slight jealous!logan, making out, hickeys, oral sex(m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), creampie, (semi) public sex (you’ll see what I mean), no use of Y/N, pet names (darlin’) — you are responsible for the content you consume, if you are not comfortable with any of these warnings or are a minor, DNI!!

Word Count: 2.9k

Mars speaks… It's been a while since I’ve posted but here we are!! Thank you for the request, this was kinda tough for me to write and didn’t really turn out how I wanted it but I hope it meets your expectations! The reader is a mutant but her powers aren’t specified. Any and all feedback is always appreciated!

Masterlist

You were used to Logan’s gruffness, but lately, something had changed. At first, it was little things—him hanging around more often, offering to help with tasks that didn’t need his strength, or staying close by even when you were just making coffee. You noticed the way his hand would brush against yours when passing you something or how he’d rest his hand on your shoulder a little longer than necessary. Despite all of his actions, he was still cold around you, seemingly never able to escape his own grumpiness.

One evening, as you were getting ready for a date, Logan wandered by your room. His mood was clearly off as he knocked leaned against your door frame, his eyes closed and head tilted down. When you greeted him, he slowly looked you up and down. His expression shifted from frustration to shock as he took in how stunning you looked.

“Damn,” Logan said, his voice cold and deep, if you didn’t know him, you would’ve sworn he hated you. “You look incredible. Got a big night planned?”

You glanced up from the mirror, surprised by his comments. “Oh, I have a date tonight,” you replied with a smile, still adjusting your dress.

Logan’s eyes darkened slightly as he processed your words. “A date, huh?”

“Yep,” you said, focusing on your reflection. “I’m just trying to pick the right outfit.”

He pushed himself off the door frame, his gaze still fixed on you. “You don’t need to be worried about impressing anyone tonight, darlin’. Trust me, you look incredible.”

You laughed, thinking he was just being his usual flirtatious self. “Thanks, Logan. But it’s just dinner. Nothing too serious.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he took a step back, his demeanour now distant. “Right. Well, have fun.”

You smiled at him, not noticing the shift in his attitude. “Thanks. I’ll see you later.”

As you left for your date, Logan watched you go, his face a mask of frustration and disappointment. The knowledge that you were going out with someone else hit him hard, and his mood darkened.

You were left puzzled by his sudden change in behaviour. However, in Logan’s mind, if you were going out with someone else, you clearly didn’t want him, so why should he put effort into a losing game?

But you didn’t think much of his compliments, chalking it up to Logan trying to be supportive. Until one day, you noticed something different—he started avoiding you.

It began with him skipping out on the usual training sessions you shared. Then, he stopped joining you for movie nights in the common room, always coming up with a vague excuse that didn’t make sense. He’d disappear for hours, not even leaving a trace of his familiar scent behind. The final straw was when he didn’t show up for your breakfast dates (well… that’s what they were to him), a ritual he never missed. It was confusing, and you couldn’t figure out what had changed.

You asked him once, in passing, if something was wrong. His answer was clipped, dismissive. “Nothin’ for you to worry about, darlin’.”

But you were worried. His behaviour was off, and no matter how much you replayed your interactions in your mind, you couldn’t pinpoint what had triggered this sudden shift.

A few days later, you walked into the kitchen to find Logan grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. Relief washed over you—this was the first time you’d seen him in days without him immediately bolting. But when you greeted him, he barely grunted in response, not meeting your eyes.

“Logan, seriously,” you said, trying to sound casual but unable to keep the concern out of your voice. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond right away, his eyes fixed on the bottle in his hand. “Just been busy.”

“Busy?” You frowned, crossing your arms. “Too busy to even say hello?”

He looked up at you then, his eyes hard. “Yeah, busy. I don’t have time for games, alright?”

“Games?” you echoed, thrown off by the accusation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any games, Logan.”

He let out a frustrated huff, shaking his head as he pushed past you, brushing your shoulder as he went. “Forget it.”

That was it? He was clearly upset, but he wouldn’t talk to you about it. It didn’t make sense. You stood there, staring at the spot where he’d just been, confusion and hurt swirling inside you. Logan was the last person you expected to act like this—especially toward you.

A few more days passed, and the tension between you only grew. Logan’s avoidance became more blatant, and every time you tried to approach him, he’d find a way to leave before you could say anything. You started to wonder if you’d done something to upset him, but every time you asked, he brushed you off with a noncommittal grunt or a sarcastic remark.

It was driving you crazy.

Now you were sitting alone in the common room, you and Logan somehow being the only two in the mansion with everyone else out on various missions and overnight school trips. As you attempted to watch a movie to take your mind off things, Logan’s absence gnawed at you. He was always here for movie nights, even if he’d just sit silently in the corner. The emptiness of his usual spot was glaring, a constant reminder that something had shifted between you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed to confront him, to find out what the hell was going on.

When you walked into the gym, your eyes immediately found Logan, his muscular form sitting on a raised bench, sweat glistening on his skin. He didn’t acknowledge your presence, focusing on his workout with an intensity that made your stomach twist.

“Logan,” you called out, your voice firmer than you felt.

He paused, setting the dumbbells down with a heavy thud before finally looking at you. “What?”

“What is your problem?” you demanded, stepping closer, not giving him a chance to escape this time. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague, and I want to know why.”

Logan’s expression darkened, his jaw clenching as he grabbed a towel, wiping the sweat off his face. “Maybe I’m just tired of tryin’,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Trying what?” You crossed your arms, frustration boiling over. “Logan, you’re not making any sense. You’ve been acting like I did something wrong, but I don’t even know what that is!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—anger, maybe? But there was something else too, something deeper that made your heart race.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he growled, stepping closer to you, his presence overwhelming.

“Get what?” you shot back, refusing to back down even though his proximity was making it hard to think straight.

Logan huffed, his hand running through his hair in a rare display of frustration. “I’ve been tryin’ to show you, but you’re too damn blind to see it.”

“Show me what?” You were at your wit’s end, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

His eyes bore into yours, intense and unyielding. “That I want you, darlin’. I’ve wanted you for a long damn time, and I’m sick of you not seein’ it.”

You stared at him, stunned into silence. This was the last thing you expected him to say. Logan—gruff, no-nonsense Logan—wanted you? The thought was so far from anything you’d ever imagined that you couldn’t even process it.

“You…you want me?” you finally managed to ask, your voice barely a whisper.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the frustration in his eyes palpable. “I’ve been tryin’ to show ya, but you keep thinkin’ I’m just bein’ a grumpy bastard.”

You blinked, completely floored by his confession. “Logan, I…I didn’t know. I thought…”

“Thought I was messin’ with ya?” he finished for you, his voice rough, almost bitter. “That’s why I’ve been avoidin’ ya—figured if you couldn’t see it by now, I was just wastin’ my time.”

The weight of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. You hadn’t seen it, not because you didn’t want to, but because the idea that Logan could feel that way about you seemed impossible. And now, standing here, with him staring at you like you were the only person in the world, you realised how wrong you’d been.

“Logan, I’m sorry,” you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest. “I didn’t know. I never thought…”

“Don’t apologise,” he cut you off, his voice softer now, but still edged with frustration. “I’m just done waitin’, darlin’. I can’t keep doin’ this—dancin’ around it, hopin’ you’ll figure it out.”

You took a shaky breath, the intensity of his gaze making it hard to think. “What do you want, Logan?”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip in a way that made your knees weak. “You, darlin’. I’ve always wanted you.”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, rough and demanding, as if he was trying to make up for all the time lost in that one kiss. The force of it stole your breath, your hands automatically reaching up to clutch his shoulders as you kissed him back just as fiercely.

Logan’s grip on you tightened, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you parted them, letting him in. The taste of him—smoke, whiskey, and something unmistakably Logan—filled your senses, making your head spin.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his breathing ragged, his pupils blown wide with desire. “Still think I’m jokin’?”

You shook your head, your heart racing, your thoughts scattered. “No,” you breathed out.

“Good,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over yours before he started kissing his way down your jaw, his stubble scraping deliciously against your skin. “’Cause I’m gonna show you exactly how much I want you.”

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin before he bit down gently, making you gasp. Your hands fisted in his shirt, needing something to hold on to as his hands moved to your thighs, lifting you and moving to sit on the bench. Your legs desperately straddled him, pulling him closer.

Logan’s hands were everywhere—sliding under your shirt, tracing the curve of your waist, skimming up your ribs, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t realised was there. He was careful, almost reverent, despite the rough edge to his movements, as if he was holding himself back from completely losing control.

When his hands found your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric of your bra, you arched into him, a whimper escaping your lips. He growled, the sound low and primal, as his mouth found yours again, his kiss fierce and demanding.

You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your core, the friction sending waves of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but rock your hips against him, seeking more.

Logan’s response was immediate, his hands gripping your hips as you ground against him, his mouth devouring yours as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You were lost in the sensation, in the heat and the intensity of him, and it was all you could do to hold on.

Just when you thought you might lose yourself completely, Logan pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes wild as he looked up at you. “Tell me to stop,” he rasped, his voice strained, as if it was taking everything in him to hold back. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

But the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. You shook your head, your voice breathless as you whispered, “Don’t stop.”

Logan let out a low, feral sound, his lips crashing against yours again as he ripped off your shirt. His patience had worn thin, and now there was no turning back. As your lips roughly moulded together, tongues battling for dominance, your hands slid under his tank-top, brushing over his abs. You pulled away, taking off his shirt, jaw dropping at the sight of his glistening body from the sweat of his workout.

“Holy shit, you should be shirtless more often…”

He didn’t respond, his hand grabbing the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss. Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers sliding down his happy trail. Climbing off him, you dropped down to your knees in front of him. He raised his hips as you pulled down his sweatpants and boxers, his dick springing out and slapping against his stomach.

You didn’t give him time to process what was happening as you immediately licked a stripe up his dick before taking the head into your mouth, tongue brushing against the tip, making him throw his head back against the bench and groan.

Your hands gently massaged his balls as your mouth focused on the head of his cock, gently sucking as his hand moved to gather your hair into a make-shift ponytail. You lowered your head, taking more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks.

Looking up through your lashes, your eyes met with his while you began to move your head up and down faster, your hands touching whatever couldn’t fit into your mouth. You continued this until your jaw was aching and his dick was twitching in your mouth.

He began to gently thrust into your mouth, making you gag as he hit the back of your throat. One of your hands slid down into your shorts, rubbing your clit before pushing a finger into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, so good darlin’,” he grunted as you moaned around him, slipping another finger into yourself.

“If you don’t stop now, m’gonna cum, wanna feel you ‘round me.”

He pulled you off of him, revelling in your dishevelled appearance. You stood up, and pulled off your shorts and panties. You reached behind you, unclipping your bra, letting it slide off your body. His eyes trailed up and down your body admiring you. You bit your lip at the way his eyes shined with something that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but you never wanted him to stop looking at you like that.

You silently moved to straddle him, pulling him into a slow kiss as your bare core grinded against his cock. One of his hands wrapped around you, trailing up and down your back as you both sat there, grinding against each other. His other hand reached down and grabbed your hip.

You raised your hips as you reached for his cock, positioning at your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him. You leaned forward and he fell back against the bench and buried your face in his neck, letting out a simultaneous moan as you stretched around him. You stayed still, adjusting to his size, panting into his neck, making him harder than he thought possible.

Once you were ready, you slowly raised your hips before sinking back down onto him. His hands moved to grip your hips as you began to ride him, gently helping you. You kissed him roughly, moaning into his mouth as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and the loud moans and groans coming out of your mouths. In that moment, neither of you cared where you were— that there was a chance someone could easily walk in on you even though it was just the two of you in the mansion. All you two cared about was the feeling of him inside of you and how you wrapped so tightly around him.

He let out a rough groan as your lips met his neck, biting into it when his hips met yours. Bouncing on his dick, you clenched around him, making him let out an almost feral sound.

“Oh fuck don’t stop, wrapped so tightly ‘round me, s’like you were made for me.”

“‘M all yours, Lo.”

“Shoulda never avoided you, shoulda just manned up and kissed you, ‘stead of waiting ‘round for you to realise that I want you.”

If you weren’t so desperate for him, you would’ve laughed but all you could do was moan and nod into his neck.

“‘M gonna cum, Lo.”

“Give it to me, darlin’.”

His hand reached to roughly circle your clit, sending you over the edge. You moaned out as a feeling of ecstasy overcame you and your vision went white. Your body slumped against his but his thrusts were relentless. As they got sloppier, you could feel his dick twitch inside of you, making you moan.

“I’m so close, need to cum inside you.”

His mouth pressed against your neck, marking you like a blank canvas for everyone to see later. He pounded up into you, his hand still rubbing your clit causing you to cum for a second time. You tightened around him, making him shoot his cum deep inside you.

His thrusts slowed, fucking you through it as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. His movements came to a stop and he titled his head back, letting out a deep breath.

You raised your head, looking into his eyes and laughing,

“I can’t believe I could’ve had this so much sooner if I wasn’t so obvious.”

Mars speaks… (again) woah that got… 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂

Tags… @pastelpinkflowerlife

[darkmatilda]

𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: in which one spencer’s curiosity leads to the exposure of your shared secret

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x diva!chemist reader, reference to spencer and reader getting married in vegas, the secret marriage not so secret anymore, penelope and reid being my favorite sibling duo, reader is trying to murder reid and im saying that with the straightest face imaginable, MASSIVE diva reader lore drop, oh and lowkey angsty ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 3.3k

𝐚/𝐧: request

“I’ve got him! I think I’ve got him…” Penelope spun halfway around in her chair, landing at her second monitor and typing rapidly, her fingers flying across the keyboard with focus. Spencer was standing right next to her, one hand resting on the desk, leaning over so he could see the results of her search. If their reasoning was correct, they had just managed to identify the unsub. But it was still too early to celebrate. “It has to be him! Thomas Murphy, 47 years old. Between 1994 and 2005 he worked as a plumber in Seattle before moving in with his now ex-wife… I’m sending you his address.”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch replied.

Then the call ended — and that was it from their end. From Garcia’s office, there was nothing else they could do except stay by the phone in case they were needed again. Spencer finally straightened up and then, a bit aimlessly, dropped into the smaller chair beside his friend. Penelope was taking a deep breath and sliding her glasses off her nose to polish them with a yellow cloth patterned with flowers. He stretched out his legs and laced his fingers together over his stomach, trying to push away a certain stupid thought that had just appeared in his head.

“So…” Reid began, trying to convince himself it wasn’t too late to bite his stupid tongue. “We don’t have anything left to do. And I was thinking…”

“That you finally want me to teach you how to play video games?” Penelope offered smoothly, slipping her glasses back on.

Thrown off, Spencer furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose. “What? N-no, that’s totally not what I meant, I was thinking more like…okay, never mind. It’s stupid.”

For the first time, his friend turned fully to face him, squinting at him suspiciously.

“I forbid you to back out now. I’m far too intrigued. So?”

He held his breath for a moment before exhaling heavily. He could’ve just said nothing. But since he already had… and since he couldn’t shake the idea from his head…

“You know, I’ve been thinking lately about how much information about specific people you’re able to find in such an impressively short amount of time…”

“Oh my goodness, you want me to stalk someone for you!”

Despite the flush on his cheeks, the look on his face was absolutely, deeply, immensely offended.

“Using the word stalking in this context is a serious misuse,” he objected, raising both hands as if shielding himself from the mere suggestion. “And you should know that, working here. Stalking refers to persistent harassment, systematic pursuit and intimidation of a person that causes them fear, anxiety, and a sense of danger — it is definitely not the same as retrieving publicly accessible information from the internet…”

Penelope rolled her eyes dramatically.

“That’s just what people say. But the answer is yes, my love, I’ll happily stalk someone for you.”

Spencer felt like he couldn’t open his mouth and actually ask her to do it out loud. Deep down, he still thought it was stupid. But maybe he gave himself away — that flicker of gratitude in his eyes in response to her readiness. Penelope clapped her hands excitedly, spinning toward the screen.

“Who’s the lucky one? Kidding, you don’t even have to tell me. I know who it is.”

He scoffed at her confidence — how could she possibly know?

 “I bet you’re wrong…” His expression fell the moment Garcia pulled up the exact name he’d intended to give her in the first place. He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Okay, yes, that’s who I meant, but it’s not what you think!”

 “Sweetie, there’s no need to explain anything to me. I get it completely, even if you don’t get it yet.”

 He opened his mouth to disagree, only to find himself stalled by his own words. Especially that second part. He stayed quiet for a long moment, turning them over in his mind. What brought him back was her next question.

 “Tell me what you want to know.”

 He shrugged, genuinely unsure.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like I want any sensitive, private information or anything I couldn’t ask about myself…”

 “Mhmm, just like I thought. Ex-lovers.”

 He quickly started shaking his head.

 “No… I mean… not exactly…you’re the one who suggested—”

 “Wait, did you know she used to be a model?”

Until now sitting with his back fully pressed against the chair’s backrest, Spencer jumped up so fast he nearly smashed his nose on the computer screen. Penelope didn’t even tease him, which indicated she was just as surprised. In the heavy silence, barely blinking, they watched an ad for a lip makeup line from about ten years ago. A brand small enough that they didn’t use real celebrities, but big enough that it was…impressive.

But Spencer wasn’t silent because he was impressed. He was silent, head slightly tilted to the side and lips parted just a little, because he had just realized he had never seen—or even wondered about—how she used to look. Younger, with a different hairstyle and even a different gaze, less experienced and less relentless, but still carrying plenty of confidence. Just not as much as now.

For the record, he also had to admit she was very attractive. But that part hadn’t changed.

Penelope mouthed wow—just the movement of her lips. Or maybe she had said it out loud, but he was slightly dazed, meaning focused on something else, and only registered the movement, not the sound. Either way, she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, catching herself.

“Right. You asked about her ex-lovers.”

Spencer was immediately snapped out of his daze—meaning focus.

“I didn’t!” he protested, which, technically, was true. She had been the one to bring it up; he’d just failed to shut it down. But he didn’t want the responsibility for it sticking to him. Garcia had already gotten back to the keyboard when he went on. “I didn’t ask about her ex-lovers, that’s just your projection. Honestly, the last thing I’m interested in is her—”

“Oh, she was engaged once,” she cut in.

Reid froze.

“What happened to her fiancé?” slipped out of him before he could stop it.

Penelope gave him a sideways look, mockingly.

“Right. The last thing you’re interested in.”

“Oh, come on. You were so happy to help me stalk her, so now at least do it right and tell me what happened to her fiancé.”

 “Ouch, no need to bite. I’m trying to find out! Believe it or not, she’s my friend too and I’m also curious.” She opened some page in the browser. Suddenly, she paused, one finger hovering over the mouse. She turned slowly to Spencer. “We are disgustingly nosy, aren’t we?”

 “We…” Spencer hesitated, feeling like Garcia kind of had a point. But his curiosity won. “Maybe a little. Who isn’t. So what about the fiancé?”

 “Look, that’s them at his sister’s wedding.” All of Penelope’s moral hesitation evaporated as she showed him a photo. “I mean, the fiancé. And here they are together.”

They both went silent for a moment, judging. Eventually, Spencer gathered himself enough to form a truly eloquent, thoughtful sentence.

 “Compared to her… he kind of looks like…a loser.”

 “He lowkey looks like you,” said Penelope at almost the same time, apparently not hearing his previous comment. He gave her a look, which she ignored. His eyes went back to the screen, to the photo of them with their arms around each other, but this time he focused on the man beside her, absolutely disagreeing with his friend’s remark.

That guy looked nothing like him. Sure, he was tall, had brown eyes and a slender frame, but other than that his hair was darker. Two completely different people. As he analyzed their similarities, Garcia kept rambling.

 “You know, I’ve been out for drinks with her a few times and judging by the kind of guys who always hit on her, I was convinced her type was more…chunky guys, you know what I mean. Oh Reid, I feel bad that I found this. She never told me she was engaged, probably didn’t want to talk about it. I wonder what happened. Did they break up or… wait, you don’t think he… oh whew, haha, he’s alive and well. Look, he has a labrador now. So they broke up… WAIT!”

Penelope leaned toward the screen, her face suddenly tense. Spencer jumped in his seat.

 “What is it?”

 “Did you know she has a husband now… wait, is that the same guy…?”

A cold sweat flooded not just the back of Reid’s neck, but also his spine, ribs, and  even heels. He became cold sweat. He shook his head quickly, desperately trying to steer Garcia away from that thought.

 “You know, you were absolutely right, we shouldn’t be digging through her past like this, I’m really not comfortable with it…”

He trailed off — it was already too late. Penelope turned to him, jaw dropped in shock, eyes full of disbelief, accusation, and a clear demand for explanation.

*

Flowers and coffee.

Flowers and her favorite coffee.

That should do the trick, right?

Okay, Spencer wasn’t deluding himself—it wouldn’t. He was just hoping, really hoping, that when she inevitably decided to murder him, she’d at least do it in a not-particularly-brutal way. But seriously, if he delivered the news gently…okay, no, she’d still be furious. There was no avoiding it.

Spencer stepped into her lab after putting it off and standing outside the door for so long that the coffee he’d brought her was nearly cold. She was busy working, so she didn’t even notice as he approached, slowed, and finally stopped just behind her. A bit of her blouse was sticking out from under her lab coat—it was almost exactly the same color as the dress she’d been wearing in that photo with her ex-fiancé. Funny, that this was what he thought of right now...

“How much longer are you planning to stand there breathing down my neck?” she hissed, not showing even the slightest sign that she’d noticed him. But she had.

Startled, he stepped back half a pace. He cleared his throat—none of the twenty versions of this conversation he’d rehearsed had started like this. Think, Reid, think...

“I brought you something,” he said, just to break the strange silence that had fallen between them. They weren’t entirely alone in the room, but none of the other chemists paid them the slightest bit of attention.

The woman paused at his words, then slowly turned around, resting both hands on the counter behind her, raising an eyebrow even before she saw what he was holding. Once she did, her brows only went slightly higher.

“What’s the occasion?”

Spencer swallowed—her eye contact made him even more nervous. He couldn’t…he couldn’t just blurt out hey, I brought you flowers so you won’t kill me for the fact that I accidentally spilled to Penelope that we got drunk married in Vegas…

He decided to start vague. Then ease into the specifics.

“What’s the occasion…Well, I realized I never thanked you for last time. When I got beaten up and you…took care of me.”

Technically, he really hadn’t thanked her, so he sounded very sincere. Because he was sincere, with the small problem that this wasn’t the whole story. And because he sounded so sincere, he felt like with every word he said…her expression softened just a little more, showing not the slightest trace of suspicion.

Internally, Spencer was panicking.

He wanted her to be suspicious! He wanted her to be skeptical! He’d rather she were in a bad mood from the start, so the change that was about to happen wouldn’t be so abrupt!

A heavy feeling was crushing his chest.

“So, that’s what it’s for. Thank you.” First, he handed her the coffee, so she could set it down on the counter behind her, and then the bouquet.

Red roses—probably had some symbolic meaning, but he hadn’t cared when buying them. He just wanted them to be her favorite color and ridiculously gorgeous. 

She accepted them with an unreadable expression. The bouquet was so large she had to tilt it to one side so it wouldn’t block his face while they talked. Her head tilted slightly as well.

“Thanks accepted,” she replied with a nod.

It wasn’t a dry response. In fact, her tone was unusually soft. But also expectant.

Expecting whatever else he was about to say.

He drew a breath.

"You look…luminous, sophisticated, truly breathtaking today," he added, eyes wide from the stress, not blinking. “Penelope knows we got married.”

Her arms dropped sharply to her sides, bouquet and all, and a petal from one of the roses floated to the floor.

“Oh, I fucking knew it!” she shouted at him, punctuating it with a stomp of her heel. For his own safety, Spencer took another step back. “I knew the moment you started complimenting me. Before that, I was still holding on to the delusion that the flowers were actually out of the goodness of your heart and gratitude…”

 “...because they are out of the goodness of my heart and gratitude—”

“Shut up. Shut up, don’t you dare interrupt me or correct me right now.” She pointed a warning finger at him. But after a moment, her hand curled into a fist, and her eyelids clenched as she took a calming breath. Without opening her eyes, she ground out through clenched teeth, “How did it happen that Penelope—whom I obviously love, but who can’t keep anything a secret—found out?”

Spencer raised both hands in a defensive gesture, his brain spinning and steaming, doing everything it could not to reveal the actual circumstances of how it all happened.

“By accident—really, I… let it slip,” he lied, hoping the desperation in his voice would mask the lack of truth, and that she was too angry to act as a lie detector. “Honestly, it was my fault, I’m fully aware, I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry—”

“And you really thought that some stupid flowers would make me not angry?”

“Well, flowers and coffee—”

He had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face with them.

“I thought maybe you’d be less angry!” he explained. “And don’t hit me with them, they didn’t do anything…!”

“That’s exactly why I’m hitting you, dumbass.”

But that was, in fact, the last display of such open aggression toward him. Sure, she was still furious, tense and ticking but Spencer, watching from what he considered a safe distance, felt slightly more secure.

For a moment, silence fell between them.

She leaned her lower back against the counter, arms tightly crossed over her chest.

“You know we have to do something about this, right?”

Spencer nodded, terrified that saying anything might reset their relationship to what it had been two minutes and forty-one seconds ago.

“I already know what,” she declared. “And you, as compensation for what you’ve done, are going to help me. Also, put those flowers in some water.”

Naturally, he did as he was told.

*

“This is weird.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have spilled, and we wouldn’t have to do this.”

“It’s still weird! I mean, we could’ve just politely asked her not to tell anyone. I’m almost certain she would’ve respected that…”

“Exactly—almost certain. And I want full certainty. So hush, I think she’s coming.”

Penelope stepped into the interrogation room where they’d arranged to meet her, glancing around uncertainly.

“Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Spencer gave her a reassuring—and at the same time apologetic—look, even though he wasn’t entirely sure they were allowed to be there either.

His companion didn’t even flinch.

“My dear Penelope, do you know why we wanted to see you here today?”

Garcia sat down on the opposite side of the table—right where they usually placed the people being interrogated. Though initially hesitant and reserved, she suddenly clasped her hands together with an impressively bold expression.

“As a matter of fact, I do know why you wanted to see me here,” she declared, her eyes darting between their faces. “Because even though on a daily basis you claim you don’t even like each other, you literally got married. And that’s not something normal people do. I mean—I love you two, and I’m rooting for you—but those are just the facts.”

Spencer was watching her profile as she listened to those words. He noticed she rolled her eyes at the I love you two, and I’m rooting for you part. But other than that, she didn’t seem particularly moved by what Penelope had said.

 Unlike him.

Reid had apparently needed to hear it from a third party to start actually wondering if, yeah, maybe it wasn’t entirely normal.

“I guess we’re not normal,” she said plainly, shrugging nonchalantly. Then suddenly she sighed and looked at the woman in front of her with something almost like tenderness. “Penelope, you know I love you, but I will murder you if you tell anyone. Just to be safe, I’ve prepared this.”

She reached into the front pocket of her lab coat and pulled out a document.

 “A nondisclosure agreement. Just a little incentive for you to keep quiet.”

Both Spencer and Penelope stared at her, completely baffled.

His confusion was layered with something else.

“You’re really embarrassed you married me, aren’t you?” slipped out of him.

She turned her head toward him—they locked eyes.

Garcia stood up nervously from her chair.

“Maybe I should give you two a moment—”

She was stopped with a quick hand gesture.

“I’m not embarrassed that I married you,” she said, looking at him sternly. She barely blinked. “I’m embarrassed by the circumstances. And the fact that we still haven’t dealt with it.”

“Well, if I recall correctly, it was a mutual decision.”

“A stupid decision. What were we even thinking?”

Spencer felt a strange, uncomfortable tension inside him, in her, and between them.

Penelope clearly felt it too, because she quickly pulled the document toward herself and signed it with an exaggerated flourish.

“There you go. And now I’m off. Nothing worse than getting stuck in the middle of a marital argument. Kisses!”

And just like that, she disappeared, leaving the two of them alone in the interrogation room.

For a moment, the silence was incredibly heavy. Spencer was used to silences like that. He’d conducted dozens, if not hundreds, of interrogations. But this was the first time the silence felt like his problem.

They stood across from each other on either side of the short table, which, given the size of the room, meant they were fairly close. He no longer stole uncertain glances at her profile—he stared openly now, with far too many questions about her sudden shift in how she was approaching the decision they had once made together.

“We should’ve gotten divorced right away,” she said coldly, turning her head but not her body toward him. “Then it wouldn’t have gotten so...too real.”

Too real. Spencer didn’t even get a chance to reflect on those words before she walked out of the room, leaving the two of them, him and the silence, behind. 

Too real. He didn’t understand those words, not even when he did think about them. Or rather, he understood their meaning, their connection, what they implied but he didn’t understand how they related to them.

And yet, as the next few minutes passed, he remembered that small stab of excitement when Garcia agreed to look her up for him and the other sharp pang when he stared at the photo of her with her ex fiancé and maybe, just maybe, he was finally starting to understand what the whole too real thing had meant.

[likeumeanit9497]

bet | c.s. |

chris sturniolo x fem!reader

summary: when y/n loses a bet to chris and is forced to go to a party, she realizes that she can be a lot more fun than she thought she could be.

warnings: SMUT; unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); choking; dirty talk; overstimulation; LOTS of plot; mentions of alcohol; 18+

notes: okay soooo...this is long. guys i try SO HARD to make my one shots shorter but I CAN'T DO IT IM SORRY I JUST LOVE CREATING A PLOT LINE TOO MUCH!!! so i 100% get it if u don't want to read all 6,857 words of this BUT i will say the smut in this is excellent. if u do choose to read this i hope u enjoy but i love ALL of u so much <333

“So after the kid shot me with the SRT I legit only had like 20 health,” Chris’s conversation was very much one-sided as you tried to keep your focus on the study material in front of you. “I didn’t have any slurp juice or bandages, so I definitely thought I was fucked because the kid was running towards me.” You began chewing on your bottom lip as you flipped through flashcards; Chris’s voice growing much too loud for the campus library. In your periphery, you could see that Chris was no longer writing notes and instead had abandoned his pencil to begin moving his hands animatedly as he continued his story. “Oh! And I was also almost out of mats. I was trying to build but he kept shooting at me so I was running out of material quick.” You sighed softly, searching through your business law textbook to find a concept that was sure to be on the test on Monday. The same test that Chris would also be taking, though he was proving to be completely disinterested in preparing himself for it as he continued to drone on about his recent Fortnite win.

“Chris,” You began, finally turning to face him. “I’m sure it’s all very impressive, but we have a pretty big midterm on Monday, remember? That’s the whole reason we’re here.” You shoot him a smile to hopefully soften your words, but thought to yourself that if you had known he was going to be so distracting, you never would have agreed to study with him. Chris blinked at you, a cocky smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He leaned back in the library chair and rested his hands against his stomach. You didn’t know Chris very well, as typically you only really spoke to each other in class, so you couldn’t really gauge his reaction to your words. You watched him for a moment, analyzing the way that his glittery-blue eyes flicked down to your lips and back up again. “But business law is so boring.” He finally replied, humour laced in his voice.

You chuckled, splitting your flashcards in half and handing a stack of them to him. “I know, trust me. But you have to study or else you’ll be fucked Monday morning.” You replied, and with a sigh he took your offered flashcards and straightened up in his chair. “Fine,” He huffed, “But I can’t stay very late, I’ve got a party to go to.” He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily as he spoke, and you stayed silent as you fought the urge to roll your eyes. Finally, you both began flipping through your respective flashcards in silence, the only distraction being the occasional brush of Chris’s arm against yours. You finally felt yourself fall into the satisfying feeling of being laser focused on the material in front of you, when Chris’s voice once again broke the silence.

“Speaking of parties, how come I never see you at any of them?” He asked, dropping his half of the flashcards onto the work table and reaching for his phone. Sighing, you barely flicked your eyes up in acknowledgement before giving him a curt response. “Not my scene.” You replied simply, hoping that answer was enough. “I don’t know if I believe that.” He replied, his voice filled with humour once again. “Hmm?” You rested your head in your hand as you continued haphazardly reading the cards. He stayed silent for a moment, and you could feel his eyes burning into you as he searched for a response. “I mean, I’ve seen plenty of your friends out.” You shrugged. “They’re more fun than I am.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” His words were finally enough to make you drop your own flashcards and turn to face him. “Chris, it’s a Friday night and I’m sitting in the library — where I plan on staying until I’m practically forced out at closing time — doing my very best to study for a midterm that I’ve been prepared to write for about two weeks. I spend so much time in this exact chair that I wouldn’t be surprised to show up one day and see a plaque with my name on it. This is my idea of fun. So how exactly do you think otherwise?” Chris smiled at you, his eyes glimmering with humorous appreciation. “I’ve got a sixth sense for these things, Y/n.” He shrugged, his voice a low, taunting whisper. You scoffed, shocked by his presumption that he knows you more than he really does.

“In fact,” He began again, making you close your eyes out of sheer frustration. “I think I can prove it.” You turned to face him once again, shockingly intrigued by his statement. Raising one eyebrow, you encourage him to continue. “Let’s make a bet.” You tilted your head, unable to hide your curiosity. “A bet.” You repeated. He nodded his head and leaned back in his chair. “We quiz each other with what’s on these flashcards. If you win, I’ll leave the library so you can study in peace, but if I win, you come to the party with me tonight.”

Your eyes widened in shock as you took in his proposition. The thought of going to a party on any weekend made you uneasy, but on the Friday before a major midterm it sounded disastrous. “And what if I say I don’t want to be a part of this bet at all?” You questioned, crossing your arms over your chest. Chris smirked and shrugged. “Then I guess you’ll have to put up with me. As a matter of fact, I bet I could stay a little later, too. I have plenty of stories to share with you.” You groaned out loud as he sent you a quick wink. “I hate parties!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation.

“What? Don’t think you can answer more questions right than me?” He asked, his teasing voice laced with humour. But his words brought you to the realization that he was right, of course you wouldn’t have to go to the party. There was no way that Chris would be able to get more of the flashcard questions that you wrote correct. So, after a few more moments of contemplation, you shrugged your shoulders and straightened up in your chair. “Fuck it, I’m in.” A smile grew on Chris’s face as he took your hand and shook it; sealing the deal.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Yes! Let’s fucking go!” Your face dropped as you watched Chris jump from his seat, fists pumping the air as he circled your work table, soaking in his win. Once he reached you, he grabbed your shoulders and shook them lightly, pulling you from your shocked disassociation. “How the fuck did that just happen?” You asked, your voice weak as you looked at the tally score you had made on a scrap piece of paper. At the start of your little competition, you had actually been pleasantly surprised to see Chris answering the first few questions right. But, as you got closer and closer to the end, and with that, your scores eventually becoming tied, you suddenly became nervous. When you got your last question wrong, you felt your stomach drop, knowing that in order for you not to lose the bet Chris would have to get his last one wrong as well. But, to your horror, his answer was perfectly correct.

“I bet you underestimated me, huh?” Chris taunted as he began packing up his backpack. Shaking your head, you pulled your exasperated body up, collecting your own study supplies. “I guess I did.” You replied sheepishly, and without even looking you could feel Chris lean towards you. “You should never underestimate me.” He whispered, causing shivers to crawl down your spine. Then, his mood suddenly shifted back to his previous giddiness as he slung his backpack onto one shoulder. “So, text me your address. I’ll pick you up around 9:00 and we’ll walk to the party together, sound good?” Chris’s voice was so sickly sweet, riddled with excitement at the expense of both your shattered ego and distaste for your sudden plans. With a huff, you begin walking with him towards the library exit. “Sounds great.” You replied, your words filled with sarcasm and resentment.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Just a second!” You called, your voice shrill and panicked, as you scrambled around your apartment trying to do up your black corset while running to answer the door. Groaning, you momentarily give up on the corset and use one hand to hold it together in the back while you opened the front door. “Sorry, I just need another minute to get this damn top on.” You muttered in frustration, skipping over any greeting with Chris standing at the door. You turned around immediately, leaving the door open for him to enter as you walked into your bedroom and stood in front of you mirror.

Chris chuckled as he stepped into your apartment and followed you into your bedroom. “Having some trouble there?” He teased, nudging his chin to your undone top. You huffed as he leaned against your bedroom doorframe, crossing his arms as he took great pleasure in watching you struggle with your top.

“This thing is fucking impossible to put on!” You exclaimed, contorting your body into unflattering positions in an attempt to see what you were doing as you worked at clipping up one of the many clasps. Your eyes fell to your clock, noticing that it was exactly 9:00. “I’m sorry Chris, are we gonna be late?” You asked as you continued to struggle with your top.

“It’s a party, Y/n,” Chris began, pushing himself off from the doorframe and walking towards you. “We can’t be ‘late’.” Without asking for permission, Chris mindlessly walked up behind you to begin helping with your fussy corset. You stilled as you felt his cold knuckles brush against your spine as his fingers expertly maneuvered the stubborn clips into place. “Thank you.” You managed to whisper, even though your mouth had suddenly grown bone dry.

Once he fastened the last clip, Chris took a moment to step back and check over his work. Nodding in approval, you watched him through the mirror as his eyes drifted along your entire outfit. “Damn. I didn’t think you even owned anything like this.” He laughed, locking eyes with you in the mirror. You took a moment of your own to look at the lacy black corset and black mini skirt covering your body, and mirrored his laugh.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve been dragged to a party, you know.” Chris made a cheeky face at you through the mirror. “Dragged is a crazy word. I prefer to think of it as you finally allowing yourself to spend your Friday night like a normal 21 year old college student.” You turned away from the mirror and rolled your eyes, reaching for your purse on the bed to make sure you had everything in it that you might need tonight. Chris chuckled as you began stuffing your purse with your lip combo and perfume of the night, and suddenly you felt the heat of his body behind you as he stepped closer to you. “You know, we can blow off this party if you really don’t want to go.”

You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered shut at his warm whispers in your ear. His mouth lingered just inches from your ear as he waited for a response, but confusion washed over your body like lava. After what could have possibly been too long of an unbearable silence, you broke it by laughing dryly. “Yeah yeah, but I lost the bet…remember?” While you tried to keep your voice steady, you winced at how weak your words came out. Chris laughed softly, his breath warming your skin deliciously. “Ah yes, the bet.” He replied, his voice much lower than it had been before. You shivered as you felt his thumb trail softly down your bare arm. “We better get going then.”

You took a deep breath before turning around to face him. Looking up at him through your false eyelashes, you took a moment to examine his curious expression. His eyes looked soft as they glimmered in the dim lighting of your bedroom, but there was a barely distinguishable tension in his jaw — as though he was clenching his teeth in discomfort or strain — as he stared down at you. “Okay.” You finally replied, your voice a hoarse whisper.

You suddenly felt chilled as Chris’s body moved away from yours, and were completely shocked by the wave of disappointment that crashed through your system. As Chris helped you slip on your black jacket and you both walked out of your apartment and towards the party, you couldn’t help but ask yourself: what would have happened if you took the option not to go to the party?

It was a short walk to the house party, but by the time you and Chris walked up to the front door, you were beginning to grow squirrelly with nerves. It had been a long time since you had gone to a party, and you were sure that you had never been at this particular house before. As if he was reading your mind, Chris nudged your shoulder softly. “Hey, it’ll be fun,” You turned to look at him, giving him a weak smile. He leaned in closer to your ear, as if he was preparing to tell you a secret. “This is actually my place, so you’re already tight with the host.” You looked at him, slightly shocked that the party was at his home yet he chose to meet you at your place first, but it did calm your nerves slightly.

That changed as soon as Chris opened the front door. Immediately, you were met by a throng of unfamiliar people scattered throughout the house, loud music blaring, and scattered beer bottles and solo cups along the floor. After shooting you a reassuring look, Chris led you up the stairs to the main part of his home; filled with even more people and even more mess. A handful of people walked up to Chris in greeting, and you felt like an invader of the party; even though Chris made sure to introduce you to everyone he was talking to.

Just when you were about to ask Chris to show you where the washroom was — in which you planned to spend the rest of this horrifying night in hiding — you heard your name get called over the incessant chatter. Turning your head in the direction of the living room, you noticed three of your best friends on the couch, smiling and waving their hands in your direction. “You bitch! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming out?”

You felt the weight of humiliation and awkwardness lift off of you, and you shot them a warm smile before turning to Chris. Noticing your friends, he tilted his head in their direction and smiled kindly down at you. “Go ahead, I’ll find you later.” With a childish giggle, you squeezed his arm as a gentle sign of appreciation before quickly scampering off to your friends on the couch.

𓆩♡𓆪

After giving your friends a detailed explanation of how you ended up at the party — and after drinking more than your fair share of beer — you had melted into a state of bliss that was nearly unrecognizable to you. Never before had you truly enjoyed yourself at a party, yet at that very moment, it felt as though you were morphing into a completely different person; one much more confident and certainly more relaxed.That definitely had to do with the liquor burning through your veins, and maybe even the fact that a certain pair of blue eyes had been planted on you the whole night.

Laughing at something one of your friends’ said, your eyes traveled across the room and locked onto Chris’s from his place in the kitchen. You watched as a smirk pulled at the corner of his pink lips before he curled two fingers in the air; subtly calling you over. “I’ll be back in a bit.” You said to your friends before pulling your body — heavy from the alcohol — off of the couch and walking over to Chris at the kitchen counter.

He watched you, his head tilted ever so slightly as if he was studying you, as you approached him. You realized in that moment just how warm your cheeks felt as you finally reached him, standing just inches from his leaning frame. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say it looks like you’re having a bit of fun over there.” He said, his voice laced with amusement. You made an attempt at rolling your eyes. “Alcohol can make anything fun.” You replied, feeling too stubborn to admit that your night was going much better than you had expected. Chris straightened up and turned to the counter where he grabbed a bottle of tequila and began filling up two shot glasses. “Well in that case, I think you should take a shot with me.”

You smiled and stayed silent as you watched him pour the liquid into the small glasses. You couldn’t help but admire his side profile as his long eyelashes framed his slightly reddened eyes, and his teeth bit down on his lower lip in concentration. Even with your blurred vision, you could see the faint sprinkle of freckles along the soft slope of his nose, and appreciated the soft flush of baby pink — no doubt a gift granted to you by his consumption of alcohol — along his cheeks.

You snapped out of it once he turned back to face you, holding out a shot — noticeably less full than the one in his other hand — for you to grab. You obliged, and held it up in a cheers with him before you both tilted your heads back, wincing at the familiar burn as the tequila slid down your throat. “Lime.” You cried out, your voice hoarse from the liquor, and rather quickly Chris grabbed a pre-cut lime wedge out of a bowl and brought it to your lips. You opened your mouth and wrapped your lips around the slice; sucking the sour juice from it while looking up at Chris with a scrunched up face as you ignored the strange flutter in your stomach — a flutter that was most definitely not from the alcohol.

You pulled your eyes away from Chris as you plucked the lime out of your mouth. Hearing him chuckle, you looked back up at him. “Another?” He asked, holding up the bottle of Casa Migos. Regrettably, you nodded your head. “But do you have any salt?” You asked, to which Chris responded by immediately reaching over into a cabinet to his right. As he searched through the cabinet, your eyes fell onto his exposed neck typically hidden by his messy curls — his skin slightly glistening.

As he turned back to face you, a shaker of salt in his hand, you felt your mood suddenly shift into one filled with desire. Forcing a smile onto your face, you managed a small thank you. Noticing your change in mood, Chris’s eyes seemed to scan across your features for a moment in silence. “Lick the back of your hand.” He ordered, his voice low and slightly deeper than before. Instinctually, you brought your hand up to your mouth. But just as you were about to run your hand against your tongue, you were suddenly overcome with an urge — and with it, a wave of uncharacteristic confidence.

“Actually, can I do something?” You asked, looking up at Chris through your eyelashes. Your eyes fixed on his neck, and you watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. “Sure.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. As the word left his mouth, you took the salt shaker from his hand and sprinkled some into your own open palm. “Fill the shot glasses.” You told him, and he immediately obliged. Looking back up at his face — his gorgeous features laced with confusion — you took one deep breath before moving closer to him, your bodies now so close that with each breath your chest brushed against his. His eyes were filled with shock at your sudden proximity, but he stayed perfectly still as he waited to see what you were going to do.

Slowly, so slowly, you brought your mouth to his neck before running your tongue along his creamy skin. As you did, a short gasp fell from his lips and you felt his body stiffen against you. Sticking to efficiency, you quickly pulled your tongue away before lacing your free hand through his curls; using your grip to tilt his head so that you could sprinkle the grains of salt against his wet skin. Pulling back, you caught a glimpse of Chris’s face — cheeks even more flushed and his eyes momentarily shut in bliss — before he looked down at you with uncertainty.

Untangling your hand from his hair, you reached for your shot on the counter and held it up. “Cheers.” You whispered, a small smirk tugging at your lips. Chris blinked a few times before picking up his own shot and clinking it against yours. His eyes stayed glued to yours as you both took your shots, and before the tequila had a chance to hit you with its after shock, you wrapped your lips around the patch of salt along his neck. Even in the loud room, you could swear you heard a soft moan fall from Chris lips, and you felt his pulse quicken against your mouth as you took your time licking away every grain of salt.

It wasn’t long before all of the salt had melted against your tongue, but still you continued to gently nibble and suck the delicate skin on his neck. As you did, Chris sucked in a sharp breath before gripping onto your ass tightly and pulling you against him. You released your own soft moan at the feeling of his large hand digging into your plush skin, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Jesus, Y/n.” Chris groaned. Against your front, you began to feel a fast-growing bulge press against you. Your mouth travelled tantalizingly slow against his skin, until you reached his ear. Grabbing his earlobe between your teeth and gently tugging on the soft skin, you whispered. “You should never underestimate me, either.”

At that, you heard an impressed chuckle. You pulled away from his skin and looked up at him, just inches from his soft lips. So close that you could feel his warm breath against your face, you began to feel intoxicated — not by the tequila, but by him. His hand stayed firmly planted on your ass, the tips of his fingers just barely whispering against your burning heat. The two of you seemed to find yourselves in some sort of stare down — neither of you moving closer to or away from the other — trying to gauge what the other wanted.

Finally, your eyes dropped to his glistening lips, and as if they had a magnetic pull you felt yourself inch closer and closer to them. Noticing this, Chris began pulling forward too, until you could feel his desire burning against your skin. Just as your lips brushed against his, you gasped for air before panting out: “Bedroom.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Chris grabbed onto your hand and began leading you to a set of stairs descending into the basement. You could hear your own pulse over the music as it began growing more distant when you both reached the bottom of the stairs. Once you reached a locked door, Chris began pounding against it urgently. “Get the fuck out of my room!” He called through the door, and as you heard the sound of panicked shuffling on the other side he turned to face you; his eyes exuding pure desire as he ran his thumb pad against your lower lip.

You jumped as the door suddenly burst open and watched as two undone people slipped past you both; actively avoiding eye contact. As soon as they passed you, Chris grabbed onto your waist and pulled you into the dimly lit room. Without even a moment to adjust to your surroundings, you gasped as Chris slammed you against the closed door and engulfed your open mouth with his own. You moaned at the feeling of his lips moulding to yours, bringing with them a relief to the tension that had been building between you all night.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, and you welcomed it with a gasp. You relished in the feeling of his tongue completely and utterly dominating not just your mouth, but your whole body, as you felt yourself weaken in between the wooden door and his towering frame. Your head began to spin at the unfamiliar yet intoxicating taste of his lips, just as you watched in awe as he dropped to his knees in front of you.

His eyes drilled into yours for a moment, as though he was checking to make sure you were okay with what he was about to do. When you knit your brows together and began sucking on your bottom lip — desperate for his touch — he shot you a cocky smirk before drawing his attention to what was in his direct line of sight. His hands slid from your waist down to your thighs, where he began massaging them slowly while simultaneously dropping wet kisses against your burning skin.

Reacting to this, you inadvertently spread your legs further apart. As you did, you felt his lips curl into a smile against your skin as he continued running his tongue against your inner thighs. While continuing to drive you crazy with his mouth, he brought his hands up to the zipper of your skirt. As he fiddled with with the metal, he spoke against your skin. “You want this?” A soft moan fell from your lips, eliciting a chuckle from his. “I need to hear you say it, baby.” He urged, causing your chest to rise and fall rapidly. “Y-yes.” You finally managed to reply, gasping for air as you did. At your response, Chris gently nibbled at the sensitive skin on your thigh, just below the end of your skirt, as he began sliding the black material down your legs. “Good girl.” He praised just as he let the skirt drop to your ankles.

Now with just your sheer panties between his warm mouth and the place you needed it the most, you began squirming as he took a moment to admire your barely-covered heat. He brought his hands up from their place on your thighs to the soft wisp of hair along your bikini line. You shivered in pleasure from his touch so close to where you were aching for him, and watched as his eyes seemed to grow enlivened by his view. “Didn’t expect you to be wearing something like this under that skirt.” He uttered, his voice thick with desire as he toyed with the sheer material. “What did I say about underestimating me?” You replied through your breathlessness.

With that, Chris looked up at you through his thick eyelashes, a smirk cemented into his face, before hooking his thumbs onto either side of your sheer thong and dragging it excruciatingly slow down your legs; until you were suddenly completely bare in front of him. As your pussy radiated desire just inches from his face, his smirk was replaced by one of agony; as if he was suddenly desperate to bury himself into its warmth. He grabbed both of your thighs, firmly pulling them further apart, before he ran his tongue slowly along your dripping slit; his eyes drilling into you as he did. You watched as a pool of your slippery arousal gathered on his tongue, and only once he swallowed your juices did his eyes flutter closed; officially losing himself.

You cried out as soon as his warm mouth wrapped around your pulsing clit, creating an infrangible suction that caused your hips to involuntarily buck into him. Chris moaned against your bundle of nerves, sheer enjoyment plastered to his softened expression, as you laced your thin fingers through his curly hair. “Jesus.” You moaned out incoherently, unable to form a genuine thought as Chris’s tongue worked you through shock waves of pleasure. He groaned against your pussy in response, his face completely buried in between your wet folds.

You gasped as you felt his finger begin to circle your hole, teasing your entrance as it begged him for more. Noticing your flexing walls and dripping arousal, Chris slipped two hooked fingers into your spongey cunt; pumping them into you with vigour as his mouth continued to work against your throbbing clit. The room filled with the wet sounds of Chris’s fingers plunging into you, and you felt that familiar tension in your lower stomach begin to grow nearly unbearable. Your grip on his hair tightened, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinding your slick heat against his eager mouth.

“F-fuck C-Chris, I — FUCK!” You struggled to speak as you began to lose control of your body, writhing under his hold on you as though you were trying to run from your impending orgasm. In response, Chris’s fingers began to pump into you even quicker, drawing a long moan from your lips. “It’s okay baby,” He reassured you against your clit, his voice an octave lower than usual, “Make a mess all over me.” Your back arched against the door, his encouraging words drawing you closer to your orgasm. Chris used his free hand to grab your thigh, lifting it off the ground and resting it on his shoulder; granting him access to pump his thick fingers even deeper into you.

As he pounded his fingers into your g-spot relentlessly, your body momentarily stilled as you were hit with white-hot pleasure. “Fuck!” You cried out as the waves began crashing into you, causing your body to now begin to convulse uncontrollably. Your nails dug into his scalp as you struggled to stay upright throughout your earth-shattering orgasm. Once he felt your walls begin to pulse around his fingers, he quickly slid them out; allowing you to ride through your high as his mouth began ardently drinking up your warm juices.

As soon as he noticed your moans begin to calm down, he lifted you off of your shaky legs and carried you to the bed. As he walked, he effortlessly undid the many clips on the back of your corset; freeing your full tits and wrapping his wet, swollen lips around one. As he swirled his tongue around your pebbled nipple, he gently laid you down along the edge of his large bed. With a pop he pulled his mouth off of your tit before heedlessly unbuckling his pants and slipping them down his legs, before doing the same with his boxers. You watched in awe as his cock sprung free, feeling that insatiable need grow even stronger deep inside of you.

“Need to feel that soaked fucking pussy wrapped around my cock so fucking bad.” Chris murmured, collecting the fast-growing arousal from your slit on his fingers before using the slippery fluid to stroke his member a few times. Leaning down, he drew your lips to his in a desperate and sloppy kiss, and as he did you felt the girth of his tip pressing incessantly against your dripping entrance. Groaning in anticipation, you writhed under his grip and wrapped your legs around his waist.

Unable to hold back, Chris released a guttural moan against your cheek as he suddenly slammed every inch of himself into you. You cried out in pleasure as his cock pumped into you hard and fast without giving you a moment to adjust to his size. His incessant groans and sharp breathing let you know how good your pussy felt as it enveloped his swollen shaft. “C-Chris y-you’re hu-uge!” You managed to cry out, your eyes bulging from your head as you felt your walls stretch to accommodate his size.

At that, Chris lifted his head from your cheek and dropped his eyes to watch your swollen pussy as his cock continued to pound into it. He brought a hand to your lower stomach, pressing down so that you could see the bulge that his cock was imprinting into it. With an arrogant smile on his lips, he looked back up to your fucked-out face. “You’re takin’ it so good, baby.” His words made your head spin, and you released a loud moan as you gripped onto his arms. Chris looked back down at where your pussy was swallowing his cock, and you watched his jaw go slack as he seemed to relish in the magnificent pleasure that the sight brought him.

“This pussy was fuckin’ made for me.” He groaned out, his voice low as though he was speaking to himself rather than you. Still, his obsession drew another wave of pleasure through your body, and you desperately wanted to see what he was seeing. With shaky limbs, you managed to lift your shoulders up, resting the weight of your upper body on your elbows. You gasped as you watched Chris’s thick cock disappear inside of you again and again; pulling ribbons of your arousal out on each thrust and spreading them along your inner thighs and his lower stomach.

Chris’s eyes lifted up to yours, where they stayed as he continued to pound into you. Suddenly, he brought a veiny hand to your throat; gently squeezing the sides as he bit on his lower lip. “You see how fuckin’ pretty your pussy looks milking my cock?” You let your eyes drop back to the place where your bodies met, entranced by the sight of your bright pink lips wrapping around his length. “If I died inside of you right now, I would die a happy fucking man.” He leaned forward and melted his soft lips to yours, kissing you so deeply that your head spun.

Chris’s pace began to slow; becoming much sloppier. Deep grunts fell from his lips as he dropped his forehead onto your collarbone where he placed wet, open mouthed kisses as he plunged up into your g-spot. “Fuuuuck.” He hissed, his breath warm against your clammy skin as he seemed to get caught up in how good he was feeling. “Chris.” You breathed, your brain turning to mush as you felt every inch of his cock slip through your walls at this new, excruciatingly slow, pace.

Suddenly, his movements completely stilled as he leaned over you and grabbed a pillow from the top of his bed. He straightened himself up on top of you, grabbing your waist and lifting it effortlessly as he slid the pillow under your lower back. Confused, you look up at him with knitted brows; your chest rising and falling. Noticing your un-asked question, Chris spoke. “I’m gonna cum in a minute,” He said, slowly beginning to slide in and out of you again. “And when I do, I wanna feel your pussy convulsing around me.”

With that, Chris pressed one hand firmly onto your lower stomach while using two fingers to spread apart the protective hood above your clit. With his other hand, he brought his thumb to your exposed clit and began rubbing it gently; relishing in the way your body flexed erotically each time he did. Your moans slipped past your lips in helpless squeaks, feeling overstimulated by Chris’s direct contact with your bundle of nerves in unison with the added pressure in your gut caused by his hand pressing against it. “G-god!” You cried out, grabbing onto both of Chris’s wrists as he continued working your clit and fucking you senseless; unsure of whether you were trying to pull his hands away or keep them exactly where they were.

Chris’s eyes stayed glued to your swollen clit, but his breathing grew more and more ragged as he quickly approached his orgasm. You could feel his cock swelling inside of you as he struggled to hold himself back. “Fuck,” He growled, his cheeks even more flushed than before, “Cum for me baby, please.” His voice broke at the end of his sentence, a clear sign that he was on the edge of losing control. You felt your own walls begin to crash down, sending you closer and closer to what was sure to be an earth-shattering orgasm. “P-please — a-almost there.” You whined, your back arching off of the bed as you began to feel as though you were being lit on fire.

Chris dropped his forehead onto your chest, being sure to keep his movements the same as he released soft moans against your skin. “Come on sweetheart.” He grunted as he thrusted up into you, running dangerously low on will-power, “Let me feel you cum for me.” The gritty desperation in his voice was enough to finally push you over the edge. As soon as he felt that first intense pulse reverberate through your walls, he finally allowed himself to lose all control. His hips began pounding into you incessantly as your legs tightened around his waist. Deep, brutish moans fell from his lips on each thrust as his thumb continued to rub against your clit.

“Jesus fuck!” You cried out, feeling the pressure that had been building in your stomach release as you squirted against Chris’s pelvis. As you did, Chris’s thrusts suddenly stilled, and while his thumb toyed with your clit, he released a guttural moan before you felt his warm fluid spill into your quivering pussy. His swollen cock pulsed in between your walls, and you moaned in unison with him as he began to rock himself in and out of you slowly; using your tight pussy to milk himself dry.

Once both you and him came back down to earth, Chris collapsed into your chest; laying there for a moment as you both struggled to catch your breath. Your hands fell onto Chris’s curly hair, which you ran your fingers through slowly as he drew small circles on your hip bone; both of you helping the other get back to their sober minds.

After a short while, Chris planted an affectionate kiss to your chest before lifting himself up. He pulled out of you slowly, his glazed eyes watching as his cum dripped out of you. You watched as he reached over the edge of the bed and grabbed his discarded t-shirt. After shooting you a charming smile, he gently grabbed your right thigh, spreading it slightly before using the soft material of the t-shirt to delicately wipe away the mess he had made of you. “You sore?” He asked, his voice gentle as he gazed up at you. You nodded, looking up at him with a smile as you leaned back on your elbows. “Nothing I can’t handle.” You added, sticking your tongue out cheekily.

“I am gonna need your help with the corset again before we head back upstairs, though.” You sighed, gesturing to the discarded pile of lace and buckles on the floor. Chris’s eyes followed to where you pointed. “Or…” He began, tugging at the edge of his comforter, “We could just stay down here?” Your eyes drifted up to his face, and you were met with a sheepish, tired smile. Feeling a wave of relief wash over you, you crawled to the top of the bed and curled under the warm blanket. “Thank God.” You muttered, earning another smile from Chris before he followed you into the sheets.

He pulled you into his arms, and you closed your eyes at the comforting feeling of the warmth emanating from his naked body. Exhaustion began to immediately overtake you, and you felt yourself grow heavy in his arms. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back up?” You asked, worried that he might just feel obligated to be there with you, “You’re gonna miss out on all the fun.” Your voice was now thick with sleep. Chris chuckled, squeezing you gently in his arms. “All the fun is right here. I told you, Y/n, my sixth sense never fails me.”

ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ

[mixsethaddams]

Little Steve broke out of home and escaped towards Eddie’s place on a late spring evening. Uncle Wayne said he was always welcome, and Steve’s dad hadn’t let him stay up late to watch Family Feud. He’d watch it with Eddie! He hadn’t seen him in weeks, but he’d see him tonight!

He grabbed his things, wrapped his blankie around his neck like a cloak, and snuck down the stairs.

He kind of knew the way to Forest Hills. His mom had driven him there and back before for afterschool playdates with Eddie, but walking was a whole new adventure.

And more importantly; It was dark.

Steve had never been outside by himself in the dark before. Goosebumps rose over his skin as the cool night air swept up the arms and legs of his jammies. He clutched his bear and forced himself to keep walking.

He must be almost there?

The streetlights cast long shadows that he didn’t recognise.

His stomach swooped as a dark shape fluttered out of a nearby tree and flew towards the moon.

Steve could feel his bottom lip wobbling. He had to keep going. For Family Feud.

“For Eddie” he said aloud.

A stray cat knocked over a trashcan and skittered out onto the sidewalk.

Steve jumped and screeched, holding his bear over his face and pressing his now wet eyes into its fur.

He was starting to think maybe this was a mistake when a soft hand landed on his shoulder.

“Out for a walk, Stevie Bear?”

His mom’s voice was soft, her perfume cutting through the air to calm him.

Steve held his bear to his chest and tried to hold his chin high.

“How di-did you f-find me?” he asked, pretending like he was so big and tough.

She smiled gently.

Steve hadn’t been subtle when he left the house. Pulling a chair over to unlatch the front door was a dead giveaway. His dad pulled up next to them in the car. He’d gone back for it as soon as Steve had said his friend’s name out loud and they figured out where he was headed.

“How about we see who’s home over there, hmm?” Steve’s mom suggested, lifting him into the backseat. “Eddie might still be staying with his other family, but we can check, ok?”

Steve kicked his feet nervously as his dad steered the car through the dark streets.

What would he have done if he got there and Eddie was somewhere else? Wayne would have let him stay, right?

Steve chewed his lip, breaking into a smile when they turned into the trailer park and saw a light on in Eddie’s bedroom.

His dad walked him to the door and knocked.

“No thank you!” came a muffled reply from the other side.

“Can you open the door, son?” Steve’s dad asked.

“I can,” came the response. “But I won’t. Come back in the morning!”

Steve’s dad sighed. “Eddie, is Wayne home?”

“…yes,”

“Send him out, please,”

Steve’s eyes went wide when the next voice came out.

“Yes this is Wayne,” said what was obviously Eddie trying to put on a deep voice. “It’s bedtime, come back tomorrow,”

“Eddie?” Steve said in a loud whisper leaning towards the door. “It’s me! And my dad!”

Eddie’s face immediately appeared at the glass.

“Oh!” He said brightly, standing on his tiptoes to unlock the door. “Come on in!”

Steve’s dad followed him into the living room. “Is Wayne here?”

“He just left,” said Eddie, flushed pink.

“Oh did he now?”

“Work needed him real bad,” Eddie tried to explain to cover up his earlier lie. “Had to run right out,”

Steve was giggling.

“Can I have the number to call him, please?” His dad asked.

Eddie showed him the number and the phone, before Steve started talking about how he got here.

He made it sound very dramatic, of course.

It certainly sounded like a much longer walk than the end of his street with his curious parents following along at a short distance. Eddie was very impressed, and was especially excited about the bat in the tree.

“Ok boys,”

Steve’s dad hung up the phone and crouched down to speak to them both.

“We’re going to have a sleepover at our house tonight,” he said. “Eddie, grab some clothes for the morning,”

Steve jumped up and down, his blanket cloak bouncing behind him. “Really Dad? Really?”

His dad ruffled his hair. “Really, now go make sure he packs his toothbrush,”

Steve’s dad went to let his mother in on the new plan before the boys appeared outside, smiles wide and holding hands as they walked down the steps.

Wayne really had been called into work last minute.

He had no phone number for anyone who could take his boy at such short notice on a Friday night.

It broke his heart to get in his truck and leave, especially after Eddie’s court ordered time spent with his own dad, but he set him up with a hot meal and promised to be home soon.

Steve’s dad explained their boy’s runaway attempt, and made a very clear point of saying that they would always be happy to take Eddie, no matter the notice or the day of the week, and made sure to leave their home number written on an old envelope on the fridge.

He had a feeling little Eddie would call it any chance he got, to speak to Steve.

Back at the Harrington house, Steve’s mom tucked them under a blanket in the den and switched the channel to Family Feud. She gave them mugs of cocoa and pretzels to snack on.

Steve couldn’t believe his luck.

“You told Wayne we’ll take him whenever, did you?” his mom whispered to his dad as they watched the boys give all the wrong answers to the tv and laugh every time.

“I did,” he said. “I don’t think we’ll ever keep this pair away from each other,”

“Would you want to?” she asked, watching them try feed pretzel crumbs to Steve’s bear.

Steve’s dad shook his head. “Never, look at them. They’re good for each other,”

She nodded her head and they turned away, back to the living room to watch altogether more grown up TV shows.

Like the news, or a movie Steve would never find interesting.

When his mom checked on them a few minutes later, both boys were fully unconscious. Mouths wide open and eyes shut tight, dreaming side by side.

They were holding hands again, head’s tilted towards each other.

She turned the TV off and lifted the blanket higher over their chests.

They’d carry them to Steve’s room later, wipe rings of chocolate from their lips and wake them to brush their teeth, but for now?

Steve deserved to rest after his adventure, with his friend by his side.

[jaeyunluvbot]

ilysm (i love you spider-man)

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 mark lee x fem!reader, spidermark, friends to lovers, high school au, spiderman!mark

word count 𝟅𝟈 11.2k

NOT PROOFREAD

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

High school wasn’t glamorous. It was 6:00 a.m. alarms, piles of homework, and gym class—a.k.a. your least favorite subject. So, when Coach called for volleyball that day, you sighed and shuffled towards the court like a prisoner headed for trial.

The gym smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber soles, the harsh lights making it hard to focus. You stood by the bleachers, tying your sneakers when Mark stumbled in, late as usual. His hair stuck up in odd places like he’d rolled out of bed and made a mad dash here. Classic.

“Lee!” Coach barked, tossing him a red jersey. “You’re on Team B. Let’s go!”

Mark jogged over, muttering apologies as he passed you. “Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice slightly breathless.

“Hey,” you replied, amused. “Rough morning?”

“You have no idea,” he mumbled, pulling the jersey over his head.

Mark was… Mark. Sweet, funny, always a little awkward. You’d known him since middle school, and while he wasn’t exactly the athletic type, you’d never really cared. You’d bonded over you bonded over your mutual interests, anyways, and volleyball was not on the list.

The game started, and you hung back like always, hoping to avoid the ball as much as possible. Mark, however, was front and center.

When the ball came his way, you winced, expecting it to bounce off his face or fly past him entirely. But instead, Mark jumped—higher than seemed possible—and spiked the ball with enough force to make it slam into the court.

Your jaw dropped.

“Whoa!” someone yelled.

Even Coach looked impressed. “Nice hit, Lee! Where’d you learn that?”

Mark shrugged, his face slightly flushed. “Lucky shot.”

As the game went on, Mark’s “luck” didn’t run out. He dove to the floor to save a ball, slid across the court with the grace of a pro, and even managed to block a spike that seemed way out of reach.

By the time the game ended, the entire class was buzzing.

“Did Mark join a secret volleyball league or something?”

You couldn’t help but grin, though your curiosity was starting to bubble over. Since when could he do any of this?

During a break, you found him leaning against the wall, gulping down water like he’d just run a marathon.

“Since when did you play volleyball like that?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.

He nearly choked, coughing and spluttering as his face turned red. “I—uh, I’ve been practicing?”

“Practicing?” you echoed, unimpressed. “Mark, the last time we played volleyball, you tripped over the net and nearly took me down with you.”

He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… things change?”

You squinted at him, unconvinced. There was something different about him lately—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Before you could press him further, Coach’s whistle blew, calling everyone back to the court. Mark shot you a quick smile before jogging off, leaving you standing there, your curiosity growing by the second.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

As the day went on, you started noticing more little things about him. In English class, he caught a pen mid-air without even looking, like he had eyes in the back of his head.

“Nice reflexes, Spidey,” you joked, nudging him.

Mark laughed nervously, shoving the pen into his bag. “Just got lucky,” he said quickly, avoiding your gaze.

Then, in chemistry, he managed to grab a beaker you almost knocked off the table before it shattered on the floor. His hand shot out so fast you barely saw it.

“Whoa,” you said, staring at him. “How’d you do that?”

Mark shrugged, his cheeks turning red. “I dunno, instincts?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, the teacher called for everyone’s attention.

By lunchtime, you were keeping a closer eye on him, trying to figure out what was going on. He seemed more jittery than usual, like he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself but failing miserably.

When someone dropped their tray in the cafeteria, sending food flying, Mark’s head snapped toward the commotion before anyone else had even noticed. He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat before he caught himself and forced a laugh.

“You good?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, totally,” he said, shoving a fry into his mouth. “Just… startled, that’s all.”

You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it slide. For now.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about Mark. He’d clearly changed somehow, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly was different.

And as much as you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder: what was he hiding?

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Your parents had been asleep for hours by the time Mark came over that night. It was one of those quiet, lazy Friday nights where the two of you didn’t need to talk much. Just snacks, a couple of blankets, and a well-worn stack of DVDs.

You weren’t supposed to have people over this late—especially not boys—but it was Mark. If your parents knew it was him, they’d probably be fine with it. Still, sneaking him in through your fire escape gave the night a little thrill.

The two of you were huddled on your bed, knees bumping each other as the movie played on the TV. It was some action flick Mark had picked out, but your attention was divided between the screen and him. He looked more relaxed now than he had at school, though every now and then, you caught him glancing toward the door, like he was expecting someone to barge in.

“You good?” you asked softly, nudging him with your elbow.

“Huh? Yeah, totally,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Just… didn’t expect him to survive that fall.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s a superhero movie, Mark. No one ever dies unless it’s to make the hero angsty.”

He chuckled at that, leaning back into the couch. “Fair point.”

As the movie went on, the two of you started whispering back and forth, your voices barely louder than the hum of the TV.

“Okay, that was so fake,” you said, gesturing at the screen as the hero miraculously dodged a bullet.

Mark smirked. “You’re telling me this is where you draw the line?”

“I have standards!”

He shook his head, stifling a laugh, when suddenly his posture stiffened. His head tilted slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing your arm.

“Hey,” he whispered, his tone urgent. “Be quiet for a second.”

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Shh,” he insisted, sitting up straighter. His eyes darted toward the hallway, and he moved to hide on the ground next to the bed, out of view of your doorway.

“What’s your problem?” you asked, a little too loudly.

Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and your mom peeked in, her expression equal parts annoyed and groggy.

“Y/N,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s almost midnight. Keep it down, okay?”

Your eyes went wide. “Oh! Sorry, Mom. I’ll quiet down.”

She lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the room. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t notice the second pair of sneakers tucked gently away next to your your bedside table. Thankfully, she just nodded and shuffled back down the hallway.

The second the coast was clear, you turned to Mark, your heart still racing.

“How the hell did you know she was coming?” you hissed, keeping your voice low this time.

Mark scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I, uh… I just… I don’t know, I guess I heard her footsteps?”

“Footsteps?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Mark, I didn’t hear anything. How did you hear her through a closed door? And while we were talking, no less?”

He let out a nervous laugh, shrugging a little too casually. “Maybe I’ve just got good ears?”

“Good ears my ass,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You’ve been weird all day. First in gym, then in class, and now this. What’s going on with you?”

Mark froze for a second, his expression flickering between panic and guilt. “Nothing! I swear, it’s—nothing. You’re imagining things.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah, okay” you said sarcastically, not realizing how close you were to the truth.

Mark’s laugh came out a little too forced this time. “Anyways, we should probably finish the movie, it’s getting late.”

You didn’t push the issue—for now. But as the movie played on, you couldn’t help but glance at him, your curiosity growing stronger with every passing minute.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

After your slightly strange movie night, everything feels... normal. You’re at school with Mark again, cracking jokes about your teachers and helping each other survive the monotony of class. 

After school, you walk home together as usual. Mark’s quiet, more so than usual, and you figure he’s just tired. He always seems tired these days.

"Are you okay?" you ask, nudging his arm.

He flinches slightly, then forces a smile. "Yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t sleep well last night."

You nod, though his answer doesn’t quite satisfy you.

Later that evening, you decide to take a quick walk to clear your head. The streets are quiet, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long shadows. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment when you hear shouting—a man yelling for help. Your heart pounds as you turn the corner and see a masked figure—Spider-Man—swinging into action.

It’s like watching a movie come to life. He moves with incredible speed and grace, disarming the attacker in seconds. The victim stumbles to safety, and Spider-Man barely pauses before disappearing into the night.

You stand frozen, your mind racing. Spider-Man isn’t supposed to be real—not in your world, not in your life. And yet, here he is, saving people in your neighborhood.

When you finally make it home, Mark texts you almost immediately:

Hey, you okay?

The timing feels weirdly coincidental.

Yeah... just saw something crazy on my walk. Spider-Man.

There’s a pause before he replies.

Mark: Whoa, no way. He’s around here?

You: Guess so. It was... surreal.

Mark: Sounds scary. You’re sure you’re okay?

Something about the way he asks makes you hesitate. He sounds so concerned, almost like he’s talking to himself.

You: Yeah. Are YOU okay?

Mark: Me? Of course. Just checking on you. I saw your location said you were outside.

You chastise yourself for not remembering he had your location. You’d have probably done the same thing if his location said he was outside in the middle of the night. Though, you’d never had the habit of checking his.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Saturday nights are sacred.

Since middle school, you and Mark have had this unspoken rule: no matter what, Saturday nights are yours. Whether it’s binging your favorite show, building Legos, or debating which movie series is superior, it’s the highlight of your week.

You’ve been looking forward to tonight all day. After tossing a blanket over the couch and setting out snacks—chips for you, candy for him—you settle in, phone in hand, waiting for Mark’s familiar knock.

He’s usually punctual, arriving right when he says he will. But tonight, the minutes stretch into an hour, and he’s still not there.

You glance at your phone. No texts, no missed calls.

You: Where are you? I’m starting to think you forgot about me.

No response.

You frown but try not to overthink it. Maybe he got caught up with something. You wait another fifteen minutes, then send another text.

You: Mark?? You better not be ditching me for one of your dumb guy friends.

Still nothing. Anxiety begins to creep in, though you try to push it aside. He’s probably just running late.

An hour later, you’ve run out of chips and excuses for his absence.

You: I’m officially mad at you.

By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve all but given up. You leave one last text before tossing your phone onto the coffee table.

You: Hope you’re okay. Call me when you see this.

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. Your mind races with possibilities—some silly, some serious. Is he okay? Did something happen? You brush them off as anxious thoughts running wild and try to fall asleep.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The next morning, your phone buzzes with a message from Mark.

Mark: I’m so sorry, Y/N. I got sick out of nowhere last night. Took some medicine and completely passed out. I didn’t even see your texts until now.

You exhale, relieved but annoyed.

You: SICK? You ditched me because you were sick? I’m so offended.

Mark: I’m sorryyyyy. 😭 I’ll make it up to you, I swear.

You: You better be glad I didn’t watch our show without you.

Mark: You wouldn’t dare.

You: Guess you’ll never know. 

His usual playfulness makes you smile, but the knot in your chest hasn’t completely loosened. You know it’s dumb, but a small part of you wonders if there’s more to the story. Mark never misses your hangouts. You’re always the first to know if something’s wrong. And as much as you want to believe his excuse, the insecurity that’s been gnawing at you for years whispers otherwise.

He’s your only real friend, and deep down, you’re terrified of losing him. You’re terrified that one day he’ll outgrow you, that he’ll find someone cooler, funnier, or just... better.

You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. Mark said he was sick, and you believe him. There’s no reason to think otherwise. But as you put your phone down and get ready for the day, you can’t help but feel like something isn’t adding up.

You stare at your phone, willing it to buzz with a new message from Mark, but it stays silent. You’ve already texted him a few times this afternoon, and while he usually responds by now, today it’s been almost two hours since your last message. Your thumb hovers over your screen, ready to send something, but you stop yourself. Maybe he’s busy. It’s fine. It’s not like you need him to text you back right away, right?

But you can’t shake the growing discomfort in your chest.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Ever since his message about getting sick a few weeks ago, he’s been a little off. Sure, he’d apologized for missing your hangout, but now, it’s like nothing has changed. During the day, he’s the same—always goofy, friendly, and acting normal when you see him at school. But by the time night falls, he’s almost always gone—his responses slow, often one-word answers, and sometimes, he doesn’t respond at all. And this has gone on for almost a month now.

The more time passes, the more you can’t help but feel like he’s distancing himself from you, like you’ve somehow become a burden on him. You try to tell yourself you’re overthinking it. He’s probably just busy, right? But deep down, there’s a voice whispering that maybe he’s just getting tired of you. You wish you could ignore it, but the insecurity festers, eating away at your confidence with every minute he doesn’t reply.

By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve already sent him two more texts, no response. You try to sleep, but your mind is spinning. Is he with someone else? You hate that thought, but it keeps creeping in. Maybe he’s found new people to hang out with. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.

You throw your phone aside, frustrated with yourself, with him, and with the situation. Why do I care so much? You’ve never been the type to need constant validation from someone else, but with Mark? It’s different. You’ve always been there for each other, always shared your time. You didn’t need anything more from him, but now… it feels like you’re losing him.

Then, you get a message.

It's from Mark. Your heart jumps into your throat as you open it. “Hey, sorry. I got totally wrapped up in homework, we still on for tomorrow?”

You read it over and over, but something feels off. It’s a good excuse—too good, maybe. You want to believe him, but part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding you now. He was so there for you, always texting and hanging out after school. But now? It feels like he’s just gone, like a ghost. You don’t know what to believe.

“Can’t, sorry. I have plans with Giselle.”

There’s a pause before his reply comes through. You can almost hear the indifference in his words, even though you know you’re probably reading into it too much.

“Ah, alright. Have fun.”

The message feels too short, too casual. You frown at your phone, biting your lip. The nagging feeling in your chest grows stronger. Has he really just become that indifferent?

You text him back quickly, trying to keep things light, trying to ignore the hurt that lingers in your words. “Yeah sorry, we’ll definitely hang out later this week though, haha.”

But even as you send the message, a part of you wonders if this week is going to be just like the last—another week of him acting normal at school, you trying to text him all night, waiting for responses that don’t come, waiting for a friendship that doesn’t feel the same anymore.

You let out a sigh, toss your phone aside, and climb into bed, your angsty playlist drifting through your ears as you struggle to sleep.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The bass from the music thumps through your chest as you step into the crowded living room. The lights are dim, the room filled with a haze of colored neon and swirling bodies moving to the rhythm. It’s your first real party in a long time, and the unfamiliar atmosphere is slightly overwhelming. You spot Giselle across the room, her blonde hair shining under the strobe lights as she waves you over.

You smile, grateful for her invitation. The group of people she’s hanging with seems friendly enough, laughing and chatting as they pass drinks around. Giselle introduces you to a few of her friends, and you slip into the crowd easily enough, trying to shake off the tension that’s been building in you ever since Mark stopped replying to your texts.

You’ve been pushing it down all night, focusing on the fun of the party, but it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Is he really busy with homework? Or is he avoiding me? You try not to dwell on it. After all, he’s always been a little unpredictable—he’s probably just caught up with his own stuff.

As the night wears on, you find yourself getting along with Giselle’s friends. You chat with a girl named Ningning who shares a class with you, and you laugh at her sarcastic humor. It’s nice. It feels good to be out and talking with people who aren’t just classmates or distant acquaintances. But still, in the back of your mind, you’re aware of the emptiness Mark’s absence has left. Every few minutes, you glance at your phone, hoping to see a message from him, but there’s nothing.

You tell yourself it’s fine—he’s just busy. But every time you check, you feel a little more disappointed. 

The music pulses louder, and you take a deep breath, shaking off the thoughts of your best friend. Giselle is pulling you toward the makeshift dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. You let yourself get swept up in the fun for a while, your body moving to the beat, the drinks in your system giving you a comfortable, carefree buzz.

You laugh, enjoy yourself, and even manage to pull out a few impressive dance moves—at least according to Giselle, who’s cheering you on. The night seems to go by in a blur of music and people, the few drinks you’d had adding to the fuzziness of the night’s events.

But as the night winds down, you find yourself standing near the door, chatting with Ningning again. You glance down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time, a little embarrassed that you’re still hoping for a text from him.

You frown when you see the time: it’s late, and you still haven’t heard from him. You were starting to wonder if you should text him, maybe check in, when Giselle appears beside you. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with a knowing look. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking about stuff,” you say vaguely, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

She nods. “You know, it’s okay to have fun without him. Sometimes you gotta do your own thing, right?”

You nod along, but her words hit deeper than she probably intended. Why does it feel like I can’t? you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you force another smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”

Giselle offers to drive you home, but you shake your head. “I think I’ll walk. Get some fresh air. Plus, I’ve got pepper spray, just in case,” you joke, trying to ease the mood.

She laughs, but her eyes linger on you for a moment. “Alright, take care of yourself, okay?”

You wave her off as she heads toward the car with her friends. You linger by the door for a moment, a small hesitation gnawing at you, but then you push it aside. Walking will help clear your head.

As you step out into the cool night air, the city streets are alive with the usual hum of late-night activity. There’s a slight chill to the breeze, but you don’t mind it. You wrap your jacket tighter around your shoulders, feeling the effects of the alcohol beginning to wear off as the cold air helps sober you up. The walk is quiet, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe a little easier.

But even though the night is peaceful, your mind still drifts back to Mark. His silence feels like an anchor in your chest, something heavy and uncertain, and as you walk, you can’t stop wondering what’s going on. You’ve spent every Saturday night together for as long as you can remember. And now... now he’s just disappearing.

You try to shake off the feeling, telling yourself it's nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. Again. But the more you walk, the more your thoughts spiral, until you hear the footsteps behind you.

Before you can even react, a hand grabs your wrist, spinning you around so quickly that your heart jumps into your throat. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a split second, you can’t even process what’s happening. The streetlights cast long shadows on the sidewalk, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you can’t make out the guy’s face. All you feel is the cold, tight grip on your wrist.

Your heart starts pounding in your chest, panic surging through you. You try to pull away, but his hand tightens, and a sickening, familiar feeling spreads through you.

"Hey! Let go of me!" you shout, your voice shaking.

“Quiet, bitch,” the man growls, his breath hot against your neck. You struggle, but his grip tightens, and your pulse quickens.

Just as the fear begins to settle over you, you hear a soft whoosh, followed by a thud that’s too heavy to be anything but a person.

Without warning, the man’s grip on you loosens, and before you can even react, you're yanked off the ground and pulled up a nearby fire escape ladder, higher and higher until you’re standing on a rooftop. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to steady your breath. You glance around, completely disoriented, when the voice of the masker figure breaks the silence. 

You let out a breath, in awe of the Spiderman being right in front of you.

But before you can say anything, he speaks.

“Stay here,” he orders, his tone sharp as he drops you onto a crate by the edge of the roof. “I’ll handle it. Don’t move.”

You don’t even have time to ask him what’s going on before he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone in the dark, your mind spinning. What the hell just happened? Is this... real? You glance around, still trying to process the fact that Spiderman—the very same guy you’d heard about in the news, the one everyone in the city seems to talk about—just saved you from some creep.

Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the sound of struggle below, muffled voices, and a distant thud as Spiderman confronts the man you were just seconds away from being attacked by. It’s all over within moments, and before you can fully grasp the situation, Spiderman returns, landing effortlessly on the roof beside you.

He glances at you, his mask giving nothing away, but you notice the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast for someone who should be used to fighting.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now. You nod quickly, trying to push the terror away.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing hard. “Thanks for saving me.”

A long silence stretches between you before you, almost hesitantly, ask, “Did... did you... kill him?”

The question comes out before you can think better of it, but the moment you say it, his head whips toward you in complete shock.

“What?!” he exclaims, his voice full of disbelief. “No! I—no, I didn’t kill him! I just... I knocked him out. I’m not... I don’t... that’s not what I do.”

You blink, surprised at how horrified he sounds. Maybe you’ve underestimated him.

“Oh,” you murmur, feeling sheepish. “Sorry, I... I don’t know how these things work.”

Spiderman’s shoulders visibly relax, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s fine. Just... just stay safe, okay? I’ll get you home.”

You nod, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. Part of you is still processing everything, but another part of you is grateful. Grateful for Spiderman being here tonight, for protecting you when no one else would have been able to.

“Um, thank you again,” you say, your voice softer this time.

His eyes behind the mask seem to soften, but you’re not sure. “I can take you home,” he offers, voice low, almost too gentle, slightly familiar but you’re unable to place exactly where you’d heard it before.

You blink up at him, still in shock, and then remember where you are. “I’m almost home… I can walk the rest of the way.”

But the more you think about it, the more you realize you really don’t want to walk. Not after what just happened. Plus, his presence feels safe in a way you can’t explain.

Spiderman seems to notice the hesitation in your expression, and before you can change your mind, he’s already swooping down, his webbing attaching to a nearby building. “Hold on tight.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you barely process his words. Before you can question how he knows where you live, he shoots another web, pulling you along with him. Your feet leave the ground, and you’re soaring through the city. The wind rushes against your face, and everything is a blur of lights and rooftops.

The whole trip is a disorienting whirl, but it’s somehow comforting in its chaos. Spiderman moves like he’s done this a thousand times, his grip tight around your waist as he swings from one building to the next. The world below you is a distant hum, but your thoughts are still clouded with questions.

And then, as quickly as it began, you find yourself standing on the fire escape of your apartment building. Your legs are a little shaky, but it doesn’t matter. You’re safe.

“Here we are,” he says, glancing up at your window.

You stare at him, still slightly tipsy from the night’s events, but not questioning how he knows where you live. After all, it’s just one of those things that doesn’t make sense, and you don’t really care. All that matters is that you’re safe now.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, feeling oddly vulnerable under his watchful gaze.

He nods again, his hand slipping back to his side as he stands a little straighter. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t walk alone at night again. It’s... not safe. Especially for pretty girls like you.”

You nod, still too stunned to respond properly. You watch as he shoots a web up to the fire escape and swings back into the darkness. You stand there for a moment, your thoughts racing, wondering if the whole thing really just happened. It’s only when you step inside your apartment and hear the quiet of the night that it hits you. Spiderman just saved me, not only that but he’d called you pretty too.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

The next Monday morning at school, everything feels a little surreal. You’re walking through the hallways, mind still reeling from that night’s events. You still haven’t told anyone, and you feel like you’re about to burst. How in the world had Spiderman been so close to you? And you were actually talking to him, like... you know, a real conversation.

As you sit down next to Mark in homeroom, you can’t help but grin. You need to tell someone about the whole thing, and who better than your best friend? You tap his shoulder and lean in close, trying to act casual but failing miserably.

“Oh my God, Mark, you won’t believe what happened last night,” you blurt out, eyes wide with excitement.

He raises an eyebrow, a slight chuckle escaping him as he looks over at you. “What happened? You go to a party or something?”

You shake your head, not able to contain the grin that stretches across your face. “Worse. I got mugged.” You pause for dramatic effect, watching his eyes widen with concern. “But wait—before you freak out, I was saved. By Spiderman.”

Mark freezes for a second, blinking at you in disbelief. “Spiderman? You’re serious? Like, the Spiderman?”

You nod, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you recount the entire wild encounter, from the guy grabbing you to being yanked onto the roof and saved by Spiderman. You try to make it sound as casual as possible, but you can’t help but feel the thrill of telling someone about your personal brush with New York’s most famous hero.

“That’s insane,” Mark mutters, clearly processing the details. “Wait, so... what happened next?”

“Well, he saved me,” you say, leaning in like you’re sharing a secret. “But... I’m not gonna lie, Mark, he was lowkey hot.” 

Mark splutters, his face twisting with confusion. “What? You don’t even know what he looks like.”

You shrug dramatically, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about looks. It’s how he was so protective, you know? The way he grabbed me and made sure I was okay... it was hot.”

You watch Mark's face turn a shade of red as his expression shifts from surprise to something else entirely—discomfort, maybe? You can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to hold it together.

“No way. You’re a freak, bro,” Mark says, shaking his head and trying to laugh it off. “Like, seriously? You’re crushing on a guy you don’t even know?”

You roll your eyes, letting out a short laugh. “I don’t judge your crushes, so don’t judge mine. It’s called appreciating someone for more than just their looks.”

Mark scowls, but there’s a nervous twitch in his eyes. “I’m not judging. But... I don’t know, it’s just a little weird. You’ve got a crush on Spiderman?”

You smile, feeling a little awkward. “I guess. He’s mysterious, heroic... and I mean, he was pretty hot for someone wearing a mask.” You nudge him playfully, watching the way he looks more and more flustered.

Mark shrugs, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. “Whatever, man. You’re weird. But... I guess if he saved you... that’s... kinda cool.”

It’s hard to ignore the little spark of something else in his voice, even if he’s trying to mask it with humor. You grin to yourself, filing the moment away. You’re not sure why, but it feels like there’s a shift between you two—something you can’t quite put your finger on.

You press the issue no further, but the day goes on, and you can't stop thinking about Mark’s weird reaction. Sure, he’s your best friend, but the way he acted just now... it made you wonder. Could he possibly feel something more for you?

You find yourself entertaining the idea of Mark having a crush on you, before shaking your head and brushing the thought away. There’s no way Mark liked you, if he did, he would have told you.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

As the week drags on, you can't shake the thought of Spiderman. Sure, you were trying to move on, but it’s hard when you keep running into him every time you step out of the apartment at night. You’ll be walking home from the store, or maybe grabbing dinner with Giselle and Ninging, and bam—there he is, swinging between buildings or dropping down from some rooftop. It’s like he’s everywhere.

At first, you try to brush it off, telling yourself it’s just a coincidence. But then, it starts feeling a little too suspicious, almost like he’s... following you? Or looking out for you?

One night, you’re walking back from your favorite coffee shop, the crisp air of early fall making you hug your jacket tighter. You’ve been texting Mark, as usual, but his replies are slow—too slow. You roll your eyes at the screen, sighing. You swear, it’s like he’s avoiding you or something.

As you round the corner toward your apartment building, you feel that familiar shift in the air, that sensation of something just slightly off. You glance up and sure enough, you spot him—Spiderman—perched on a rooftop above you, his figure silhouetted against the dim streetlights.

You pause in your tracks, raising a brow. “Really? Again?”

Spiderman tilts his head, as if amused by your reaction. He crouches down and lands lightly in front of you, his movements fluid and graceful.

“You’re following me, huh?” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, I appreciate the protection and all, but you don’t have to babysit me.”

Spiderman straightens, a soft chuckle escaping from behind the mask. “I’m not babysitting,” he says with a playful edge. “Just making sure you don’t run into any... unsavory people.”

You roll your eyes, but there's a slight smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. Been walking these streets for years now.”

There’s a pause, as if he’s considering your words. “I’m still here. Just in case.” His voice is a little warmer than usual, though it’s hard to tell beneath the mask.

You feel a mix of amusement and frustration bubbling up. “You’re a real hero, huh?” you quip. “Just swinging in, saving the day. But honestly? I’m starting to get tired of it. I mean, you’re cute and all, but this whole ‘mysterious stranger’ act? It’s getting old.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and as soon as they do, you realize—you’ve just said that to Spiderman.

You quickly recover, trying to act casual. “It’s fine, I guess. I’m just getting a little tired of feeling like I’m in some weird superhero movie, you know?”

Spiderman doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he steps a little closer, his posture still relaxed but with a certain intensity in his eyes—well, you imagine that’s what’s behind the mask.

“Maybe I should back off for a while then,” he says after a beat, his tone more thoughtful. “You’ve got it all under control, right?”

You scoff, crossing your arms in an attempt to cover up how your heart is suddenly beating a little faster. “Yeah, I’ve got it under control, obviously.”

“Really?” Spiderman says, his voice a little too calm for your liking. Before you can even process what’s happening, he webs your phone right out of your hand, and you gasp, stumbling back in surprise as it hovers in midair for a second before landing gently in his palm.

You blink up at him in disbelief, your mouth hanging open. “What the hell? Give that back!”

He shrugs, unfazed. “What if someone mugs you again? No offense, but your reflexes suck.”

Your jaw clenches at the jab, but you can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Thanks, I feel so much safer now. I wasn’t even worried about it.”

You reach for your phone, and he hands it back to you, but there’s a look in his eyes—concern, maybe? Or just frustration. “You might not worry, but I do. You seem like you’ve got your act together, but... I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking out for you.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. "Fine," you say, a little too quickly. "I guess I can let you walk with me then. But just so you know, you’re not my personal bodyguard, alright?”

Spiderman grins behind his mask, a little triumphant, but he falls in step behind you. You try to ignore the way his presence feels different—more constant now, like it’s a part of the night itself. You walk for a few minutes, the quiet of the city streets pressing in on you. You try to focus on the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, but the weight of the past few days catches up with you, and you find your shoulders slumping a little more with each step.

Spiderman notices, of course. You can feel his eyes on your back, studying you, but he doesn’t say anything for a while.

Finally, he speaks up, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna talk about it? I mean, you’ve been acting a little... off tonight.”

You look over your shoulder at him, surprised that he even noticed. But you don’t hesitate. Maybe it’s the anonymity of the mask. Maybe it’s the strange comfort of having a stranger to vent to. But suddenly, you just want to unload.

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “I mean, I’ve been dealing with some... stuff lately.”

You kick a rock along the sidewalk as you walk, the soft scrape of it filling the silence. “I’ve got this friend, Mark, right? We’ve been close for years—like, best friends. We have this thing where every Saturday, no exceptions, we hang out. Watch movies, talk... whatever. We’re just... us. But lately? He’s been acting weird. Like, really weird.”

Spiderman doesn’t interrupt. He just walks beside you, giving you the space to talk.

“It’s like he’s avoiding me,” you continue, your words gaining momentum. “I get that people get busy, but he’s never like this. He’s slow to reply, sometimes doesn’t even respond at all, and when he does, it’s like he doesn’t care anymore. I don’t even know what happened. It’s just... really frustrating. And I don’t even know if I should ask him about it, because I don’t want to come off as desperate or clingy.”

You kick another rock, your frustration spilling over, and for a second, you feel a little ridiculous. Here you are, talking about Mark to a guy you don’t even know, someone who wears a mask and swings from rooftops. But the words come tumbling out anyway, all of your insecurities and confusion finding a strange kind of release in the cool air of the city.

Spiderman stays quiet for a moment, processing. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, like he’s trying to make sense of your ramblings. “Sounds like he’s pulling away for some reason,” he says thoughtfully. “But I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe he’s just going through something, you know?”

You shrug, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle in your chest. “I don’t know. I just... I want things Spiderman listens quietly, his footsteps matching yours as you walk. You don’t notice the way his posture shifts, or the way his mask seems to obscure any hint of emotion—though somehow, you feel like he’s really paying attention.

After a few beats of silence, he finally speaks again, his voice thoughtful and a little gentler than before. “You know, I think you should just talk to him. Mark, I mean.”

You stop in your tracks, looking over at him in surprise. “What?”

Spiderman shrugs, his tone almost casual, but his words don’t match the nonchalance. “I get it. You’re frustrated, and you don’t want to be the one to chase him down. But sometimes, people just need a nudge. If you really want things to go back to the way they were... maybe you should just be honest with him. Ask him what’s up.”

You frown, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “But what if I look desperate? Or, I don’t know... what if he doesn’t care?”

Spiderman stops walking too, his voice quiet but steady when he answers. “He cares. I’m sure of it.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised by how certain he sounds. “How could you possibly know that? You don’t even know him.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t need to. I can tell from the way you talk about him. The way you light up when you mention him. You’re not the kind of person who just forgets someone you care about. And trust me, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to lose that either. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

You let out a long sigh, leaning against the nearest streetlamp. His words stir something inside you—something you’ve been avoiding all week. The idea that Mark really does care makes your heart feel a little lighter, but the fear is still there. “But what if he doesn’t? What if I make things worse by trying to talk to him?”

Spiderman leans against the wall next to you, his posture relaxed. “Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you know him. I’m sure you’ve been through rough patches before and you worked through them. You just need to give him the chance to explain himself. I think that’s all he needs—someone to really talk to. And if you don’t do it, you’ll always be wondering what could’ve happened.”

You chew on your lip, his words hanging in the air between you. There’s a weight to them, something that feels... true. Something that makes you want to listen to him, to take his advice. But still, there’s a stubborn part of you that wants to push it all aside. “I just... don’t want to get hurt. Again.”

Spiderman straightens up, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You won’t. Not if you’re honest. Trust me.”

You glance up at him, your gaze softening as you look into the mysterious eyes behind his mask. He sounds so sure of himself.

“Thanks,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll think about it.”

He nods once, giving you an almost encouraging smile beneath the mask. “I know you will.”

You both fall silent as you continue walking, but the weight in your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. Maybe, just maybe, Spiderman is right. Maybe you do need to talk to Mark.

Maybe it won’t be as scary as you think.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

A few days after your conversation with Spiderman, things between you and Mark seem to settle down a bit. He’s still a little distant at times, but when he’s around, you notice he’s more present, his smiles more genuine, his conversations less distracted. It’s not the same as before—things can’t just magically go back to normal—but there’s something warmer there, something more honest.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting at your favorite spot in the courtyard, you catch him coming toward you, looking a little tired but still smiling like he’s actually glad to see you. You can’t help but feel a pang of relief. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of these simple, casual hangouts, and you’ve missed it more than you care to admit.

He sits beside you, just like old times, and you both start talking like you haven’t missed a beat. But the conversation isn’t just surface-level anymore. He seems more open, more real.

After a while, you can’t hold back anymore. The thought has been gnawing at the back of your mind for days, and it’s finally time to ask.

You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, though your heart is thumping in your chest. "Hey, Mark. Can I ask you something?"

He glances at you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he’s still listening. “Of course. What’s up?”

You take a deep breath, trying not to come off too confrontational. "Why did you ghost me before? I mean, I know you were busy, but... you weren’t even texting me back. I didn’t want to push, but it felt like you were avoiding me."

His expression hardens for just a moment, like he's bracing himself. He looks away for a second, running a hand through his hair. "I was... going through something. Something personal."

You wait, your heart rate picking up. The words hang between you two, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t.

You want to press him, ask for more details, but you don’t. There’s something about the way he said it—quiet, almost hesitant—that makes you feel like he’s not ready to share. You nod, leaning back against the bench. “Okay... But you know, you can always talk to me, right?”

Mark hesitates, eyes flicking back to you, a mix of gratitude and something else passing through his gaze. "I know," he says, his voice soft but firm. "But right now, I really can’t. I wish I could, but..." He lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping. "It’s complicated, and I don’t want to drag you into it."

You feel the weight of his words, something about them striking you deeper than you expected. There’s an intensity there, a desperation almost, that you weren’t prepared for. You stare at him for a moment, your gaze softening as you consider his words.

"I trust you, Mark," you say quietly. "And I know you’re not lying to me. So... if you can’t tell me yet, it’s okay. Just know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready."

There’s a long pause as he looks at you, like he’s trying to read the sincerity in your eyes. Finally, he looks away, nodding slowly.

"Thanks. That... means a lot to me." His voice cracks a little, and you can tell how much he appreciates your understanding. "I really am sorry for pulling away, though. I never wanted to hurt you."

You smile softly, feeling the tension between you two finally start to ease. "I know you didn’t. But I’m here, okay? Just like you said—whenever you’re ready, I’m not going anywhere."

He gives a small, grateful smile, his eyes warmer than they’ve been in a while. "Thanks... I really mean it."

From that moment on, things slowly start to return to a sense of normalcy. Mark isn’t completely open with you yet—whatever is going on with him still seems like something he’s not ready to share—but there’s a shift. There’s no more distance. He’s trying, and you’re trying, and that’s enough for now.

And as you walk to class together the next day, you feel a little lighter. Maybe things aren’t perfect, and maybe they never will be, but you’re still here for each other. And somehow, that’s all you need for now.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Things have started to settle into a new rhythm, one that’s almost comfortable. You and Mark are hanging out again, like before, laughing and joking and just enjoying each other’s company. But now, there's something different in the air—something lighter, maybe even flirtatious. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He'll tease you, throw out little compliments that make your heart race, and you’ve noticed the way he looks at you when you’re talking, his eyes softer than usual.

You can’t deny it—you’re starting to feel the spark again, that chemistry you thought you had maybe lost when things got weird. But you're also talking to Spiderman regularly now, and every time you do, you feel like you’re walking this tightrope between two worlds—one where everything feels so right with Mark, and one where he is a complete mystery. You don’t even realize it yet, but you're starting to fall for both of them in very different ways.

You hadn’t expected to run into him tonight, but here he is, perched on the fire escape across the street, casually leaning against the rail. It’s become a weird sort of routine lately—your nightly walks where you’d end up talking to Spiderman. It’s comforting in its own way, even if you still don’t know who’s behind the mask.

You slow your pace and look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re stalking me now?”

Spiderman chuckles, the sound muffled by the mask but still warm enough to make your chest flutter. “If I’m stalking you, then you’re stalking me, too,” he teases, swinging down lightly to land in front of you. “What’s up tonight?”

You shrug, adjusting the straps of your bag over your shoulder. “Not much. Just out to clear my head.”

The city feels quieter at night. The hum of the busy streets seems far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing there in the stillness. You’ve gotten used to his company in the past couple of weeks, and there’s a sense of comfort in the anonymity between you. A part of you almost wishes you could talk to him more. After everything with Mark, it’s nice to have someone to listen, someone who isn’t involved in the mess.

He notices the shift in your demeanor, and you can tell by the tilt of his head that he’s waiting for you to speak.

You let out a deep breath, gathering your courage. You hadn’t planned on telling him this, but somehow it just comes out. “I think I’m in love with Mark,” you say, voice quieter than usual, almost scared to even say it out loud.

His posture stiffens for a second, though you can’t see his expression under the mask. “Mark?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “Like, your best friend Mark?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. I mean... I don’t know. It’s confusing. We’ve been friends forever, and now it’s like I can’t get him out of my head. Lately, he’s been like flirting, I think?”

“Flirting?” he asks, his tone curious, almost teasing. “What do you mean?”

“Yeah,” you say, laughing nervously. “I don’t know, he’s just been way nicer lately? Texting me more, teasing me... It’s like he’s trying to get closer to me or something.”

You glance around, unsure of how to continue, suddenly feeling a little silly talking about your boy problems to Spiderman. You rub the back of your neck and look away, trying to gather your thoughts. “But I don’t know if I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading into things. I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. He’s always been nice to me, but now it’s... different. It’s making me crazy. I don’t know what to think.”

Spiderman watches you quietly, his posture still, though there’s something in the way he holds himself that makes you feel like he’s really paying attention. “You deserve an answer,” he says after a pause, his voice low but certain. “You deserve to know how he feels, one way or the other.”

You look up at him, surprised by his words. “You think so?”

He gives a slight nod. “Yeah. You can’t keep guessing forever. I mean, I’m not saying it’s easy to talk about feelings, but it’s the only way to know for sure.”

You bite your lip, nodding slowly. You want to believe him, you want to believe that talking to Mark is the right thing to do, but the idea of being rejected still stings. “Yeah... I guess you're right. I’ve been avoiding talking to him about it. I’m scared of what might happen if I do.”

Spiderman steps closer, his voice soft and reassuring. “If he’s your friend, he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t... then at least you’ll know where you stand.”

You sigh deeply, feeling the weight of his words. He’s right, of course. You’ve been avoiding the conversation with Mark because you’re afraid of what might happen, but maybe it’s time to face it.

“Thanks,” you say, feeling a little lighter. “I’m not sure I’d have the courage to do it if you hadn’t said something.”

“No problem,” he replies, a teasing note in his voice. “I mean, I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Helping people is kind of my thing.”

You laugh a little, but it’s a mix of relief and gratitude. “You’re way too nice to be a superhero.”

He shrugs, though you can’t see it through the mask. “I do what I can. But seriously, take my advice. Talk to him. He’s probably just as confused as you are.”

You smile, feeling a little more confident now. “I will. I promise.”

Spiderman gives you a nod of approval before his posture shifts, signaling that it’s time to go. “Alright. Go get some sleep. You’ve got this.”

You watch as he swings up to the rooftops, disappearing into the night, and for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you can start figuring things out with Mark.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

You don’t even see it coming.

One moment, you’re walking back from the corner store with a bag of snacks, minding your own business. The next, someone grabs you, and your heart leaps into your throat. A rough voice snarls in your ear, “Where’s your friend Spiderman?”

Panic overtakes you, and all you can manage is a confused stammer. You’re shoved into the back of a van, heart racing as you piece together what’s happening. Someone must’ve seen you with him that night, or maybe they’ve been watching for longer than you realized.

Your captors don’t wait long to make their demands clear. “You tell him to show up, or things get messy,” one says, holding up your phone. They want you to call him. The problem is, you have no idea how.

You stutter, trying to explain that you literally don’t have his phone number.

“Don’t play dumb,” the second man snaps, holding up your phone. “We’ve seen him with you. Call him.”

“I can’t—”

Your words are cut off as the van jerks to a halt. The two men exchange alarmed glances, and then you hear it: a thud on the roof.

“What the hell was that?” one mutters, pulling out a weapon.

The next sound is unmistakable—the sharp thwip of a web. The van rocks violently as the door is ripped clean off, light flooding the cramped space.

And there he is.

Spiderman is a blur of red and blue, launching himself into the van with an acrobatic flip. He webs the first man’s weapon before the guy can react, yanking it away and tossing it aside. The second man lunges at him with a crowbar, but Spiderman ducks, the crowbar smashing into the wall behind him with a deafening clang.

“Stay down,” Spiderman warns, his voice firm but calm.

The first guy doesn’t listen. He charges at Spiderman, only to get a web shot to the face. Spiderman kicks him backward, sending him sprawling onto the van’s floor.

“Are you okay?” Spiderman asks, glancing at you briefly.

You nod, too stunned to speak.

The second guy doesn’t go down as easily. He’s bigger, meaner, and surprisingly agile. He swings the crowbar again, catching Spiderman in the side. The sickening sound of metal against his ribs makes your stomach turn.

Spiderman grunts in pain, stumbling but recovering quickly. He blocks the next swing with his forearm, webbing the crowbar and yanking it from the man’s grasp. “You really don’t learn, do you?” he quips, his voice strained.

Before he can finish, the first guy is back on his feet, armed with a knife. He slashes at Spiderman, who dodges narrowly but takes a glancing cut to his arm.

“Two against one,” Spiderman mutters, “that’s not very fair.”

He shoots a web at the knife, disarming the man, then uses a second web to yank him forward. Spiderman spins, using the man’s momentum against him, and sends him crashing into the wall of the van.

The second guy charges, tackling Spiderman to the ground. They grapple, fists flying, and you can see Spiderman slowing down, his movements less precise. Blood stains his suit where the knife grazed him, and he’s holding his side—likely from the earlier hit.

Your breath catches as the second guy pins him, but Spiderman surprises you, using his legs to flip the man over his head. He’s back on his feet in an instant, delivering a punch that knocks the guy out cold.

Spiderman turns to you, his breathing heavy, his posture slouched. “You’re safe now,” he says, but his voice wavers.

“Safe? You’re bleeding!” you exclaim, rushing to his side.

“It’s fine,” he says, trying to wave you off, but his movements are sluggish, and he’s gripping his ribs tightly.

“It’s not fine,” you argue, your voice rising. “You’re hurt. You need help. Come on, let’s go to my place.”

He hesitates, but when he stumbles slightly, he lets you guide him out of the van.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

You practically drag Spiderman up the fire escape to your bedroom. He’s limping, trying to downplay the extent of his injuries, but you can see the pain etched into his body language—even through the mask.

“Sit,” you order the moment you’re inside, gesturing to your bed. He hesitates, scanning the windows and doors like he’s expecting someone to burst in.

“Relax,” you add. “Nobody followed us.”

With a reluctant nod, he sinks into the couch, groaning softly. You rush to grab your first-aid kit, returning to find him still gripping his side, his masked head tilted back against the cushions.

“Alright,” you say, kneeling beside him. “I need to check your injuries. You’re gonna have to take off the mask.”

He tenses immediately, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”

“Spiderman,” you say firmly, “you can’t breathe properly. I need to check if you’re okay. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

“No,” he says again, his voice edged with frustration. “I can’t. It’s... complicated.”

You sit back on your heels, crossing your arms. “Complicated? You just saved my life, and now I’m trying to save yours. What’s complicated about that?”

He looks at you for a long moment, the lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”

You huff, annoyed. “Fine. At least let me patch up what I can see.”

He allows you to clean the cut on his arm, wincing slightly as you dab antiseptic on it. You notice how quiet he’s gotten, his usual witty banter replaced by a tense silence.

“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” you say softly, glancing up at him.

“I do,” he replies immediately, his tone clipped.

The words hit harder than you expect. You lean back, giving him space, and he stands, wobbling slightly.

“Thanks for the help,” he says, moving toward the window.

“Wait—”

“I’ll be fine,” he cuts you off, stepping onto the ledge. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

And then he’s gone, leaving you staring at the empty space where he’d been, your chest tight with frustration and worry.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

It’s been days since you last saw Spiderman. Days of walking home late at night and feeling the eerie absence of the one person who always made you feel safe. You tell yourself it’s fine. That he’s busy saving the city or maybe just giving you space. But deep down, you feel the sting of being shut out.

Mark’s been acting strange too. Not like before, when he outright ignored you, but there’s something guarded about him again—like he’s keeping secrets. You don’t know how much more of this you can take.

One evening, as you’re walking home, the silence feels unbearable. The air feels colder, heavier, without the usual sense of someone watching your back. By the time you reach your apartment, your chest feels tight with frustration. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent conversations.

Nothing from Spiderman.

Mark’s last text was a brief, “Can’t hang tonight, sorry.”

You shove your phone in your pocket and head straight to Mark’s apartment

When Mark opens the door, he looks surprised—and maybe a little nervous—to see you.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, trying for casual, but there’s a stiffness in his tone.

“Are you avoiding me again?” you blurt out, crossing your arms.

He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No. Why would I—”

“Don’t lie to me, Mark,” you cut him off. “You’ve been weird. You’re barely texting back, and when you do, it’s like you’re walking on eggshells. What’s going on with you?”

He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I’m just... dealing with stuff, okay? It’s nothing to do with you.”

You step closer, lowering your voice. “You told me to trust you. To believe that you care about me. And I do, Mark. But it feels like you’re shutting me out again, and I can’t take that.”

He lets out a long sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple!” you exclaim. “You’re my best friend, Mark. You don’t have to do everything alone.”

For a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something—something big. But then he stops himself, his jaw tightening.

“I can’t,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You stare at him, heart sinking. “Why not?”

“Because if you knew...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “It would change everything. And I can’t risk that.”

Your mind races, frustration boiling over. “Do you even realize how hard it is for me to feel like I can’t talk to anyone? To feel like I’m losing you and—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll stop asking.”

“Y/N...”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping back. “When you’re ready to actually be honest with me, let me know.”

Before he can respond, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the doorway, his expression conflicted.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

Mark can’t stop replaying the look on your face as you walked away. The hurt in your voice, the weight of your words—it gnaws at him. For the first time in his life, he’s truly afraid he might lose you.

He paces his room, running a hand through his hair. Every excuse he’s made to keep his identity a secret feels hollow now. You deserve the truth. And if it costs him everything? At least you’ll know how much you mean to him.

Grabbing a small bouquet of flowers—ones he spotted on the way home earlier—he suits up and swings toward your apartment. The city rushes by beneath him, but for once, he doesn’t revel in the thrill of it. His heart pounds in his chest as he lands on your fire escape, crouching just outside your bedroom window.

With a deep breath, he knocks.

You look up, confused at first, but then your heart skips a beat when you see the familiar figure crouched on the fire escape. Spiderman.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even let him in after how things ended the last time. But then you sigh, walking over and unlocking the window.

“What are you doing here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms as he steps inside.

He straightens, holding out the small bouquet of slightly squished flowers. “I, uh... I messed up,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “And I needed to make it right.”

You glance at the flowers, then back at him, skeptical. “You think flowers are gonna fix everything?”

“No,” he admits quickly, shaking his head. “Not at all. But I’m here because... I need to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “You’re finally ready to take off the mask?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “But only if you promise not to freak out.”

“Why would I freak out?” you mutter, but your curiosity is piqued.

“Just—close your eyes,” he says, a nervous edge to his voice.

You hesitate for a second but do as he asks. You hear the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of him taking off his mask. Then, gently, he takes your hands in his and places them on his face. His skin is warm under your fingertips, and you can feel the slight tremor of his nerves.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Open your eyes.”

You do—and your breath catches in your throat.

“Mark?”

He winces, giving you a sheepish smile. “Surprise?”

Your hands fall from his face as you take a step back, staring at him in utter disbelief. “What the actual hell?! Mark, you’re Spiderman?!”

“Yeah...” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to tell you, I really did. But I couldn’t. Not until now.”

You blink at him, processing. Suddenly, all the weird behavior, the ditching, the injuries—it all makes sense. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time,” you say, your voice shaking slightly.

“I wasn’t lying,” he says quickly. “I was just... protecting you. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop, taking a deep breath. “Why now, then? Why tell me now?”

“Because I couldn’t lose you,” he says, his voice raw with sincerity. “I know I’ve messed up a lot, and I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for that. But you’re the most important person in my life, and if being honest is the only way to fix this, then... here I am. No more secrets.”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his words. You take a step closer, searching his face. “You’re an idiot,” you say quietly.

He nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”

“But I guess... I can forgive you,” you add, your voice softening. “Eventually.”

The tension in his shoulders eases, and he lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”

There’s a pause, the air between you heavy with unspoken feelings.

“So...” you say, tilting your head. “What now?”

“Well,” he says, his smile growing, “I was kinda hoping we could start over. But, like, as more than friends this time.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now too. “I guess saving me from a mugger earns you some points.”

“Good,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you meet his gaze, the truth in his eyes making your knees feel weak.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I’m in love with you too.”

Before either of you can overthink it, you close the distance between you, pulling him into a kiss that feels like it’s been years in the making. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for once, everything feels right.

Maybe for once Spiderman can have a happy ending.

🕸️🕷✮⋆˙

author's note 𝟅𝟈 this was a bitch to finish i'm ngl but i think i'm pretty happy with how it turned out so yay! i love spiderman sm so yk i love spidermark too. anyways leave suggestions for fics in the comments or my inbox pls.

masterlist.

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗬 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗙 lewis hamilton x  fem! genz! reader ( fluff ) fic summary . . . You never meant to fall for a man twice your age, but somehow, Lewis Hamilton makes thirty-something age gaps feel like background noise. In a world of fast cars and faster headlines, you become the softest scandal on the grid—his controversially young girlfriend (2.3k words)

( my master list | more of lewis hamilton ) ( requests )

You spot him across the room like a plot twist in a book you didn’t mean to start reading—one of those late-night, one-more-chapter choices that end with your sleep schedule in ruins and your heart a little dented.

He’s standing by the bar like he owns the concept of cool, leaning one elbow against the counter, glass in hand, dressed like he just got off a jet and into a Vogue spread. Chunky rings flash with every movement. A silver chain rests on his collarbone like it was born there. Sunglasses inside—normally a red flag—but on him? It’s working. Unreasonably well.

He doesn’t look real. He looks curated. Like someone who’s used to being watched. Someone who doesn’t have to try to be interesting, because the world already decided he is.

And the weird part? You don’t know who he is.

Which makes him fair game.

You down the last of your drink like a dare, swipe your thumb across your bottom lip in case there’s gloss out of place, and march toward him like the protagonist of your own little fever dream.

“Hey,” you say, voice dipped in confidence, grin hooked to one corner of your mouth. “Quick question. Are you this hot all the time, or is it just the lighting in here doing community service?”

He turns his head slowly, like he knows he’s about to be entertained. Looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses with those lazy, almost amused eyes. Then lowers them altogether, letting you see the full scope of his expression.

Blink. Slow blink. Smile.

Then—laughter.

A warm, surprised kind of laugh. Like you just opened a window in a room that hadn’t been aired out in a while.

“You don’t know who I am?” he asks, head tilting, eyebrows raised.

“Nope,” you chirp, popping the ‘p.’ “But judging by that look, you clearly think I should. Celebrity? Secret agent? CEO of Hot Men, Inc.?”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he lifts his drink to his lips. It’s whiskey, neat. Of course it is. “I like you.”

“Obviously,” you reply, deadpan. “So, what’s your name, mysterious man with excellent bone structure and suspicious levels of swagger?”

“Lewis,” he says. It rolls off his tongue casual and smooth, like he’s said it a thousand times to people already impressed.

You repeat it slowly, like a sip of something expensive. “Lewis. You got a last name, or are you trying to stay mysterious on purpose?”

“I’m trying,” he says, smirk tucked behind his glass. “But now I’m curious. How old are you?”

You narrow your eyes in playful suspicion. “Why? You tryna check if I need parental permission to flirt with you?”

He laughs again, and it’s even better this time—less surprised, more like he’s starting to settle into the rhythm of you. “Just making sure I’m not getting arrested.”

“Relax, officer,” you reply, pressing a palm to your chest with mock innocence. “I’m twenty-four. Legal, unproblematic, and only occasionally unhinged.”

But his smile shifts—just slightly. A flicker of something cautious flashes behind those honey-brown eyes.

“Damn,” he mutters, not unkindly. “I’m too old for you.”

You arch a brow. “You can’t be that old.”

He gives you a small shrug. “I’m forty.”

There’s a beat.

A pause long enough to pour another drink in.

Your jaw drops. You step back, press a hand to your mouth in mock horror.

“Wowe,” you gasp. “You’re a fossil. How were the dinosaurs? Did you ride a pterodactyl to school?”

He throws his head back and cackles, catching the attention of the bartender and a couple people nearby. It’s not just amusement—it’s delight. You got him.

“Ruthless,” he grins at you.

You shrug, unapologetic. “What can I say? I like my men aged like wine and slightly traumatized.”

He raises his glass. “Well. You might be in luck.”

You clink your empty glass against his full one, eyes never leaving his.

Somewhere in the background, a bass-heavy track starts to play. But the real beat is in the space between you—charged and golden and humming with the promise of something very, very interesting.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Not in the paddock. Not wearing borrowed sunglasses and an oversized McLaren jacket that smells like someone else's boyfriend. Not sipping on a bottled water like you belong, casually trying not to gawk at multi-million-dollar cars or the people walking around like they own oxygen.

But you’re here.

A friend’s plus one, a last-minute invite when her PR-boyfriend flaked on escort duty. So you tagged along—because hello, free food, hot people, shiny cars, and maybe the chance to flirt with a driver or two. You figured worst-case scenario, you'd leave with a selfie and a new screensaver.

What you didn’t expect was to see him again.

Lewis.

Mysterious Lewis from the bar. GQ-cover Lewis. Ring-wearing, chain-glinting, forty-year-old fossil Lewis who made you laugh so hard you almost forgot your own name.

He’s walking through the paddock like he’s parting the sea. Everyone moves around him like he's made of something sacred—crew nodding, fans whispering, someone with a camera backing up just to get the shot. He looks… different today. Like he’s not just dressed cool, but armored in it. Like confidence stitched into a race suit.

Your jaw almost hits the gravel.

You don’t even think—your feet just move.

“Lewis!”

He turns.

Sunglasses again, of course. But when he spots you? That smile. Slow, warm, like he knew you'd show up eventually.

You grin, planting yourself right in front of him, toe to boot.

“Okay,” you say, breathless but smug, “you cannot turn me down this time. This is clearly fate.”

He laughs. It rumbles in his chest, head tilting like he’s trying to drink you in without making it obvious.

“You really didn’t Google me, huh?” he says.

You raise a brow. “Should I have? Wait, are you, like, a famous pit crew guy or something? The energy drinks guy?”

He just smiles. The kind of smile that hides a hundred secrets and a thousand wins.

“I gotta go,” he says, stepping closer for just a second. “But I’ll see you on the podium.”

You blink. “What podium?”

But he’s already walking away.

Helmet under one arm, swagger turned up to eleven, disappearing into one of the Mercedes garages like some kind of very sexy magician.

You look to your friend. “What podium?!”

Your friend is pale. “You don’t know who that is?”

“Should I???”

“That’s Lewis Hamilton.”

You snort. “No it’s not. His name is just Lewis. He didn’t even give me a last name.”

“BECAUSE HE’S LEWIS HAMILTON. SEVEN-TIME WORLD CHAMPION. THE GOAT. LITERAL SIR.”

You freeze. Fully buffer. Brain spinning like a car on slick tyres.

Cut to three hours later, and you’re in the Mercedes unit, watching on the big screen as the man you once called a fossil overtakes two cars and wins the freaking British Grand Prix like it’s casual.

The crowd explodes.

Your heart does too.

You're on your feet, half in disbelief, half in awe. You just watched a man drive like a myth, and all you can think is: he told me he was forty and I made a dinosaur joke.

And just as you start contemplating crawling into a hole forever, he finds you again.

Post-race glow. Hair half-flattened from the helmet. Fireproof suit half-unzipped to reveal that chain you remember from the bar. Sweat and champagne still clinging to his skin like stardust.

He looks at you with that same grin.

“Still think I’m someone’s manager?” he teases, voice low, eyes shining.

You gape at him. “You won. Like, you—won. Your name’s on the trophy. That podium. That—your home race??”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “Must be fate. You show up, I win. Gotta say… you might just be my lucky charm.”

Your brain short-circuits. “I—I called you a fossil.”

He laughs. Full, delighted, Lewis-laugh. “And you humbled me before I got cocky. We make a great team.”

You bite back a grin, cheeks burning. “So… you celebrating tonight, or what?”

“Obviously,” he says. “You’re coming.”

it’s supposed to be a quick trip. A flash visit, blink-and-you-miss-it, in-and-out kind of thing. You’ve been swamped—deadlines, drama, flights rerouted like bad karma—but something in you ached to be there. For him. For Lewis.

So you made time. You chose time.

And now? Now you’re stuck in Austrian traffic, inching toward the Red Bull Ring in a car that’s doing more idling than moving, hair frizzing in the heat and hands white-knuckling your phone.

You press it to your ear. “I swear to god, if I miss your race because a literal cow is blocking the road—”

Lewis laughs on the other end, warm and fond. “A cow?”

“A cow, Lewis. Just standing there. Living her truth. Meanwhile, I’m two bad songs away from losing it.”

“You sound stressed, babe.”

“Gee, what gave it away?” you snap, then sigh. “Sorry. I just wanted to be there before lights out. Front row, proud girlfriend, full ensemble.”

His voice softens. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

“Barely.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re still my lucky charm. Even if you’re watching from the parking lot.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away. “Go win something, fossil.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He gets P2.

You watch the final laps on your phone screen, pressed against the parkinglot gates, heart in your throat and hands half-numb. The crowd erupts. Flags wave. You swear you can hear the champagne pop all the way from the parking lot.

And then—

There he is.

Striding out from the gates like he owns Austria, still in his suit, curls damp under his cap, smile already loaded like a secret.

“Hey,” he calls out, just loud enough for you to turn.

You do. And then you forget how to breathe.

Because Lewis Hamilton kisses you like the cameras aren’t watching. Like the whole world doesn’t know his name. Like you didn’t just call him a fossil two weeks ago and now you’re wearing his hoodie like a badge of honor.

You pull back, dazed and pink. “That was… public.”

“Could’ve made it more dramatic,” he teases. “Want a dip next time?”

“You’re so cocky for a man who came in second.”

He grins. “I’ll take second if it means I get to see that blush.”

You're about to fire back—something witty, something flirty—when someone from Mercedes runs up, breathless. “Lewis, mate. You need to come back to the unit. Now.”

He frowns. “Everything alright?”

The guy looks between the two of you, eyes wide. “George got disqualified.”

You both blink.

“What?” you say, at the same time Lewis mutters: “No way.”

“Track limits. Deleted laps. It just came through.”

Which means—

“You’re P1,” you whisper, eyes wide.

Lewis turns to you, slow and stunned. Brows raised. Smile blooming like he knew.

“Guess you really are my lucky charm,” he says, low and gleaming.

You shake your head, biting back a grin. “I didn’t even see the race.”

“Didn’t have to,” he murmurs, already pulling you into his arms. “Just had to show up.”

Thursdays are usually soft-launches. Media day. Press conference drip. Everyone pretending they’re not sizing each other up, that they’re not itching for Sunday, that they’re not clocking every outfit and wink and subtle little flex.

But this Thursday?

You walk in and the whole paddock blinks.

Because Lewis Hamilton—Sir Lewis Hamilton—is already waiting by the entrance like a man on a mission. Like the sun rises wherever you land. And he’s dressed like a dream dipped in platinum, silver shirt half-buttoned, rings glinting, pants tailored within an inch of heaven.

But it’s the way he looks at you that melts reality a little.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmurs as you reach him.

You grin, a little breathless, fixing the collar of his shirt even though it’s perfect. “You’re overdressed.”

He eyes your outfit—slick and sharp, Prada shades and knee-high boots like you own the grid—and hums, “Nah. We’re matching.”

And you are. Silver and black, sleek and dangerous. A walking power couple with zero subtlety. Someone snaps a pic. Then another. Cameras start clicking like popcorn.

He slips his hand into yours. Casual, confident. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

And then the tweets start.

You scroll a few of them while waiting outside hospitality, phone buzzing like a feral bee. You snort-laugh at the “get it grandpa” one. Lewis peeks over your shoulder and raises a brow.

“They’re obsessed with you,” you say, smirking.

“They’re obsessed with you,” he corrects, tugging you closer by the waist. “You okay?”

You shrug, leaning into him. “I mean, people think I’m either your niece or your mid-life crisis.”

He snorts. “You’re my win.”

Your smirk falters—just for a second—because god, he’s so earnest. So warm. Like a damn sunbeam with abs.

You recover quick, flicking your sunglasses down. “Damn right I am.”

He laughs loud, head tipping back. “There she is.”

All day, people stare.

Team members smile politely. Fans whisper behind phones. Media pretends not to mention it while asking if you're enjoying your "first F1 paddock experience" (you’ve been to three, thank you very much).

You pose for a few pics. Kiss Lewis on the cheek when he heads into the garage. Sip your overpriced iced coffee like nothing rattles you.

But every so often—when it’s quiet—you hear the whispers again. About the age gap. The headlines. The way you don’t look like you belong next to someone as legendary as him.

So when you catch your reflection in the hospitality glass—twenty-four and glowing but clearly young—you take a breath.

And then you smirk at yourself. Flip your hair. Take a selfie.

Caption it:

“idk i just think i’m a slay.”

And Lewis? He reposts it.

voice notes 🔊. . . ( im so writting a p2 for this when he moves to ferrari and the disqualifying in china )

[feirceangel]

How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.

Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)

Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)

Word Count: 1,377

Warnings: biting

Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.

You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.

Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.

Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.

Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.

This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.

His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.

So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.

He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.

And so alone.

Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.

Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.

You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.

So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times. 

He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.

Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.

The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.

Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.

"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."

"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."

His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."

Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?

He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.

Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.

"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.

You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"

His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."

"You didn't ask."

Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."

"A command, my lord?"

"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.

This is the game you play.

"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully.  "Especially since you've requested it personally."

He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.

As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.

"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."

You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.

~~~

It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose. 

You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white. 

Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness. 

The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise. 

"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants. 

Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"

Instantly, they are gone. 

And it's just you and the warrior. 

You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights. 

"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."

"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."

"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this." 

You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man. 

"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him. 

He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely. 

You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.

He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.

Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"I'm not finished, my lord."

Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down. 

You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be. 

You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?

Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.  

"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you. 

He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart. 

"What is?"

"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."

"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice. 

"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."

You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours." 

Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back. 

His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen. 

"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"

Turning, you begin to walk away. 

A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising. 

You really have gotten under his skin. 

He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound. 

"You needed a mark too, my sweet."

You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."

He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips. 

"As you command, so it shall be."

[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]

[felassan]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]

Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]

User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]

More snippets:

Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]

Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)

Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]

Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]

On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]

Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]

On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]

"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]

User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]

User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]

What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]

User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]

User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]

What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]

When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]

Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]

User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]

User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]

User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]

Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]

User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]

User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]

Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]

Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]

"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]

"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]

"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]

User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]

"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]

"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]

On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]

User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]

"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]

User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]

User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]

"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]

"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]

User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]

On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]

On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]

User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]

User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]

"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]

User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]

"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]

User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]

"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]

"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]

"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]

"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]

"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]

User: "Do you remember what was written in the script to describe ✨this✨ moment? [link]" // Sylvia: "Lol. I miiiiiight? Let me look at my notes. Ah hah, I do! My note says that Emmrich "takes a second, surprised." And then he's touched afterwards." [source, two]

Sylvia: ""i hope it's not too late, but were there any designs in mind for what Nevarra City looks like?" Not too late! We've got a few sketches in the World of Thedas books, but that's it. If the team ever went back to Nevarra City proper, I'd imagine the art team would want to do a deeper dive." [source]

Sylvia: "(Glad you liked Myrna in particular. My first Mourn Watcher everyone got to know!)" [source]

Sylvia: "I'm glad to hear getting to know Emmrich has been of some comfort." [source]

[cherryxbooo]

I’ll always be your rock

Summary: Going undercover at your husband’s job is one thing, but going undercover to catch yourself is the last thing you would expect.

Note: I think it's pretty obvious from which episode I got this idea lol. I had my eyes on this episode for a long time and finally decided to turn it into a fic with my own spin. Hope you enjoy it! 🤍​

Reader x Tim Bradford

Genre: angst(ish)/ fluff

Being married to Tim Bradford was an adventure in itself.

Not in the he’s reckless and unpredictable way, no, Tim was as solid as they came.

But being the wife of a man so dedicated to the LAPD meant every day carried a thread of uncertainty.

Long nights waiting for him to come home and phone calls that made my heart race became part of my routine.

Yet, despite the challenges, I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Because at the end of those long shifts, when he finally walked through the door, everything felt right again.

I could always tell how his day had gone by the way he held me.

Some nights, it was a quick kiss to the temple before he shuffled off to the shower, but other nights, he’d pull me in close like he needed to remind himself that home was real.

I wasn’t exactly the most outgoing person.

More like the shy type like Tim liked to call me.

Social situations weren’t my forte, and I much preferred curling up with a book or baking something in the kitchen.

And yet, his team had unofficially adopted me as one of their own.

Angela looped her arm through mine at station events, Lucy subtly checked in to make sure I wasn’t overwhelmed, and even Nyla once told me,

“You keep him sane. That’s an impressive feat.”

Then there was the teasing... so much teasing.

“How the hell did you convince someone so sweet and quiet to marry you?”

Aaron had once asked, smirking as he nudged Tim’s shoulder.

Tim had just given a slow, confident shrug, his arm casually draped around my waist.

“What can I say? She has excellent taste.”

I’d rolled my eyes, but the warmth in his gaze made my heart stutter. Even with everything unpredictable about his job, I never doubted how deeply he loved me.

It wasn’t always easy, to love a man who belonged to a completely different world than mine.

But in the quiet moments, the way his fingers traced lazy circles on my back, the way he saved the last bite of dessert for me, the way his voice softened when he said my name. I knew.

I was his safe place, just as he was mine.

And that made every uncertain moment worth it.

That afternoon, I was at home, curled up on the couch with a blanket and a book, enjoying the peace and quiet.

The rain lightly tapped against the windows, creating a soft, rhythmic backdrop to the cozy scene.

I’d spent the morning tidying up the house and making a simple lunch, nothing fancy, just a grilled cheese and a cup of tea, but it was enough to make me feel content. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed having a quiet day to myself.

The soft hum of the TV played in the background as I turned the page of my book, smiling at a passage that reminded me of Tim.

It was the kind of rare, uninterrupted moment where I didn’t have to worry about him working late or being out in the field.

I heard the distant sound of the wind picking up outside, but I didn’t mind.

It only made the house feel more like a safe, warm refuge from the world.

Then, my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

At first, I ignored it, assuming it was just a notification.

But when it vibrated again, this time with the unmistakable sound of Tim’s custom ringtone, I immediately reached for it.

“Hey,” I answered, settling back against the cushions. “You okay?”

His voice sounded a little distant, like he was concentrating on something.

“Where are you right now?”

“Just at home,” I replied, my brow furrowing slightly.

“Why? What’s going on?”

There was a long pause on the other end, just long enough for my stomach to tighten with unease.

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

Before I could ask more, the line went dead.

I set my phone down, a knot of worry starting to form.

Tim wasn’t the type to act like this, something was clearly wrong.

Beforehand,

The bullpen at the LAPD station was buzzing with the usual mid-afternoon energy.

Officers milled around, coffee cups in hand, and chatter filled the air as files were passed back and forth.

Tim was hunched over his desk, a stack of reports in front of him as he scribbled notes.

He’d had a relatively calm morning, but now, the pile of paperwork was a reminder that the job never really let up.

Across the room, Lucy was at her desk, scrolling through the latest security footage from a robbery that had occurred the night before.

It wasn’t until her eyes caught something odd on the screen that the atmosphere in the bullpen shifted.

She leaned in closer, squinting at the grainy image.

“Uh… is it just me, or does that look like Y/n?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

Nyla, who had been sitting nearby, looked up and walked over to Lucy’s desk.

She narrowed her eyes, scanning the screen.

“Bradford… what are the chances?”

Tim, absorbed in his own thoughts, turned at the sound of his wife’s name.

When his eyes landed on the image, his stomach dropped.

The woman on the screen wasn’t just similar to Y/n... she was her.

Same height, same build, even the way she carried her bag over her shoulder.

But it wasn’t her. He knew his wife.

Tim’s grip tightened around the edge of his desk, his jaw clenching.

“Run facial recognition.”

Angela, sitting across the room, was already moving toward the computer.

She tapped a few keys, and within moments, the results came in: Inconclusive.

The suspect had a baseball cap on, obscuring her face enough to prevent a clear match.

Lucy, still staring at the screen, hesitated.

“Tim… should we call Y/n?”

Tim didn’t hesitate. He was already reaching for his phone. “Yeah.”

As the phone rang, he felt his heart rate pick up.

His mind raced, trying to process the situation, but the image on the screen was all he could focus on.

Her voice finally came through, soft and familiar. “Hey. You okay?”

Tim tried to steady his breathing. “Where are you right now?”

“At home. Why? What’s going on?” she replied, the confusion clear in her voice.

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

Tim hung up the phone without saying anything else, his mind already on his way to her.

He turned to his team, his face taut with concern. “I need to go.”

Angela nodded quickly. “We’ll keep digging.”

Lucy spoke, her voice still laced with disbelief.

“If that’s not Y/n… then who the hell is she?”

Tim didn’t respond, already on his way out the door.

Meanwhile,

I began pacing the living room, my mind racing through every possible scenario. Was he hurt?

Was someone else hurt?

The uncertainty gnawed at me, and I chewed my lip nervously, my heart heavy with dread.

I tried to focus, but each thought seemed to spiral into another until I heard the familiar sound of his truck pulling into the driveway, like a lifeline amidst the chaos in my head.

When the door creaked open, I looked up and saw Tim walk in, his face unreadable.

His sharp, assessing blue eyes immediately scanned me from head to toe, and I could feel the weight of his gaze.

It wasn’t the kind of look that said everything was fine, but the kind that silently assured me he was here, watching, protecting, making sure I was truly safe.

“What’s going on, Tim?” I asked, my voice small and fragile, my hands gripping the hem of my sweater like it might anchor me.

The air felt thick, charged with all the unspoken questions and fears swirling between us.

Tim exhaled through his nose, rubbing his jaw as he seemed to gather his thoughts.

His eyes softened just a fraction when he met my gaze, but the tension was still there.

“There was a robbery last night. We just got an image of the suspect, and-”

He paused for a moment, as though weighing the impact of his next words.

“It looks exactly like you.”

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying, my breath hitching in my throat.

“Excuse me?”

My voice barely rose above a whisper, a rush of unease flooding my chest as my mind tried to catch up.

Tim took a deep breath, pulling out his phone.

He handed it to me gently, his fingers brushing mine, but the contact felt like a reassurance I didn’t know I needed.

When I saw the grainy image, my stomach twisted, the weight of the moment sinking in.

The woman in the photo looked almost identical to me, same face, same posture, even the way she carried her bag over one shoulder.

But it wasn’t me.

I swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in my chest.

“So… do they think it’s me?” I asked, my voice small and shaky, the uncertainty making my words tremble.

Tim shook his head immediately, his brows furrowing as if he wanted to erase any doubt from my mind.

“No one who actually knows you thinks that. But the resemblance is too strong to ignore.”

He reached out and gently touched my arm, his thumb brushing over my skin in a silent gesture of reassurance.

His touch was warm, grounding me even though my mind was still reeling.

I nodded slowly, trying to process his words, my fingers twisting together in my lap.

“This is… really weird.”

I couldn’t help but feel disoriented by the idea of someone else looking so much like me.

It didn’t feel real, but the image in my hand made it impossible to ignore.

Tim sat beside me, his knee bumping gently against mine as he leaned in, his presence a solid comfort beside me.

“We’re working on tracking her down. I just didn’t want you to be blindsided.”

His voice was calm, steady, but I could hear the concern behind it.

I glanced up at him, taking in the way his face softened when he looked at me, the unspoken care in his eyes.

I let out a shaky breath, trying to release the tension that had built up in my shoulders.

“Thanks, Tim. That… that would’ve been a nightmare.”

His words were a balm, easing some of the tightness I didn’t even realize I was carrying.

Tim reached over, his hand finding mine in a reassuring squeeze.

His fingers enveloped mine, and the warmth of his touch melted some of the cold fear still hanging in the air.

“It’s gonna be fine, baby. I just need you to stay put for now, okay?”

His words were steady, but there was a softness to them, like a promise that everything would be okay, even if I wasn’t so sure yet.

I nodded, gripping his fingers tightly.

The contact was grounding, and the storm of worry in my chest began to calm, just a little.

With Tim here, I knew I was safe, and that was enough for the moment.

Then, as I looked at the image on his phone once again, a small detail caught my eye.

The suspect had tattoos, visible on her arm, a sharp contrast to my own ink-free skin.

I leaned closer to Tim’s phone.

“She’s got tattoos,” I said softly, pointing to the image.

“I don’t have any.”

Tim’s eyes softened as he looked at the photo again, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“I know, sweetheart. And that’s another reason I don’t think anyone’s actually confused about it being you.”

He gave me another squeeze, his hand warm and steady in mine.

“Because I also for a fact can recognize my own wife.”

I let out a soft laugh, the tension in my chest finally starting to ease.

It felt good to have him so close, his presence reassuring me in a way that no words could.

Days passed, and the investigation deepened.

Just because the suspect looked like me meant that I was automatically involved in the case.

Security footage continued to roll in, and every angle seemed to show the same thing, the woman in the videos looked exactly like me.

The more we watched, the more I began to wonder if I had an evil twin roaming around causing trouble.

But nothing in the footage could tell us who she was or where she came from.

The tension in the bullpen was growing, especially for Tim.

He’d been working around the clock, watching the same footage over and over again, his frustration building.

It wasn’t just the case; was the fact that someone out there looked like his wife, and the implications of that hit too close to home.

Days without a plan or strategies passed until-

Then came the suggestion.

“What if Y/n went undercover?”

Lucy’s voice broke the silence, her suggestion hanging in the air like a dare.

I froze, my heart skipping a beat. I wasn’t sure if I had heard her right.

I wasn’t exactly the best at faking confidence, especially not in front of criminals.

But Lucy’s gaze was intense, and Nyla nodded thoughtfully. They both seemed to believe it could work.

Tim’s reaction was immediate, like a reflex.

“Absolutely not,” he said, his voice harsh and protective, making it clear that no part of him was willing to entertain the idea.

“Tim, listen,” Lucy pressed, her hands going up in a placating gesture.

“This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. If she thinks Y/n is her twin, she might open up. We might be able to get the information we need to bring her in without the risk of violence.”

Tim’s jaw clenched. “Or she could see right through it and lash out. No. I’m not putting her in that situation.”

I stayed quiet, my hands twisting in my lap. I knew Tim’s worry wasn’t just about the case; it was about me.

The thought of him losing me in any way made his protective side go into overdrive.

But I couldn’t just sit by while someone else was out there causing havoc.

“Tim, I know it’s dangerous,” I spoke up, my voice quiet but firm.

“But if it means stopping her before someone else gets hurt, I have to try.”

Tim’s gaze snapped to me, and for a moment, it felt like the whole room held its breath.

His blue eyes, usually so calm, were stormy with worry and anger.

“Y/n, this isn’t a game. It’s not a mission I’m willing to risk you on.”

I took a deep breath, feeling my heart pound in my chest.

I knew I wasn’t the obvious choice for something like this, but I couldn’t stand the thought of not doing anything.

“I’m not asking for you to be okay with it, Tim,” I said, my voice steady despite the anxiety building inside me.

“But I can help. I know how to handle myself.”

The room fell quiet, and Tim stood there, his body tense, his gaze never leaving mine.

His protective instincts were strong, and I could see him weighing every possible outcome.

Finally, he exhaled, his shoulders sagging just slightly.

“Fine,” he said, his voice gruff but resigned.

“But I’m keeping an eye on you the entire time. The second things go south, you’re out of there.”

I nodded, the weight of his words hanging over me.

It wasn’t just about the mission anymore. It was about our trust in each other.

And no matter how nervous I was, I knew this was something I had to do.

A few hours later, the team gathered in the briefing room.

Tim was standing at the front, his face set in that usual grim expression, but his eyes softened whenever they flickered to me.

The plan was already taking shape, and now, it was time to fill in the details.

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Tim said, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Y/n, you’re going to approach her as though you’re a long-lost twin sister. We’ll feed you enough information to make it believable, but you’re going to need to stay sharp. We know she’s tough, and we know she has connections. This won’t be easy.”

I listened carefully, my mind racing through the logistics.

Tim was giving me a look, one I knew all too well... his eyes searching mine for any sign that I might back out.

But I wasn’t going to do that. I wasn’t going to leave him with that feeling of helplessness.

“I’ll make contact with her,” Lucy chimed in.

“We’ve got her location traced from the security footage. She’s been hanging out at a dive bar on the edge of town. We’ll set up a surveillance perimeter.”

“You’ll be going in alone Y/n,” Nyla added, her voice steady.

“The goal is to gain her trust. She’s never seen you before, but the resemblance is undeniable. Use that. We’ll be in your ear the whole time, listening in on every conversation.”

Tim ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident.

“You’re going in alone,” he repeated, his gaze flicking to me.

“We can’t risk anyone else tipping her off. But Y/n, you need to be careful. If she even slightly catches on that something’s off-”

“I know,” I interrupted softly, my voice unwavering.

“I’ll be careful. I won’t give her a reason to suspect anything.”

Tim hesitated, then his face softened, even if just for a moment.

“This isn’t like anything we’ve ever done before. You don’t need to prove anything to me. Just… be safe. Please.”

I smiled faintly, understanding the unspoken fear behind his words.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, trying to reassure him.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The team looked at each other, nodding, as they began setting the final steps in motion.

The plan was set. All that was left was execution.

And despite the nerves coursing through me, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of purpose settle over me.

The morning of the mission was tense.

The air felt thick with anticipation, but it was Tim’s worry that weighed on me the most.

We were in the car, parked outside the location where we would begin the operation.

Tim’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his focus unwavering, but there was a nervous energy about him that I could feel.

He glanced over at me, his eyes softening just a little, a small flicker of uncertainty in his gaze.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice almost a whisper.

“If you want out, now’s the time. No one would blame you.”

I could see the worry in his eyes, the deep concern for my safety.

His protective nature had been on overdrive ever since we started this mission, and now that we were on the cusp of it, I knew it was getting harder for him to let go.

I reached over and placed my hand over his. “Tim,” I said, my voice firm but gentle.

“I’ve made up my mind. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. I know the risks, but I trust you, I trust the team, and I trust myself.”

He let out a slow breath, his grip loosening just enough for me to feel his warmth.

He looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw a flicker of pride mixed with his anxiety.

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles.

“I promise,” I whispered back, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“And you’ll be right there with me the whole time.”

He didn’t say anything, but the way he held my gaze told me that, for the first time in a long while, he was allowing himself to feel a little bit of relief.

He knew how dangerous this was, but he also knew how determined I was.

Eventually, the car came to a stop at a discreet location near the target area.

Nyla was already briefing the others, while Lucy was in the process of running final checks.

Inside the SUV, the tension was palpable. I could hear my own heartbeat in my ears as I tried to steady my breathing.

Nyla slid into the backseat beside me, her expression serious but focused.

“Alright, Y/n,” she said, giving me a quick once-over.

“This is the part where you have to stay sharp, okay? The goal is simple: we need to get close enough to the suspect, gain her trust, and get her talking. Once you’re in, don’t push her too hard, play it cool, keep it light, but don’t show any fear.”

I nodded, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement. I knew the plan by heart, but hearing Nyla go over it again gave me a sense of confidence.

“Got it,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

“Keep it cool, get the information, and get out.”

“Exactly,” Nyla said, her eyes glinting with a touch of encouragement.

“You’ve got this. When you approach, make sure you tell her the story we agreed on. You’re her twin, you’ve been looking for her. If she buys it, it’ll help us catch her off-guard. Remember, we’ve got your back.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle my nerves.

“I’m ready,” I said, forcing a smile, even though my stomach was flipping.

“I’ve got this.”

Tim, who had been quietly listening from the driver’s seat, finally turned around to face me.

His expression softened as he gave me a brief, encouraging nod.

“I’m proud of you, Y/n. Just be careful.”

I could feel his eyes on me as I climbed out of the SUV, the weight of his concern following me like a shadow.

I was about to step into the unknown, but I knew I wasn’t alone. He was with me, even from a distance.

My mind raced, but I pushed everything out except for the task at hand.

I spotted the suspect across the street, her dark hair falling in waves, the same confident air about her that I’d seen in the footage.

My heart skipped a beat as I took in her appearance. She really did look so much like me.

A small voice in my earpiece crackled to life, and I heard Nyla’s voice.

“Y/n, it’s time. Approach now.”

I swallowed hard, adjusting my bag on my shoulder as I took the first step toward her.

The street was quieter now, the hum of the city a distant murmur as everything seemed to slow down.

As I got closer, I could feel my nerves tightening again, but I kept my posture steady.

This was my chance.

I hesitated for just a moment, then took a deep breath and spoke, my voice steady despite the racing of my pulse.

“Hey, I know this is going to sound crazy, but…” I paused for effect, giving her a moment to meet my eyes.

“We’re twins. I’ve been looking for you.”

Jenna’s gaze flickered over me, studying me with that skeptical look I had seen in the footage.

She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes.

“Twins? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

But there was a glint of curiosity in her voice, the intrigue still there.

I forced myself to smile, trying to appear more confident than I felt.

“No joke,” I said, keeping my voice light.

“I’ve been searching for you for a long time. I think we have a lot in common.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but I could tell she was thinking it over.

I saw how she studied my face realizing that we in fact did look alike.

I kept the conversation going, careful to stay in control and play the part.

I could hear the faint crackle of Nyla’s voice in my ear again, but this time, it wasn’t just advice; it was encouragement.

“You’re doing great, Y/n. Just keep going.”

As the conversation continued, I knew it was just a matter of time before we got the information we needed.

The team was ready, and I could feel their support, even if they weren’t physically close.

Everything was falling into place.

As the conversation with Jenna continued, I could sense her growing skepticism.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied me, like she was trying to figure out if I was telling the truth or not.

“You know,” she said, her tone shifting to something sharper,

“you look like you could be my twin. But I’ve got to admit, I’m not buying this whole ‘looking for me’ story. You think I’m just going to fall for that?”

I could feel my heart race, but I kept my expression neutral. My mind was working overtime, searching for something, anything that could prove I was who I said I was.

And then it hit me. The one detail that might turn the tide in my favor.

I reached into my bag and pulled out a folded piece of paper, holding it up between us.

“I know this is going to sound crazy, but a few years ago, I found this,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“It’s an old family picture, one I never thought I’d find. But it’s us, this was taken when we were kids.”

It was a photoshopped picture to make everything more believable.

Jenna’s eyes flickered to the photo, then back to me. She looked almost intrigued, but there was still a slight hesitation in her expression.

I quickly added, “I didn’t know about you until recently, but after I found this, I had to track you down. I knew it was fate.”

Her eyes softened slightly as she reached for the photo, her fingers brushing mine.

She studied it for a long moment, almost as if she was hoping the photo would tell her something she hadn’t expected.

Finally, she looked back up at me, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

“Alright,” she said, her tone lightening a little.

“Let’s say I believe you for now. But that doesn’t mean I’m ready to trust you completely. You might still be playing me.”

I took a breath, maintaining my calm exterior despite the racing thoughts in my mind.

I needed to push further and make her believe me.

“Look,” I said, lowering my voice just a bit,

“I know it’s hard to trust someone who just shows up out of nowhere. But I’m not here to hurt you. I’m just trying to find the truth. And you know what?”

I paused, letting the silence linger before continuing.

“I can help you. I can help you get away from this life. You don’t have to keep running.”

The smirk faded from her face as she regarded me seriously now.

“You think you can just walk in and fix everything for me?” she asked, a hint of doubt in her voice.

“You don’t know anything about me. You don’t know what I’ve done.”

I swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on me. But I didn’t back down.

“I don’t know everything. But I know enough to help. I know you’re scared. You don’t have to keep hiding, Jenna. I’m not here to judge you.”

There was a moment of silence, and then her eyes flickered to the ground, her hands trembling slightly.

She seemed to be weighing something in her mind. Then, to my surprise, her voice dropped to a quiet whisper.

“You want to know what I’ve done? Fine. You wanna know why I’ve been running? I’ll tell you. But you’d better not try to stop me when I say this.”

I nodded, urging her on. My stomach twisted with anticipation. This was it.

“I’ve done more than just that robbery,” she began, her voice cold.

“I’ve been part of some dangerous things... more than I can count. I’ve been involved in setting up people, running scams, and doing things I can’t even talk about. Robbing that boutique? That was easy. But that’s nothing compared to the bigger stuff.”

I could hear the tremor in her voice, but there was also a sense of relief, like confessing was something she’d been holding back for far too long.

I was recording every word, making sure I had the evidence we needed.

“There’s a group... and we’ve been working together for years. It’s not just petty crime. We’re talking about things that could ruin people’s lives, and I’ve been a part of it all.”

She paused, her eyes darting to the street around us as if expecting someone to appear.

“But I’m done. I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

I felt a wave of relief wash over me, knowing that I had gotten her to confess, but I kept my face neutral.

I also knew the whole "I'm done" thing she confessed was a big lie. She probably told me that since she didn't trust me.

“You don’t have to do it anymore, Jenna. You’ve got a chance to make things right.”

The moment Jenna finished confessing, I could feel the tension in the air shift.

Her eyes, wide with the weight of her words, slowly began to narrow.

She was still processing what she had said, admitting to the robberies, the dangerous work, and the people involved.

But as she looked at me, something seemed to change.

“You tricked me,” she spat, taking a small step back.

Her body stiffened, and I could see the realization dawning on her.

“This whole thing was a setup, wasn’t it?”

My heart raced in my chest, but I forced myself to stay calm.

I had to stick to the plan, to remain steady.

I could feel the tiny earpiece buzzing in my ear, Tim’s voice coming through with quiet reassurance.

“Stay calm. You’ve got this.”

Jenna’s eyes flickered around, now more alert, more paranoid.

“I knew something didn’t add up. You can’t trust anyone, not in this game. You’ve been playing me the whole time.”

She stepped back again, her hand brushing the side of her jacket as though she was about to pull something out.

My pulse quickened.

I had to do something, anything, to keep her calm, make her think I wasn’t ready for what was about to happen.

I gave the tiniest of nods, the secret signal that I had to use to alert the team. That was the first sign.

My fingers were trembling, but I kept my hand steady as I subtly tapped the recorder hidden in my sleeve.

Jenna seemed to miss the movement, her gaze still darting around the alley.

“So what now, huh?” she asked, her voice almost too casual.

“You gonna turn me in? Is that how this works?”

I swallowed hard, holding her gaze, my voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve already turned yourself in, Jenna. This isn’t a game anymore. This is your chance to make it right.”

But before she could respond, I saw the shadow of movement from behind her.

The officers were closing in, carefully, silently, just like we’d planned.

Jenna hadn’t seen them yet, but I could feel it in my gut that we were running out of time.

Her expression shifted again, suspicion creeping in.

“I don’t buy it,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“I don’t trust you. This is too easy.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m not your enemy, Jenna. The only one you’ve been lying to is yourself.”

My words were quiet but firm, and as I spoke them, I could see Jenna’s eyes flicker.

Her hand twitched again, and for a moment, I thought she might bolt.

I could see a shiny object in her pocket and I could immediately recognize it as a knife.

But I couldn't be scared I had to stay calm.

I took another step closer, my movements slow and calculated.

I had to keep her from panicking or doing something that might harm me.

“Look, I’m not here to hurt you. You’ve done what you’ve done, but it doesn’t have to end like this.”

Jenna’s breath hitched, but she didn’t move. She looked at me, searching for something, for a reason to believe.

Then, just as I could feel the officers positioning themselves, I saw Jenna’s hand slowly move away from her jacket.

She seemed to hesitate like she was waiting for a signal.

That was my chance.

I nodded again, just barely enough to be noticed, and the team moved in.

The quiet shuffle of footsteps grew louder as the officers emerged from their positions, surrounding the alley.

Jenna’s eyes widened in panic as she finally realized what was happening.

“What the hell-” she started, but before she could finish, one of the officers stepped forward.

“Jenna Morrow,” the officer called out, his voice firm and commanding.

“You’re under arrest for robbery, conspiracy, and multiple counts of criminal activity. You have the right to remain silent.”

Jenna froze, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes darted around, her hands raised defensively as though she could still escape, but it was too late.

The officers had her surrounded. Her body stiffened, but I could see the resignation in her eyes.

She knew the game was up.

“You tricked me,” she repeated, her voice raw with betrayal, but it lacked the same fire it had earlier.

She looked at me one last time, and I could see the bitter realization sinking in.

“You played me, just like everyone else.”

I met her gaze and shook my head softly.

“No, Jenna. You did this to yourself. I didn’t want it to end this way, but this is the truth.”

As the officers began to secure her hands with the cuffs, she didn’t fight back.

She was too far gone, too tangled in the web she had spun.

Jenna let out a long, defeated breath, her shoulders slumping as she realized there was no way out.

Tim’s voice crackled through my earpiece, warm and full of relief.

“Good job, baby. You were amazing out there.”

I barely had time to respond before the officers led Jenna away, her steps heavy, defeated.

The weight of the mission began to lift off my shoulders, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, but I felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. It was over.

The team had done it.

And I had done it, too.

Tim was waiting by the SUV when the last of the officers brought Jenna to the car.

His expression softened when he saw me, his eyes scanning me for any signs of distress.

As soon as I approached, he pulled me into his arms, his grip firm and reassuring.

“You did it,” Tim said, his voice low, filled with pride.

I leaned into him, feeling the rush of emotions from the mission finally settle.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” I whispered, my voice catching slightly.

“I knew you were with me.”

Tim pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks as he gazed at me with a softness I rarely saw.

“I’m so proud of you, babe,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“You were brave out there. You handled it all perfectly.”

I smiled softly, my heart swelling in my chest.

“I couldn’t have done it without you or the team,” I repeated, my voice full of gratitude.

“You were my rock.”

Tim kissed me gently on the forehead, his arms holding me close.

“I’ll always be your rock, sweetheart.”

We stood there for a moment, just holding each other as the sounds of the arrest faded into the background.

The mission was over, and we had won. Together.

Back at the station, the air was thick with relief.

The operation had been a success, and the team was buzzing with excitement, celebrating their hard work.

Laughter and chatter filled the room, but I could feel someone's eyes on me, Tim.

I caught Lucy’s teasing glance as she looked between us, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“So, still think your dear wifey shouldn’t have gone undercover?” she asked, her voice playful.

Tim let out a reluctant sigh, though his eyes never left me.

“I still don’t like it and it was a one-time thing for your information Chen,” he muttered, but I could see the softness in his gaze.

I ducked my head, feeling a bit shy under the attention.

“It worked though,” I said quietly, my voice almost a whisper.

Tim groaned, running his hands through his hair in mock frustration.

“I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” His tone was teasing, but I could see the pride behind it.

The team burst into laughter, and I couldn’t help but smile.

I felt Tim’s gaze warm as he watched me, and even though he was still grumbling about my undercover mission, I could feel the pride radiating from him.

He moved closer, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me in, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

“You’re never going undercover again,” he murmured, his voice low and reassuring.

I tilted my head up to look at him, a playful glint in my eyes.

“Maybe just once more?” I teased, earning another groan from him.

He sighed dramatically, but there was no hiding the fondness in his expression.

“I swear, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, but I knew he didn’t mean it. Not really.

The team laughed harder, and I leaned into Tim, resting my head on his shoulder.

In that moment, everything felt right.

All the tension, all the danger, melted away. And I knew, no matter what came next, Tim and I would always be in this together.

And most importantly my evil 'twin' is behind closed bars and won't ever give me a bad image again.

The end

[httpknjoon]

quite an impression | myg

plot | that time where the afterparty left quite an impression on the not-so-friendly relationship between the popstar and her bassist.

w.c | 5.1k

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | enemies to lovers, popstar x bassist

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

After the show, everyone, including the band and the show's crew members, was told that you and your management prepared an afterparty for everyone in one of the known yet private hotspots around New York City.

Everyone agreed to come, including Yoongi due to the band's persuasion. Plus, he doesn't really have anything to do back in his hotel room. The holiday EP's done. The concert tour just finished its first leg, which means their one-month holiday break basically started the moment you closed the show a while ago.

"What happened to your Valentino suit?" Fred was the first to ask when Yoongi joined the rest of the band on their ride to the afterparty venue.

Yoongi shakes his head lazily, "Don't want to ruin it at the party."

Before getting back into his usual clothes, Yoongi had to convince Paul to let him change. But your stylist was eager to make him wear it to the party tonight. He told him that there would be paparazzi there to take pictures of them arriving.

"I don't really care what I'm wearing if I ever get photographed tonight," Yoongi replied to Paul. It's not like I'm the main star, he thought.

He was so sure that the paparazzi were not interested in taking photos of them, but the moment their ride stopped in front of the private bar, Yoongi could hear the little commotion outside. There were paparazzi waiting by the sidelines with their big cameras and as soon as a car stopped, they got up to prepare to whoever is in the vehicle.

"This is crazy." Akio gasped as they all looked outside their tinted windows.

"Okay, put on your sunglasses if y'all don't want to be blind before we even get to the party." Noah, who has been a part of your team for years now, told them.

Yoongi was thankful he followed what your lead guitarist advised because the moment they got out of the car. There are flashing lights everywhere. He can hear some people calling his name, which is something he still needs to get used to. He doesn't remember getting much attention when he was at other artists' shows. Hearing various voices call his name everywhere makes him feel weird— not in a good way. They didn't stop for photos, heading straight to the private club's entrance while being guided by one of your security staff.

"I love playing for big artists," Akio whispered when they entered the venue, already eyeing the cocktails not too far from where they stood. "They know how to party."

It was obvious, the moment they got in, that the afterparty was well-prepared and expensive. Although the lights were dimmed and colorful fairy lights mainly provided lights for the place, there were customized holiday decors everywhere to celebrate your EP, which plays in the background. There are ice sculptures of your brand's logo and even a few mistletoes on entryways with your signature kiss mark placed on them.

"Yeah, YN's label is never scared to splurge money on her," Noah said, pulling out his phone to take a picture of the place.

Who will be scared anyway? You are one of the biggest pop stars in the world currently. Your songs earn hundreds of thousands of streams every day and almost everything you do gets praised by your fans and critics. Everyone, even you yourself, knows you are the top cash cow of your company at the moment, considering your recent tour and EP release. You are an investment worth investing in.

Yoongi stayed quiet while his eyes scanned the whole place. He never really cared about parties, but he could not deny that your label made an effort to make tonight's celebration impressive.

Everyone was invited, from your concert staff down to the late-night show crew members. While the band was walking through the crowd, Yoongi took a glimpse of Art, chatting with the producers of the late-night show you just hosted. Your dancers also came, already enjoying the dancefloor with other guests. There are more faces Yoongi had recognized, but there are some he still hasn't seen yet. Paul... Cal... You.

"Yoongi, over here!"

Suddenly, somebody called his name, snapping him out of his trance. Yoongi turned and immediately spotted another familiar face waving his hand across the room. It was a friendly gesture from Ben, one of the tour's sound engineers, Yoongi raised his hand, offering a small wave before walking deeper in Ben's direction. Along the way, one of the waiters offered him a drink and Yoongi got one, quickly taking a sip to hopefully give some energy to him to socialize. Nods and smiles were exchanged once Yoongi joined the small group, which included a few of your staff and a couple of writers from the late-night show. Ben was in the middle of telling the others of something.

"Yeah, the tour just ended its first leg this week. I think we'll be back touring internationally in the last week of January though. Right, Yoongi?"

Feeling a lot of eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, Yoongi's eyes widened slightly before he looked away, "Yeah, I think so."

Ben went on to talk about the work he does in your shows. Yoongi, as usual, just listened and observed the lively crowd.

"I saw you on the show earlier, you are a great guest." someone in the group spoke, making Yoongi look back to them.

A woman in a ribbed-knit, V-neck, white sweater smiled at him, offering her hand, "I'm Bea, one of the writers of The Late, Late Show."

"Yoongi, YN's bassist." he shakes her hand.

"And favorite band member?" Bea teased, referencing the question in the show earlier. They both laughed.

Yoongi smiled, shaking his head before sipping from his glass, "Not sure about that."

"Oh, trust me. Based on our team's research, you seem to be YN's favorite." the curly-haired brunette smirked.

"What research?" he asked, now curious about what she said.

"Well, you know, our team does research on our guests before writing for them. Then, we noticed how many times you two interacted on stage during shows, even your outfits aligned during her Halloween shows," she answered casually. "She always seemed to gravitate towards you."

Her tone seemed to be implying something, making Yoongi shake his head again.

"She just likes to play around on stage." he denied whatever Bea must be thinking.

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." she sneered, hiding an obvious smile while drinking from her cocktail.

Yoongi looked at her, trying to decode her thoughts, and when she felt her stare on him, she simply smiled, "I mean, I kinda get her."

As the music gets louder and the crowd gets bigger, Yoongi finds himself chatting with Bea ever since they met half an hour ago. They occupied one of the booths in the club alone while they talked about their jobs in the entertainment industry, something they are similar to.

Bea is funny, witty, and smart, Yoongi thought. He likes that she doesn't force him to speak in their conversation. He didn't really mind her telling him about her experiences as someone who moved here to New York eight months ago. It's better than being forced to jive on the dancefloor, something he's not really fond of.

"Yeah, I was actually scared to come here tonight." Bea shared, chuckling.

"And why is that?" Yoongi asked, slightly leaning closer to hear her over the loud music.

"I heard that staff members from other shows have to pay for their own drinks at after-parties like these, and I just can't do that right now. I have rent to pay!" she exclaimed, making both her and Yoongi laugh. She then rested her chin on her palm on the table, "How about you? Do you enjoy these parties?"

"Not really..." he was quick to answer, not bothering to conceal his dislike for social events. "Everything's too much at parties. The drinks, the people— even the music, it's too loud."

That's another thing he and his ex used to be contrasted about. Sara will always be at parties back in LA because of her job. It's a place for widening her networking in her perspective. Sometimes it is necessary for her to attend, sometimes she just wants to. Yoongi, on the other hand, is not a fan of networking. As long as someone is interested in collaborating with him, he's gonna be fine. But he cannot deny that Sara helped him get more people to work with him whenever she pulled him along with her at parties. She literally introduced him to Art years ago.

Bea chuckled, "Isn't it ironic that you're literally a bass guitarist and you hate loud music?"

"There's a difference between music and what's basically a noise." he joked.

Just when Yoongi took another sip of his drink, there was a sudden change of energy in the room. The music lowered slightly, and the whispers and turning of heads at the main entrance got more noticeable.

"Looks like the woman of the hour has arrived." Bea mused next to him.

Everyone can hear the main door opening, along with the sound of cameras clicking and people calling your name. Then, it was followed by familiar voices laughing and chattering. Yoongi didn't bother to turn around to the doorway until Bea murmured.

"Oh, they arrived together."

He finally glanced at the doorway, catching sight of you at the center. You were glowing with your gold closed-fitting, thin-strapped mini-dress. He wondered if you got cold outside while wearing that glamorous dress, but then he saw Cal next to you, holding a fur that he assumed was yours.

Then, he also noticed who was standing on your left. Harry was holding your waist as you greeted the first people who approached you. You two were a pleasant eyesight, a perfect eyesight for everyone. It was obvious how you two were comfortable with each other. Harry leaned closer to you to whisper something, and you would easily laugh like he was the funniest person in the world. Yoongi looked away, back at minding his business.

"They used to date, didn't they?" Bea whispered next to him.

Yoongi shrugged, "I don't really know."

"You should. You were Harry's bassist during his first album, right? I heard he wrote songs about her in there." she went on.

He raised an eyebrow, "You really did your research, huh?"

"Told ya." she clicked her tongue before looking back to you and Harry. "They still look cute together, don't they?"

"Yeah," Yoongi mindlessly replied even though he was not looking anymore.

He took another scan of the whole room. He stops when he sees you looking at him while everyone in the circle you're in is having conversations. Your eyes traveled from him to the woman next to him. Your eyebrows raised and you looked back at him again. Just when lines form between his brows, Yoongi sees you joining your group's conversation once again. It was a brief and quiet interaction— confusing for Yoongi— that seemed to be only known by you two.

"That was... interesting." Bea, the best observer, smirked into her drink.

The night went on with you and Yoongi being on separate sides of the room. Yoongi introduced Bea to the band, joining them in their booth. He ignored Fred's teasing stare ever since his new writer-friend sat with them. Noah also has his boyfriend with him, adding more fun to their conversations. At some point, Yoongi excused himself from the booth, getting up next to Bea.

"Oh, where are you going?" she asked with her hand on his arm.

"I'll get another drink, want some?" He answered, nodding at her empty glass.

She smiled, "Yeah, sure."

"Don't try to escape the party!" Noah teased him as Yoongi walked away, rolling his eyes at his friend.

He was about to walk to the bar, but decided to stop midway, heading to the restroom first. After doing his business and enjoying the quick solitude, Yoongi rinsed his hand and walked out to the dimly lit entryway. He was not paying much attention to his surroundings, just aiming to get to the brighter entryway to the party, causing him to bump into someone.

"Oh."

It was a light collision, but you were wearing your strappy God-knows-how-high heels, causing you to lose balance a little. He was quick to catch you and help you steady yourself.

"Sorry, didn't see you there," he mumbled.

"Clearly," you looked up with a snarky reply and the same smile you always give him. "Enjoying the night?"

Was it a little unexpected question from you? Yes. But maybe you've been asking everyone that since you are the host of the party. Yoongi wouldn't want to overthink it.

"Yeah, it was fun." he replied like he didn't spend his time talking to people he only knows except for Bea.

You hummed, "Bea seems nice though."

He paused, staring at you for a second, "You know her?"

Shrugging, you replied, "Met her during preparations for the show earlier. She seemed pretty smart and witty."

Were you watching them? Yoongi starts to wonder since he sees you vibing with Harry and your other guests whenever he catches glances at you in the crowd. He cannot tell by your tone if you are just being friendly, casual, or just teasing. But the way you were looking at him got his throat running dry, making him gulp hard.

Before he could figure out what to say next, a voice piped up from one of the small circles near the entryway.

"Oh my gosh, look up!"

Your eyes widened. Yoongi frowned. Right above you, it's one of the few mistletoes in the place. The small circle cheered, getting more attention to their direction.

One of your dancers urged, "You have to kiss now!"

"Ugh, seriously? Do we really have to do this?" you tried to play it off, acting dramatically.

But Yoongi can feel the tension growing in the small space between you, making everything more awkward. All while your concert staff enjoy how you are both caught off guard, knowing your childish and petty relationship behind the scenes.

"It's a tradition!" someone sing-songed.

Yoongi rubbed the back of his neck, "But it's just a plant."

"It is!" you laughing awkwardly.

It felt like high school— or even middle school. Like they were stuck in a game of truth or dare. The cheers for them got louder and clearer. Yoongi only looks at you, trying to read your thoughts. But you were exchanging jokes with the small audience.

“Wow, you guys are really committed to this tradition, huh?” you let out a breathy laugh.

In all honesty, Yoongi would not mind kissing you. Will it be awkward? Yeah, probably. But you both know that the easiest way to end this scenario is to just get over it. A quick kiss, then move on! It's not like everyone will make a big deal out of it.

But why? Why is it so hard?

You took in a slow inhale as you looked at your bassist standing in front of you. How can he still have the same blank expression on his face while you were shitting bricks, trying not to make the atmosphere awkward? You swallowed. Hard. You wondered where's the liquid courage when you need it. Kissing is never a problem with you. Hell, you were the one who suggested putting mistletoes everywhere tonight, unprepared that you are your own victim.

Yoongi's lips parted when you took a step closer to him. So close that he can smell the same sweet vanilla scent he sensed when you gave him a quick hug earlier after the show. He cannot help but study your features as you stand this close to him.

"Let's just do it?" your glossy lips whispered.

"Okay." He replied, almost breathless.

When he unexpectedly yet gently held your waist, you unconsciously held your breath like his soft touch burns your skin. You can still feel the tightness in your chest when his lips brushed against yours, like a feather. It would have been meaningless if one pulled away as soon as your lips touched. But for a half second, no one moved. You felt like leaning it when you felt his slight squeeze on your waist. But before anything could happen, it was over.

Brief and light.

Everyone cheered as you went along in this stupid holiday tradition. Yet the noise was all drawn out in the background as you and Yoongi slowly pulled away from each other.

In that quick second, you swore you felt his warm breath as he pulled away. You blinked, but still, stared back at him. Your heart was beating too fast, you didn't like it.

Yoongi didn't like that when he pulled away, he could not think of anything to say. It was like his brain into a factory reset, resetting everything he knew. He remembered you singing this close to him during one of your shows, thinking you looked like an angel. He still thinks the same thing.

After getting your souls back on the ground, Yoongi let go of your waist and you took a step back. Everyone is still having their reaction. Someone even whistled, making you turn back to the crowd. You forced a laugh.

"Satisfied?" you played it off with the crowd.

Yoongi's jaw clenched as he turned around leaving the entryway, ignoring the warmth that was still lingering on his lips. The image of your face close to his cannot get out of his head. He walked straight to the bar to get another drink.

You, on the other hand, ran back to the restroom. Looking back on yourself in the mirror, your fingers slowly touched your lips as you felt like they had been tingling ever since Yoongi pulled away. Realization sets in as your bite your lower lip.

Fuck, you wanted more.

For the rest of the night, you and Yoongi got some unspoken agreement to not stand within a six-foot distance between them. Yoongi found more comfort, sitting next to Bea, who raised a brow, when he came back to their booth after the kiss. He simply shook his head with that. She took it that he didn't want to talk about it.

"So are you guys playing tonight?" she asked him.

"I don't know, really," Yoongi replied, resting his arm behind her seat.

"I mean, it would be really cool to see you play at this party." she drew circles on the rim of her cocktail's glass before playfully tilting her head to him. "You know, just throwing the idea out there... Only if there are instruments laying around at this par— Oh, wait. There it is!"

Yoongi laughed at her feigned yet coy innocence as she tried to convince them to play. He scanned the room, looking for the instruments Bea was referring to. Instead, he catches you looking at him before quickly turning your back. Something in his stomach flipped before he finally found what he was looking for.

"You alright, angel?"

As soon as you turned your back to your bassist, Harry, who had his hand on the small of your back, asked. You looked up, putting on a smile before nodding. Ever since he said about your nose flaring when you lie, you try to be careful about not saying the truth around him. He smiled, pinching your nose.

"Looks like that kiss did something to you." he leaned into your ear as he teased you.

You moved away, glaring at him, "It's just a mistletoe kiss. Nothing too special about it, H."

"Okay, okay, if you insist." he chuckled.

You rolled your eyes, "I feel like you're trying to push an agenda here and I am just gonna ignore that."

Feeling your face warming up, you walked away to distract yourself with something else. It's nothing! You repeated in your head as if to remind yourself. Yoongi seemed to thought the same thing since you saw him getting comfortable with the same girl he's been talking to ever since you arrived.

There is a tightness in your chest. You had to stop one of the waiters who was going around with shots of espresso martini. You took one and immediately let it slid down your throat before returning the glass to the same guy.

Out of the blue, you hear a familiar beat of the drum playing along your song that was playing in the background. The small crowd in the dancefloor started cheering. Turning around, you see your live band on the small stage back in their element. The lights were dim, but you can see your bassist pushing his hair back, which somehow made your throat dry.

"I think we need a vocalist." Noah spoke on the mic.

Your eyes widened, you know he sees you with your shimmering gold dress. And the spotlight that landed on you didn't help for you to hide in the corner of the room. Shaking your hands to your sides, you exhaled before walking up to the stage. The last thing you want now is to stand next to your bassist, especially when you're confused and having a meltdown in your head. But your forever motto plays in your head, fake it 'til you make it.

The band continue playing along with the song that was already playing in the background. You took a sip from a bottle of water Cal handed you before catching up on the song. Shaking it off, you put on your usual popstar persona. The one who's confident, spontaneous, and maybe a little annoying to your bassist.

An idea pops in your head, making you signal to the band to repeat the song from the start. They followed, same with the DJ who turned down the music. Noah began counting and Yoongi almost crashed out in his head when he felt you standing close to him.

Unexpectedly, you lifted his chin, making him look at you. You silently hoped he is under the same spell as you are, not knowing that your touch burns his skin. Looking straight to his eyes, you sung,

"Oh, I leave quite an impression..."

The moment you saw a hint of something familiar in his gaze, you tried to bit off a victory smirk, letting go of him and turning to the crowd. A spur of energy grew quickly in you, knowing that you're not the only one struggling here.

The crowd sings along throughout the whole song. Yoongi was quite relieved that you didn't try to pull something on him again. He knew you got him earlier in the song, hence why you are suddenly more confident now, dancing on stage. Your hips swayed along with the beats and he finds himself almost getting out of tune, distracted. He played it off, adding a cool riff in your song, which made you turn to him.

"Show off." you scoffed in the mic, making the crowd laugh.

"Every time you close your eyes, And feel his lips, you're feelin' mine..."

That gave you another reason to annoy him. Yoongi felt you resting on his sides like he was a wall. You slowly slid down as you sang the bridge before getting up to let the crown scream the line,

"Yeah, I know I've been known to share!"

Yoongi tried to stay as far as possible from you after that performance. Harry sang too after you called him on stage, which didn't really distract Yoongi as they played the song your ex wrote about you. Only Angel. What a fitting title? He thought.

After that, they played a couple more songs before getting back to their booth. He was so ready to get back to the hotel, but he didn't to leave Bea alone, who he enjoyed talking with tonight. She just finished her fourth glass of the night when she noticed the time on her watch.

"Oh, it's almost midnight." She murmured as the corners of her lips dropped.

"And? Are you Cinderella?" Yoongi quipped.

Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses, "Well, yeah. Fairy Godmother will take away this thick ribbed-knit sweater once I don't show up in Central Park on time."

They laughed. She continued, "I have a flight to catch tomorrow morning. Need to be home before Christmas."

Bea began saying goodbye to everyone. Yoongi said he'll go back to the hotel too, and got a knowing look from his bandmates. He rolled his eyes, lifting his middle finger at them, which made them laugh. The party is dying down anyway. Yoongi saw you saying goodbye to Harry before he left after he performed on stage. Then, he didn't catch sight of you again.

"How about you? Going back to LA for the holidays?" Bea asked as they walked out of the private lounge.

Yoongi clicked his tongue, "I don't know. I have no plans yet."

They stopped on the pavement. The paparazzi are long gone, it's just them and the distant noise of the city.

"Maybe you can come to Seattle with me? Want to meet my parents?" she joked. "But seriously, I enjoyed talking with you, Yoongi."

He smiled, feeling a warmth on his chest, "Me too, Bea."

As if on cue, a yellow cab stopped in front of them. Bea looked at him before getting on her tiptoes to give his cheek a soft peck.

"Contact me. Let's see each other again once we're in the same place again. Okay?" she smiled, hopeful.

He nods at her with a small smile before she gets in the cab, waving at her before the car drives away. For a few seconds, Yoongi stood there alone. He looked down, remembering the last time he went on a date. As an image of Sara came up in his mind, he shook it off while walking away.

Yoongi did not mind walking from the party to the hotel. It was a twenty-minute stroll. He needed it with so many thoughts in his head to organize. His dating game, the mistletoe, Bea, your gold mini-dress that exposed your back, his plans for Christmas, your face when you pulled away, his house back in LA... the kiss.

What the fuck.

He paused just right before the hotel everyone in your staff is staying at. You kept on reeling back in his head, he did not even notice it. Suddenly, he's recalling your scent and the softness of your lips on his. It lingers. He sighed, running his fingers through his hair. Then, he remembered your own fingers running through his jet-black hair when he was asked to show up during your Bed Chem performance. Your gaze under the red lights. His Adam's apple bobbed as he thought about it.

As he walked into the hotel elevator, Yoongi thought of hopping into a quick shower before sleeping tonight. Maybe it will clear up some of his thoughts. Just when the door began closing, he heard a scream from a distance.

"Please hold it!"

Yoongi, although distracted, followed. He held out his hand between the doors, slowly opening it up again. That's when you showed up, chest heaving, still wearing the same dress Yoongi was thinking about. He squeezed his eyes closed as he turned his head down. The amount of curses he let out in his head.

"Thank you." you tried to say it softly, but you were breathless from running. You push the button to your floor and you notice that he still hasn't clicked his. "What floor?"

"Hmm?"

You turn around and catch him staring at you in a way you've never seen before. You felt your stomach twist. Your eyes moved down to his lips. He was biting too hard, turning the skin red. You watched as he inhaled, lifting his shoulders like he was trying to stay still.

"Same as yours. Twenty-nine," he mumbled.

His voice was too deep, your voice ran dry. You nodded, standing back next to him. Silence hummed for the first few seconds as the door closed. You didn't know that this tension joined you two in this elevator, making the atmosphere heavy and honestly, a little warm. You felt it again. Your lips. They're tingling again.

You can feel that he feels the same way. Your heart starts to beat too fast when you look at him again, still biting down his lip. Hard. Maybe talking would help.

"So, what happened—"

You were not even done with your question about Bea when Yoongi moved forward, crashing his lips on yours. It felt urgent. And hot. Like he was thinking about it for a while now. It was like you broke him.

Your gasp barely made it out of your lips when he swallowed it. He got his one hand on your cheek, while the other was squeezing your waist. His fingers held you down as you squirmed too much.

You don't really have much thought except him. His scent. His lips. His hair. Oh my god, his hair. You ran your fingers on it, tugging on it as you felt the temperature rising in your body. He groaned before pressing you on the elevator wall. You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, while your hands explored each others' bodies. Desperation and hunger reeks from the way you two taste each other's tongues.

Wanting to hear him again, you bit on his lower lip. He groaned lowly, feeling the vibration in your chest. You smiled into the kiss. Suddenly, you felt both of his hands on your waist. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, feeling the kiss getting gentler.

Your chests were heaving as he pulled away, resting his forehead above yours. You unconsciously licked your lips after seeing how his got redder and glossier due to your own. You noticed his Adam's apple moved up and down, making you meet his eyes.

Ding!

Your heads snapped to the side when the elevator door opened. Yoongi's hands clenched when you slowly stepped back, exiting the elevator wordlessly. He followed behind you while still tasting the strawberry taste of your lipgloss.

Your rooms were right before each other's. Turning your back, you didn't say anything as you opened the door. He didn't either and faced his door, but didn't reached for the key card. The moment he heard your door closed, he turned around.

Fuck it.

Determined, he knocked on your wooden door. And almost in an instant, it opened with you pulling him inside.

note | thank u for @momma1 for commenting this song months ago! 🩷 please consider as the conclusion for the first leg of this tour. the next drabbles will be set after their "tour break". lmk what u think of this one?

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[sloaneispunk]

“jealousy jealousy”

stormshadow (lee byung hun) x you

“i told you i’d kill him if he touched you again”

✶ ──── 🀀 ──── ✶

when you joined cobra, you had to take up different missions with different objectives. this time, you had to go undercover as the baroness, earning the trust of the baron so you could infiltrate the secret code for weapons.

“y/n, this is stormshadow. he’s assigned to keep you safe during the mission, i need you two to work together.” your employer said.

your first impressions of stormshadow was that he was reslly goodlooking. he had the perfect facial harmony that somehow complemented his physique as a whole.

“my pleasure, ms y/n.” stormshadow greeted, subtly bowing down as a sign of respect.

“you’ll start in a few hours, you have a date with the baron at 7 sharp! don’t be late!” your employer shouted from a far as he walked off, leaving the two of you behind.

“i’ll come back at 6:30 to pick you up.” the man in front of you reminded.

you nodded and gave him a smile before heading off.

back in your room, you found a box already waiting for you on your bed.

‘picked out a dress for you’ the note said as it laid perfectly on the box.

you opened it, finding a silk, white dress. it was beautiful.

funny enough, it seemed like a total coincidence that stormshadow’s suit also happened to be white.

a while later you were ready for the mission. you looked in the mirror one last time and headed down.

then came a ring of the doorbell.

6:30pm sharp. what a gentleman.

as you opened the front door, you were met with a familiar face, stormshadow. he seemed to had been in awe as you waited for his reaction.

“how do i look?” you asked nervously, biting your lip as you waited for an answer.

“give me a twirl.”

you spun on your heel, watching as the dress flowed almost magically with you.

“beautiful.” he smiled, extending his arm for you to take as he led you to the car.

✶ ──── 🀀 ──── ✶

when you reached the restaurant, your jaw dropped. it was the most luxurious place you had ever seen.

the walls were pitch black, decorated with sleek lights that dimly lit the whole place, causing you to stand out.

“i feel stupid.” you told him as you walked.

you were never used to such affluence. but ever since you had taken this job working with cobra you had been exposed to more and more richness. still, it was like a fever-dream.

“you’re far from that, y/n…” he replied, “now, just entertain him for the night, keep him interested but don’t let him push it too far. if anything goes wrong, i’ll be right there.”

you looked towards where he pointed, it wasn’f too far from your table. he was stationed at the bar.

and with that, the mission had begun.

you tried your best to stay intrigued by the things the baron was saying, you really did. but in all honesty, you couldn’t be bothered. often, you eyes wandered to the bar, hoping to catch s glimpse of stormshadow.

when you did happen to see him, he would give you a reassuring smile. almost as if he was letting you know that he still had your back. and that kept you going for the night.

when the excruciating dinner finally came to an end, the baron asked to send you home. however, you politely declined.

he didn’t take it well.

“c’mon, we can have a little fun at your place to.” he tried but failed to sound seductive.

“oh, no, my driver’s picking me up-”

the baron grabbed your arm.

“i think i’ve earned it.” he insisted, pulling you closer as you gave him a nervous chuckle.

stormshadow watched as his grip on his glass tightened. he thought of interfering but he knew it would compromise the mission, so he sat still, holding back whatever anger he was feeling inside.

“seriously, i shouldn’t. my driver’s outside.” you told the baron in a strict tone, making him finally stop insisting. instead, he put on a fake smile, bringing your hand up to his lips.

“i’ll see you soon, y/n.”

you put on your best geniune fake smile and took off.

once you got into the car you felt like you could breathe again. you let out a loud sigh and kicked off your heels.

then, the door opened, stormshadow swiftly got in to the seat beside you as the driver drove off.

✶ ──── 🀀 ──── ✶

the car ride was painfully silent, stormshadow hadn’t uttered a single word since he stepped in.

you took it as a sign that maybe he changed his mind, wanting to keep things more professional from now on.

when the car stopped, you picked up your heels and left without a word, heading back to your room.

“what do you think you’re doing?” stormshadow called out to you as he chased you down the hall.

“going to bed.” you said, not stopping.

“y/n, wait.” he jogged up to you, stopling you in your tracks just before you could enter your room.

“what are you doing?” it was your turn to ask now. he shook his head as a smile appeared on his face once more.

“is something wrong?”

“yeah, what’s wrong is you acting all sweet and nice to me since we met but right after dinner you’re like a whole new person!” you almost shouted, throwing your hand up in the air in defeat. “do you want to be professional? we can ditch the whole first name basis then and-”

“no.”

“w-what?”

“i didn’t like seeing the baron touch you like that.” stormshadow admitted, looking away embarrassed.

“but i’m okay, i got away.” you said softly, cupping his face to face you.

“i’ll kill him if he ever touches you again.”

your eyes widened, surely he didn’t mean it.

“you shoulder get some rest.” you told him, taking it as a joke. you brushed the now messy strays hairs away from his eyes. “thank you.”

you slowly leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before you entered your room.

stormshadow laid awake that night, his mind replaying how the baron had touched your delicate skin. he wanted to be the only one that had gotten close enough to do that.

that night, he made a silent promise to himself that from then on, no one would even come close to touching you unless it was him. he would eliminate anyone that got in his way.

✶ ──── 🀀 ──── ✶

a while later, he had been assigned once again to accompany you to yet another date with the baron.

he was thrilled to be able to see you again, but the thought of you spending time with someone else while he sat there watching helplessly angered him.

the entire time as you were there with the baron, he sulked in a corner, eyes practically shooting daggers into the man that sat across you.

but things took a turn as you followed the baron back to his place.

to you, it was merely so you could gain access to his house, studying the layout and figuring out where he could possibly have kept the secret codes.

but to stormshadow, you were in danger. he knew what men like the baron could do to a pretty woman like you and he was going to do everything he could to prevent it.

“come, let’s go to my bedroom.” the baron said as he took your hand, leading you.

as the two of you got to his room, he started being more touchy with you. his hands wandered from your arm to your waist and to the back of your dress.

but before anything else could happen, he stopped. you cocked your eyebrow as his face suddenly contorted in pain, his mouth agape as he let out a silent cry for help.

then, he had fallen onto the floor at your feet. that’s when you saw it. a knofe was sticking out from his back, blood pooling and seeping into the million dollar carpet.

then, stormshadow came out from hiding, stepping out into the light.

“jesus! did you do that?!” you cursed, seeing the now dead baron at the foot of his own bed.

“i told you i’d kill him if he touched you again.”

you looked up at him in shock, he wasn’t joking.

before you could comprehend the situation, stormshadow grabbed your neck, pulling you flush against him as his lips found yours.

you easily melted right into the kiss, deepening it as he let out a low groan.

the kiss was messy, with teeth and tongue as both your mouths fought for dominace. but before you could’ve taken it further, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“sir? is everything alright?”

shit.

✶ ──── 🀀 ──── ✶

( g.i. joe: rise of cobra - 2009)

[little-jana]

"Under The Mistletoe"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: fluff

Warnings: kissing, just two cuties

Words: 1.2k

Summary: Another Mistletoe kiss with Spencer.

a/n: I just love love love these chrismas ff with Spencer. What do u think?

The BAU’s Christmas party was winding down, but the bullpen still sparkled with warm, holiday cheer. Twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the desks, Penelope’s carefully curated playlist hummed in the background, and the scent of cinnamon and pine filled the air. I stood by the snack table, munching on a sugar cookie, my eyes wandering to Spencer Reid.

He was sitting near the bookshelf, his legs crossed awkwardly, a mug of eggnog in one hand and a book resting in the other. He wasn’t reading, though. His gaze flicked up every few seconds, catching mine before darting back down.

“Why don’t you go talk to him?” JJ teased as she passed by, balancing her own plate of cookies.

“I talk to him all the time,” I said, feigning indifference.

JJ just gave me a knowing smile. “Sure you do.”

She wasn’t wrong, though. I did talk to Spencer all the time. I was one of the few people he seemed comfortable enough to really open up to, and our conversations were some of the highlights of my day. But tonight, under the glow of Christmas lights, something felt… different.

I crossed the room, weaving through clusters of my teammates, until I reached his corner. He looked up, startled, when I sat down next to him.

“Hey,” I said, smiling.

“Hey,” he replied, setting his mug down. “Enjoying the party?”

“Yeah,” I said, leaning back against the wall. “You?”

“It’s nice,” he said, his voice soft. “A little overwhelming, but nice.”

I nodded, understanding completely. “I saw you reading earlier. What is it this time? Something festive?”

He hesitated, glancing at the book before sliding it toward me. It was a leather-bound copy of A Christmas Carol.

“Classic,” I said, impressed.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he admitted. “There’s something timeless about it—Scrooge’s transformation, the idea that it’s never too late to change.”

“Leave it to you to find the deeper meaning in a Christmas story,” I teased.

Spencer smiled, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “It’s a good story.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But you know, you’ve been staring at that same page for the past ten minutes.”

His cheeks flushed, and he quickly closed the book. “I, uh… I got distracted.”

“By what?” I asked, leaning forward, curious.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, avoiding my gaze.

“Spencer,” I said, my tone teasing. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Okay, fine. I might have been… looking at you.”

That caught me off guard. “Me?”

He nodded, his face growing redder by the second. “You just… you look really nice tonight.”

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat. Spencer Reid, the man who could rattle off statistics about anything and everything, was suddenly flustered.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my own cheeks warming. “You look nice too.”

Before he could respond, Penelope’s voice rang out across the room.

“Attention, everyone!” she called, clapping her hands. “It’s time for our favorite holiday tradition—mistletoe!”

The room erupted into cheers and groans as Penelope grabbed her sprig of mistletoe and started weaving her way through the crowd, stopping pairs and insisting they partake in the tradition.

“Oh, no,” Spencer muttered, sinking deeper into his chair.

“Oh, yes,” I said, grinning. “You’re not getting out of this one, genius.”

“I don’t see why mistletoe is such a big deal,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Did you know it’s actually a parasitic plant? It attaches itself to a host tree and siphons off nutrients to survive.”

“You really know how to kill the mood, don’t you?” I teased.

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Penelope appeared beside us, brandishing the mistletoe like a weapon.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “What do we have here? My two favorite geniuses hiding in the corner?”

“We’re not hiding,” I said quickly.

“Uh-huh,” Penelope said, clearly unconvinced. She dangled the mistletoe above our heads. “Rules are rules, my friends.”

Spencer groaned softly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“You’re not getting out of this one, Spence,” I said, leaning closer.

He hesitated, his eyes searching mine. “You know,” he said quietly, “hands actually transfer more germs than mouths. Statistically, this is the safer option.”

I raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that your way of saying you want to kiss me?”

“I—well—I didn’t mean—”

“Spencer,” I said, cutting him off. “Relax. It’s just a kiss.”

And before he could overthink it, I leaned in, pressing my lips softly against his.

The room seemed to fade away, the laughter and music melting into the background. His lips were warm, tentative at first, but as he relaxed, the kiss deepened just slightly, a perfect mix of sweetness and surprise.

When we finally pulled back, his eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed.

“That… wasn’t so bad,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No,” I agreed, smiling. “It wasn’t.”

Penelope clapped her hands, breaking the spell. “That was adorable!”

Spencer groaned again, burying his face in his hands, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“Come on, genius,” I said, nudging him playfully. “Let’s go find some more eggnog.”

As we walked back toward the party, I couldn’t stop smiling. Maybe mistletoe wasn’t so bad after all.